#cillian murphy x reader smut

[hllywdwhre]

Revenge - Tommy Shelby

Summary: Reader takes personal offense over Sabini’s attack on Tommy

Warnings: arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, reader leaves a message written in blood, smut, creampie, light degrading, oral smut (f receiving), overstim, p in v, let me know if I missed any

Notes: I made this text post about protective reader and decided to write it lmfao. I want Tommy with a feral woman. Thank you to @slut4thebroken for proof reading, encouragement, and suggestions💖

MDNI, 18+ only

You weren’t quite sure how it had happened.

Scratch that.

You knew exactly how it had happened.

Your father and Tommy had worked out a deal when Sabini had first started trying to intimidate your father. A bride in exchange for protection and both of them walked away with extra allies when the inevitable war against Sabini broke out. You’d protested the marriage at first, screaming that you were more than just a political pawn for your father to sell when he needed help, but it went through anyway.

You had to admit, it wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened. Sure, Tommy was distant and seemed obsessed with work, but you knew you could’ve ended up in a much worse situation. He treated you with respect, never let you open a door on your own if he was around, always had a protective hand rested in the small of your back, and… the sex was great.

Perhaps the thing you appreciated the most, was that he didn’t expect you to become the housewife you had feared you would be reduced to. You were your father’s only child, meaning when he died, you would become leader of his gang. You were a gangster the same way Tommy was and he seemed to realize that and respect it. You helped out with the daily runnings of the Peaky Blinders and helped with the daily runnings of your father’s gang at the same time. They both recognized your potential and weren’t afraid to use it.

It wasn’t until you were sitting in a family meeting about a year after your marriage that you realized you had grown to feel more than just okay with the marriage.

Tommy was a closed off individual and through the entire year you had been married, you felt like you were just starting to finally get to know the real him. You never pried because he never pried in your life. If you had general questions, neither of you were afraid to ask them, but anything more was left up for the person to tell. You had more questions than answers still, specifically about the matching scars on his cheeks, but you didn’t dare ask. He hadn’t asked about the scar that ran from your right shoulder blade down to your spine, so you didn’t ask about his scars.

It was a common occurrence for Esme, Ada, and Polly to sit with you at one of the desks in the betting shop, whispering things to you during family meetings to fill in any gaps and answer any questions you may have had.

“Alfie has informed me that the Sicilians are being provided aid by Sabini, in the form of cars and housing,” Tommy started, causing Arthur to let out a loud groan of frustration.

Before you could get dragged into hearing any more of it, you turned your head to Esme who was sitting next to you.

“Sabini’s a prick, I know that, but what has he done to us?” You asked quietly, your eyes still flickering back-and-forth between Tommy and the rest of his family as they spoke about what to do next.

Esme began explaining exactly what Sabini had done. How he and five other men came after Tommy in the dark of night, how he’d ripped out a tooth, sliced his cheeks, and beat him to an inch of his life.

The rage that settled inside of you was your first hint that you had grown to genuinely care for Tommy as more than just a friend and (amazing) fuck buddy. Your jaw remained clenched and set for the rest of the meeting, but as soon as the meeting was called to end, you wiped the look from your face and forced a calm expression to take over.

You stood up and walked over to Tommy, forcing a small smile to your lips,

“I’m not really feeling all that well. You go with your brothers for a drink, I’m just going to head back home, okay?” You said, meeting his eyes so he wouldn’t have a reason to not believe you.

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to look for any sign you were lying. You had been fine that morning and fine two hours prior when you sat down for the meeting, but he had no reason to believe you were lying so he simply nodded, placed a hand on the small of your back to pull you closer to him, and kissed your forehead.

“I won’t be out long. Ask Frances for anything you need, okay, love?”

You nodded and the forced smile turned to a genuine one,

“I will, promise,” you told him before stepping away from him and waving goodbye to the rest of the family.

Yes. You had truly gotten lucky when it came to who you had been forced to marry.

The entire ride back to the Arrow House, you were silent and going over your plan in your head. You knew you’d have to earn Tommy’s trust back after this, but you didn’t particularly care. You were a force of nature on your best day. You were lethal when you were angry.

Once you arrived back, you immediately headed upstairs to yours and Tommy’s shared room. The marriage may have started off with the two of you in separate rooms, “I’m called the devil, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of monster. You can sleep in your own room until you’re comfortable sharing a bed,” but it didn’t take more than a couple weeks for you to eventually join him in bed.

Damn those blue eyes, full lips, and that jawline.

You grabbed a small bag and threw the first set of clothes you laid hands on into it, then, much more carefully, a dress. You grabbed everything else you needed and headed to Tommy’s office next.

I’ll be back soon. I’m sorry for lying, but I’ll be back.

You signed the note and left it in the center of his desk where you knew he would see it, held down by his ashtray.

As quickly as you had entered the house, you left it, getting right back into the car with the driver Tommy had employed for you. You told him the name of a hotel in London that you knew was just outside of anyone’s territory.

The drive seemed to pass by too quickly and soon you were saying goodbye to the driver and sending him home for the night. It was barely 7 in the evening when you got up to your room.

“If there is a God, please let me get through this. I’ll make it up to you… somehow,” you said quietly.

The beading on the dress swayed loudly around your body as you pulled the dress on. The pins in your hair seemed to be extra noticeable against your scalp. The straps on your shoes pressed into your skin more than usual. The blade held against your thigh and hidden by your dress seemed to refuse to warm up. Your left hand felt entirely too light with your ring missing.

You knew it was only your mind playing tricks on you. You’d worn this outfit before and it had always turned heads, which is exactly what you wanted.

You needed Sabini to notice you.

You greeted the cab driver politely as you stepped in and ignored the way his eyes seemed to follow you a bit too closely.

The doors of the club were held open for you and you made your way to the bar and took a seat, knowing you were just playing a waiting game now.

You could feel eyes on you. The wife of Thomas Shelby in Sabini’s club, hours away from Birmingham, far out of Peaky Blinders territory or her father’s territory. You stuck out like a sore thumb, even if you would have blended in during any other scenario.

It felt like an eternity passed before you finally saw the man that made your blood boil, but one glance at the clock above the bar told you it hadn’t even been an hour.

“You seem lost. I thought we had made it clear that your kind weren’t welcomed here,” Sabini said once he was in front of you.

A charming smile graced your lips and you looked up at him,

“My kind?” You questioned, playing innocent.

“Yes. Your kind. You’re the wife of Thomas Shelby and I don’t appreciate him ignoring the last warning I gave him and sending you-“

“I wasn’t sent here,” you stopped him, lifting your left hand and pushing a piece of hair that hadn’t fallen back behind your ear, “and I’m not really a Shelby or a Blinder, am I?”

His eyes were drawn to your hand and noticed the lack of a ring you wore and he quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Is that so? I was under the impression the two of you were lovebirds.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your lips and looked away, trying to come off as shy. When you looked back up to him, you hoped the look on his face meant he was intrigued and believing you.

“Perhaps we could talk about it somewhere else… somewhere private?” You asked him, batting your eyelashes as you did so.

Gods help you. The smirk he gave you made your stomach twist and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face, but patience was something you’d adopted a lot of.

“Allow me to show you to my office then,” he said, offering you a hand which you forced yourself to take.

He guided you through the club and towards the back. Some amount of luck seemed to be on your side as his office was behind the stage and provided some cover for any noise you might make. Even more so as you noticed a window just large enough for you to be able to crawl out of.

Once the door was shut behind you, he sat down behind his desk and motioned for you to take a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side.

“Trouble in paradise, I take it,” Sabini said as he poured you both a drink.

“It was never paradise to begin with,” you replied, thanking him for the drink and taking a sip.

You had grown used to Tommy’s Irish whiskey and the bourbon he gave you wasn’t nearly as smooth going down.

“Was it not? From what I’ve heard, you two have quite the fairytale. Gang leader’s daughter married off to another gang leader, uniting two empires.”

“That’s not the way I see it,” you lied.

“And how do you see it?”

“A desperate father sold off his daughter to a desperate gang leader in an attempt for the both of them to gain more power and disregarded the woman’s wishes,” you replied simply, shrugging your shoulders.

“And so you’ve come to London for what?” Sabini questioned, wanting to hear you say it.

“Because I think we can help each other, Mr. Sabini,” you said, downing the rest of the bourbon and standing up.

His eyes followed your movements, his eyes trailing up your body before resting on your legs again.

“And how do you think we could help each other?” He asked.

You moved to stand in front of him, placing one leg over the side of his and straddled him, placing your arms around his neck.

“They trust me, Mr. Sabini. They don’t suspect me of anything,” you started. The shiver of disgust that rolled up your spine due to his hands trailing up the back of your thighs was one he apparently took as excitement as he gripped slightly at the backs of them, “I can tell you everything and, in return, I get out of my marriage once they’re all gone.”

“They don’t even realize the ticking time bomb they’ve got in their fingertips, do they?” He asked and a chuckle left your lips as a genuine smirk took over.

“They don’t…” you said, trailing your hands down his chest and then up your thigh, trying to make the move appear seductive. Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of your knife, “and neither do you, apparently.”

His eyes widened and he realized the trap he had walked into at the same time as you pressed the blade of the knife to his neck.

“I’d say that if you ever threaten my husband or our family again, you’ll regret it, but you won’t be,” you told him, unable to resist pausing for a touch of dramatic effect before adding on, “Never fuck with a Shelby.”

In the next second, you were quickly slicing the knife across his neck and flinching back as his blood coated you.

You knew your next move was morbid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It had been morbid for him and five other men to attack your husband when he was alone. It was morbid for him to rip out his tooth. It had been morbid for him to slice his cheeks. It was just as morbid for you to quickly and quietly clear off his desk, dip your fingers into his blood, and leave a bloodied message across his desk.

Revenge is a scorned Shelby

As soon as the message was written, you grabbed one of the coats from the coat rack and slipped it on, then crawled out of the window. The coat was long enough to cover all of the bloodied mess that was now your dress.

Sabini is dead.

That seemed to be the only thing you could think of as you were driven back to the Arrow House. It wasn’t the first time you had killed a man and you knew it wouldn’t be last.

But you hadn’t told anyone about this time. You hadn’t told anyone your plan, where you were going, or why you were doing it. You had also just started a war.

You weren’t surprised to see almost every light in the house still on when you arrived, and you made sure to slip the cab driver a little extra for the long drive.

You hadn’t risked staying in London longer than you needed to. You had gone into your hotel room, grabbed your bag, and promptly left, only taking the time to slip your wedding ring back on when you were in the cab.

When you stepped into the house, Tommy was in the hallway. All he saw as you stepped in the door was you, in another man’s coat, your wedding ring still on your finger, but your hair and makeup done much differently than it had been you had left.

You stayed silent as you stared at him with nervousness written on your face.

He put out his cigarette and quirked an eyebrow at you, a silent prompt for you to explain yourself.

Your silent explanation was to undo the tie on the coat and let it fall to the floor, revealing your blood stained dress.

“I need a fucking drink for this one,” Tommy grumbled, motioning for you to follow him. He guided you to his office and poured both of you a drink, handed you your glass, then sat down in his office chair. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Do you want the short version or the long version?” You asked, a smirk on your face as he looked up at where you still stood across the room.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but chuckle and shrug his shoulders,

“Humor me. Short version first,” he told you.

“About a year ago I got married, and tonight I started a war.”

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and running a hand over his face, “Long version.”

“About a year ago, I got married. Over the past year my husband has been nothing but a respectful gentleman, making it nearly impossible for me not to fall for him when you combine it with his fucking blue eyes that could bring the devil to his knees,” you started, feeling the hint of a blush creep into your cheeks, which you knew he noticed by the way his eyes flicked to your cheeks and then back to your eyes, “then today we had a meeting with his family where he mentioned Sabini. When I asked, his sister-in-law told me about what Sabini had done to him. About how my husband had been beaten to an inch of his life and brutalized, leaving him permanently scarred, and I knew I had to make the bastard pay.

“So, I lied to my husband and said I didn’t feel well. I went home, packed a bag, left him a note saying I’d be back, and went to London. I rented a hotel room where I changed into a fancy dress and did my hair and makeup, then I wrapped a knife to my thigh and slid my wedding ring into my bag and went to The Eden Club. News of a Shelby woman spread quickly and Sabini showed up to question me within an hour. I lied to Sabini, told him that I didn’t want to be a Shelby and that I had never wanted to be one. He took me back to his office and I sat on his lap and made him think I was about to cheat on my husband when I slit his throat and made sure he knew it was because of what he’d done to my husband. I left a message on his desk, went back to the hotel, grabbed my bag, and then headed back to our house.”

Silence filled the room for a long moment as Tommy stared at you. His eyes were unreadable as he watched you.

“What did the message say?” He suddenly asked.

“Revenge is a scorned Shelby.”

“Nothing about the Peaky Blinders?” He asked curiously, tilting his head slightly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It wasn’t Peaky business,” you answered confidently, watching him just as closely as he watched you as he stood from his chair and came to stand in front of you.

“Was it not?” He questioned, taking the untouched glass of whiskey from your hand and setting it on the desk before turning back to stare you down.

“No. It was Shelby business, but not Peaky business.”

“Explain.”

“He didn’t just harm a Peaky Blinder. He harmed a Shelby, my Shelby.” Your gaze was unwavering as you held eye contact with him. You wanted him to know you meant your words. He was yours, and the protective touches on your back when you were in public and the way he intimidated and glared at any man who tried approaching you was all the proof you needed to know that you were his.

“So I’m your Shelby?” He asked as he took a step towards you and continued to do so until you pressed against the office door.

“Yes.”

“And that means you’re mine?” He questioned, his hands now pressed against the wall on either side of your head.

You could feel that you were walking into some sort of trap, but you didn’t have a way out of it right now. All you could do was be honest.

“Yes.”

“Then you should know something about what it means to be mine.”

“What’s that?” You asked, your breathing getting shorter as he lowered his face so it was level with yours.

In a second his hands were on your waist and he had you picked up against the wall with legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

“My Shelby is to never come home wearing another man’s coat again,” he said, pressing his lips to yours in a rough kiss.

You don’t know what reaction you had expected from him, but being pinned to his office door and him kissing you hadn’t been one you had thought of. Your shock wore off after half a second and you returned the kiss as your arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close.

“You’re not mad?” You asked against his lips.

“At you starting a war?” He questioned, leaning down and beginning to trail kisses hastily down your neck.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning your head back to give him more access.

“Livid,” he said with no hint of joking in his voice.

“This is quite the punishment,” you replied sarcastically. A moan fell from your lips as he nipped at your pulse point.

“Oh, I’m livid,” he said, looking up at you, “but also extremely turned on at the thought of my wife slicing a man’s throat over me and coming home still covered in his blood.”

You weren’t given a chance to respond before he was kissing you again. Your hands came down to his tie, pulling it loose before starting to work at the buttons of his waistcoat.

He didn’t bother setting you down, only turned the two of you around and walked you over to the couch in the office. He laid you down on it and then pulled the waistcoat off before leaning back down between your legs and kissing you again once. His lips started trailing down your neck again while your hands went to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Someone’s impatient tonight,” he teased as nipped at your skin again.

“You’re the one who pinned me to the door after I revealed I killed a man for you,” you replied in the same teasing tone as him. You undid the last button of his shirt and pushed the fabric off his shoulders, his undershirt following a second later.

He reached his hand to the side of your dress and unzipped it, pulling the fabric down your body while his hands grabbed hold of your underwear, stockings, and garters in the same move and pulled them off, leaving you completely naked underneath him.

He stared and looked over your body a moment longer before running his hands up your thighs and giving a gentle tap to your thigh,

“Up,” he said, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

You did as told though and sat up, leaving him enough room to lay on his back and pull you up to straddle him,

“Was killing a man not enough work?” You teased, not actually minding if he was going to have you ride him. At least it meant you wouldn’t be subjected to him teasing you when all you really wanted was for him to fuck you.

“That’s cute,” he said sarcastically, gripping your thighs and attempting to pull you further up his torso, “that’s not where you’re sitting tonight.”

The man was no stranger at using his mouth to make you see stars, but you’d never ridden his face before. You looked at him, the question obvious on your face.

“Seriously?” You asked even though you knew by his face that he was.

“Seriously. You were enough of a leader to go after Sabini, you’re enough of a leader to sit on my face. Up,” he repeated again while his grip on your thighs tried pulling you forward.

You did as you were told this time, shuffling forward until you were straddling his face. You weren’t given a choice of when to sit as his hands came to your hips and pulled you down, forcing your full weight onto his waiting mouth.

If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was Thomas’ ability to use his tongue and lips in more than just outsmarting his enemies.

His tongue trailed through your lips, his hands keeping your hips in place, while his tongue slowly explored you at first.

It had only taken a couple weeks for you to crack and make the first move on Tommy, joining him in bed one night when you’d decided you could trust him, and you’d been insatiable and addicted to him ever since, though he never complained. He’d spent the first couple times figuring out every move that made you tick and every name that made your cheeks flush and used them to his advantage at every turn.

His tongue was a gift with the way he knew exactly how to use it. He dragged it up and down between your folds, drinking in every bit of your arousal before focusing on your clit, alternating between quick flicks and long drags.

Tommy’s hands on your hips began guiding them, silently instructing you to take control. You didn’t hesitate in going along with what he wanted you to do and began rocking your hips. One of your hands trailed to his hair while your other went to lay on top of one his that gripped your hip. You hadn’t realized the volume of your moans until you felt the vibration of his moan against your clit.

Your hips jerked at the added stimulation and he hummed against you purposefully, his eyes never leaving you as your hips sped up, chasing your own high. Within moments you could feel it approaching and your grip on his hair and hand tightened, moans of his name falling from your mouth like a prayer.

“Please, fuck,” you cried, whimpers falling from your lips, “Tommy, Tommy…”

Your high crashed over you a moment later and you felt Tommy’s movements begin to slow down as you rode out your high, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you caught your breath.

You went to move off of him, but his grip on your hips tightened at the same time that his tongue started speeding up again.

Your moans of pleasure turned to whimpers of over stimulation and you squirmed against him, but he didn’t let up. Your hips jerked as you tried moving away from him, but all it did was add to the stimulation.

You could practically feel him smirking underneath you as he continued on, watching as your eyes clenched shut and you relented yourself to letting him torture you so beautifully.

If it wasn’t for the way your body was on edge from not being given any type of break after your first orgasm, you might have felt slightly ashamed at the way he was able to bring you to your second orgasm so quickly.

And then your third.

Tears were freely falling from your face when he finally slowed his movements to a stop and helped you to lay down on your back.

He trailed soft and slow kisses along your thighs and stomach to help bring you back down to earth. When his lips reconnected with yours, you returned the kiss, letting your eyes fall shut at the surprisingly tender moment.

“Next time you want to start a war, at least let me know your plans,” he said, causing you to open your eyes and be met with a smirk dancing across his lips, “and don’t doubt my punishments.”

You could’ve smacked the smirk off his face if it wasn’t for the fact he had turned your entire body into mush.

“Think you can be a good girl and handle one more?” He asked.

Your cheeks flushed at the praise and his hands moved to his belt and pants, pulling them off after you nodded your confirmation.

Once the rest of his clothes had been removed, he gently lifted your legs and positioned himself between them. He was gentle as he pushed inside you, but the smirk on his face from the way your voice cracked when you moaned was obvious.

The stretch was familiar at this point, but it didn’t mean you didn’t need the moment he gave you to adjust. When you nodded your head, he started moving.

Tommy knew your body like he knew his own after your time together. His hips immediately changed position as he started thrusting, making sure to hit the spot inside you that added to the ways your legs shook underneath him.

He leaned down and placed his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips in a kiss right as a moan parted through them. One of his hands came back to cradle the back of your head and his fingers tangled into your hair to keep you close to him.

His other hand went to one of your legs and pulled it up so it rested in the crook of his elbow, causing him to hit even deeper inside you.

The action caused you to let out a high pitched moan and you wrapped your arms around him. Your next moan broke the passionate kiss the two of you had shared while your nails raked down his back.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, beginning to speed up the movements of his hips.

“Y-you,” you moaned out, your back arching underneath him.

“Say my name. Who do you belong to?” He repeated.

“Thomas Shelby,” you answered and dropped your head back.

“Good girl. You’re my fucking wife,” he moaned out. He sat up, using one hand to keep your leg up in the same position while his other hand went to your already over sensitive clit, “all mine. No other man gets to touch you, look at you, or even fucking think of you. It’s my cock that you’re whimpering over right now, and it’s the only cock you’ll ever be whimpering over again.”

“I’m yours, Tommy,” you repeated, your voice breaking as moan after moan fell from your lips.

“Then cum for me. Be a good Shelby wife and make a fucking mess on my cock just like how you made a mess of this war tonight,” he commanded.

You didn’t need any more encouragement from him as your fourth orgasm hit you, causing your back to arch again and your nails to run down his arms.

His moves start to become more sloppy and his pace sped up as he began to chase his own high, the feeling of your cunt squeezing around his cock only driving him closer to the edge.

“Want to feel you Tommy, please,” you moaned underneath him, “please, cum inside me.”

“Fuck,” he swore out. His hips pushing against yours as his high hit him and his arms came down to either side of your head again while he shoved his face into your neck, completely claiming you as his own while his cum filled you.

His hips slowed as he rode out both of your highs and your arms came to wrap around him, placing a gentle kiss on the side of his head you could reach.

Once the two of your breathing had slowed down to a normal pace, he moved to push himself up and your legs around his waist tightened along with your arms.

“Don’t. Not yet,” you said in a quiet voice.

“I’m going to crush you, love.” He placed soft kisses along your shoulders between his words as he tried warning you.

“I’m a grown woman. I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” you replied and began running your nails softly along the shaved part of his head, knowing the motion worked on him every time.

“Stubborn,” he falsely chided, but relented and relaxed back into your hold.

“Little late to the party if you’ve just worked that out.” Your reply causing both of you to chuckle. “Remind me to start more wars if it means you fuck me like that every time.”

His hand came down and gently slapped your thigh in response while a burst of quiet giggles left your lips.

“Stubborn and a brat,” he teased, sitting up again and carefully sliding out of you.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me,” you responded with a smirk.

“I don’t think of it that way,” he said as he stood up and wrapped his arms under your waist and legs before pulling you up into his arms.

“How do you think of it?” You asked him as he carried you across the hall and into your shared room.

“I think I’m lucky enough to be married to a woman who killed for me over a years-old attack even though we’d never even said that we loved each other.” He set you down in the middle of the bed before crawling in next to you and pulling you into his chest.

A bright blush rose to your face as he pointed out that you had never even said you loved each other, even though you had admitted to him earlier that you had fallen for him. You didn’t know how to reply immediately and you turned in his arms to look up at him, his arms staying locked around your waist.

He didn’t seem to expect you to reply though, because he leaned in to you, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and sweet, as if he was trying to communicate what your actions had meant to him without having the words to say it.

“I fell for you, too,” he finally admitted, “I don’t know when it happened, but I know that I realized it tonight. The panic I felt to see your note and to see you come home covered in blood. The anger I felt over seeing you another man’s jacket. The way I felt when you revealed what you had done and why…” He trailed off, looking down at you and seeming to try and memorize every part of your face, “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours and you’re mine,” you replied, leaning up to kiss him.

“I’m yours and you’re mine.”

[simplyundeniable98]

look at me t.s.

Pairing | Thomas Shelby x Female reader

Summary | When Mrs. Shelby requests Tommy in the room with her for the birth of their first daughter everyone is shocked. Men aren't supposed to be in the room with their wives as they give birth, it's just not how it is supposed to be... well all men aren't Thomas Shelby.

Warnings | Mentions of childbirth, pain obviously she's literally giving birth, maybe ooc Tommy? idk. Reader is a little mean to her doctors but she's in pain cut her some slack. MDNI because I said so. Foul language.

Word Count | .06k

~This is loosely based off of the scene in Queen Charlotte when they won't let George into the room to see Charlotte. If you know what I'm talking about I love you~

All dialogue in italics is spoken in Romani.

"Mrs Shelby forgive me but husbands aren't usually in the room during the birth" The doctor spoke hesitantly as his eyes flicked nervously around the room.

Everyone seemed to speak hesitantly around her. I guess that was what you get when you become a Shelby. Everyone around you is constantly terrified to tell you no or disagree. It was like being royalty in a sort of fucked up way.

Polly Gray cut the doctor a look as she walked over to you and put a reassuring hand on your forehead.

"Polly please" you cried in pain "I need him here." Nothing from the old wive tales could compare to the pain you were feeling. You had been pushing for hours now with Polly at your side but nothing was working. Your daughter simply just would not budge. Polly had made the comment early on about her already showing traits from her father.

"I don't care what usually happens. If Tommy Shelby is not in this room in the next five minutes, I will personally end you." You spoke with a hiss pointing at the doctor.

You weren't usually this aggressive, but given the fact you were in pain and used to getting what you wanted all the time, the circumstances were different.

Polly sighed as she looked down at you and began to head out of the room.

"What's wrong, is she okay?" Tommy spoke immediately as Polly exited the doors of your room.

"She's requesting you Thomas" Polly spoke in Romani so as to not alert the other doctors of your request.

"She wants me in the room with her?" He spoke hesitantly as he looked towards the door.

Polly nodded and Tommy immediately started towards the door.

"I'm sorry Mr. Shelby but I cannot allow you to be in the room." The doctor outside of your door spoke as his eyes flicked down to the floor to avoid Tommy's sharp gaze.

"Tell me, doctor, do you like your job?" Tommy spoke with a raised brow as he waited for his response.

When he didn't reply Tommy bent down to reach his gaze "Hmm? I asked you a question doctor, do you like your job?"

"Yes. Yes I like my job" He murmured still avoiding the sharp blue eyes that were currently staring daggers at the man.

"Well if you intend on staying alive long enough to keep it, I suggest you move out of my way." Tommy stood up straight and tilted his head towards the door.

The doctor nodded and stepped aside, letting Tommy enter the room. "If I hear one more word from anyone about my presence in this room, I will have a peaky blinder on each and every one of your doorsteps first thing tomorrow morning" Tommy spoke before anyone could protest.

"Tommy" you gasped as you finally laid eyes on your husband. "I've been asking for you"

"I know, I know. But I'm here now eh? I'm here now." Tommy bent down to give your forehead a kiss as you winced.

"I cant do this Tommy" you cried "I want it to be over"

Tommy's heart broke at the sight of you. His wife. He wished he could just take all of your pain away and keep it for himself.

Tommy bent down to kneel at the side of your bed as he cradled your face in his hands.

"Look at me. Hey, Look at me, love." He spoke softly as you turned your head to gaze at him with teary eyes.

"You can do this. I know you can. You are the most headstrong women I know, and ill be damned if you give up now." You giggled at his lighthearted teasing and nodded.

"And you don't really have a choice love. This baby has got to come out in one way or another." He smirked at you as you rolled your eyes at your husband.

"Okay Mrs. Shelby its time to push" Your doctor spoke as Tommy placed a kiss on the hand he had ahold of and nodded at you.

"Let's meet our daughter Mrs. Shelby."

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

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.”

[floralcyanide]

˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

― day one ⛧ cockwarming

Cillian Murphy x Reader

A routine Zoom call between you, Cillian, and his parents gets a little interesting.

warnings: smut, cockwarming, penetrative sex, semi-public sex, overstimulation, milking, unprotected sex

word count: 930

author's note: welcome to day one of kinktober! I'm so excited for this year and can't wait to write as much for this challenge as possible. I was going to have weeks planned out, but fell ill with pneumonia, so I'm two whole weeks behind. hopefully I'll complete the challenge! fingers crossed. if I don't, there's always next year! I hope everyone enjoys!! feedback is always appreciated (: (keep in mind most of the kinktober works will be short.)

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

When Cillian tells you to pull up your dress upon entering his office, you expect him to drop to his knees before you. Instead, he waves you over to where he’s sitting on his desk chair, motioning for you to sit on his lap. You look at him, confused for a moment, before doing as he wordlessly asked. You can feel Cillian fumble his hands behind you, his cold watch brushing against the warm skin of your tailbone that’s exposed from your lifted dress. You hear his zipper come undone, and that’s when you realize what he’s wanting. Cillian adjusts you on his lap so you’re hovering, and he aligns his length with your clothed entrance, teasing your clit through your underwear. He pushes the fabric to the side with his fingers, allowing his tip to brush against your wetness. You slowly push yourself onto him, and Cillian guides himself into you at a snail’s pace. You aren’t quite wet enough yet, so he takes his time. Once he’s wholly sheathed inside your warmth, Cillian grabs your hips so you can’t move.

“What are you doing?” you half laugh, half ask curiously.

“I want you to just sit here and be a good girl, alright?”

“That’s kind of hard with you inside me, Cill.”

“You can do it, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You shiver at his words as you watch him fiddle with his computer, opening Zoom. You gulp nervously and hope he isn’t about to have a sort of meeting while you’re warming his cock. You aren’t sure what you’d do if you had to act normal while Cillian’s thick, now-throbbing length is being squeezed by your walls. 

But something even worse happens- Cillian opens Zoom with his parents. You forgot it’s Sunday, which is the day he usually calls them. You gulp down your nervousness, trying to appear presentable.

“Oh, hi!” you grin at the sight of his mother popping up on the screen, trying not to react to how Cillian’s fingernails are digging into the delicate skin of where your hips meet your thighs.

“How are you, darling?” his mother asks sweetly.

Cillian thrusts into you, disguising it as a minor shifting in his chair, and you have to clear your throat to stifle a moan, “I’m well, thanks! And you?”

“Oh, we’re just fine,” CIllian’s father chimes in, “Taking good care of my son, I see?”

“Of course,” you nod your head, rubbing your palm along Cillian’s thigh out of sight, “He’s being a good boy as always.” you joke.

Cillian rolls his hips slowly, causing your hand to pause its movements and your nails to dig into his slacks. He then engages in conversation with his father as you maintain a healthy combo of eye contact with his parents and looking at Cillian behind you.

“Are you sitting on his lap, dear? Are there no chairs in his office?” Cillian’s mom asks out of the blue, a hint of teasing in her voice.

“Still no extra chairs or furniture in here,” you poke Cillian’s cheek, “I’ve been telling him ever since we moved in, Mrs. Murphy.”

“Stubborn old thing,” his mother scolds playfully, “A new home needs its furniture!”

You begin to feel restless on Cillian’s cock, wishing for nothing more than to fuck him senseless. You want to end the call, spin around, and bounce on him for hours. But of course, until he gives the word, you can’t move.

“Well, we were just checking in to see how you were doing. We best be headed off now; love you,” Cillian waves to his parents.

They wave back, bidding farewells before Cillian ends the call. Silence fills the room, and all that can be properly heard is the sound of your ragged breathing.

“Please,” you whimper, “Let me move.”

“Then move.”

You shakily raise your hips until Cillian is almost outside you before slamming back down, your thighs hitting his. He lets out a strangled moan, hands gripping your sides tightly. 

“I’ve been wanting to teach you a lesson,” Cillian says through gritted teeth, letting you slowly lift and lower yourself along his cock, “About patience.”

“Lesson learned, then,” you sigh, spinning around to face Cillian, “I hear you loud and clear.”

You grab his cheeks as you pick up your pace of bouncing on his length, gaining a nice and steady rhythm. Cillian looks at you with glazed-over eyes, his tongue darting from his mouth to run over his lips. 

“Was the lesson worth it? Or was the patience killing you more than me?” you smirk.

“I'm not sure. There were times I wanted to take you over the desk on the call.”

“Really?” you wonder, “Maybe next time.”

“Not when on the phone, though,” Cillian warns.

“Alright,” you sigh, swiveling your hips around as your orgasm creeps into your stomach.

“Gonna cum,” Cillian mumbles lazily, thrusting himself into you in time with your movements.

“Please do, I’ve been waiting,” you pout.

Cillian twitches inside you, spilling his seed deep inside your cunt as you ride through your own impending release. Cillian lets you fuck yourself as much as you please despite his overstimulation, letting you milk him as your walls clench from your orgasm. You stop moving, catching your breath as Cillian watches you compose yourself.

“Definitely worth the wait,” you gasp, pushing hair from your face.

“Agreed,” Cillian exhales, leaning back in his chair.

“Can I stay here, though?” 

“On me?”

“Yes.”

Cillian pauses, weighing the pros and cons of you warming him as he does some emailing, “Fine.”

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[floralcyanidee]

ᴛʀɪᴘʟᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ

Bruce Wayne x Reader x Jonathan Crane (NSFW)

When you notice Dr. Jonathan Crane watching you and your husband at a fundraising party, you get a little curious. When Dr. Crane angers you, he presses you to explore that anger. Will he regret it?

warnings: smut, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (both vaginal and anal), oral sex, cock warming, anal sex, anal fingering, blowjobs, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, porn without much plot, masturbation, forced masturbation, threesome, male x male, male x female, male x male x female, cum swallowing, spitting, face sitting, face fucking, crying, sub/dom tones, dom!reader, sub!jonathan, kinda sub!bruce but not really, ya know, just pure filth

word count: 5254

author’s note: welcome to our one-way ticket to hell besties <3 I didn't proofread this because it just poured out of me and I was truly possessed by the writing demon today. I had an idea and literally ran with it. I don't think I've ever written something so filthy before lol please enjoy and give feedback!! READ THE WARNINGS this fic isn't for everyone tbh.

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MOODBOARD FOR THIS FIC

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

One thing about being married to the Bruce Wayne was he had a thing for throwing parties and fundraisers at your mansion. This meant you had to dress up quite a bit, and you had to look really good as you were Bruce’s wife, of course. He always ensured you had the newest and most gorgeous gowns to show off at the gatherings. You’d spend the whole day getting your hair, makeup, and nails done, only to be at the parties for a few hours. And that was usually because Bruce had other duties in the city, he got too distracted by what you were wearing and needed you right then, or he simply let his antisocial side creep up on him. Tonight at the fundraiser he’s throwing, he seems content and has been by your side most of the night. Nothing drastic was going on in the city that demanded his action. But something was bothering him, you could tell. He’s slightly off, and you catch him staring at someone in the crowd a few times. You’re never able to pick them out, though. 

You and Bruce are by the champagne table, and you notice Bruce is gazing out into the crowd of partygoers again.

“Bruce?” you ask softly, putting a hand on his bicep, “You alright?”

Bruce blinks hard a few times before turning to you, “I’m fine, darling.”

“You sure? You seem distracted by something this evening,” you scan the room, but to no avail for whomever Bruce is focused on.

“I just thought I recognized someone,” Bruce says, sipping his drink.

“Hmm. Alright, then.”

“Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?” Bruce smiles, letting a hand slide across the small of your back.

“Only about a thousand times,” you giggle, leaning into your husband.

You happen to look up, and that’s when you see him staring at the two of you. Dr. Jonathan Crane. He quickly averts his eyes away, but you have already caught him.

“Is it Dr. Crane that you recognize?” you ask Bruce, motioning to where he’s standing with some other rich psychologists.

“Yeah,” Bruce exhales, shrugging, “I thought he had left the city a while ago.”

“After the asylum got turned loose? I figured so, too. Oh well,” you say, looking up at Bruce, “If he’s here, then he’s donating, so maybe it’s not so bad.”

“You have a point,” Bruce raises his eyebrows, “I’m still keeping an eye on him, though.”

You knew of a few of the villains Bruce has come in contact with, including Jonathan. He had almost killed your best friend and sent the whole city insane. Who knows what would have happened to Gotham if it weren't for Bruce. But a part of you is curious about Jonathan- a deep, intellectual part of you. Why is he still here? Is he still a doctor? Your brain becomes dizzy with all the questions. If Jonathan is here acting casually on his own accord, you could, too. You tear away from Bruce without a word, drink in hand. Bruce calls after you, panic surging through him when he realizes where you’re headed.

“Dr. Crane,” you smile upon arriving in front of him and another psychologist, “Wonderful to see you here.”

“Ah, Mrs. Wayne. I wouldn’t miss a marvelous party for a good cause. Have you met Dr. Robin here?” Jonathan smiles back, not missing a single beat.

“I have not,” you look over to the tall woman in front of Jonathan, clad in a pantsuit. You reach out a hand for her to shake, “Y/N Wayne.”

“I know who you are, Mrs. Wayne,” Dr. Robin says politely, her Australian accent strong, “Your dress is quite lovely, I must say.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile, willing her to leave so you could speak with Jonathan alone. 

“Well, I’ll be off. Seems you two have something to discuss,” Dr. Robin announces her departure, much to your relief.

“It was nice meeting you,” you say sweetly as she walks away.

“You as well, Mrs. Wayne.”

You turn to Jonathan, who clears his throat as he looks you up and down. You’re nearly the same height as him, if not slightly taller, in your heels. 

“It’s really brave of you to be here, Dr. Crane,” you turn your head to the side, giving him a closed-lip smile.

“Please, call me Jonathan,” Jonathan responds, “And what would you mean by that?”

You take a step closer to him, leaning into his ear, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Jonathan. Or should I say, Mr. Scarecrow.”

Jonathan doesn’t flinch. In fact, he grins at you as he exhales a laugh, “Those days are behind me, I’m afraid.”

“Uh-huh,” you cross your arms, “And why should I believe you?”

Jonathan glances behind you to look at Bruce, who is on edge and watching the entire conversation to ensure nothing is tried. A muscle in Jonathan’s jaw twitches, “You don’t have to. But if I were up to no good, why would I be in the presence of the Batman and his lover? Quite unintelligent, wouldn’t you think?”

“And why are you here, exactly?” 

“Trying to get myself back into the Gotham scene,” Jonathan looks at you matter-of-factly, “I’ve missed a lot being gone, you know.”

“Oh, I do know. And maybe you should’ve stayed gone,” you try not to snarl at him.

“Now, now, Mrs. Wayne. That is no way to speak to a donor,” Jonathan says, his voice dripping like honey with malice.

“You better be glad there are people around or-”

“Or what?” Jonathan asks, raising his eyebrows, a smirk itching at his lips.

“I’d fucking break you right here.”

“Sounds like a fun time. However, I’m not sure your husband would appreciate that in many, many ways.”

You scoff, “Don’t be crass. I’m not flirting with you. If I were, you’d know it.”

“There’s a fine line between desire and hatred, my dear,” Jonathan whispers in your ear, causing goosebumps to arise on your skin, “It’s a fun line to walk.”

Annoyance swells in your chest. You desperately wanted him to shut his bratty mouth. You also wanted to enjoy the rest of the party, but now that Jonathan had you riled up in anger, you wanted nothing more than to slam him against the wall and-

“Everything okay over here?” Bruce approaches suddenly, taking you by surprise.

“Everything is fine, sweetheart,” you place your hand on Bruce’s chest as a warning, “Nothing to worry about.”

“Dr. Crane isn’t bothering you, is he?” Bruce’s nostrils flare.

“Not at all,” you defend the doctor, “In fact, I’m probably annoying him.”

Bruce laughs humorlessly, “Oh, is that so?”

You cock your head at him, “Did you need something, dear?”

“Just want to speak with you privately,” Bruce says.

You go to say something, but Bruce interrupts you, “Both of you.”

If Jonathan is just as confused as you are, he doesn’t show it. 

“Lead the way, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce walks briskly to one of the guest rooms down the hall from the ballroom, making sure no one is following or watching the three of you. He ushers you and Jonathan inside, following suit before closing the door behind him. 

“You know,” Jonathan says, breaking the silence, “I never pegged Mrs. Wayne for the threatening type out of the two of you.”

You bite your tongue, and Bruce looks over at you.

“Say what you want to say. I brought the two of you in here so you could solve your conversation away from those nosy fuckers outside,” Bruce rolls his eyes, fixing his cuff links.

“We aren’t children, Bruce,” you scowl.

“Then act like it,” Bruce sasses back.

“I do not need two men on my bad side right now. Remember what happens when you’re on my bad side, Bruce?”

Bruce looks between you and Jonathan, a hint of nervousness in his eye, “Don’t bring him into this, darling.”

“No, no. I’m curious now,” Jonathan grins deviously, stepping closer to you, “What happens when someone is on your bad side, Mrs. Wayne?”

Now realizing how your words and threats may have sounded all night to Jonathan, you backpedal.

“Not what you think, Dr. Crane,” you cross your arms, taking a step back from the doctor.

“Oh really? So your antagonizing and threats don’t mean anything?”

“What do you think they mean?”

“As I said earlier, desire and hatred are very close to one another,” Jonathan says suavely, “And I honestly can’t tell which you feel toward me.”

You make a disgusted sound despite the growing need to pin this man down and give him what for. Not even sexually, but simply because you’re tired of him speaking. However, Jonathan wasn’t bad-looking by any means- and sometimes, you and Bruce liked to try new things. But you don’t think Bruce would want to fuck with a murderer and criminal, especially one he’s had close encounters within the city. Jonathan almost burned him alive once, so you aren’t sure about whatever he’s insinuating going very far with your husband. 

“Hatred,” you spit, “It’s hatred. Plus,” you look over at Bruce, “I don’t think my lover would appreciate me having anything to do with you anyway.”

Jonathan snorts, his eyes flickering between you and your husband, “Are you so sure about that?”

You furrow your brow, laughing incredulously at him, “I’m certain.”

“I don’t know,” Bruce says suddenly, “I wouldn’t mind seeing the fucker squirm on your account, Y/N.”

You nearly gasped, suddenly very aware of the animosity you were aiming at Dr. Jonathan Crane, now becoming sexual in nature. Not that you meant for it to, but now that it was insinuated out loud by someone other than Jonathan, you pondered your true feelings. As you’ve said, Jonathan was a looker. If you weren’t married to Bruce and the man wasn’t psychotic, you wouldn’t mind taking him for a ride. But you are married, and he is psychotic. 

Jonathan has his hands shoved in his pockets, a smirk on his face as he studies you, “You want this. Don’t deny it, Mrs. Wayne. I can tell by the look in your eyes.”

You purse your lips together, “What I want is for you to shut up and behave. All you do is act high and mighty when you’re nothing but a little rat.”

Bruce tries to hide his laugh by covering it with a cough, “I’ll let everyone know it’s time to leave. When I come back, you two better be taking care of things.”

You look at Bruce, who gives you a slight nod in approval to do as you wish before he steps out of the room. No one is in charge in the bedroom permanently between the two of you. The dominant role is shared or is back and forth, depending on the day. To your shock, Bruce gives you the complete reins in this situation. But Bruce knew how much you despised Dr. Crane for what he’s done, even if a part of you is desperately curious about him. Desperate enough to demean him sexually, even. You want to humiliate him. Make him cry and make him regret having even come here. You want him to think of you whenever he feels shame or embarrassment for the rest of his life. 

“A little rat, huh?” Jonathan chuckles, undoing his cufflinks.

“Yes,” you blink, forcing him to walk backward to the bed as he struggles to remove his blazer.

You shove him roughly onto the bed, watching him bounce from the mattress with a look of disorientation. Jonathan eventually gets his blazer off, discarding it onto the floor. You can’t properly climb on the bed with your gown on, so you reach behind your back, undoing the clasps that hold the silver dress together. You kick off your glittery heels, letting the gown slip to the floor in a pile. Underneath your dress, you decided a black lingerie set would do nicely. You’re glad you picked well, considering such a doting man was now staring at you like you were a piece of meat and he was starving. You try to ignore the logical side of your brain telling you this man is dangerous and crazy. But the other side of your brain is telling you that his cock is definitely dangerous and crazy, too. And you wanted to find out for sure. 

“Now,” you begin to crawl to where Jonathan wordlessly lays, watching you carefully, “Are you going to be good and keep your mouth shut, pretty boy?”

“No promises,” Jonathan flashes a toothy grin, and you angrily rip his button-up open, buttons flying everywhere across the room.

Jonathan’s mouth hangs open, “That was an expensive shirt.”

“Nothing you can’t replace,” you shrug, running your hands along Jonathan’s handsome chest before letting your nails graze his nipples.

Jonathan shudders at the feeling, and you remove your hands from him, sitting back on your heels, “Lay on the pillows.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” Jonathan purrs, doing as told, surprisingly.

You hear the door open behind you, and you turn around quickly to see Bruce.

“Everyone is cleared out. Brought some fun stuff, too,” he places a box on the floor, kicking it to the end of the bed for you to grab it.

You lean down over the edge of the bed and retrieve the box, crawling on your knees to where Jonathan lies. You open the box and hum in satisfaction at Bruce’s choice of toys and trinkets. You fiddle with one toy, dragging your gaze to Jonathan with a wicked smile on your face. But before you reveal the toy, you snatch some rope out of the box.

“Now you have no choice but to be good, Dr. Crane,” you snicker, offering Bruce some of the rope to tie Jonathan’s left wrist to the bedpost with.

You tie Jonathan’s right wrist tight enough for him not to move too much but not enough to where blood flow is cut off. Jonathan tugs at the rope, looking at you and Bruce with a nervous yet exhilarating smile.

“I’m privileged to be living such a fantasy,” Jonathan sighs.

“You’ll be wishing you had never stepped foot in this house when she’s done with you,” Bruce smirks, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling his sleeves up.

“Ah,” Jonathan laughs.

Before he can comment any further, you shove a ball gag into his mouth, strapping it behind his head securely. A deep feeling of satisfaction to him finally being quiet fills you. But the joy of seeing such an evil man at your mercy is more intense. 

“You better be glad I chose the ball gag instead of having Bruce have his way with that pretty mouth of yours, Crane,” you say, and Bruce shakes his head from where he stands beside the bed.

Drool begins seeping out of the sides of Jonathan’s mouth, and you can’t help but coo at the sight of his tightening pants and his reddening cheeks. You grab his face between your fingers, squishing his flesh. You hum in satisfaction before letting go of his face and focusing on his slacks. You all but tear his belt off his hips, hurrying to unbutton his pants before ripping them down his thighs. Bruce removes the pants the rest of the way as you climb onto Jonathan’s lap, your clothed core atop his throbbing, leaking bulge.

You kiss Jonathan’s jaw, leaving harsh bites along the column of his throat as you travel down, continuing your assault on the skin of his chest and torso. You reach the band of his underwear, which you tease with your hands, snapping the band against Jonathan’s skin. He tries his best to laugh from underneath the ball gag, spit sputtering from the gaps of his mouth. You slowly peel his underwear down his legs, watching as his hard cock slaps against his stomach. You let Bruce pull the underwear off completely, and he tosses it somewhere in the room to be found later. You lean down to lick the bead of precum off Jonathan's tip before pulling away completely, allowing Bruce the room to tie up the doctor’s ankles to the bottom bedposts. You stand at the foot of the bed, chuckling darkly as Jonathan struggles against the restraints. 

“Not so powerful now, are you, Dr. Crane?” you laugh, knowing he didn’t like you calling him by his professional name, “You look so pathetic, lying there with your poor cock out for us to see. Bet you wish one of us would touch it for you, hmm?”

Jonathan stays silent, his eyes boring into yours as he yanks his arms, testing the rope’s strength. He realizes he truly can’t move or speak and that he’s entirely at you and Bruce’s mercy. Not the worst position to be in, Jonathan thinks. 

“Which of us should do the honors?” you ask Bruce, a playful smile on your face. 

It isn’t often Bruce gets to mess with the other man during your experimental sexual encounters. Still, you figure this is personal enough for him to want to be involved. 

“You can take this one. I’ve got other plans,” Bruce says, smirking deviously.

“Oh really?” you grin, “I’m excited to see those.”

You climb back on the bed, moving toward Jonathan’s lap, where his weeping cock is getting redder by the second. Grabbing the base of it, you move it forward enough for it to meet your lips. You lap your tongue on Jonathan’s tip, smearing the precum around before licking a stripe up his entire length. You pull away, letting his cock slap painfully against his stomach again. You harshly grip Jonathan’s balls, causing him to cry out muffled. You massage them as you take his length into your mouth, bobbing your head as you continue to take him in entirely. You press your breasts into the bed, letting your ass be exposed for Bruce to take advantage of as you suck off Jonathan. Bruce wastes no time walking over to you, letting his hands run over your asscheeks before he pulls your pretty black underwear off. Bruce dips his head down to flatten his tongue against your wet slit, gathering your arousal as he swirls it around your cunt. You moan around Jonathan’s cock, causing him to twitch. 

“God, I love this pussy,” Bruce pants against you, “Too bad you can’t get a taste, Crane.”

You peer your eyes up to Jonathan’s, his icy blue eyes now dark from his blown pupils. He’s glaring at Bruce, trying to regulate his breathing as his tip hits the back of your throat. Jonathan’s eyes roll into the back of his head as you fuck him with your mouth, letting his cock slam into your throat. Jonathan tries to thrust into your mouth, but you push his hips down against the mattress. You’re slobbering, and tears are streaming down your face as you take his length as much as you can, wanting him to get as close to cumming as possible. Bruce sucks your clit harshly, letting two fingers slip into your wet pussy. You groan, the vibrations sending Jonathan batty. You feel him getting close, and you blindly fumble around for the box of toys that still remains on the bed somewhere. You find it, pulling off Jonthan’s cock as it twitches uncontrollably. He growls as you find the toy you were looking for. You give Jonathan a few pumps, gripping his length as tight as you can, watching as the precum helplessly spills from him. Before Jonathan can react or cum, you slip a cock ring onto him, sliding it down to his base. He cries out from behind the ball gag, his chest heaving. You lay your head on his thigh, watching as his cock turns bright red. Bruce continues to eat you out, his teeth brushing against your clit occasionally, causing you to moan. Your breath hits Jonathan’s angry length, making him shiver. You look him in the eyes as Bruce adds a third finger, fucking into your g spot harshly as he bites at your bundle of nerves. You maintain eye contact with Jonathan as you cum, letting your nails dig into the soft flesh on his thighs.

“Lucky for me,” you trace Jonathan’s tip teasingly with your finger, catching your breath, “I get to cum as much as I want.”

Jonathan stares at you without making a sound, focusing on his breathing so he doesn’t explode into a fine mist from the overstimulation. 

“Now it’s your turn since you’ve been a good boy,” you remove the ball gag from Jonathan’s mouth, licking up his spit from his lips before he can lick it off himself.

“Open your mouth,” you demand, and Jonathan does as told.

You gather his and your saliva in your mouth before spitting it onto his tongue. 

“Now show me how good you are at eating pussy, Dr. Crane.”

You flip yourself around, hovering over Jonathan’s face as you slowly remove the cock ring. Bruce removes his button-up, laying down between Jonathan’s spread legs. Jonathan lets out a strangled cry at the feeling of Bruce’s hot mouth on his sensitive cock. You push your pulsing cunt onto Jonathan’s face, to which he happily starts lapping hungrily. You watch as Bruce hollows his cheeks around Jonathan, and the sight alone makes you even wetter than before. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, Bruce’s eyes meeting yours.

You rock your hips against Jonathan’s tongue, urging him to continue. Jonathan wishes he could bury his fingers in your cunt, but he settles for his tongue instead. Twisting and pushing it inside you, he uses his nose to press against your clit, shaking his head. You grip Jonathan’s hair, cursing at the feeling of his tongue dragging in your walls and his nose flicking your bundle of nerves. You grasp your barely clothed breasts, letting your thumbs play with your nipples through the thin lace. Bruce moans around Jonathan while watching you, letting Jonathan fuck into his throat.

“Wanna cum, you piece of shit?” Bruce pulls off Jonathan, who gasps a ‘yes,’ “Be careful what you ask for,” Bruce chuckles.

You plan on milking the doctor for all he’s got all night. You want him spent and begging for mercy. Anything to make him miserable.

Bruce takes Jonathan back into his mouth, bobbing up and down quickly and stroking what he won’t take into his mouth. Bruce allows Jonathan to buck his hips into his face. Jonathan lets out a pitiful cry as he cums in your husband’s mouth, white-hot spurts of seed shooting down Bruce’s throat. You feel Jonathan roll your clit between his teeth before sucking it between his lips as he rides his high. You growl, letting your self-control go out the window. You chase your own high, letting Jonathan torture and tease your bundle of nerves with his tongue and teeth until you finally release in his mouth. Jonathan slurps and suckles every drop of your arousal from your cunt, licking until you pull off him. 

“Lucky for you,” you pant, beginning to untie the rope bound to Jonathan’s wrists, “This next part requires your cooperation. Promise you’ll behave?”

“Yes, Mrs. Wayne,” Jonathan nods.

You let Bruce finish untying the doctor as you discard your bra. You instruct Jonathan to move to the side, allowing you to lie down in his place. You demand that Jonathan climb on top of you. he does as told, and Bruce roughly pushes Jonthan’s face into your chest. You laugh at Bruce’s typical roughness, especially when it makes Jonathan look flustered. His ass is now in the air, revealed to Bruce. 

“Have you ever been fucked in the ass like a good boy?” you ask Jonathan, your fingers in his hair.

He doesn’t look at you or respond.

“I’m asking you a question, Jonathaaan,” you say threateningly, your fingers now gripping his hair harshly as you lift his head for him to look at you.

“No,” Jonathan says breathlessly.

“Well, that’s about to change,” you say, “Any regrets about being smart-mouthed to me yet, Dr. Crane?”

Jonathan glares at you, panting as Bruce spreads his ass apart, “Not yet.”

“Good,” you smile, letting his head drop abc to your chest, “Now obey me and show me how much you’re enjoying this.”

You move Jonathan’s face, maneuvering his mouth to your hardened and sensitive nipple. Bruce takes some lube from the box he brought, smearing it against his fingers before teasing Jonathan’s asshole with the tip of his index finger. Jonathan keens around you, his body beginning to shake as Bruce slowly pushes a finger inside him. Jonathan sucks harshly on your nipple, gasping as your husband wiggles his finger inside his tight ass. He laps at your bud, focusing on trying to please you and taking Bruce’s long finger simultaneously. A second finger is added, stretching Jonathan further. The doctor lets out a sharp groan at the delectable burn. He attacks your other breast, letting his finger circle around the one he was just attached to. Bruce prods a third finger into Jonathan, and he lurches forward from the feeling of fullness. 

“If you think you’re full now, just wait for Bruce’s fat cock, baby boy,” you taunt.

Bruce twists and curls his fingers inside Jonathan, doing his best to prep him for his unforgiving length. When he pulls his hand away, Jonathan gasps from the sudden emptiness. Bruce spreads his ass apart again, his slacks and underwear now discarded as his hardened cock pressed against Joanthan’s gaping hole. Jonathan whimpers around your nipple, pausing momentarily as Bruce slides himself into Jonathan. 

“Fuck,” Jonathan shudders.

“You can stop now. I need you elsewhere,” you pull Jonathan’s head off your breasts, sneaking your hand between the two of you to his newly hardened cock, stroking it in your hand in time for Bruce to bottom out. 

Jonathan whines, collapsing on your torso as the air leaves him.

“Tapped out already?” you pout, sticking your bottom lip out at Jonathan when you lift his head by his hair again, “Too fucking bad.”

Bruce then pulls out of Jonathan almost all the way before slamming back into him, his tip brushing against Jonathan’s prostate. Jonathan screams as you guide his cock between your slick folds, his body overstimulated. You let Jonathan weakly push his length inside your soaking cunt, your walls enveloping him immediately. Bruce wraps an arm around Jonathan’s chest, anchoring himself to the doctor. His other hand grips Jonathan’s hip with intensity. The feeling of Bruce pounding into Jonathan’s tight little ass affects you directly as Jonathan pushes deeper inside you every time Bruce thrusts into him. Soon, a rhythm is established, and you’re nearly in tears from pleasure as you watch Jonathan become a withering, crying mess underneath Bruce. 

“Doing so good taking Bruce’s huge cock,” you praise Jonathan, bucking your hips with his every time he involuntarily moves forward, “You could at least try a little harder to fuck me like you want to, though.”

Jonathan’s forehead is teeming with sweat as he struggles to actually thrust into you while Bruce fucks into his prostate. You give him the benefit of the doubt- the first time getting fucked in the ass is intense. So you rock and swivel your hips on Jonathan’s cock roughly, letting him reach up to grab your breasts for leverage. He pinches your nipples, twisting them hard, sending electricity to your cunt. You pulse around Jonathan’s length, causing him to grunt miserably. Bruce’s hips are slapping onto Jonathan’s asscheeks loudly, and Jonathan’s cock twitches pitifully inside you.

“Cum, sweet thing,” you coax Jonathan, whose hair has long since lost its gel hold and has begun flopping into his face, “Cum inside me.”

Jonathan starts fucking into you the best he can, tears streaming down his face as he cums, a hoarse scream leaving his throat. Bruce is still fucking him without mercy, and you let Jonathan’s soft cock remain inside you as he whimpers helplessly, his hands gripping your sides.

“That’s it,” you praise him gently, “Let Batman fuck you silly like you deserve.”

Jonathan peers up at you, giving you the dirtiest look he can muster as you cackle, Bruce grunting as he cums inside Jonthan’s ass and on his back. 

“Christ,” Bruce sighs, pushing his hair from his face as he winces, pulling out of Jonathan’s quivering asshole.

Jonathan collapses on top of you in a mess of sweat, tears, and cum. You let him catch his breath before sliding out from under him.

“One last thing, sweetie,” you say, your tone sugary, “Sit up on the bed for us.”

Jonathan weakly pushes himself up, flipping onto his back and laying his head on the pillows.

“Touch yourself,” you demand, sitting on your knees at the end of the bed beside Bruce, “I want you to cum until you can’t cum anymore.”

Jonathan opens his mouth to protest, but you motion for him to shush, to which he tiredly gives in. You dip your hand to your slick clit, swiping at it as Jonathan strokes his sensitive cock for you. Bruce watches you and Jonathan touch yourselves, unable to really get himself up again. He instead sits behind you, playing with your tits and rubbing his large hands on your hot, sticky skin. Bruce relishes in watching Jonathan fall apart as he looks away in embarrassment.

“Keep your eyes on me, Crane,” Bruce’s voice booms, making Jonathan jump.

Jonathan gulps, reluctantly keeping eye contact with Bruce as he bucks into his hand, moaning hoarsely as he gets close. He can’t help but think about how he was between the two of you, getting fucked by you and Bruce at the same time. With that, cum shoots from his overused cock onto his stomach, and he cries out in embarrassment when you demand he get off again.

You stay like that, letting Bruce replace your hand as you spread your legs further open to allow him to fuck you with his fingers. You bounce on them, moaning quietly as Jonathan fights to keep his eyes open, his wrist flicking to the best of his ability. The night goes on, and Jonathan eventually taps out, sobbing almost uncontrollably as he runs out of cum. You and Bruce give him time alone before slowly moving him to the shower, where you help him wash off. You and your husband also washed yourselves off, assisting Jonathan out of the shower when you were all done. He’s wrapped in a towel, wincing as he walks back to the bed and curls up under the covers. You follow suit, wrapping your arms around Jonathan and soothing him as he finally falls asleep. Bruce holds you from behind, sighing contently.

“Too bad it takes doing this to humble a villain,” Bruce jokes.

“And the fact I could help was exciting,” you chuckle, “I never get to fight criminals like you do.”

“Maybe you should. You’ve got the mouth for it. Your sass is unmatched,” Bruce buries his nose in your hair.

“Mmm, I think I’m good,” you say, stroking Jonathan’s hair out of his face, “One villain is enough for me, I think.”

You and Bruce quietly watch the evil, despicable fucker sleep soundly. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask Bruce, to which he tries not to burst out laughing.

“So you can torture him more? Absolutely.”

“Awesome.”

taglist:

@sstar-ggirl @cillsmurphs @ldklollord @thecherrycocktail @dunklerkeks1611 @hllywdwhre @ecstaticforus @faelvz @ceruleanrainblues @yongi-lee @baizzhu @aporiasposts @hjmalmed @queenshelby @amanda08319 @naty-1001 @orijanko @raineeace @nela-cutie @cutexlr @flwrs4aust @langdons-slut @shynovelist @trixie23 @cillianbabe @slut4thebroken @mypoisonedvine @burnyouwithacigarettelighter @cranesbathtowel @arieslost @nefhertari @forgottenpeakywriter @llucky-llove @october-atoner @madlittlecriminal @ynisthatyou @starbxnny @darkmoviesquotespizza @newtsniffles

[strxngewitch02]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS.

Pairing: Jim x Fem!Reader.

Song: Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 8.3k.

Summary: You were friends with Jim but slowly you began to have a crush on him which became more than you could bear as he was already married but that didn’t stop the both of you. 

please ignore the cliche plot the smut makes up for it, I swear. :')

+ WARNINGS: smut (18+!) angst, Jim being soft, fingering, p in v, no protection, praise kink, adultery, cursing.

~~

You messed up. 

That’s it. You messed up. 

You allowed yourself to be carried away and swept up within the moment that wasn’t even supposed to happen. if it weren’t for the way he was gazing at you with his piercing yet mesmerizing pale blue hues or maybe the way he grazed you with his finger tips that sent small sparks throughout your body then maybe just maybe you wouldn’t have ended up bare in the sheets with the man who was already married..

Married to another woman..  

The worst part out of all of this, is that you knew he was married. The fact that you knew and you allowed it to happen. You have every right to feel revolted with yourself right now. If the universe or god or any great entity that controlled this vast universe it definitely  knows how much you loathe yourself right now. You needed to slow down and think about how this even happened. 

You lived in a Suburban neighborhood–  in Dublin, east coast of Ireland. A single mother with a beautiful nine year old daughter named Mary, a journalist for your own advice column and a part time Pilates trainer at a studio that your sister owned. As far as you knew, your life was normal. Between spending time with your daughter and your jobs, your  schedule flowed perfectly together. You would be able to drop Mary off in the morning for school, teach class later on in the morning  and you would be able to go home during the day to work on your advice column before picking Mary up from school, then the cycle repeats unless otherwise. 

You’ve always been on your own. Having a daughter and two jobs, your love life was a punchline of a lame joke. In case you are wondering about Mary’s father, that’s a whole other story of its own, let’s just say he was completely out of the picture. 

You would be lying if you told someone that it didn’t feel lonely sometimes. It was lonely, it was incredibly lonely; of course you’ve made multiple attempts to at least go out on a few dates and have a nightstand if you were lucky enough but most of the time those don’t even work out. 

And It’s not because you weren’t attractive, no it was quite the opposite. In fact, you were quite beautiful– which was ironic for you because when you were younger your father called you the ugly duckling between you and your sister but then you prospered into a beautiful swan as you grew older. Like any normal person you still have your insecurities (no thanks to dad) yet overall you felt secure with yourself.

Clearly, your beauty wasn't the reason why your love life was shriveling away like a dried up raisin. It was the fact that you were picky, and you knew your heart wouldn’t always be completely in it. You weren’t that kind of person to simply have one night stands– but you admire those who do without forming any kind of connection that wasn’t only based on physical attraction. 

You’ve tried and even though it felt good to have that void in your chest to be filled in that  moment, the lingering feeling of desolation and melancholy always crawls its way back in. It wasn’t good for your mental health  and it wasn’t good for your daughter. So you were only left with your jobs and your delusions of a love life to suddenly appear. But you knew deep down that Mary deserved a good father figure while she’s still young and you shouldn’t put so much hope into your fantasies.  

Mary was a sweet girl, too sweet for her own good– she has a beautiful mix of your features and her father’s. The features that she shared from her father never bothered you either as you knew it wasn’t her fault that she was placed here on this earth because you didn’t wrap it until you tapped it. Of course, you and Mary’s relationship wasn’t always perfect but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You love her regardless– with all of your heart. Mary was the ray of sunshine you had in your life and  you were more than happy to be her mother. 

Knowing how kindhearted and smart your daughter was, she had many friends in her school. Even during teacher and parent conferences you’ve always been told many times how she loved helping the other kids, and the only times she would get in trouble was due to how talkative she was and you didn’t think it was a problem either.

And that’s how you met him. 

It was a gray and cloudy weekday, as you got off the phone with Mary’s teacher claiming that it was after school and Mary was waiting for you. Accidently getting caught up with your advice catalog time went by over your head without even realizing and now your child is sitting in the school alone and you knew she was going to be a little..not little definitely upset with you.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Curses and all other kinds of profanities spilled from your lips as you frantically slipped on your mini cotton black trench coat. Your foot practically kicked down your front door before running like a trackstar to your car. Fortunately you didn’t live too far from the school and, without getting caught speeding past red lights, you managed to arrive at school where your daughter was currently waiting at. 

Your hasty footsteps echoed throughout the hallways of the school as you moved through with only one destination in mind, which was your child’s classroom. Once you were close to the classroom where Mary was, you halted in your footsteps as you watched Mary leave the classroom with two other kids, a boy and a girl and then a man. A man that you knew well wasn't Mary’s teacher so you assumed that it must be the other children’s father. 

Furrowing your slightly together you couldn’t help but to feel a little confused but relieved that at least you weren’t the only parent that wasn’t perfect. But it also did make you feel a bit skeptical as it is why a random man would be with kids and your only daughter. 

“Mary!” You called out to her, your tone airy yet smooth which caught the attention of your daughter and the man. Immediately,  your mind stopped racing and your heart leaped from your chest as his entrancing stunning ocean eyes met yours. It was as if his eyes had some deep hidden meaning behind them, it almost made you feel a little intimidated– how tired yet pierce his eyes were. His figure was lean but the broadness of his chest also stood out, along with his dark but slightly graying tresses, his sharp jawline, high cheekbones, his plump yet light pink lips, and smooth yet freckled fair skin…

Pretty.. You thought.

But as quickly as you fell in a captivated daze you quickly pulled yourself out of it the same way, you knew well that you were attracted to this man but considering how he was here and with kids– you can assume he is married or hope he wasn’t a random stranger. 

“Mom!” You hear Mary call out happily as she walks towards you. A wholehearted smile took over your lips as you lovingly gazed down at her, allowing your hand to gently caress her back pulling her to your side. Thank god that she wasn’t upset with you. “I am so sorry, babygirl, I lost track of time.��� You said softly as you felt Mary raise her head up to look at you. “It’s okay, I was with them.” she responded looking over at the alluring man and his kids who were in fact walking in your direction. 

With each step he took you could feel your heart pound in your chest as he was now approaching you, his hands stuffed in his dark blue puffy jacket along with his kids who followed behind him and soon had their own conversation with Mary. 

The man only gave you an awkward half smile as his gaze never left your form, you can tell that he was definitely on the reserved side. “Hi, you’re their father?” You asked giving him a little smile in return, then you couldn’t help but to mentally slap yourself a little bit with the question as you noticed in fact the boy and girl that were talking to Mary did in fact look like him. You watched as the man blinked in confusion for a moment, being thrown off by your question– you could feel  the conversation instantly dying before it even started. 

A  dry airy chuckle left your lips as you felt yourself cringe, “I-I’m sorry, stupid question– I was just..” before you could finish your sentence you heard a deep chuckle coming from him stopping you from rambling. “No, No it’s fine.” He says softly, shaking his head for a second with the same ghostly smile. “I get it, I would wonder the same thing  if a random man would be standing with my kids too, it would be really weird..” he paused for a moment before continuing, “I-uh, I was also late picking up my kids so yeah..” He briefly elaborated as you felt yourself relax as another gentle relieved chuckle left your lips, watching him. His voice was smooth and sonorous, it sent unwavering shivers throughout your body. Just by looking at him– he had a lingering forlorn yet cryptic aura surrounding him and it was reeling you in like a moth to a light. You hoped you didn’t look too obvious. 

“I totally get you, I was just caught up with work that I didn’t realize that time flew by, you know?” You smiled warmly and for a moment you thought you saw him falter. 

“I’m Y/N.” 

You watched as his little timid faint grin formed into a genuine smile. It was as if air was caught in your throat, your heart fluttered  at the sight of his smile. You felt proud of yourself that you managed to make him smile.

“Jim..Nice to meet you.” He introduced himself  politely as he extended his hand towards you which you did your best not to look eager to grab and shook his hand in a little handshake. You immediately caught the golden band on his finger indicating he was indeed vowed to someone else. You couldn’t help but not be able to suppress the disappointment that flooded through your body. He had a wife and kids.The forced mentality of  ‘it is what it is’ came into mind. And the attraction you had for Jim will most likely be temporary. 

Unfortunately, the kids manage to break the tension between you, asking if they can walk together. You and Jim didn’t mind as you all walked out of the school together. You managed to hold a longer conversation with him, taking the opportunity to get to know him better. 

Jim was definitely a man with a few words, and was more listening to you than you listening to him but he still present with you in the conversation. You both share a mutual affection for your kids, and you both worked at home– it was nice to share similarities with someone, to you it always made you feel like you were understood better, and you hoped he felt the same way. Although it's not uncommon to understand another parent- but  between you and Jim you both just want to get through the day. 

Luckily, It wasn’t just you that genuinely enjoyed his company as he offered to exchange numbers before parting ways. As this began to possibly be the start of a beautiful friendship for you.

You knew you were going to see him again soon, maybe for the rest of the following week. And you were right, when you picked up Mary on time for the rest of the week you would sometimes see Jim walk out with his kids. You two would exchange waves and polite smiles then carry on. Despite exchanging numbers neither of you made the first move to send a text first. You felt a little disappointed but you knew that maybe it was for the best and you shouldn’t look for some sort of connection that wasn’t there in the first place, let alone a text. 

Jim has a wife. That is that —  you two are also just acquaintances, and your kids are friends. That is all. Yet,  that didn’t stop your thoughts always trailing back to him– and you began to feel a little angry with yourself for it. Were you truly so lonely to be thinking about a man you only had spoken once? 

What is wrong with you?

 Get over this crush already. 

This would go on until the end of the week on a Friday, just as you and your daughter got home from school, a gentle ding emitted from your pocket. Stepping into the house, closing the door behind you, you took out your phone. You didn’t get to see who texted you as you heard Mary’s loud footsteps run off to the kitchen leaving her jacket on the floor along with her book bag.. 

“Mom, I am going to have a cookie!” she said loudly before you could respond you already heard the cabinet shut. Shaking your head you released an exasperated sigh, “Mary, please pick up after yourself! And don’t eat all of them!” You responded raising your voice a little bit while locking the door behind you. 

Another ding went off on your phone once more adding waves to your annoyance. Who was trying to contact you? A gentle frown painted over your lips as your hand reached into the buttpocket of your jeans to grab your phone to see that you got a message from an unknown number. 

Hey, It’s the random man from school.

Kidding, it’s me Jim. 

You felt your heart stop beating in your chest for a split moment as you vacantly stared down at the gray text bubbles that were on your little phone screen. You felt many waves of emotions crash down on you– denial, shock, guilt, and then excitement. Gradually a ghostly smile was painted on your lips replacing the gentle frown that was present a few moments ago, just when you began to accept that nothing was going to happen.

It was funnily convenient. 

You didn’t gloss over the fact that he remembered your conversation when you guys first spoke to each other as you felt your heart skip a beat once more. 

Had he been thinking about you as well? 

You can still be wrong that maybe he just wanted to ask you something about school or your kids and that would still be fine. This was nothing, harmless– this wouldn’t escalate to anything more. Just keep it short and simple. 

After a few minutes of typing and deleting your message multiple times to think how you should respond due to your mixed emotions of anxiety and excitement— you finally responded to him.  

Hi, Jim! Lol. How are you? 

You had no idea that after sending back that one message, you guys would be texting for the rest of that day. 

** **

It is strange how someone can go from being a stranger to a good friend to someone you ended up falling for. You knew it was a bad idea the minute you laid your eyes on him and somehow like a black hole Jim effortlessly sucked you in. Ever since the first text he had sent you, you guys began to talk everyday; through texts, and eventually calls. It only has been a few weeks since you guys first met. 

 You even discovered that he only lived a few blocks away from you which resulted in a lot of Mary having playdates with his daughter. This became a normal thing, almost every Friday Mary would have these playdates. The first time when he was at your house it was a bit awkward since you were used to only talking to him over text or calls but with a cup of coffee you both relaxed and talked how you guys normally do in the dining room while the girls would be hanging out in Mary’s room. 

It also didn’t help how being around his calming presence made you feel so comfortable, made you feel like you could tell him anything and he would just listen to you. 

You often wondered if his wife knew about your friendship with him, or if she even knew about you at all. She probably does since her daughter occasionally hangs out with Mary almost every Friday, you knew you shouldn’t even be thinking about those kinds of things. 

Everything felt good, way too good. And with your luck you knew when things feel way too good, that means things were going to take a painful turn. 

Sitting criss cross on your living room couch alone in the house on a Tuesday afternoon, you were on the phone with Jim. As usual with a dumb happy grin on your face you guys talked and it ended up with him assisting you with your advice column on your laptop. 

“A twenty year old girl in college got heartbroken by her boyfriend she dated since childhood because he cheated on her and she wants to go back and talk to him but she knows it’s wrong. What should she do?” You asked as the grin never wavered from your lips. 

“Maybe go to more parties and get wasted and she’ll find another guy by the end of the second semester?” You jokingly snickered as you leaned back against the couch, your muscles easing into the cushions. Hearing Jim’s light chuckle on the other line of the phone. 

“God no. What kind of fucking advice is that?” Jim asked playfully, still chuckling softly, you could feel your heart flutter at the sound that came from him.

“Okay, Okay, fine– I am not going to say that. But she is only twenty and she has so many other things to worry about other than a boy. Like her possible career and her friends and her future! And she should try and focus on that instead.” You exclaimed. 

“That is much better. Way better than the last answer.” Jim responded, causing you to laugh softly, shaking your head slightly as your gaze stared down at your laptop, your fingers gently pressing on the letters on your keyboard, typing up your answer. 

“Alright done, give this a listen.” 

“Shoot.” 

You cleared your throat a little bit as you began to read. “You lost someone important to you, and how you feel is completely valid. But you have to feel your feelings out, and try to focus on what’s really important. Such as yourself, your career, and future– going back to him won’t change what happened. Remember that you have friends and family to support you. And that you’re not alone in this. All you can do is try to take care of yourself.”

Jim was silent, as you finished reading which caused you to fiddle in your seat a little. 

“Thoughts?” You asked wondering what he was thinking. 

“That was good, pretty good.” He responded nonchalantly, almost being blunt which caused you to worry a little bit, your grin faltering slightly. 

“Is that all? Should I add more? It sounds like you don’t like it.” You asked reluctantly. 

Jim was quick to encounter your statement. “No,no,no! I do. I really do like it. It’s really sweet of you, It’s lovely, you’re lovely.” 

You could feel the blood rushing up into your cheeks, turning into a harsh crimson hue. Who knew a  simple compliment could make you feel so smitten? Silence hovered over the two of you for a moment until Jim was the first one to break it. 

“Y/N?” He called out to you softly pulling you out from your daze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go silent on you.” You chuckled nervously. It was just his last comment.

“No it’s fine..” He paused for a moment. “I don’t know what has come over me.” Jim said softly back to his timid tone. This only made your heart race once more as you sighed softly. 

“I appreciate it, thank you for being my assistant.” You did your best to save this conversation from turning tense. And it felt like it didn’t make the slightest difference. 

“I mean it, you know?” 

You paused once more the burning sensation in your cheeks didn’t change. Now intently listening to him as you can hear him about to say more. 

“You really are lovely, Y/N..I mean it.” 

There it was…That tension again, the suffocating tension that made you feel like you were drowning. And within that moment, like a wave crashing and meeting the ocean shore,  you knew that you were falling hard for him, wiping the grin that was on your lips away. 

 Then the golden band on his finger flashed in your mind. 

No, you can’t do this. 

“Jim, what do you mean by that?” You asked him hesitantly yet firmly as you removed your laptop from your grasp before grabbing your phone, taking it off of the speaker and pressing it against your ear. 

“What do you mean by what I mean?” He asked, sounding a bit taken back by your sudden question. “Did I say something wrong?” 

“No, I was just…I don’t know how to explain it but that felt like more than a compliment.” You stated as you paused once more, were you overthinking this? You were about to open your mouth to cut the silence but then Jim interrupted you. 

“Because it was more than a compliment.” 

In that moment, It was as if something took over your body and possessed you, this confession spilled from your lips like vomit.

 “Jim, I think I am falling for you.” You breathed out.  

Then a tense silence completely consumed the both of you. 

Oh fuck, did I really say that!? You mentally wanted to slam your face against the table. Fuck, you had to fix this quick. No, there was no way of fixing this now, you fucking blew it. 

“Jim, I'm sorry. You’re married and I shouldn’t have said that. Fuck, I am an idiot, I am so so sorry.” You began to ramble, not letting Jim be able to interrupt you. “Y/N wait, wait-” but you weren’t listening as your thumb slammed on the red at the bottom of your screen ending the call. 

This was a long awaited painful turn that you’ve brought on yourself. Now all that was left was you and your panicked and raging thoughts. You clearly took it too far, getting caught up in the moment that it left you feeling like an idiot.

** **

 It was your day off today from the Pilates studio and you didn’t have to do much for your advice column. So for the rest of that morning you took the time to clean up the house. Mary was in school so it was just you alone at home– singing softly to yourself as you were finishing up with doing laundry. Neatly folding what was last of the laundry in your basket, feeling the warmth of the fresh cotton fabric between your fingers before placing it with the other piles of clothes on your bed. 

It has been two days since your confession with Jim. You did what was best for you, and you began ignoring his texts and dodged his calls. This was morally wrong and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself even more.

“And you know damn well..For you, I would ruin myself, A million little times..”

You sang softly as the tender melody came to an end on your phone dying down, you would glance at your phone a few times that was sitting on your nightstand, in hopes you would catch your phone displaying Jim’s name across the screen but to your disappointment it didn’t, why would it? So you can ignore it more or have a war with yourself whether you should drop the silent treatment or not?  No. At this point you would understand why he would give up. 

A gentle sigh leaving your lips as your mind begins to aimlessly wander about your conflicted feelings. You want to believe that it would remain as a friendship but you knew damn well that slowly this entire time it turned more than a friendship to you. Feelings were completely one sided, he was married and he was only being kind to you because both of your daughters are friends. You were scared that harboring these feelings would become so heavy that eventually it’ll crush you and it did. You were playing with fire and you got burned.

Just as the next song on your phone began to play, a loud knock on your front door echoed throughout the house shaking you out of your thoughts. Feeling your brows knit together you walked out of your room heading towards the front door.

 Who could that be?

 You wondered as your hand gently grasped the doorknob pulling it open to reveal Jim gazing at you with a bit of desperate yet defeated expression with his phone in hand. 

It was like you were faced with a jumpscare as you felt your eyes widen and without thinking you tried to close the door on Jim but he was too quick as he managed to slip his shoe between the door leaving it ajar. “Y-Y/N, please can we talk? Please just for a second.” He said in a deep raspy tone. His voice crack manages to burn itself into your mind. 

You stood still for a moment before opening the door more widely for him to step into your house, now alone just between you and the married man you had fallen for. You took a few steps back away from him with your arms folded over your chest, your gaze not leaving his form. Once he was inside the house he closed the door behind him– “You didn’t think of picking up your phone when I called you? Or my texts?” He asked, sounding a bit tired as his piercing yet stunning ripples of ocean blue gaze bore into yours, spawning goosebumps on your skin. 

“How could I after that? So I can embarrass myself some more?” You asked with sarcasm evidently dripping from your tone as you watched Jim roll his eyes a little at your remark. “I am serious, Y/N.” He said, sounding a little more soft as he took a step towards you. 

“So am I, Jim. You’re my friend, I was stupid, I shouldn’t have said what I said, you’re married and–” You weren’t sure how much your heart could take at this moment. It was hammering so hard that it felt like it was building something, along with the backflips your stomach was doing it was becoming agonizing. 

You could feel his warmth from where you were standing as you broke away from his gaze as you turned your head away from him but only for Jim to gingerly cup your cheek turning your face back to look at him immediately putting an end to your rambles. “Hang on a second, hang on a second Y/N..” Jim said his tone was still soft, as he looked down at you his lips curled slightly down forming a frown his eyebrows knitted slightly together causing a little wrinkles to form between them. His touch was so warm you did your best not to melt into him. 

“This is so fucking mortifying Jim, you shouldn’t even be here.” You could feel your throat go dry as your eyes became misty, placing your hand over his shoulder weakly attempting to push him away but he stayed still in his spot. “Listen to me, please.” You kept your gaze down refusing to meet his gaze.

 “You’re not an idiot for telling me how you felt that day alright? Don’t think that I haven’t thought of you the same way. I have. If I didn't, I wouldn’t have told you that a compliment was meant to be more.” Jim exclaimed quietly a gentle airy dry chuckle leaving his lips as his thumb gently caressed your cheekbone. You only shook your head as you used your freehand to gently pull his hand away from your cheek and it only resulted in him intertwining your fingers together. 

“You’re lying.You were just being polite.” You said your breathing became uneven, clenching your jaw slightly– you didn’t realize how you were shaking in his grasp. Jim only continued to keep you close and you couldn’t find yourself pulling away from him, your hand still in his. 

This was happening, really happening. 

“I-I, Why would I lie to you about that?” He asked in a genuine yearning tone. “Because you feel bad for me. I am a single mother alone here with no one to talk to of course you would.” You snapped suddenly feeling a little aggressive but Jim didn’t seem fazed by it. 

“That isn’t true at all, Y/N. Not even close.” You can detect the hurt and how despondent he felt in his voice, the need to prove himself to you. You remained silent as you continued averting your gaze from his and he seemed to notice it as he called out to you once more. 

“Look at me..” 

You closed your eyes for a moment, keeping your chin faintly down completely avoiding his gaze, as you knew if you looked at him you would completely succumb to him. 

“Y/N… Look at me.”  He softly implored once more. 

After a few moments, you sighed quietly and you finally complied, opening your eyes looking back up at him as he gazed down at you with a gentle expression. It was like he knew how fragile you felt in this moment. You watched at how his eyes flickered at your features to your eyes then back to your lips, causing your features to soften. 

Both of you remained silent as he gently squeezed your hand before releasing your hand, attentively, he placed your palm against his chest. You can feel his heart beating rapidly against your palm, like his heart was trying to burst free from his chest cavity. “Feel that?” Jim breathed out as he gazed down at you, keeping your palm firmly against his chest. “My heart is beating out of my chest, Y/N.. Can you feel how fast it’s going?” He asked, a bit breathless with a faint smile. 

You didn’t realize how close you two were as your faces were inches from each other, breath gently fanning against your lips–the tip of his nose gently grazing yours. “Yeah..” You only murmured now a little airy laugh slipped from your lips at how this felt like you were in a scene of a movie, but it wasn’t this was in fact real as your forehead lightly rested against his. 

Jim wasn’t lying as you could literally feel how anxious he was in your palm. His heart beating against your hand, you knew you weren’t just feeling how nervous he was. You were feeling how much he cared about you. 

How his heart was beating for you…

Feeling his dark tresses brush against your forehead, you released an inaudible shaky exhale. Your fingers curling up now grasping his shirt, his lips gently brushing against yours sending sparks throughout your being. This was all becoming too much, as it felt like Jim read your mind. “Fuck it..” He whispered as he closed the distance between you, eagerly capturing your lips with his as his fingers now rested on the side of your head keeping you still. 

That’s right.. Fuck it.

You could feel your heated skin crawl by how powerful the emotion behind his kisses. His kisses fill you with nothing but thoughts of him, you didn’t hesitate to return his kisses matching his passion. He was invading your mind, body and soul– you desperately pulled him closer. Wanting him to take everything you have, wanting his thoughts to be filled with you too as your lips moved languidly together with fervor. 

A gentle gasp left your lips as you felt his tongue swipe at your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth tasting you. A deep groan erupted from his mouth, god you loved his groans, he wanted you and he wanted to let you know that he did. The way his lips moved with yours, the sound of your breaths swallowing each other’s as your hands explored each other’s bodies leaving a firework like sensation through your clothed skin. 

It left you ravenous for more. 

“Jump..” Jim whispered against your lips, you immediately obeyed as you jumped, and instantly you felt his hands catch you. Your legs draped around his waist as his hands were under your thighs keeping you still now walking you to your room impressively without breaking the feverish kisses, tongues tangled, and hands squeezing and gripping each other. 

Jim effortlessly shoved away your neatly folded laundry off the bed before gently placing you on the mattress. Everything seemed to fade into a beautiful blur as you felt your back melt into the mattress, his body hovering over yours, as nothing else seemed to matter anymore. What only mattered was you and Jim in this moment, exploring these intense emotions that you both held for each other. Keeping your legs around his torso, diminishing the space between you two, you felt his restrained erection from his jeans as he gently grinded his hips against yours causing a moan to escape from your small frame but only to be muffled by his soft lips that were against yours. 

There was no stopping now, as you could feel the warm dampness pool in your underwear– your bodies molding together like colors on a canvas. Your hands slipped underneath his shirt feeling the movement of his back muscles moving beneath your touch. Jim then pulled away from the kiss now sitting up causing you to grunt quietly out of disapprovement wanting him to come back as he quickly discarded his ebony quarter sleeve top revealing his chest. With half lidded dazed eyes you watched as he gazed down at you with his sharp sunken ocean blue optics that were clouded with nothing but desire for you. 

Both of you were breathing heavily, aching to taste each other’s lips once more. “May I?” He asked softly as his fingers gently fiddled with the hem of your shirt. You nodded your head giving him consent to remove your white oversized t-shirt. You knew you weren’t wearing a bra underneath your shirt. You were at home, so why would you wear one? 

He swiftly removed your top, revealing your breasts– the cool air nipped at your heated skin feeling your nipples turn hard from the little breeze. In a pleasurable haze you continued to watch the way his lashes fluttered against his freckled cheeks as your heaving bosom was now exposed for him to take in. His gazed burned into your skin causing you to shiver once more, watching his lust filled eyes rake down from your exposed neck to your torso. You felt so bare in front of him, it was as if your skin was translucent and he could see right through you. 

Reading your thoughts, your emotions, your heart– it made you flushed. That was another thing you adore about him, how blue his eyes were and how a simple glance from him can make you shiver. Jim then leaned back down over you but this time you felt his fingertips delicately trace your body feeling every contour of your skin,  trailing his fingertips from your abdomen to the valley of your chest to your cheek, while he was using his other arm to hold himself over you so he wouldn’t crush you completely with his weight. 

You sucked in a sharp inhale as you felt his face lean in towards you nuzzling his nose in the nape of your neck before pressing featherlike kisses on your neck. Your eyes fluttered to a close tilting your head more to the side giving him more access to your neck, your cheek resting against his palm.  Jim didn’t hesitate to nibble and kiss as much of your skin as possible leaving you breathless.

You were aching so bad for him that it began to hurt. You could feel his lips at one spot before going to another and next thing you know he was everywhere, just worshiping you with his lips. His lips trailing down to your body, going from your neck, collarbone, then to your heaving breast. “You’re so beautiful..” Jim whispered as he kissed the center of your chest where your heartbeat was. His praise causes your pussy to clench at nothing but air.

“Jim..” You whimpered out softly as you needed him. “I got you, sweetheart. Just let me enjoy this.” He murmured as he then lowered his mouth to your breasts and glided his tongue across your nipple, earning a moan out of you as he covered your right breast with his mouth completely. While his other hand slipped past the waistband of your pajama shorts, into your underwear. You gasped softly at the cool sensation of his fingers feeling the slit of your wet folds. “You’re so wet, for me Y/N...” Jim chuckled quietly before moving his mouth to tend your other breast giving it the same attention. 

Patience was treading on thin ice with you, and you knew Jim was teasing you. And you damn well knew that he wasn’t lying either. Your underwear was beyond saving considering how aroused you were, seriously you swore you felt your arousal drip between your inner thighs until you felt Jim’s middle finger flick against your throbbing nub between your legs causing your body to jolt with a moan spilling from your lips. 

Jim took notice as he continued circling your clit with his finger feeling up your juices before slipping in his middle finger into your pussy with a gentle squelch noise. “Fuck Jim!” You whined softly in ecstasy feeling your head fall back deeper against the pillow your eyes still clamped shut as Jim pumped his finger in and out of you in a slow pace before building speed, his middle finger curling up inside of you hitting your g spot within your warm tight wet walls. 

You felt Jim pull away from your breasts before pressing his lips back onto yours muffling your moans as his tongue slipped back into your mouth mingling with yours, he then added another finger stretching you out once more causing you to whimper against his lips, as he fucked you fast and hard with his fingers despite the little room he had in your shorts and underwear.

Clearly he was preparing you and this was the only start of what was going to happen. With so much pleasure you were desperate to hold onto something, as your hands found his shoulders gripping him for dear life, the knot in your tummy beginning growing tighter, your folds fluttering shut against his fingers.

God, you have forgotten how good it felt to be touched like this, to have someone’s undivided attention on you and your pleasure alone. As the only times you had sex they would either finish too fast and leave you unsatisfied or they would make you focus on them. Not Jim, he wanted to infiltrate your thoughts with his touch, his lips– everything he possibly could and you were letting him. 

Jim then pulled his fingers out of you, quickly slipping off your shorts and underwear down to your ankles and you kicked them to the side before Jim reattached his coated fingertips to your clit. Swiping his fingers against your anching nub once more, he pulled away from your lips as you both breathed heavily in unison. You could feel your mind submerge into a euphoric haze feeling your climax creeping up on you. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this with you, sweetheart.” He whispered into your ear before nibbling your earlobe causing you to gasp softly. “M-Me too Jim..” You breathed out shuddering against his body feeling each rub from his finger sent more intense ripples of pleasure to your stomach. 

Jim then sank his fingers back into you to the knuckle curling them immaculately against your g spot once more with precision. And just like that you felt the knot become undone in your stomach as immense waves of pleasure your orgasm ripped through you sending you over to the edge. Loud mewls escaped your lips as Jim stilled his fingers inside of you, feeling your throbbing walls clamp down on his fingers. 

You both laid there breathless for a moment as Jim pressed gentle kisses around your face while you were coming down from your high. “You okay?” He asked you softly as he placed a gentle kiss on your neck pulling his fingers out from you causing you to whimper quietly from the loss of his fingers. Weakly, you nodded your head slowly catching your breath, “Jim, I want you..” you said in an airy tone as your hand reached down to his erection that was bulging from his jeans, your fingers tracing the outline evicting a sharp inhale from him.

Jim immediately obliged as he helped you pull down his pants along with his boxers allowing his cock sprung free from it’s restraints making him sigh out of relief. You couldn’t help to drool slightly at the sight of his length– how long and thick it was as it hung from his body. You weren’t sure if you wanted to taste him or have him inside of you- either way both of those thoughts were making you ache heavily with desire. 

Jesus, his wife really did hit the jackpot with this man. 

A shaky exhale left your lips as Jim gently caressed your cheek with his thumb before gently pushing you back against the mattress, his eyes fixated on you. He rose on his knees as you were now able to take in the sight of his exposed body– now his firm erection only a few inches away from your dripping entrance. “Open up your legs for me, darling.” He demanded softly with his large hands pushing your legs apart gently. His voice was deep and breathless that sent another wave of shivers throughout your body. 

Fuck, these pet names he was calling you — were going to kill you. 

Without hesitation you spread your thighs wider for him, now being completely bare and open to him. “Good girl..” Jim praised with a little smirk tugging on his lips, causing your heart to flutter. 

You were holding in your breath as you watched his hips with one gentle fluid motion he thrusted into you making you cry out loudly, your walls stretching with an intense pressure slowly filling you up only halfway in. “Are you alright? Do you want to stop?” He asked with concern as he gazed down at you; his dark graying tresses disheveled, his large hands holding your thighs keeping you still. He was so kind, it was making you melt beneath him. “I-I’m okay, keep going.” You whispered as you began to grip his shoulders once more, your nails sinking into his skin . 

“That’s my girl..” Jim praised once more as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. He was so hot, you never would even think Jim would have this side of him. He then shifted his knees before thrusting into you completely, his cock deeply sheathed into you. Your mouth fell open as a loud moan spilled from your lips, your eyes clamped shut once more– god, you felt so impossibly full.  Jim completely invades you as your bodies are finally connected in the best way. Your thighs squeezed against his waist but he only pushed them apart tenderly. “Ah, F-Fuck..” He groaned out shakily, as he admired the way his cock completely vanished inside of you before closing his eyes allowing his head to fall forward slightly. 

You opened your eyes as you breathed heavily, adjusting to his size– his moans making you clench around causing him to gasp. Your desire growing insatiably stronger, you rolled your hips against his desperately pulling a loud moan out of you as you felt the head of his penis kiss your cervix. A deep grunt left his lips as he leaned down towards you releasing your thighs– his chest now pressed against yours as both of his elbows were resting on either sides of your head. 

Immediately he began thrusting into you with a slow moderate pace as your body moved up and down slightly with a string of moans spilling from your lips– pleasure completely consuming your body. Jim released a breath as he managed to grab both of your hands intertwining your fingers together pinning them next to your head as his hips slammed against yours. 

You turned your head away as you whimpered loudly at how he continued hitting your cervix with perfect precision, “Y/N… Keep your eyes on me.” Jim demanded his voice dark and low. Your body shuddered as you obliged, turning your head to look at him to find him already gazing at you with half lidded eyes that were nothing but filled with affection and lust. 

Both of your gazes burned into each other as his thrusts became more relentless, making you feel like you were on cloud nine of pleasure and ecstasy. Jim groaned as he felt your walls clamp around him tight not wanting to let him go– nevertheless he didn’t ease his hard and fast pace. All that was heard in your bedroom was the sound of wet bodies clashing together, as his cock brushed against your clit causing you to arch your back, your chest melting into his, your hands squeezing his. “S-Shit, you feel so good, Jim..” You mewled as your bodies continued moving together in sync. 

The friction between you made you burn with desire. “You feel even better, Y-Y/N..Fuck..” He gasped out as his face scrunched up slightly at how tight you were, his mouth hanging slightly open as heavy breaths escaped his parted lips as he aimed to make you come first. You could feel yourself slipping, getting lost in Jim, truly no other thoughts that weren’t anything else but him.

 You then wrapped your legs around his hips causing him to sink deeper into you making you both moan out loud in unison, the familiar coil in your stomach began to form knowing you were about to reach your climax for the second time as your heavy breathing began to become unsteady.

Jim then pressed his lips against yours in an eager open mouthed kiss, like he knew you were close and he continued plunging himself deeply into you as he was getting close to his own climax as well.  

“I-I’m close..” You breathlessly stammered against his lips as his teeth sank down at your bottom lip before pulling away and releasing it. “Come for me, sweetheart.” Jim whispered as he watched you tremble against his body squeezing his hands tightly as your body was pressed deeper into the mattress. You then cried out as your body arched against him, you felt the knot in your stomach finally snap as your climax washed over you with the familiar waves of pleasure.

Frail moans left your lips as Jim quickened his pace as he used your limp body to chase his climax before releasing a loud groan, his hips stuttering slightly before being buried deep inside of you as he ejaculated his semen, staining your walls.

Jim stayed still for a second  trying to catch his breath before slowly pulling out of you causing you to whimper softly as he collapsed on top of you, his head resting against your chest, both of your naked bodies lightly coated with sweat. Your head was spinning, your mind completely lost in a fog as you both basked in the afterglow of this moment. 

Once your breathing became steady again as you slowly came down from your high you felt Jim roll off of you as he laid next to you leaving you still laying on your back as you two went silent.

Even the silence felt so loud.

He then pulled the comforters over your naked bodies as he laid on his side facing you. You could feel his gaze burn into the side of your face as you kept your eyes on the ceiling finally processing what just happened. 

“Hey..” Jim called out to you quietly as he scooted closer to you draping his lightly freckled arm around your body pulling you close as you turned to face him on your side, you can tell that he hated when things go quiet like this.

Your little panic gaze burned into his, and he already knew how you were feeling. “Y/N..Talk to me.” Jim begged as he gently cradled your cheek with his palm which you instinctively melted into.

You sighed deeply into his touch, your mind unsure if having sex even fixed anything between you two, if anything it added more fuel to the fire of your problems. 

And this is where you knew that you messed up..

Big time. 

***

PART 2 COMING SOON ;)

I hope you guys enjoyed it ! First one shot for this page. And honestly this is the first smut I’ve ever written so I hope I did Jim Justice but bro was so romantic. I apologize for any grammar error or anything that looks weird- But anyways, thank you guys for reading! ♡

[zaraquinn]

i wish you love: the series | series masterlist

inception (2010) | robert fischer x f!reader

tw: mentions of domestic abuse, manipulation + toxic relationship, smut (18+ mdni)

(creds to the creators of the gifs)

———

chapter i : from the start

chapter ii : fragile

chapter iii : valentine (NEW!)

———

! masterlist master post !

——

taglist (this will be updated and linked when a new chapter comes out):

@chawot-96 @unwrittenletter @grangerhater @ladyvenera @betty21rose

[elk96]

What If Part 2

Cillian Murphy x Male reader

Word Count: 1619

Warnings: smut, anal sex, teasing, some rough sex?

No disrespect to Cillian Murphy or his family! It's only a fictional story.

"You’ve never done that before, have you?”, you asked in a low voice. “With a man”.

“Once, many years ago. I was young”, he answered, his breathing labored.

You rubbed soothing circles on his lower back, easing the pressure off of his body.

“If you don’t want to do this, you can just tell me, okay”? you mumbled softly.

Cillian pressed his head against your shoulder, releasing a deep sight. When he looked back into your eyes, his expression was clear of stress. 

He planted a kiss on the corner of your jaw, then another, small one on your chin before you took control, pressing his body against your own, kissing him passionately. Cillian moaned as you sucked on his tongue, hands tagging at his hair. You cupped his ass, making him whine. He was so responsive to your touch and it made your mind spin.

“Jump”, you mumbled in between the kisses and you wrapped your hands around his back, feeling his heels push against your lower back. You laid him on the thick carpet, hovering on top of him.

“Figured you liked being on the floor”, you whispered, sucking on the side of his neck. You pulled his sweater over his head, and Cillian shivered at the change of temperature. Your hands roamed his toned torso, stopping to tease his nipples. You sucked on the inside of his elbow, pleased with the reddening of his skin. You moved to the inside of his bicep, to his shoulder blade, to the side of his neck where the large vein ran. You bit at the soft skin, making him moan loudly, and the sound coursed right to your cock.

Cillain tugged at your clothes, and you soon dropped your shirt at some corner of the living room. You dipped over him, pressing your knee against his hard cock as you licked and nipped on his throat.

You licked over his freckles, trailing a path of hickeys and glistening saliva before you took one of his nipples on your mouth. Cillian arched his back, tagging firmly at your hair while you teased his nipple, making him moan. Your hard cock pressed against his stomach and Cillian gasped with need.

You kissed your way down the line of hair at the center of his stomach, undoing his belt with your mouth while your hands played with his nipples. Cillian had dropped his head back, eyes closed tightly, mouth open, completely surrendered to you. 

You tagged the belt through the loops, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them off with the rest of your clothing. His cock was straining his underwear, a dark spot marking his desire. 

You kissed his cock through the wet fabric, taking one of his balls in your mouth. Cillian let out a long moan as you finally pushed down his boxers, planting a kiss on his swollen head. You sucked hard on it, running your tongue over the vein on the underside. Cillian cursed under his breath, the pleasure of your hot, wet mouth was paralyzing.

With a small smirk, you decided to tease him a bit more. You released his cock and dragged him abruptly towards you by the thighs. With a swift movement your laid him on his stomach, and then, grabbing him by the waist you had him on his hands and knees. His ass in the air, waiting for your mouth.

He grabbed the mattress of the couch in front of him as you lightly palmed his cock. You were intending to make him break, make him plead, but he was stubborn. You quickly took off your trousers and boxers to reveal your desperate cock. 

You brushed it against his ass cheeks, having him feel your heat, your size.

“Stop teasing”, Cillian said breathily.

“Beg me and I'll stop”, you replied with a cheeky grin, but no plea came. You pushed your body flush against his, your cock pressing against his hole and balls. With the tip of your tongue you licked his shoulder blade, scraping with your teeth the way down his back. You bit hard at the spot where his back met his ass, sucking a purple mark.

Cillian’s body was moving on its own accord, seeking  friction with your rock-hard cock. In the end, your need for him won over your ego. Milking his cock with your hands, you dipped your head in his hole. You licked a long stripe over it, hearing Cillian whine deliciously. You lapped at his asshole, probing the tight skin with your tongue before you managed to push it all the way in. He cursed loudly, his voice turning into a muffled cry at the end.

You got up to bring some lubricant from your bedroom, and found Cillian fisting his cock furiously, precum leaking onto his right hand. He stopped immediately when you approached, looking at you with those large, innocent eyes. While the rest of him was fucking daring you to wreck him, cheeks flushed, lips puff, breath laboured, cock glistening.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered.

“I’m resisting the urge to fuck you until you can’t speak”, you answered in a dark voice.You grabbed his face and kissed  him roughly tasting blood drawn from those full lips. That should be punishment enough, you thought, along with the unforgiving stretch of your cock.

You put him back to his former position, and pushed a slick finger inside of him. He took it all the way to the knuckle, moaning in both pain and pleasure. You twisted it and turned it inside of him, hearing him whine while he arched his back.

You pushed in a second finger, fucking his ass slowly. You spit on his ass cheeks and licked a hot, long stripe all the way to his aching cock.

“No one has ever been so eager before”, you whispered, teasing his cockhead with your left hand. 

You kept the pace slow, torturing him, until he started rolling his hips against your fingers and each moan turned into a muffled cry and your head was dizzy with the need for him.

You turned him on his back down on the carpet, laying on top of him, pushing your lips against his. He jerked his hips, rubbing your cocks together. His face had melted into a permanent frown of pleasure.

You opened a condom, rolling over your shaft.

“Are you ready”? you whispered, lining your cock with his hole. Cillian nodded and whined, and you jerked him off strongly as you buried yourself into his heart. You looked into his eyes, drinking in his sinful sight until he gave you the green light to start moving.

You pulled out almost entirely before you met his prostate with a deep, slow thrust and he moaned loudly. He gripped your biceps, scratching your back with his nails as you fucked him. Your balls slapped on his ass cheeks, your grunts and moans united with lust. 

“Taking me so good”, you said in between the thrust. “Such a good boy for me Cillian. Good boy”.

Cillian whimpered at the praise, biting on your throat. 

“I can take it rough”, he groaned, and you felt every ounce of control fade away. You spun him around, pulling him on all fours before you slammed back inside of him. You grabbed forearm, wrapping your other hand around his chest. He was whimpering desperately, moaning each time your cock thrust inside him. The pace was fast, hard, the sound of your  almost obscene. You started jerking him off, precum was leaking continuously down his cock.

“Fuck Y/N yes”!, he cried out, trying to breathe.

“Not yet Cillian”, you growled in his ear, keeping up that monstrous pace.

“I’m gonna cum…” he whined and you began to slow down. “Y/N please let me cum, please…”, he whimpered and you cursed in pleasure.

You thrusted hard into him, each thrust hitting his prostate, his cock moving against your hand until you felt his walls clench around you, cum spurting on your hand.

Cillian cried out collapsing in your arms as his body jerked with the aftershock of his orgasm. You pulled out of him, and he eagerly licked your hand clean. 

You rolled the condom off and he opened his mouth, tongue out and inviting. You laid your heavy cock on his tongue, and he licked on the head, his eyes rolling back at the taste of you. He pushed himself deeper, closer to your balls sucking masterfully around your length.

When he pushed your thighs to his face you figured he indeed wanted you to wreck him. You grabbed his face, thrusting hard inside his throat. It was almost as tight as his ass, warm and wet, but the thing that sent you over the edge were his damn moans of pleasure as you fucked his mouth. You didn’t even manage to warn him before hot, long ropes cum shot down his throat. You pulled out, painting his face with your seed, cumming in those lips and those soft cheeks.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d seen in your life.

Cillian collapsed breathily on the floor and you kissed and caressed him for a long time before you decided to go wash yourselves.

You helped him to the bathroom, running your hands over his delicate body on the way. 

“Are you going to come too”? he asked hesistantly at the shower door. 

“Yes”, you answered, nodding for him to go inside. You were just on time to catch him before he slipped.

You hugged him tightly kissing the top of his head. 

“What if you’re the man of my life and I happen to lose you because of some slippery tiles”?

[floralcyanidee]

REBLOGGING AGAIN BECAUSE I READ AND WOWIE!!!!

anyway I love Neil sm

first date movies — neil lewis x reader

word count: 2.9k (oops this was….way longer than i thought)

contains: SMUT (18+ ONLY) —> fingering, oral (m receiving), public indecency (getting it on in a movie theater because…it’s neil), fluff, happy ending!

you have a crush on your coworker and you really wish you didn’t.

note: this has not been proofread so place excuse any typos! i hope you enjoy especially since this is my first smut fic on this account which is insane. also all of the movies referenced are some of my favorites so…..i’d absolutely recommend them if you haven’t seen them already! neil is my silly little movie buff husband and i’d absolutely LOVE to write for him again so please leave some feedback if you’d like more!

cillian taglist: @mortylover

As you stood on a step stool, shelving new video arrivals, you could hear Ingrid Bergman's lovely Swedish accent behind you.

Notorious. You'd seen it a million times but you'd never gotten sick of it. It was your favorite Hitchcock and often the movie you'd throw on if you were in need of comfort. Although it was your turn to pick what everyone watched at the video store today, you weren't sitting with everyone else on the big worn out sofa. You preferred to shelve and enjoy the sound of the movies in the background (maybe walking over when your favorite scene was on). After all, someone needed to help the customers even if you didn't have many.

You had an annoying habit of reciting movie lines that you loved, as did Neil, the owner of the store and one of your closest friends.

"This is a very strange love affair," you said with Ingrid as you placed Valley of the Dolls in its right place.

"Why?" Neil said right along with Cary Grant, glancing over at you.

"Maybe the fact that you don't love me," you shot him a dramatic look, trying to do your best Ingrid Bergman impression.

"Your Bergman should be better for someone who's seen this movie more times than she can count," he said.

You rolled your eyes.

"She's got a unique accent! Plus it's very transatlantic. That's hard."

"She can do the Fargo accent," your other coworker Jonathan pointed out, not bothering to look up from the TV.

"Oh, you betcha," you grinned, nailing the unmistakable Minnesotan "o" sound.

"That's not hard!" Neil protested.

"It's not easy!"

The doors jingled as your best friend walked through the door, cutting the discussion about accents short. Before you could even say anything she already had a request.

"First date movie. Help."

You thought for a minute.

"Well what's the person like?"

"I don't know! I haven't met him yet. This is a blind setup by a coworker thing."

"Do you....think you'll be paying attention to the movie?"

She made a face.

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"Not necessarily! You could be....talking."

After many failed dates with guys who were into film, you understood the complexities of picking the first date movie. It said a lot about a person — what they're into, how they feel, who they aspire to be. But at the end of the day, it needs to be something that can transition to being background noise for a good make out session while still being enjoyable. Very few movies check all of those boxes.

"Just don't give me anything too complicated, okay?" she sighed. "No Lynch. No Cronenberg."

You fake frowned. "I was just gonna rent Crash and Lost Highway to you as a double feature."

She shuddered as she remembered the horror that was watching both of those films. You could stomach things like that but she absolutely couldn't.

"Okay, sit tight. I have a thought," you said as you ran over to the romances.

Your friend wandered over to the TV while you hunted for her perfect first date movie.

"Hey guys," she said monotonously.

"Hey," they replied equally unenthused.

She stood and watched the movie for a minute before you came back holding Moonstruck.

"Cher. Nic Cage. Romantic. Easy to follow. It checks every box!"

"That's your idea of a first date movie?" Neil scoffed.

"What's yours? The Seventh Seal?" you rolled your eyes.

"Yeah, that's why Denise broke up with him," Jonathan replied.

"What? You didn't tell me that!"

"Well it kind of just happened," he said. "And to be honest I'm not so broken up about it."

After knowing Neil a while, you knew that he wasn't one for consistent steady girlfriends. Denise lasted longer than most, but in the end he always seemed to get bored. Sure, he got around to an extent, but it was hard for you to picture Neil Lewis truly settling down. Unless, of course, you pictured him with you — but you tried not to do that. The thought popped into your brain every once in a while but you pushed it out as soon as it arrived. You knew you'd only end up getting hurt.

"Okay, well that's good because I was wondering if you wanted to go to the movies tonight. I mean, I'm all for a good ol' post breakup pity party but I'd much rather go see The Thing on the big screen tonight."

You and Neil did your part to keep your local independent theater in business more than anyone else in town. It was a regular thing for the two of you to go see at least two movies a week, sometimes more. Sometimes Jonathan and Lucien would tag along and sometimes it was just the two of you — every time you secretly hoped that it would be just the two of you.

"Now that's a good first date movie," Jonathan said.

"The Thing for a first date?" you scrunched your nose into a face of disapproval. "You guys have no taste."

"Well good thing we're not going on a first date then," Neil said. "But yeah, I'll go with you, I'm not doing anything else. Wanna grab dinner and go straight there?"

Those words shouldn't have been such a dagger to you but they were. No shit, this wasn't a first date. He didn't need to remind you.

"Yeah, that's fine," you said, trying to mask the disappointment in your voice. "I just have a few more things to finish up here and then we can head out."

You helped your friend rent her movie and finished up your shelving duties with a little less pep in your step than usual as Neil's words played over and over again in your mind like a broken record.

Good thing we're not going on a first date then. Fuck him. It's not like he was trying to hurt you, after all he didn't know that you maybe kinda sorta liked him. But those words.....you just couldn't take your mind off of them as you mentally prepared yourself for your very clearly stated non-date.

—

A little diner by the local theater had been your spot with Neil for as long as you'd been coworkers. It had become a tradition of yours to sneak in mini bottles of booze to pour into the milkshakes, either on celebratory or wallowing in your sorrows occasions. Neil's breakup felt like a good excuse to give your shared vanilla shake deserved an extra kick, even if you were the one who really needed it.

"Is anyone looking?"

He shook his head as you poured the vodka into the glass, stirring the concoction with the straw. You didn't wait for Neil before placing your lips to the straw and downing a quarter of it all at once.

"Hey, take it easy. I thought I was the one who needed the alcohol tonight," he chuckled.

"You said it yourself, you're not upset about Denise," you said, the irritation in your voice shining through.

"Are you upset about something, then? I'm sorry I didn't really help you shelve today, I just- you know, you like to do that stuff by yourself sometimes. And you picked such a good movie I couldn't tear myself away from the screen."

It would've been easier if you had really been upset about that. You wished that you were upset about that And now half the shake was gone, everything you wanted to say was rushing to your head, and you didn't even think about what you were doing when you blurted out:

"Why can't this be a first date?"

His eyes widened as he let out a small chuckle, assuming you were kidding.

"What?"

"You heard me. Why can't this be a first date?"

As he stared back at you, you felt like you had just fucked everything up. This amazing friendship was just ruined now because you drank your boozy milkshake too fast.

"Do....do you want it to be?" he asked.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed before burying your head in your hands. "Forget I said anything. I-I drank that too fast."

"No, I....we can call this a date if you want. In fact I'd really like that."

He wasn't trying to humor you and he wasn't trying to make the situation better by saying something that he didn't mean — he was dead serious.

"Neil, don't say that if you don't mean it," you sighed. "I'm just....upset today. Don't listen to me."

He studied your face for a minute before speaking again.

"Do you remember when I interviewed you for your job?"

"Now what does that have to do with anything?"

You did, in fact, remember your Gumshoe interview very well. You had asked him if he'd ever considered doing a film noir themed commercial for the store and you'd never seen someone so excited about an idea before — you always assumed that was why you had gotten the job.

"I knew you before that, you know," he said. "I remembered you from when you used to be a customer. There was actually this one time when you had an overdue fee and I paid it for you and told the guys that I had lost the tape."

This made you smile a bit.

"Point being?"

He took a deep breath before he continued on.

"Normally when we do the interview process, we ask the same shit, you know? What's your favorite movie? Who's your favorite director? And I asked you that stuff even though I thought I already knew the answers, I remembered what you used to rent. I thought I knew you so well and then you just went totally fucking wildcard on me — and I loved it. Ever since then you've kept on surprising me and I....well, I really like that. I guess what I'm trying to say is I really like you. And I think I always have."

You stared at him wide-eyed. You had not expected your little drunken tantrum to get you a confession of feelings.

"Neil....do you know why I rented from Gumshoe all the time? I mean, I'm all for supporting the little guys, but I really went in to see you. And then I got this job and I got to know you and you weren't just the cute guy at the video store anymore, you were like....my cute friend/boss technically but I won't get into that. But I got to know you and I watched you go through all of these relationships because you get bored eventually and....I just think you might get bored with me. I'm no Katharine Ross in Butch and Sundance."

He shook his head as a smile crept across his lips.

"No, you're even more exciting than that. You're like...Barbarella or something. Queen of the galaxy."

"Barbarella's whole thing was sex appeal," you point out. "That's the whole movie."

"Sex appeal, sure. But she's also kind and interesting and witty. You've got all of that."

You took all of that as a compliment but you found yourself blushing at his mention of sex appeal.

—

When you arrived to the movie theater after finishing your meal, it seemed that you two were the only ones dying to see a John Carpenter flick on a Tuesday evening. You had your pick of seats in the empty theater.

Your non-date turned date couldn't have been going better, honestly, it made you think that you should turn to drinking more often. It fixed this problem miraculously well.

As you settled into your seats and the lights dimmed, it was clear that both of you wanted to make a move but didn't know how to do it. After all, you couldn't just go straight for unzipping his fly. Or could you? Tonight was all about confidence and he clearly liked it when you kept him on his toes. You decided to start slow, resting a hand on his thigh, letting your hand wander from there.

He looked over at you as you made contact with the bulge in his jeans. It was hard to read his expression in the dark, but you could feel that he didn't want you to stop.

"Are we really gonna do this here?" he whispered.

"We've both seen this a thousand times, I think it'll be okay if we get a little distracted," you whisper back. "U-unless you don't want—"

He cut you off with a kiss that was a long time coming. You were surprised by the sheer force of it as your tongues collided. His hand reached up to cup the side of your face as you melted into the kiss, illuminated by the glow of the silver screen. He made you feel dizzy, but in a good way.

Now, you had never been intimate in a movie theater before, but it was even more exhilarating than you could’ve imagined. As you slowly unzipped his fly, taking his length out of his jeans, you noticed that Neil wasn’t watching the movie at all. His eyes were completely focused on you.

“You’re really taking your time, aren’t you?” he whispered. He was rock hard already and you could tell that he was getting incredibly impatient. You held the base of him while you teased his tip with your tongue. Whatever composure he thought he had went out the window as he his eyes rolled back in pleasure. Based on his breathing patterns you thought he was going to come right then.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath. “Just….just like that.”

You could feel him trembling as your tongue continued to work its swirly magic. Eventually you began to take him in your mouth completely, greeting him with the warm sensation of the back of your throat. He groaned out your name in a raspy whisper as you bobbed your head on his length. Before you knew it, you could feel a hand on your head guiding it along — his touch felt so intimate and loving, you couldn’t get enough.

“I-I’m close….I’m— fuck….I’m gonna—“

Before he could finish what he was going to say, you could feel his come coat the back of your throat. It was a warm, welcome feeling and you couldn’t wait to feel it again.

“Jesus christ,” he sat there catching his breath before turning to you. “That was….wow. You’re just…..I-Incredible.”

You smiled at the praise. It wasn’t even day that you were complimented on your blowjob skills.

Your head made its way to his shoulder as you sat side by side watching the movie. His hand began on your though but slowly because to creep it’s way up between your legs.

“Returning the favor?” you whispered, smiling softly as you glanced in his direction.

He nodded, speaking in a sultry whisper that nearly made your legs shake. “You know, you just made me feel so good….it would be a crime not to reciprocate it, don’t you think?”

You continued to rest your head on his shoulder as he slipped two fingers inside of you. You couldn’t help but notice how easily they went in — you had been soaked for hours.

“All this for me?” he chuckled. “How long have you been like this?”

“All night,” you said in between heavy breaths. “I-I’m always like this around you, Neil.”

“No way, are you really?”

His switch up from the sultry whisper to his excited tone made you giggle.

“I have….a tendency to daydream about you when I’m around you,” you explained.

His fingers found just the right spot as he continued to question you. It was becoming increasingly difficult for you to talk.

“Daydream about what specifically?”

A small whimper escaped your mouth as his fingers curled inside of you. You couldn’t even recall what you used to daydream about until it hit you.

“This…..this exact moment. I-I’ve….fuck….Ive daydreamed about this a m-million times.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked as he started to pump his fingers faster. “And how does it end?”

“I- Neil- I’m gonna—“

“How does it end, sweet girl? Tell me.”

You could barely even answer in between heavy breaths but you managed to speak up, your words intertwined with your moans.

“Y-you make….you make me come, N-Neil! I’m….right now, I’m—“

“Show me. Come for me. Show me how the daydream ends.”

And you did, trying your best to keep quiet as you came undone. You buried your face into his shoulder as you whimpered and throbbed against his fingers.

“Good girl,” he exhaled. “That’s a good girl.”

—

The next day at work, you and Neil debated what you should tell the others. To announce the relationship or keep it a secret was a heavily debated topic, but you eventually settled on keeping it to yourselves for a while before revealing it. You thought it would be nice to have something that was just yours for a while. Plus, hiding a relationship can be incredibly sexy.

As you walked into Gumshoe, you flashed a quick smile at Neil who was in his usual spot behind the counter before taking your place at the shelf.

“Hey, Jonathan,” you called over to the couch, getting his attention. “I was totally wrong. Upon my rewatch, I think that The Thing would be a great first date movie.”

“See, I told you! I told you and you never fucking listen to me,” he said. “What made you change your mind?”

You glanced over at Neil one more time. It was clear that he was thinking about last night just as much as you were.

“I don’t know…” you shrugged. “Maybe it’s Kurt Russell.”

[ml080504]

somebody: what do you like about men twice your age?

me: where do i start?

[hllywdwhre]

Dress

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x fem!reader

Summary: A year’s worth of random memories between the two of you

Warnings: age gap (Cillian is current age, reader’s age is unspecified but of legal age), mentions of slut shaming, smut, light choking, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it)

MDNI

Word Count: 3656

Notes: This is NOT based on real life. This is an AU and we love Yvonne in this household. Also this is my first attempt at writing smut in literal years so I apologize if it’s not the best💀

Based on the song ‘Dress’ by Taylor Swift

Our secret moments in your crowded room

They got no idea about me and you

One hand gently placed on the middle of your back alerted you to his presence.

“You look stunning,” He said, low enough that no one else could overhear.

Luckily, your make-up artist had made sure you wore a full coverage foundation, as the blush tinting your cheeks would’ve been noticeable if not.

“You don’t look too shabby yourself,” you replied, glancing up at him with a small smile on your face.

You had been eyeing him the entire night, his salt-and-pepper hair hung around his face, only making his blue eyes pop due to the sharp contrast of the colors.

To anyone else, it would look like two co-stars speaking at the premiere of their movie. They wouldn’t see the way you two wanted to step closer to each other, to latch to each other’s hand, or share an excited and proud kiss.

There is an indentation in the shape of you

Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

Cillian had made sure to take things slow with you. You were younger and he was the leading actor in the movie and he wanted to make sure there was no question about power imbalances. He made sure you were comfortable and that you knew he would’ve never used that power over you to force you into something you weren’t comfortable with. It was up to you to make the first moves… from the first kiss to the first of others.

The day after the night all of the clothes the two of you wore had been shed for the first time, you’d found extremely small bruises on your hips from his grip the night before.

“I didn’t realize I had… I’m sorry,” Cillian apologized, kissing your cheek softly as his fingers ghosted over the bruises.

“Don’t apologize. I rather like the marks and the memories they bring back,” you said, turning to him and kissing him.

All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation

My hands are shaking from holding back from you

All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting

My hands are shaking from all this

Your hands shook as you gave him the documents. Your character was supposed to be nervous, but the shaking of your hands went beyond your character.

You were surrounded by some of the greatest actors, and while you were no new actor yourself, it was still nerve wracking to stand in front of all of them, along with Chris, as they watched you. It was even more nerve wracking to have Cillian’s eyes following you — your character — as you entered the room and handed over the documents.

The shaking in your hands lessened once the scene was finished, but you still saw the way your tea wobbled just slightly when Cillian walked to you.

You wanted nothing more than to pull him close to you, but at this point, the two of you had only just begun talking. The flirty undertones were nothing near enough for you to feel confident enough making a move.

Say my name and everything just stops

I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

Your heart stuttered every time he said your real name and not your character's name. When he called your name this time it was no different.

“How are you?” He asked, joining by your side as you walked away from the restaurant.

Emily had seen some of your works and was a fan of them; she had made sure to include you when inviting other members out to dinners like the one that had just finished. This was one of the few times Cillian had agreed to join and hadn’t had a reason he needed to stay behind.

You weren’t sure if it was your imagination or not, but you thought his eyes lingered on the way the dress hugged your waist for a second longer than what would be seen as just looking you over.

Your pleasant conversation continued until you reached the front door of the guest house you were placed in until your part of the filming was completed.

“Green?” He questioned as his eyes trailed down your figure again and you smirked.

“Green has always been my favorite,” you said, feigning innocence.

“I’m sure it has… it’s starting to become my own,” he told you, one hand settling on your waist to bring you closer to him.

“You said that first bit like you don’t believe me, Murphy,” you teased as your arms came to wrap around his neck.

“Perhaps I don’t,” he replied. His forehead rested against yours, tone still light and teasing despite the tension and proximity.

“Well I can’t possibly reveal the truth,” you teased back.

“And what would that be?”

“That your agreeing with Robert’s comment about us seeming to become very close ‘best friends’ a couple days ago caused me a great deal of jealousy and I’ve noticed the way your eyes seem to linger when the costume department puts me in something green. I could never tell you that or the other truth.”

Carve your name into my bedpost

'Cause I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

“What was the other truth?” He asked, slowing his thrusts to a teasing pace as his hands gripped the frame of the bed.

“What?” You asked, confused on what he meant as your mind was only clouded with the pleasure he made you feel.

“The other truth, from earlier,” he said again, his hips still moving at the agonizingly slow pace.

You blushed as you realized what he meant and at the thought of revealing the little secret, despite the fact you were both naked with him buried inside of you.

At your lack of response, he moved one hand to grip your thigh and push it towards your chest, allowing himself to be buried even deeper inside you. The action caused your eyes to roll back,

“The other truth, doll,” he prompted.

“I wore the dress for more than just the color. I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me once we’re alone and I wanted you to stop holding back,” you told him.

“You could have just told me, didn’t need to spend an entire night teasing me,” he said and began picking up the pace of his hips again, causing your head to drop back and a moan to leave your lips.

Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try

And if I get burned, at least we were electrified

I'm spilling wine in the bathtub

You kiss my face and we're both drunk

Everyone thinks that they know us

But they know nothing about

Giggles filled the air as your glasses met in the bathtub you shared, the light pink liquid spilling over the sides.

“We have filming tomorrow and we’re both going to be incredibly hungover,” you said with a wide smile on your face.

“One of us will have to pretend to be okay. Most of the crew already has suspicions,” Cillian replied, still smiling.

“And what have they said about it?” You asked as you took another sip of wine, your interest peaked by his comment.

Cillian shook his head, a look of distaste taking over his features as some of the comments replayed in his mind.

“That bad?” You asked as your face fell.

“The comments we expected,” he replied as he took a large drink of wine.

“You’re lucky to be sleeping with a younger woman, but you need to watch out because I’m after fame and your money?” You asked him, your tone revealing that you already knew the answer.

Cillian nodded and your face fell further. You looked away from him and down at the wine in your glass.

“Do you think we’re moving too fast?” You asked.

The water sloshed around you as Cillian scooted himself closer to you, his finger coming underneath your chin and lifting your face to look him in the eyes.

“Everyone is going to have something to say. Even if we were sharing equally large roles and the exact same age.” He said in a firm voice.

You nodded in response as you knew he was right.

“They know nothing,” he said as he leaned in, kissing you softly.

Flashback when you met me

Your buzzcut and my hair bleached

You hadn’t stepped foot onto the set of “Oppenheimer” until a couple months after filming had begun, due to the nature of your smaller part. You played a wife to one of the scientists involved in the making of the atomic bomb and only had a couple lines, but you had captured Cillian’s eye on the first day.

After his divorce two years prior, he hadn’t tried looking for anyone else. He had focused on his kids and his career. You coming along and capturing his attention had been unexpected and he had tried to ignore the attraction he felt at first, only to fall victim to your charm during a break in filming on your first day on set.

A week later you two exchanged phone numbers. A month later and you two were sneaking around on set like you were children all over again. One of you would somehow sneak to the other after filming was complete for the day.

The first time he had fallen asleep at your place, the overnight stay being completely unplanned and you had awoken to hear him let out a surprised “fuck!” before he gathered up his things and left in a rush.

You still had another hour before you had to be on set and laid back down in bed, scrolling through your phone. Rolling over, you noticed the spot he had left was still warm and filled with his scent.

‘I hate this haircut so much. Way too short.’ He texted.

‘I hate this hair color. Way too blonde.’ You replied.

Even in my worst times

You could see the best of me

“It’s one simple fucking scene and I can’t get it right!” He shouted in frustration.

Cillian had shown up an hour prior, saying he needed your help running lines. He was supposed to film the scene where Oppenheimer brings the calculations to Einstein tomorrow and had been pressuring himself over it the entire week.

“It’s not simple though, Cill. You’ve been working nonstop and your character is facing a huge moral conflict in this scene that you have to manage to portray in a subtle way. You’re not just doing your best, you’re doing amazing,” you tell him, standing up and walking over to him.

You gently take the script from his hands and set it down then take his hand in yours to bring it to your lips, placing a soft kiss on his palm.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” he said, pulling you into a hug and kissing the top of your head.

“Don’t be. You’re allowed to be frustrated,” you replied as you wrapped your arms around him.

Flashback to my mistakes

My rebounds, my earthquakes

“I didn’t say I was proud of it,” Cillian said with a laugh.

“Two weeks?” You questioned and your own laughter followed, showing you weren’t holding it against him.

“I haven’t been single since I was 27, I went a little crazy,” he explained as if trying to defend himself.

“I’m not passing judgment, Cill… as long as you didn’t catch anything,” you teased, causing both of you to burst into a fit of giggles.

Even in my worst lies

You saw the truth in me

“A home wrecking whore,” you said through tears, slapping the magazine down in front of him, “we didn’t even know each other two years ago and somehow I’m the reason your marriage ended.”

Yours and Cillian’s relationship hadn’t even been confirmed and already the cruel rumors had started. It was one photo of the two of you leaving a cast dinner, cropped around to look like it was just the two of you and conveniently not showing the other actors that were trailing right behind you.

Cillian was standing with his arms around you in seconds while he placed kisses on the top of your head then on both of your cheeks.

“You know better than to listen to that… that… shit,” he said, words failing what he really wanted to call that article, “you’re the woman who came around at the exact moment you were supposed to.”

And I woke up just in time

Now I wake up by your side

Light flickered into the room, Cillian’s arms were wrapped around your waist, and, for once, the sound of an alarm wasn’t what woke you up. You rolled over in his arms, facing his chest. Even at the small size he had to be for his role, you could still bury your head in his chest and curl into him.

He remained asleep as you situated yourself against him. You weren’t able to fall asleep again, but you didn’t mind. The peace that morning brought made all the sneaking around and rumors seem trivial.

My one and only, my lifeline

I woke up just in time

Now I wake up by your side

My hands shake, I can't explain this

Filming had wrapped a month ago and you and Cillian had both gone to your own separate homes. He had spent months with only phone calls to his kids to stay in contact with them and your own family had missed you. The two of you had made sure to stay in contact, phone calls made to each other when he was able to sneak away from his kids for a moment and once night had fallen.

This pattern lasted for only a couple weeks longer before you were planning a trip to Ireland and waking up back in his arms.

It wasn’t the sun that woke you up this time, though. It was the feeling of Cillian’s lips trailing down your neck and across your collarbone.

“Cill,” you hummed with a smile coming across your face.

“Missed that sound,” he said, moving to hover over you as his kisses and nips at your skin trailed down your chest.

“Thought you heard it enough last night,” you joked. Your hands trailed to his hair as his lips attached to your nipple, causing a rush of pleasure to wash over you.

“Never getting enough of that,” he replied and his mouth attached to the other as soon as the words left his mouth.

Another moan left your mouth and your hips pushed against his, causing him to chuckle.

“Seems like you’re not getting enough either.” His lips began trailing down your stomach, one of his hands running up and down your thigh as he moved lower.

“Seems like you should do something about that,” you teased.

He offered no verbal response and instead continued his trail down your stomach and hips. Your legs spread apart as he positioned himself in between them and added new love bites to the ones from the night before.

“Cillian, please,” you moaned out, your hands still in his hair and pushing your hips towards him.

“Say it again, love,” he commanded. Both of his hands wrapped around each of your thighs and he looked up towards you. His usual bright blue eyes were dark with lust and the look of hunger he held was enough to make your body shiver in anticipation.

“Please, Cillian, I need it,” you begged.

Your head dropped back as his tongue ran across your folds and offered you some amount of relief. You were convinced his favorite place in the world was with his head buried between your legs. The way his tongue danced between your lips, taking in all of your taste and moaning at your unique flavor. The grip you had on his hair tightened when his tongue pushed into you and began exploring every centimeter of you before curling up to nudge against the spot inside you that made your legs shake.

Your legs tried to close around his head, but the grip his hands held on your thighs kept you from doing so. One of his arms wrapped around your thigh and his finger traced circles over your clit. Jolts of pleasure rushed through you and your moans grew louder. They were a constant praise of his name that only seemed to egg him on in his actions.

You felt your high rapidly approaching and you let out a needy whine,

“Cill, please, don’t stop,” you mewled, your hips jerking against his face. There had been plenty of times where he would sense your climax approaching and would pull away in order to tease you until you were begging, but luckily for you he skipped the teasing and continued on.

He pushed his face impossibly closer to you, his tongue still working inside of you and pushing upwards to cause your eyes to roll back in your head while his finger continued rubbing circles on your clit.

When your climax washed over you, his head stayed buried between your legs and drank up everything you gave him. It wasn’t until your moans had turned to overstimulated whimpering that he pulled away from you and rose up to capture your lips in a kiss.

You could still taste yourself on him when his tongue slid into your mouth. Both of your bodies were pressed against each other, his chest pushing against yours and his hips grinding against yours. His cock was pressing against you, teasing both you and him as you felt the head of it sliding between your folds.

“You’re teasing yourself as much as you’re teasing me,” you mumbled into the kiss, causing him to chuckle.

“You’re right, but I love hearing your little moans when you beg for it,” he replied, pulling away and making eye contact with you with an expectant look on his face.

“But don’t my moans sound better when you’re actually inside of me?” You questioned.

He seemed to agree with you since he didn’t offer any verbal response and instead moved away from you, grabbed your hips, and quickly flipped you over.

In the couple weeks since Oppenheimer had finished filming, he had started to put back on weight… and apparently muscle as the movement seemed to be easy for him.

You rose to your knees and kept your chest pressed to the bed, arching your back and pushing back towards him,

“Please, Cill, need you,” you moaned out in that pathetic tone you knew he loved.

“I know you do, kitten, just came and you’re already soaked again,” he taunted, lining his cock up with your entrance and pushing inside of you, “feel so fucking good wrapped around me.”

“Feel so full with you inside me,” you moaned out and tangled your hands into the sheets.

Cillian’s hands came to rest on your hips, giving you brief flashbacks of the first time you had slept together and he had left bruises on your hips, though the thought quickly left your mind when he began moving his hips. He gave you only a moment before his grip tightened, his hips picked up pace, and he was bringing your hips back to meet his thrusts.

He had been able to read your body in ways no one else could since the very first time the two of you had been together. After the first couple thrusts he had changed the angle of his hips to hit your g-spot and cause your moans to heighten in volume.

“That’s right, kitten, let it out. No more sneaking around and having to keep your voice down. Let me hear those pretty little moans,” he coaxed, keeping a steady rhythm with his thrusts and making sure to repeatedly push against that spot inside of you.

A mixture of his name and swear words fell from your lips like a prayer. You could feel your second orgasm of the morning already approaching and you clenched around him, trying to give him some kind of warning as the only thing you seemed to be capable of thinking of was his name.

One of Cillian’s hands moved from your hip to around your throat, pulling you up so your back was pressed against his chest. His other hand wrapped around your hips, his fingers circling your clit to edge you on while he continued his thrusts into you,

“Cum for me. Wanna hear you moan my name as you cum wrapped around my cock,” he commanded.

Your head dropped back onto his shoulder as you came, your moans and his mixing together as your orgasm only spurred him on to reach his. After a couple more thrusts his grip on you loosened and he slowed his movements down as the two of you rode out your highs.

There is an indentation in the shape of you

…

Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

Both of you laid back down on the bed, breathing heavily as you caught your breath. His arm wrapped around you and pulled you to him, kissing you softly for a moment before pulling away.

“You’ve made quite the mark on me, love” Cillian said, looking at you with a small smile.

A smile of your own crossed your face and a blush spread across your cheeks,

“I thought you left the marks on me,” you replied in a teasing tone, causing a small bit of laughter to leave his lips.

“Had to make sure it was mutual,” he replied in the same tone, leaning in to kiss you again.

“It definitely is,” you said with a smile against his lips.

[simplyundeniable98]

girlhood is trying to pretend you aren’t clinically insane when someone brings up your favorite celebrity DILF in a convo.

[floralcyanidee]

FKFNDKSHDKDHS JD PLEASE MY HEART

𝓵𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷 & 𝓵𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 | kitten braden x reader

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 | it's been hard for you since she moved out, of course, and she didn't give you much warning before she stopped by to acquire some forgotten belongings. you know this time, if you let her leave again, she'll be out of your life forever-- could that really be what she wants?

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | 4.3k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | smut (18+ only - thigh riding, fingering, a touch of dom!reader), angst (break up), internalized transphobia/body image stuff, insecurity, lesbian reader, fluff and sweetness 💕

You swung open the front door, having to stop yourself from biting your lip at the sight of her— just how you remembered, except… no, even more beautiful.

She was wearing a simple silky slip dress with a massive fur, the perfect contrast as always; pearls, of course, but not the ones you’d bought her.  Maybe she just wanted to show off that somebody new was buying her pearls now, and god, could you blame them?

You probably looked ridiculous, staring at her like that and not even saying anything.  “I just came to get my things,” she informed you in that soft, melodious voice of hers.

Your chest deflated.  “Y-yes, sure,” you nodded, stepping back to let her in.  She brushed past you quickly, a sort of tightness to her walk— a little prissy, you thought.  But you sort of liked that, too.  

You inhaled a whiff of sweet perfume just after she walked by so briskly, something new, something fresh and a little tart: lemon and lavender.  Had she put herself together like this, just to come here and flaunt how incredible she looked?  How she’d somehow become more beautiful since she left— how she was doing so well, probably better than ever without you?  It should’ve hurt but you didn’t even mind; she could walk all over you with those stilettos and you’d be grateful for it��

You shook your head as she made her way to the bedroom, deciding not to indulge in that train of thought… at least not until after she’d left.

“I thought you, erm, took everything already,” you mumbled as you followed her, watching her go through your drawers— she kept her chin up as she looked, only lowering her eyes in that way that made the length of her lashes all the more apparent.  Was she toying with you on purpose?  You really hoped she was.

“I couldn’t find my earrings,” she explained, “the little blue ones?  I think I left them here— and a few pairs of knickers.”

“The blue ones,” you remembered, “I remember them— they match your eyes.”

She shot you a little look, a frown, and kept searching amongst your socks.  “Don’t be like that,” she mumbled, eventually.  “I’m just here for the earrings.”

“I know, sorry,” you breathed, “it’s just that— you look great.”

“Hm,” she acknowledged, quickly turning her head to send those blonde curls in a swing; it reminded you of when she twirled in her dresses, laughing and blushing when you told her she looked beautiful.  You still couldn’t really believe that was all behind you now, that she was really gone…

“You look good too,” you added, doing an impression of her soft voice, and she seemed confused as she finally looked at you again.  “That’s the polite thing, you know— what you say when you run into an ex.”

“I know,” she agreed, “but, well… I said I’d never lie to you.  I’m still keeping that promise.”

You scoffed, not sure which part of that to start with.  What promise did I break to you?  You remember saying you’d never lie to me?  I don’t look good?

“And—” she started again, like she’d tried to bite her tongue but couldn’t help herself.  She spun on her heel and crossed her arms at you.  “And you look like a mess!  Stained joggers, your sock’s got a hole in it—”

You looked down at your feet, sighing when you saw your big toe exposed.

“And look at the apartment!” she continued, raising her arms to gesture around at the disorganised room.  “God, you’ve got take-away boxes everywhere, you’ve got dirty clothes and dishes on the bed—”

“I am a mess,” you explained, stepping closer.  “Of course I am.  I’m not like you, I can’t just… I can’t just forget.”

“Forget?” she repeated, offended.  “Is that what you think I’ve done?”

“How else can you come in here, looking like that,” you laughed thinly, motioning over her form as she held her coat together shyly, “asking about some bloody earrings… how can you walk through this apartment and not get your heart broken with every step?”

She glanced down, almost looking embarrassed— an emotion you were all too familiar with on her face.  You stepped a little closer, dying to meet her gaze.

“I can barely stand to be here,” you breathed, “and I lived here first— I lived here for years before I even met you!  And now— fuck, Kitten—” you stopped for a moment to bite your lip as you tried not to cry— “now I just come home and I keep thinking: that’s our apartment.”

She blinked quickly but said nothing.  You waited for a while for her to say any of the thousands of things you wanted to hear right then: for her to admit that she still wanted you, too, that she was so lonely without you, that she came up with an excuse to come by because she wanted to make you jealous— even just that she missed living here.  But she just bit her lip and avoided your gaze, and your heartbreak shifted to frustration: you quickly knelt down and yanked open the bottom drawer, forcing her to pull her leg out of the way before the wood scraped her ankle.  You flipped open a shoebox and dug through until you found the blue ceramic flowers.

“Here,” you decided as you balled them up in your fist, “the earrings you wanted so damn bad.”

But before you stood up, you tossed them carelessly back into the box and picked it up, standing and facing here.

“You know what?  Take the whole thing,” you offered roughly, pushing the box into her chest until she delicately held it.  She took the lid off and gently began to look through what was inside.  “It’s all there— the knickers, too.”

But it wasn’t just her earrings and lacy underthings in the box— it was everything.  Ticket stubs from movies you’d seen together, receipts from diners and lingerie stores, dried flowers and ribbons from picnic baskets… the pictures you’d taken of her, Polaroids mostly— some a bit more salacious than the rest.  “Darling…” she breathed, and your heart skipped.  “You kept all this?”

“Of course,” you replied, hating the way your voice cracked; you turned your head away when she looked up at your face, defiantly wiping a tear from your cheek.  “You can keep it now, I don’t… I don’t need it anymore.  I just wanna forget.”

She cooed at you sweetly as she set the box aside, grabbing your face and wiping another tear away tenderly with her thumb.  You found the strength to look at her again, though you tried not to get your hopes up that she’d really come back.  “Oh, sweet thing,” she sighed, “we can’t forget.  Neither of us can.”

“Then how am I supposed to go on?” you wondered, sniffling.  “I don’t— I really don’t know if I can live like this—”

“Ah, hush,” she dismissed, “you’ll do fine— you can have any girl you want, you won’t have any trouble.”

“But I only want you,” you insisted, grabbing her wrists and holding them tightly.  “I only ever wanted you, Kitten.”

Now she turned away, looking like her eyes might be getting misty.  “N-now, that can’t be true,” she denied softly.

You laughed a little, mostly out of amazement rather than amusement.  “Who the fuck else did you think I wanted?” you wondered.  She got her hands free from yours, chewing her lip and crossing her arms, but you stepped closer again.  “Kitten, who else would I possibly want?”

“Well, you know,” she stalled, “I just wondered if maybe… I mean, nobody could blame you if— you know, you’re… you’re a lesbian!”

“You’re just now noticing this?”

“No, I mean,” she choked, “I just mean maybe… maybe you would’ve wanted…”

She didn’t say it, she just held her hand up to her mouth— starting to bite her thumb nail nervously— and finally met your gaze.  And you heard it in the air, you saw it in her eyes.  Maybe you wanted a real girl.

You knew she was sensitive about it sometimes… for the first few months you were together she didn’t even like you to see her naked, didn’t want to be touched too much down there.  Then it was okay as long as it was in the dark— or through panties.  It took a lot of patience and promises to get her really naked for you, and god was it worth the wait.  And now here you were, fucking bewildered that she could think you didn’t like what you saw.

“Kitten,” you breathed, stepping up and frowning when she looked away again.  “Kitten, look at me.  How could you think that?”

“I just—”

“Was I not obsessed with you enough?  Did I not kiss you enough, touch you enough?  You had me on my knees— you had me around your finger—”

“I know,” she groaned, “but doesn’t the novelty wear off after a while?  You got to try something, you know, different— strange.  But a fetish is just that, you know— not meant to be forever.”

“That’s why you left?”

She nodded.

“Oh, Kitten— you stupid, stupid woman.”

“Hey—!” she protested, cut off by your lips pressing onto hers.  The resistance didn’t last for more than a half-second, and then she melted into you in the most beautiful way.  The way you’d been imagining ever since she left… or, really, ever since you first laid eyes on her.

She hummed sweetly into the kiss, and let you pull her closer.  Normally this is where you would’ve dragged her to the bed, but the bed was an aforementioned hellhole, so you had to try to think quickly while your brain short-circuited from the loveliness of the kiss.

Tugging her back by the fur coat, you guided her towards the couch with you, bringing her into your lap without ever breaking your lips away; then you could tug the coat down her arms, exposing the impossibly-thin straps of her dress.  She dropped her freckled shoulders in a coquettish way, as you finally pulled back and admired the way you'd ruined her lipstick.

Running your hands down her arms, and then over her sides, you sighed at the sight of her draped in silk— the way her legs straddled your lap only made the dress ride up a little higher, and it was driving you wild already.  “Tell me you weren’t just dressed like this to run errands,” you laughed breathlessly as you pet her thigh, dragging your nails a bit to tickle her through the stockings.

“No,” she admitted, watching your hand brush over her garters and reach up under the skirt— only to come back down before it got too far.  She whimpered as you teased her, and you felt your chest fill with pride.  “No, I dressed up like this for you…”

“Fuck,” you groaned, “all for me?”

“Yes,” she sighed, partially an answer to your question, partially a response to the way you started to kiss her neck.

“Dolled up for me, huh?  Wanted me to see what I was missin’?”

She nodded, biting her lip, and you carefully ran your fingertips along the edge of her panties.

You scoffed as you lifted the dress and found those garters pinned to delicate lace.  “Earrings my fuckin’ arse,” you mumbled, tickling her inner thigh as she hummed coyly.  “Knew exactly what you wanted when you came here, didn’t you, naughty Kitten?”

Her smile fell into a shuddering gasp as you grabbed her between the legs, and she could only nod a little.

“Well, then come and take it,” you offered, grabbing her hips next and pulling her down onto your lap to rub on your thigh.  “Go on, lemme see how bad you missed me.”

She sighed, moving carefully at first, but then really started to rock against you as you groaned proudly.  “Oh, kiss me,” she pleaded after a moment, and you pulled her down to your open mouth.  Finally she was letting go, relaxing in your arms, kissing you and grinding on you shamelessly.  She moaned and hummed against your lips, and you ran your hands all over her body— the stocking-clad legs, the curve of her waist, up over her back and chest until you could hold her head.  You cradled her face in your palms as you pulled away, enough to speak to her softly while you ran your fingers through her hair.

"Can't go leavin' me again, Kitten," you warned her with a little tug on those lovely blonde curls.  "Need you too much.  Hear me?"

"Yes," she promised, panting as she thrusted herself a bit faster against your thigh.

"You're mine," you reminded her, and she moaned happily.  "Say it."

"Yours," she whined, gasping as you suddenly groped her chest through the silk.  You smirked when you felt her nipple harden against your palm: they were always so sensitive.  "Yours, all yours—"

You roughly tugged her dress down to suck on her tit, and she gasped before giggling sweetly as she held your head.

"Oh, you brute," she moaned, "you'll rip my dress—"

"You wanted me to," you challenged, letting your teeth graze the little bud until you felt her shudder in your arms.  "You put this dress on— these panties and stockings— and you thought about me ripping it all off of you, didn't you?"

Her hips jerked a little in your lap, and that was answer enough for you.  

"Needy little Kitten," you praised.  “Now let me suck these pretty tits.”

She moaned, head falling back, as you went back and forth between them, mostly shutting your eyes tight and remembering exactly how to lick and tease her, but occasionally looking up at her face: it was just perfect like this.

She whimpered as she started to grind harder against your thigh, pretty pink lips open loosely for her moans to pass through.  Just when you thought she was lost in it entirely, and you started to lean back to just look up and watch her go, she moved her own leg between yours to press against your heated centre.  You sighed a little and caught her raising an eyebrow as she looked down at you, looking a little proud of herself.  "Want you to feel good too, darling," she explained, nodding encouragingly.

You moved your hips and groaned as the friction made you shiver all over.  You'd gotten so turned on from watching and touching her that every movement made you groan softly, and you had to take a tight hold of her ass— which made her whine sweetly— just to have something to keep you steady.

"I want us to come together like this," she whispered.  "Don't you think it's romantic this way?  Just moving together, too desperate to slow down, feeling each other…?"

"This is how it was the first time," you reminded her through a sigh.  You remembered it like it was yesterday, even though it was months and months ago: the way she was so shy and delicate about it at first, the sweet noises she made for you as you touched her— Does little Kitten purr? you'd asked her teasingly.  She does when a handsome new friend makes her come, she'd replied, or gives her some money.

You'd done both, actually, desperate to make this lovely Kitten your pet.  It felt more now like she owned you, and you didn't mind it one bit.  "I remember, too," she giggled, "you said it was the most fun you ever had without taking your clothes off."

“And then I asked you to stay with me,” you remembered with a laugh of your own.  “I was yours from the start, Kitten, and you knew it, didn’t you?”

She didn’t answer, just petting your hair and lifting your head so you’d look up at her.  “I was yours, too, darling,” she promised, looking deep into your eyes.  “Now won’t you come for me?”

“I’m close,” you breathed, “fuck, Kitten— you wanna make me come, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she smiled, breathing heavily by your ear as you bucked your hips up against her faster.  “Yes, I’d like to see it.”

“I wanna see you soak those panties,” you countered, panting yourself as the pressure began to build.  “Show me, Kitten— show me that pretty face when you cream your little knickers—”

“Oh!” she yelped sweetly, and you could feel it— the pulsing between her legs, through the fabric of your pants.  You pressed even harder against her thigh and came, too, both of you moving helplessly and instinctively— and it was pretty romantic, like she said.  But it was dirty in just the right way, too.

“Good girl,” you praised, though your own voice wasn’t very commanding anymore as you were reaching your high.  “Fuck, you’re so good—”

You choked and dropped your head back, your hips slowing to a stop while she smiled and relaxed above you; “Darling,” she purred, leaning down and kissing your cheek with a conservative peck.  “That was lovely.”

You nodded in agreement, smiling up at her and tucking her hair behind her ear— it still looked pretty perfect despite all that it had been through.

“Now maybe let’s clean up and get some lunch,” she offered, but she whimpered when you grabbed her waist aggressively.

"No fucking way I'm done with you already," you growled, watching her eyes get a little wide.

You ran your hand up her body again, feeling the way her chest swelled and sank as she tried to catch her breath.

“Get them wet for me, love,” you ordered softly as you pressed two fingers to her lips, and she dipped down to wrap her mouth around them.  You hummed in praise as she sucked them gently, batting her eyes at you— because of course she would.

She looked at you expectantly as you dragged the fingers slowly from her mouth, watching her plump lip go slack and bounce back when you pulled the digits away.  “Gonna put those inside me?” she asked, trying to sound innocent.

“If you ask nicely," you teased.

“Oh,” she sighed, “please— I missed them, you know.  Missed how you feel inside me— any part of you, really— but those fingers, darling, you know what you can do to me with those…”

“Did you try with your own fingers?” you wondered with a smirk.

“With these nails?  Heavens, no,” she denied.  You reached into her panties and teased her hole with the wet fingers, circling her rim as she mewled, hoping to break her patience.  “C’mon then, did I not ask nicely enough?” she wondered after a minute or so of that.

“Lay down on your back,” you whispered your command to her, “and open your legs for me.  Then I can give you what you want, princess.”

She got up off your lap and sank down to the floor in front of you— you figured she would’ve stayed on the sofa, but this felt a little more submissive— laying back slowly and seductively.  How could she do that, look so much like an angel and vixen all at once, while just laying on the ground?

Looking up at you with sultry half-lidded eyes, she slowly spread her legs and let you get an eyeful of the stockings and garters, the lace panties stained with come, the sweetest legs and the heaven she'd been hiding between them.

You fell to your knees in front of her, snapping the garters off and yanking her stockings down to touch her bare, smooth skin.  “God, Kitten,” you breathed in awe, “you know exactly what you fucking do to me.”

“Missed this sweet little cunt, didn’t you?” she noticed with a proud smile.

“Course I did,” you panted, kissing up her thighs.  “You know I fucking did.”

You reached down and pulled her panties aside, pressing your fingers to her hole again, but this time you actually slipped one in.  She jolted a little when you pushed past the resistance, and you smiled.

“Always so fucking tight,” you praised softly, still kissing her bent knee gently but meeting her gaze now.  She had this look in her eyes when she had something inside her, a wonderful look you never wanted to go too long without seeing.

Tight, yes, but it was a needy hole, too— and you both knew she already wanted more than just one.  She moaned through a smile as you added the second, carefully stretching her open as her hands clenched fistfuls of the shag beneath her.

A shag on the shag. You would've snorted to yourself as you realised the humour in the situation if you weren't too wrapped up in how gorgeous she looked spread out on your floor like this.

You still only had the two fingers about halfway in, focusing on stretching her carefully and just barely teasing that little spot that you knew all too well— you wanted her begging, if you had anything to do with it.  You had to get some sense of control back after she'd walked in here and made a complete fool out of you.

She hadn't said anything yet, though, just moaned and rocked her hips against you.  Your free hand kept petting her thighs encouragingly, and you kept looking back and forth between her hole swallowing up your fingers and that gorgeous face lost in pleasure.

You pushed your fingers deeper, all the way to the knuckle, and she arched her back up from the carpet.  “O-oh, more, please,” she begged.

“More fingers?” you smirked.  “Two’s not enough for you?”

“No, I just mean—” she pouted, “I just want more of you…”

You leaned down and laid over her, bringing your face close to hers, as she looked at you with the slightest hint of nervousness in her eyes.  “Like this?” you offered under your breath, and she nodded before hiding her face in the crook of your neck.  She was rarely shy about sexual things, even when she pretended to be, but sentiment sometimes made her act like this— she didn’t like to ask you for affection, as if she still feared you’d reject her.  Generally, your solution to this was to shower her in it, so she’d never have to ask… but you had to admit, you loved the way she begged for you.

She moaned into your shoulder as you held her closer with your free hand, still curling your fingers inside her and finally properly rubbing the most sensitive place inside her.

She whimpered and bucked her hips a bit when you pressed against it, and you smiled; “There, baby?  Is that where you need it?”

“Yes, yes,” she mewled, clutching tighter onto you.  

You brushed through her curls with your fingers, trying to coax her out.  “Let me see that pretty face,” you cooed, laughing a little when she shook her head against you.  “No?  I don’t get to see my angel?”

She sniffled and pulled back enough to let you see her: big, wet eyes with her mascara beginning to smudge, her lip caught between her teeth.

“You’re so beautiful,” you promised softly.  “But I love you for who you are, Kitten.  You’re not a fetish, or a compromise.  You’re just the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She whimpered and held your face, kissing you sweetly— but the kiss got faster and more desperate at the same time that your movements inside her did, and soon she was making those sweet noises that you knew meant she would come again.

“Let me see one more time, love,” you requested, “lemme see that pretty face you make when I make you come.”

“O-oh, fuck, I’m close,” she promised.  “I’m close, darling— I’ll come, I’ll come for you—”

“Yeah,” you agreed encouragingly, “yeah, you’ll give my fingers a nice squeeze, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” she whined, arching her back deeper.  “L-lick them again, please…”

“Your tits, honey?”

“Yes, please, please—” she chanted, moaning louder when you dipped your head down and wrapped your lips around one of those cute little nipples.  You suckled at it while she came, thrusting your fingers into her while she writhed and whimpered out your name; you didn’t stop moving your fingers until she seemed like she was trying to move her hips away, and you didn’t stop kissing her breast until she pulled you away from it by your hair, dragging you up to kiss her— it was sweet and lazy and slow, yet with a sense of desperation felt not in the speed of it all but in the way she tried to hold you tighter with weak and shaking hands.

You must have kissed for ages before you broke apart, and you rolled onto your back at her side; the two of you laid on the floor, sweaty and sticky, panting as you looked up at the ceiling.

After a moment, she turned her head and looked over at you, and you looked back at her as she offered you the softest smile— a real heart-melter, that one.  Her smile made your knees weak from the very start.  Reaching forward, she wiped some of her lipstick off of your lip, and you kissed the tip of her thumb.

"You really do look awful," she said suddenly, and you chuckled nervously.

"Your pillowtalk skills have seriously diminished since the last time we were together," you noticed.

"No, I just mean— I could tell you'd been crying," she whispered.  

"Yeah," you sighed in return, moving a curl out of her face carefully.  "Well, like I said, I was pretty miserable once you left."

"Then why'd you let me leave?"

"I figured you'd met someone else," you breathed.  "You wanted to get out so fast— I thought maybe you found a man."

"A man?" she repeated, lifting her head slightly in shock.

"You don't have too much trouble with men," you reminded her, and she laughed.

"I only have trouble with men," she assured, and you felt her hand reach for yours, clammy fingers tangling together.  "Besides— who else would I possibly want but you, darling?"

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

[floralcyanide]

𝟑𝟎,𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 - 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐧𝐞𝐫

jackson rippner x f!reader

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.

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

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

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.”

taglist:

@baizzhu @aporiasposts @hjmalmed @queenshelby @amanda08319 @naty-1001 @orijanko @raineeace @nela-cutie @cutexlr

[floralcyanidee]

ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ - ɴᴇɪʟ ʟᴇᴡɪs

Neil Lewis x AFAB!Reader (NSFW)

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?

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

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

“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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