#cillian murphy rpf
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𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 | dad's best friend!cillian murphy x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | based on the following request: what would dilf/dad's best friend cillian do if he found your dildo?
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5k (this was literally supposed to be a drabble...)
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), significant age gap (reader is college-aged, cillian is in his late forties), voyeurism/exhibitionism, semi-public sex, use of toys, praise kink, unprotected sex, very brief/semi sarcastic 'sir' kink, shockingly fluffy??
Not that your parents' anniversary cocktail party wasn't horribly riveting (cue dramatic eyeroll) but you were upstairs, on your bed, on your phone; you'd had enough of 'so how's college going?' and 'what's your major again?' and 'got any boyfriends yet? you must be a heartbreaker' for one evening— or a lifetime, preferably.
It wasn’t even that comfortable to be on the bed in your party dress—a cute, short sparkly one that you’d picked out for tonight—but it was better than standing around and trying to balance in those sky-high heels; those you had kicked off into the corner of the room the second you were alone.
When you heard a small rap on the door, you hummed a quick "Come in!" and didn't even look up from your phone, figuring it was your mom or dad come to find you after you disappeared.
Instead, you heard Mr. Murphy's voice as he leaned in the doorframe; "Sorry to bug you," he said, startling you slightly as you closed Instagram and set your phone down. "Just needed a Tide pen— your mom said you might have one in here?"
"O-oh, yeah," you said, sitting up, "sure— what happened?"
"Salsa fiasco," he joked softly as he shut the door behind him, showing you the dark red stain on his shirt— though the shirt itself was red, so it wasn't too egregious, but still noticeable.
"That's too bad," you chuckled, "I warned them about that salsa— if you serve salsa, there's gonna be a fiasco, that's what I said."
He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "They should listen to you more," he agreed.
"I've got a couple stain remover pens in that top drawer," you suggested as you pointed to your dresser.
"Great," he smiled, starting to unbutton the shirt; you got nervous for a second until you realized he had on a black undershirt beneath. It's hard to say why you were nervous about that, since you'd seen him shirtless plenty of times in the years you'd known him...
"Nobody's worried about me going missing, right?" you wondered as he continued working on the buttons, and he shook his head while shrugging slightly.
"Not yet," he replied, "but they're going to want to find you soon, you're sort of the star of the night."
You rolled your eyes, frowning. "It's my parents' anniversary party, I think they should be the focus."
"Maybe they should, but you're the much more interesting one," he informed you.
You pulled your legs up a bit, leaning to the side as you sat on your bed; as much as all this attention from your parents' friends was usually annoying to you, something about being interesting to Mr. Murphy didn't bother you so much. "Is it weird for you?" you asked, lowering your voice a bit; he tilted his head quickly as if to ask what you meant. "Going to an anniversary party after, you know—"
The words hung in the air, seeming to gather around his conspicuously naked ring finger: after the divorce. "Oh, no," he scoffed, taking off his cufflinks. "It's fine; but I'm sick of the questions about it."
You winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Don't worry," he laughed finally shirking off the shirt; he looked a little too good in just the short-sleeved undershirt. "You can make it even by letting me ask you how college is going."
"Oh god," you groaned, rolling your eyes, and he laughed.
"If I didn't know from your parents that you were acing it, I'd worry that your aversion to talking about it meant you were struggling somehow."
"It's not that," you assured, "it's the people."
"The people?" he pressed. "Or the guys?"
You laughed nervously, looking down at your lap. "Geez, you learn to mindread while I was gone or something?"
He stepped around your bed to get to the dresser, laying his shirt down over it. "No, I just remember that time— somehow. And I remember how much of a headache I and every other young guy was."
"I guess not much has changed then," you smiled.
"What, I'm still a headache?" he grinned as he looked over his shoulder at you.
"No, I meant—"
"I know what you meant, I'm just teasing," he chuckled. "Top drawer you said?"
"Yeah," you nodded, and he opened the top drawer of the dresser; of course, only right then did you remember that you should have specifically said top left. Because the top right was—
Oh shit.
You swallowed thickly as Cillian stared down into the open drawer, and your heart pounded as you somehow hoped and prayed that what was in there had turned invisible or something; but if the look on his face was anything to go by, it was just as visible as ever.
“I—fuck, sorry, I forgot that’s—” you choked out, face burning impossibly hot. “I never meant for you to see—I’m—could you shut the fucking drawer, please, you pervert?!”
“I’m the pervert?” he laughed thinly, looking at you again finally. “You’re the one with a massive fucking dildo in here.”
“Well—you weren’t supposed to see that—”
“Yeah, but—fuck,” he choked, “I was just looking for your stain remover and I see your— you have a— are you sure that isn’t technically considered a weapon or something? How’s a guy supposed to compete with that?”
“That’s the great thing about it: he doesn’t have to compete,” you explained, “that’s sort of the whole idea.”
He looked back at it for a second and you yelped, reaching your leg off the bed to kick him in the hip. “Would you please shut the drawer?!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed a bit, “but I mean, how am I supposed to react to that?
“Well, you’re not supposed to just stare at it!” you insisted.
He shut the drawer, giving you a look you couldn’t possibly decipher.
“What were you thinking?!” you said, somewhat rhetorically.
“I—well,” he hummed, looking away from you for a second, “I was thinking that I can’t imagine how you can possibly fit something like that.”
You blinked quickly, not sure what to say in response to that. “Well—I mean, it’s a little big, but… it gets the job done. Keeps me from calling the guys I shouldn’t be calling.”
He nodded. “Well, that’s good… none of those college boys could possibly deserve you…”
His eyes were running all over you, and even though you’d picked out this dress just for this party because you loved how you looked in it, you felt a little exposed by his stare.
“I just can’t believe a girl like you—”
“Come on, I’ve never been a saint,” you scoffed, glancing away.
“No, I just mean… the size of that thing…” he trailed off.
“You really can’t get over that part,” you noticed, “is this some kind of… intimidation, Freudian situation?”
You glanced quickly at his pants, and he started to deny it instantly. “No—come on, it’s not—I just can’t believe you take all that. For fun. It looks like it would break you.”
You hadn’t even had any drinks at this anniversary party, and yet you found yourself with this foggy head like you were tipsy; you blurted something out as if you were tipsy. “What, you want me to prove it?”
His chest sunk a bit, and you were about to take it back when he spoke before you. “I’d like to see you try.”
Biting your lip, you sat up on the bed, reaching around him and into the drawer. He didn’t step back or out of the way, just let you grab the toy and lean back on the bed in front of him.
You reached up under your dress, sliding your panties out of the way, finding yourself suddenly plenty wet to fit this toy.
His eyes never left you, though they certainly travelled all over your body as you pressed the toy up to your entrance; it was thick, he wasn’t wrong, and you had to slowly warm yourself up to it whenever you used it on yourself.
After pushing with enough pressure, the tip finally slipped inside and you let out a small sigh. He watched carefully, and your lips fell open into a moan as you pushed the toy deeper into yourself. When the stretch became a bit too sharp, you winced and slowed down, trying to take your time even with your heart racing and hands shaking.
You heard his own breathing picking up, watching you take the toy deeper; you found your gaze wandering over him, even lingering on his groin to see if you could catch a bulge growing there, but nothing was obvious yet. You stared for a moment at his hands, too, suddenly wishing to have them all over you—well, maybe not that suddenly, you’d sort of thought about this before. It wasn’t until somewhat recently that you noticed how sexy he was. Maybe when you were younger, you understood that he was better looking than all the other adults you knew, but only once you left for college did you start thinking about him out of nowhere, imagining what he was really like when he wasn’t just being friendly with you—you even asked your mom once on a phone call if he was dating anyone. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to get suspicious when you asked that; but she’d be more than fucking suspicious if she walked in now, saw you doing this to yourself under his watchful eye.
Oddly enough, the knowledge that someone could walk in and see this just made you even more desperate, and you gasped as you pushed the toy in deeper.
It still wasn’t all the way in, and you already felt so full… truth be told, he had a point about it maybe being too big for you—when you usually used it on yourself, you only put it in a little over halfway, since that was all you really needed. You hadn’t put the whole thing inside since you first got it—and yes, you’d ordered it online, because if you’d seen it in person you probably would’ve been as intimidated by its girth as he was.
Your decision not to wear a bra with this dress became very apparent when his gaze settled on your chest; your nipples were hard, and clearly visible under the fabric now. It was just because it was strapless that you went without, but you were thankful for it when you saw him quickly lick his lips at the sight. You dared to moan just a little louder as you pulled the toy in and out, picking up your pace carefully.
“How’s it feel?” he asked lowly, his eyes drifting back to where the toy slid into you.
“Good,” you mumbled, “really fucking good.”
“Can you really take it all?” he pressed, making your walls clench on the silicone.
Instead of answering aloud, you simply pushed it all the way in until your eyes rolled back—it was so deep, pressing heavy and fat against your deepest points until it felt like you might burst.
“Fuck,” he praised—it was just a swear, but the way he whispered it made it sound like a praise.
You sped up slightly, trying to do this the way you normally would without someone staring at you. But you were even more sensitive with him watching, your walls clenching more and more around the toy until it was almost hard to keep thrusting it in and out. Sighing, you shut your eyes and laid back on the bed to try to help yourself relax. The change in angle just seemed to make the toy go deeper, rubbing harder against the spot inside you that made your back arch.
“You’re so wet,” he breathed; you whimpered, nodding in agreement, and kept moving the dildo as deep as you could get it with every thrust.
Your free arm went back over your head to hold onto the comforter under you, your hand gripping tight for some relief for the pressure inside you. “Fuck yes,” you whispered, knitting your brows together and fucking yourself faster. “Feels so fucking good…”
He hummed a little, but you kept your eyes shut, afraid you’d lose your nerve if you looked at him again. It had been months since you used anything but this, and you had no regrets—the toy performed way better than any of the guys you’d met at college. But, truthfully, you didn’t like having to do this to yourself. It felt like you could never move it fast or hard enough, and you needed to constantly have perfect control over the toy to get yourself to come—and when you come, the last thing you want is to take control, you want to lay back and lose control. Still, it was better than the college fuckboys who smelled like beer and didn’t last more than two minutes.
Thinking about them wasn’t going to help you now, though; it was much better to think about Cillian, about those icy blue eyes running all over your body, about how his hands would hold you down while he claimed you, about how his lips would feel on your neck before he whispered in your ear that you were his…
You let out a sharp and sudden moan as the toy hit harder on that spot; your legs started to shake. “Good girl,” he mumbled, making you moan even louder because god, those words just sounded right in his accent, with that rough voice—and they sounded right being said to you.
“Fuck,” you choked, “Mr. Murphy, I—”
He laughed a little. “So polite,” he cooed. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
Though it made your heart beat even faster, you did as you were told. His stare was all-encompassing, making you feel completely trapped in a way you enjoyed more than you could’ve imagined.
“Call me Cillian,” he insisted.
You weren’t sure if he meant to literally call him that right in that moment, but it sort of came out anyway: “Cillian,” you moaned, and the grip he’d taken on the dresser behind him tightened.
“Can you come for me?” he asked lowly. “Right now? Can you come on that fake cock?”
You bit your lip and nodded, moving the toy faster and faster— more desperate to come than ever. “I—fuck, yeah, I’m close…”
“Good,” he praised again. “Let me see you come, honey.”
Your back arched harder, deeper—your hands were shaking but you kept going, holding on tight to the dildo and forcing it back and forth as your legs began to quiver.
Moans poured from your mouth faster than you could try to quiet them—everyone was downstairs, you just had to hope the music and conversation was enough to drown out your desperate, pleading noises. “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he mumbled, right as you hit the peak and melted into the mattress, a wave of ecstasy pouring over you.
You felt hot everywhere, but especially between your legs—you could swear you felt yourself leaking out around the toy, soaking it, giving away how needy you’d become and not even having the mental energy to feel any shame for it.
Cillian certainly didn’t look like he was trying to shame you for it; when you opened your eyes again, he had a stunned expression—in the best way. “You normally come that fast for a toy?”
You laughed a little, but you still couldn’t quite catch your breath. “No,” you admitted, “it normally takes… a bit longer than that…”
“What was different about tonight?” he mused, and you scoffed and rolled your eyes again.
“Shut up,” you sighed. “Now I have to figure out how to take this thing out—I’m always sore after…”
“If you can handle putting it in, taking it out shouldn’t be much trouble,” he noticed.
Which, yes, that would make sense, but after coming you always got all tight and sensitive and it could be a little intense.
“How about I help you?” he offered, and your chest tightened. He waited for you to nod before carefully wrapping his hand around your own, watching your face as he gently guided you to pull the toy out.
Your lips were slack and your eyes were probably glassy and dazed as he looked at you like that, completely enveloping you in his stare as he studied every detail of your expression. Aside from some heavy breathing you didn’t react much to him sliding the toy out of you, until the ridge of the head reached your entrance and you winced.
“Shh,” he soothed gently, “it’s okay…”
A long sigh of relief emptied your chest when the toy tapered off and you felt the last of it slip out of you; you really noticed then how soaked you were, as a draft in the room seemed to cling to the patch of wetness that had coated all between your legs somehow.
“Lemme see, baby,” he cooed under his breath as he set the toy aside, kneeling down and resting a hand on the inside of your thigh to keep your legs open.
You could barely catch your breath with him doing that; you’d never had someone… look at it like that. You felt incredibly vulnerable but impossibly sexy as you heard him sigh at the sight. “Is it all stretched out now?” you wondered.
“No,” he said, “you look… just as tight as before. Fuck. That’s incredible.”
You bit your lip, sitting up enough to try to get a look at his face past the puffiness of your dress’ skirt, and he smirked up at you with the loveliest sparkle in his eye. “Really?” you breathed, and he nodded.
Even though your hands were still shaking you suddenly felt brave; maybe it was just the afterglow, but you grabbed him by the shirt and sat up to kiss him, colliding your lips with his. He reciprocated instantly, putting his hands on your upper back that the strapless dress left bare.
The kiss was perfect—needy but not too fast, sweet but not too chaste, teasing but not too slow. The guys in college couldn’t even kiss like this… you were wondering why you ever even tried with them—or, you would’ve been if that kiss left you capable of thinking about anything but him. “Need you,” you whispered as you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders.
“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, a hand holding your waist while he started to kiss your neck and jaw. “Not here—your parents—”
“Don’t care,” you whimpered, “I’m so—fuck, Cillian, please—”
“You already came,” he noticed with a small laugh, “didn’t that take the edge off?”
“Not enough,” you whined, getting impatient and running a hand down over his shirt and down to his pants—and you smiled proudly as you felt the hardening bulge beneath. He choked a little when you touched him there, holding you tighter. “You want me too,” you noticed.
“Of course I do, but—” he breathed, then stopped himself as he tossed you back on the bed; you giggled as he crawled up over you, pinning you down. “But we can’t… your parents would have my head on a platter—once they’re done serving crawfish etouffee off of it downstairs.”
“Well, I wasn’t planning on telling my parents,” you smirked. “Were you?”
“No,” he agreed, kissing your neck again as you hummed happily. “But if they found out—”
“So? They wouldn’t like if they found out about what just happened, either—and they won’t.”
“But this is different,” he insisted.
“How?”
“Because this…”
He trailed off, kissing down your neck and over your shoulder, until a hand reached up to pull your dress down and expose your chest.
“Shit,” he sighed at the sight of it, and you smiled up at him.
“You were saying?” you teased.
“Right, erm,” he swallowed, “this is different because—because if we do this, you’re gonna be my girl. Not just a misguided one-time fuck because you were turned on after screwing yourself with your dildo while I watched.”
You felt a little out of breath but nodded up at him. “Okay,” you agreed.
“Okay?” he repeated, looking a little shocked. “I tell you that you have to be mine and you just say okay?”
“What was I supposed to say, yes sir?” you joked.
“I just mean—shit, if I knew it would be this easy, I would’ve said something sooner,” he chuckled. “But I’m, er, not complaining about the yes sir thing either…”
He sat up and started to unbutton his pants, making you wiggle a bit on the bed impatiently. Even though you’d just gotten filled by your big toy, you felt needier than ever for something inside you—something real.
Your throat caught when he took it out— it was pale and veiny just like the rest of him; long, uncut, a bead of precum starting to leak from the slit… it was beautiful, honestly. The artificial fleshy hue of the silicone could never compete.
“Big enough for you?” he asked with a smirk, but you had to swallow before you answered because your mouth was watering.
“Yeah,” you panted, “plenty.”
He kissed you again, laying more of his weight on top of you; your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him close as he pressed you down into your bed.
One hand found your wrist and held it back above your head, while the other kept a tight wrap around his cock so he could guide it to your waiting entrance. When he pushed inside, you both sighed with relief like you’d been longing for this for ages—perhaps because both of you had, in your own ways. “Fuck,” you breathed, “Cillian…”
He whispered your name back to you, heavy and desperate and right by your ear, and you absolutely knew you were his, just like he said. He only stilled for a moment when he was all the way inside, already starting to rock back and forth—but he was sort of tender about it, watching you move under him as he fucked you. “So pretty,” he praised quietly, kissing you again, even harder than before. You both moaned into the kiss, and a warm, rough hand settled on your thigh under your dress.
Soon, the pleasure was too much to even focus on kissing, and your mouth just fell wide open in front of his as needy moans passed through it. He stayed close, though, watching your face go slack with ecstasy. The previous orgasm had left you sticky and sensitive inside, still totally dripping for him, everything in you begging for more. “Oh my god,” you sighed, eyes rolling back, your composure completely slipping already. He made you feel so good so easily—and fuck, the way he was looking at you, it was just too much to bear.
“Mm,” he hummed proudly, latching his lips onto your neck again until your fingers tangled in his hair. He moved down and caught a nipple in his mouth, making you whimper as he suckled at it gently.
“Fuck,” you whined, nearly pulling him along by the hair when he moved to the other one; you couldn’t stop clenching inside, squeezing him until he groaned against your skin.
“Won’t last if you keep doing that,” he warned you softly.
“What if I don’t want you to?” you teased, and he growled a little between his teeth, sitting up to look down at you. He fucked you harder, but put a hand on top of your head and pet your hair for a moment, looking at you like you hung the moon; how could he be so dirty then so adorable within the same split-second?!
“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he decided, speaking softly, “how about that? What do you want me to do?”
That was a little too much power to give you, at least in your opinion, but you grinned as you considered it. “Then I want you to come way too quick,” you decided, “like all those annoying college boys—because you just can’t help yourself.”
He laughed a little, though he stopped to bite his lip as he fucked you even harder—and faster, too. “Okay,” he breathed, “don’t know why you want that, but—fuck— it won’t be very difficult after that little show you gave me. You look so pretty when you come…”
“Just keep going and you can see it again,” you promised, holding onto him tighter as he pressed into you and really let you have it—not really rough or anything, you couldn’t risk making any more noise than you were, but still aggressive and passionate and desperate.
He kissed your neck again, burying his face in your shoulder and finding the spot that made you gasp out his name suddenly; your fingers clutched at fistfuls of his undershirt, and your legs began to shake where they were hooked around his hips and half-pushed-down pants.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, the pleasure hitting you again—but it was better than with the toy, it was stronger, and it just kept going because he kept going. When your head fell back onto the mattress with a sigh, he realized that he’d made you come.
“Wait, fuck, I wasn’t looking,” he rushed as he popped his head up from the crook of your neck, “do it again.”
You laughed breathlessly and pushed against his shoulder a bit; “Shut up, I can’t do it on command.”
“You did it the last two times I told you to,” he reminded you, and that just made you feel even more deliciously dizzy.
Yes, you were definitely his girl now—totally addicted to him. You’d never felt like this with somebody—not just physically, but the trust and the laughter and the comfort of it all. This wasn’t a too-empty dorm room that still smelled like fresh paint, it wasn’t a mattress with no sheets in an apartment with 5 roommates nearby, it wasn’t a guy you vaguely knew from a two-hundred-student class or someone you saw on a dating app and talked with for an afternoon before meeting for ‘coffee’ (it was never just coffee). This was Mr. Murphy—and that should’ve made it weirder, but somehow, it just made it make more sense.
“So, if I tell you to come again,” he spoke lowly by your ear, a new authority to his tone, “you should come.”
You couldn’t think of anything else to say: “Yes, sir,” you breathed, hugging him close to you and pressing your face against his shoulder.
Of course, it wasn’t quite instantaneous, but just another minute of him giving you those deep, controlled thrusts right into your favorite spot sent you over the edge easily—and this time, he gently guided your face out of its hiding spot and looked at you, watched your pleasure overtake you, tenderly rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “Good girl,” he praised softly, kissing you again just as the last of it drained from you; you were so numb that you barely heard him whisper something to you—it took you a few seconds to process it.
“I’m gonna come,” he’d whispered to you, “fuck, you’re so fucking warm…”
“Come inside,” you instructed, and for all the concern he tried to perform for you after you said that, his moan was undeniable, as was the way he started to move faster.
“Fuck, really?” he nearly whined. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, panting.
“You’re on—”
“Yes, please, just come inside me,” you begged, and he finally stopped protesting and pressed himself as deep into you as he could—you could feel the way his cock flexed, and it made your exhausted walls dig up just enough energy to flex back.
“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, holding onto you tightly.
You hummed a little at the feeling, turning your face towards his, hoping to see what he looked like in this moment—but he pulled you into another kiss before you could get a good look. Even this kiss was different from the others—a little slower, a little more tired in a wonderful, dreamy way. He was breathing heavy against you, and eventually he found the energy to push himself up with his arms on either side of your head, and you smiled up at him. He looked really fucking good like this: his face a bit flushed, which seemed to show his freckles and fine lines even more (which you adored); his hair falling down, a little wavier from the slight sweat he’d worked up; his lips swollen and slick from the kisses; and those eyes, they looked as beautiful as always, but they made you feel beautiful, too.
“Is taking this one out gonna hurt, too?” he asked you with a smirk.
“Probably a little,” you shrugged.
“For both of us,” he agreed, “I’m so fucking sensitive now… you really do have me acting like a desperate college boy—but you know, it’s been a while, so…”
“Right, sure—good excuse,” you joked, but you didn’t mind any of it either way.
He did it a little quicker, pulling back as he took a sharp breath in, and you giggled softly.
“Fuck, I can feel it, like… leaking out,” you admitted, biting your lip at the sick satisfaction of the warm gush.
“I think I need to see that,” he said, sitting up and picking your legs up from under the knee to look at you. This was apparently a habit of his—and you were starting to get used to it already.
“How’s it look?” you asked, wondering if he’d finally stretched you out after that.
He just stared at it for a moment longer, running his tongue over his teeth, before finally looking back at you and saying with a smile: “Looks like you need the Tide pen more than I do.”
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PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹
ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna
pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader
summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.
warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
word count. 4.5k
a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!
i.
“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“
You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly.
“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”
You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough.
The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours.
The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters.
“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“
“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.
Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”
The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood.
You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was.
His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross.
It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt.
You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out.
You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all.
He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same.
You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines.
You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head.
The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.”
You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers.
Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door.
“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care.
You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.
Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky.
His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself.
“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be.
“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”
You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in.
Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene.
Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.
However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago.
You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned.
“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”
You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.
His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?”
You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.”
With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now.
His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.
Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing.
He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?”
You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”
“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly.
You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself.
Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”
“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”
You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”
You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly.
So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.
This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.
“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”
Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“
Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity.
“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity.
“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features.
You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity.
His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script.
You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”
Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right.
Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.
“What are you—“
“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”
You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.
But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of.
All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?
Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.
When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth.
However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly.
“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”
You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”
His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”
“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”
He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”
“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side.
“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.
“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch.
He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.”
Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound.
“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.
He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.
“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”
You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.
Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction.
“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.”
He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.
You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides.
You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant.
“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”
You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you.
“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”
You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants.
He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.
You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes.
You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked.
“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”
You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch.
“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.
“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily.
You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan.
You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”
With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible.
Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock.
“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered.
“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding.
“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words.
You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background.
Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian.
His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure.
The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt.
“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”
He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace.
With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear.
When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy.
“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”
“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind.
After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor.
“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity.
He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes.
You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?”
He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.”
“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly.
He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.
You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”
Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips.
“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light.
His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”
ii.
“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?
However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was.
Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.
The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly. “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.”
You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events.
As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”
#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy rpf#cillian murphy x reader smut
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def write more best friends dad!cillian orrrr maybe you can dip ur toes into dads best friend!cillian??? i feel like that would be awesome!
here you go, lovelies, the long awaited dad's best friend!cillian! enjoy! warnings for smut (oral f!receiving, fingering), age gap (cillian is 46, reader is in her 20s)
The moment you surfaced from the water, you felt his gaze on you. You had known Mr. Murphy for years, for long enough for him to insist that you call him Uncle Cillian (although you didn’t, but you were never sure why), and his bright blue eyes were hard to miss, especially when they were fixated on you.You swiped the droplets of chlorinated water from your eyes as you looked around for him, dodging the various people that were in your backyard. It was a hot Saturday evening, and your parents were putting on a little summer party to celebrate you being home from college; of course, Mr. Murphy was invited, and you had briefly greeted him when he arrived a few hours before, before you got in the pool. But now, you felt him watching you, and you found him standing by the back door that led into your kitchen.
You watched as he averted his eyes, obviously having been caught looking, and he slipped inside your house quickly. You scrunched up your eyebrows in confusion at his hasty exit, and you swam to the edge of the pool, tugging yourself up and out. Your towel laid nearby, and you quickly dried off and wrapped it around your waist as you padded barefoot by your dad. “Don’t track water into the house,” he told you as you passed, and you absently nodded, still intent on following Mr. Murphy inside.
You found him all alone in the kitchen, standing with his back to the door, leaning against the island, sipping at his beer. He had his phone in his hand, scrolling too quickly to really be looking at anything on his screen, and you purposefully opened the fridge louder than usual to get him to look at you. “What’re you doing in here?” you asked playfully when he looked at you, his paralyzing blue eyes scanning your body, from your soaked hair to the almost-too-small white bikini top you wore. “Don’t you know the party’s out there?”
Mr. Murphy shrugged. “Got hot outside,” he said. “And I know where your dad keeps the good beer.”
You nodded, not really believing him, and you pulled out a can of soda and shut the fridge door with your hip. “Well, wearing sweaters and shit probably doesn’t help with the heat,” you said, reaching out for the corner of his navy cardigan. “You should’ve brought your swim trunks, you could’ve gotten in the pool with me.”
“Ah,” Mr. Murphy scoffed. “Nobody wants to see me parading around in my bathing suit. I’m too old and out of shape for that.”
“As if,” you said. “You look fine, don’t stress too much.”
“Thanks, love,” Mr. Murphy said softly. “Sorry, I’ve just… Ever since the divorce, I haven’t really felt like myself.”
Ah, right. The divorce. Your parents and The Murphys had been friends since they were your age— you had seen the scrapbook pictures of college-aged versions of your dad and Cillian getting up to no good— and you had to admit that you were always a little closer to Aunt Yvonne (not to say you didn’t like Mr. Murphy, because you did, but you always liked Aunt Yvonne more). When you were at college and your dad offhandedly mentioned on the phone one night that Yvonne and Cillian were separating, you had frowned. “Is Yvonne okay?” you asked. “What happened?”
“I’ve only talked to Cillian about it,” your dad had told you. “And he hasn’t said much. People just grow apart, I guess.”
You screwed up your mouth at the mention of the mysterious divorce, and you popped the tab of your soda. “That’s okay,” you told him. “You just need to find someone new.”
“Really?” Mr. Murphy asked. “A rebound? Is that how you deal with breakups?”
“Well, yeah,” you shrugged. “Whenever I get sad about my ex or whatever, I just go find someone else to focus on for a little while.”
“First of all, that’s not healthy,” Mr. Murphy chuckled. “Second… I don’t know, I was married for 20 years. I have two kids. I can’t just go find a girl at a bar and hook up with her and expect to get over it.”
“I don’t know, man,” you mumbled. “Just trying to help, I guess.”
“I appreciate that,” Mr. Murphy said. “You’ve always been a sweet girl.”
Oh. Oh no. You felt a stirring in your lower belly when he said that, one that made heat flood your bikini bottoms, and you shifted your weight on your feet as you nervously sipped your soda. You had to admit that Mr. Murphy, with his high cheekbones and greying hair and brilliant eyes, was quite attractive, exactly your type, and you had considered fucking him before, but, because of Aunt Yvonne, you had pushed down that desire and pretended it didn’t exist. It was just a fantasy about your dad’s best friend; that wasn’t that uncommon, was it?
“So,” he started before you could think anymore. “How’s college?”
You shrugged. “Fine, I guess,” you said. “Classes are okay, but exams are hard as hell.”
“Oh, yeah?” Mr. Murphy said softly. “Any boys catch your eye?”
“Honestly, not really,” you said. “They’re all kind of… Eh, I guess. I don’t like any of them the way I—” You cut yourself off before you could finish your sentence, the way I like you, and you stammered, “I-I should.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Mr. Murphy asked. “I mean, I know college boys can be dumb, but what’s wrong?”
“They’re just not mature enough,” you said softly. You set down your drink and wrapped your arms around your middle, and you added, “I don’t want to worry that my boyfriend will do some stupid shit on a night out. And they just, umm, don’t do things the way I want them to.”
Mr. Murphy wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion, also setting down his drink, and he leaned his hip against the kitchen island. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well…” you started. “Boys my age don’t, like… Whenever I’ve hooked up with a guy, I’ve always asked him to do certain stuff, and he never does. At least not well.”
“Wait,” Mr. Murphy said. “Are you telling me that the boys you go out with don’t go down on you?”
Your skin prickled at the sound of those words coming out of his mouth, and you eyed him suspiciously before you cleared your throat. “Um, not really,” you said. “Like, they do it, but never well.”
“Oh, darling,” Mr. Murphy sighed. “You need to find a really good guy that’ll do that. And he’ll treat you like the princess that you are; don’t ever let a man do anything less.”
You huffed out a laugh. “Thanks, Mr. Murphy,” you said softly.
He smiled softly, tilting his chin down to look at you, and he said, “Now, how many times have I told you to call me Cillian?”
Your heart skipped in your chest, and you mumbled, “A-A few.”
“And yet, you don’t,” Cillian said. “Why not? You called my wife Yvonne, why not me by my name?”
“I don’t know,” you said. “I never felt like I was close enough to you to really… Deserve to call you that.”
Cillian took a step towards you, then hesitated, then reached out for you. You expected him to grab your hands or touch your shoulders, but his fingers tucked in the towel around your waist. He waited for a moment before he slowly unraveled it from your body, and his eyes hungrily took in the sight of your legs. “Wow,” he whispered. “I knew that you would be so beautiful…”
“Cillian?” you said gently, nervously looking over your shoulder to the outside door, where everybody else was still outside. “Wh-What if someone sees?”
“Sees what?” Cillian asked. He set your towel on the counter, taking a step closer to you. “We’re not doing anything.”
“Yeah, but…” you started. “But—”
“If you want me to do something, all you have to do is ask,” Cillian told you. “But ask nicely.”
You swallowed thickly. “I-I don’t even know what I want,” you told him. “I’ve thought about this, sure, but…”
“Do you want me to go down on you?” Cillian asked. “Just say the magic word, love.”
You blinked, fluttering your eyelashes at him, and you softly said, “Please?”
Cillian’s face softened, and he took your hips in his grasp, pulling you close to him. He gently moved you to the counter and helped you jump up on it, and he buried his face in your neck and took a deep breath as his fingers danced at the ties on your bikini bottom. “Sweet girl,” he whispered. “How long have you wanted this?”
“Umm…” you started, and your breath caught in your throat when he deftly undid your ties, pulling your wet bottoms from your skin. “A long time.”
“Yeah?” Cillian breathed, and he carefully moved down to kneel on the ground in front of you, his face level with your pussy. You felt almost shy as he looked at you, and you wiggled on the countertop as his dull fingernails pressed into the flesh of your thigh. “And how long has it been since you’ve had sex?”
“A few weeks,” you told him. “I haven’t since I moved back home.”
“Oh, you’re dying for it, aren’t you?” Cillian cooed softly. “Your little vibrator isn’t enough, right?”
“No,” you breathed. Cillian leaned forward and littered soft kisses on the inside of your thighs, coming close to where you wanted him but never landing exactly there. He was teasing you, the bastard. Your hand left the counter and curled in his salt and pepper hair, urging him closer to your pussy, and he smiled, looking up at you with those brilliant eyes. You felt shocked, like his gaze was electric, and Cillian sighed heavily, focusing back down between your legs.
“You’re so pretty, baby,” he whispered, his warm breath fanning across your core. “My sweet girl…” Then, before he could say more, he pressed forward, touching his lips to your pussy. You jolted in surprise, letting out a quick laugh to try to ease your nerves, and he chuckled lightly. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just… Nervous.”
“Why’re you nervous?” Cillian asked, smoothing his hands up your legs to rest on your back.
“If someone catches us—” you started, and Cillian furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head.
“They won’t,” he told you.
“But if they do?” you countered.
“But they won’t,” Cillian said firmly. “Ease up, love, just enjoy this. Let me take care of you.”
“O-Okay,” you said softly. Your fingers rested against the back of his head as he continued to kiss all over you, and he finally put his mouth right where you wanted him to, almost like you had led him there. His tongue darted out to taste you, playing gently with your soft clit, and you closed your eyes blissfully, letting the wet warmth of his mouth overtake you. “Fuck, Cill…”
“That’s it,” Cillian whispered, and his lips captured your clit, sucking on it for a brief moment, just long enough for you to moan softly, and he broke away. His tongue ran a thick line up your wet cunt, tasting you from throbbing hole to quivering clit, and he went back to your hole, teasing you with the tip of his tongue.
You clenched your teeth to keep from being too loud, and you watched Cillian eat your pussy like he was starving for it, lapping up your wetness and sucking eagerly at every inch of flesh that he could get his mouth on. He held you tightly, yet tenderly, wanting all of you that you would give him, and the warmth of an orgasm began to build in your belly. God, that was quick, but you suppose that Cillian had years of experience. He knew what he was doing, far better than any kid from your sociology class could do. “Cill,” you whispered, and he looked at you through his eyelashes, shocking your system again. “Fuck!”
“What is it, baby?” he asked softly. His fingers itched to your pussy, lighting trailing up and down your slit, and you whined as you felt an intense and sudden need.
“Want you,” you mumbled.
“What do you want?” Cillian asked.
“Anything,” you panted, jolting your hips again at his light teasing. “Everything.”
“Unless you have a condom,” Cillian started with a laugh. “I’m not having proper sex with you. I’ll do this and finger you and everything else, but…”
“Why not?” you asked. “Are you worried that I…?”
“No, I’m not worried about that,” Cillian said. “I know you don’t have anything, it’s not that. I just… I don’t want there to even be a chance that you could… That we could…”
“I don’t understand,” you said, looking down at him through half-open lids.
“I don’t wanna knock you up,” Cillian said quickly, as if saying it quickly would lessen its impact. “And I’m not going to fuck you if I don’t have a condom, because, once I get inside you, I know I won’t be able to control myself from cumming inside you.”
“Oh,” you said softly. “It’s not a… An Irish Catholic thing?”
That made Cillian laugh. “You know, just because ‘Irish Catholic’ is a thing doesn’t mean that all Irish people are Catholics—”
“No, no, I know,” you said quickly. “Sorry, just checking.”
Cillian smiled softly, laughing gently at you, and his fingers gently touched your hole, waiting for you to do something in response. You sighed, flexing your hips down to urge his fingers inside you, and he did as you requested, pressing his middle finger past your flesh and inside you. You gasped at the feeling, loving him so deep, and you mumbled, “Cill…”
“I know, love,” Cillian said, placing a soft kiss to your clit. “Does it feel good?”
“So good,” you whimpered. Cillian began to slowly thrust his finger inside you, moving gently as he sucked lightly on your clit, and you gasped quickly. “Cill! Oh my God!”
“That’s it, lovely,” Cillian said. He pushed his second finger in, pausing to let you adjust to the feeling of it, and then he started up a relentless pace, fucking you quickly on his fingers as his mouth and tongue explored your pussy. “God, you’re so tight, s’good…”
The heat inside you was becoming too much, tingling even down in your toes as it grew in your belly, and you whimpered and let out a cracked moan as his fingers hooked up inside you, brushing that sensitive nerve. “Cill!” you yelped, your hand flying down to grab at his wrist, as if that would stop his quick fucking. “Oh my God, I’m gonna cum!”
“Mhm,” Cillian hummed, burying his face fully into you. “Let it out, baby.”
You whined high in your throat, everything becoming all too overwhelming, and your legs shook as the heat burst in your belly. Your head fell back as you moaned, maybe a little too loud, and Cillian fucked you through it, whispering out “Yes, love, you’re so good, you’re such a good girl for me.” You tugged on his hair as your orgasm crashed through you, trying to keep him right where he was but also pull him away all at the same time, and Cillian smiled into your pussy, letting his tongue linger a bit at your throbbing hole. “Now,” he started softly. “Was that better than what you’re used to?”
“Yeah,” you sighed. You looked down at him, still kneeling on the floor, and you brushed back his hair out of his eyes gently before he started to stand up. “Thanks.”
“Of course, love,” Cillian said. He grimaced a bit as he stood, mumbling out something about that damn knee, and he added, “When’re you going back to university?”
“Not for a few months,” you said. “It’s summer break.”
“That’s nice,” Cillian said. “Well, erm… I’d like to see you again.”
“Oh, yeah?” you chuckled. You slid off of the counter and retrieved your bottoms, and you did the ties back up as you tried to stand on your shaking and weak legs. Jesus, he really did a number on you. “When?”
Cillian took his drink back into his hand and sipped at it for a moment, thinking hard. “Well,” he began. “Whenever you’re free. I’m at your mercy, love.”
“Right,” you said, laughing softly. “I’ll let you know.”
At that moment, the door to the backyard creaked open, and your heart stopped as your dad came into the kitchen. “There you two are,” he said. “I thought you were still outside.”
“No, I cornered her to ask about school,” Cillian chuckled, and he looked at you. “Remember what I said: school first, parties later. Right?” He winked at you, and you huffed out a laugh.
“Yeah, sure,” you smiled. “Whatever you say, Cillian.”
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Personal Favourite Fanfics | Cillian Murphy/IRL |
NOTE: This is entirely my favourites so if it offense any of you, I don't care. It might seem mean, but this is how everyone is.
P.S: ISTG I'm actually nice 💀
IN REAL LIFE PART 1
Cillian Murphy:
Call me Cillian
https://www.tumblr.com/mypoisonedvine/724775410006671360/ahuh-yeah-so-this-this-is-good?source=share
Practice Makes Perfect
https://www.tumblr.com/burnyouwithacigarettelighter/726757749793456128/practice-absolutely-does-make-it-perfect?source=share
Barbenheimer
https://www.tumblr.com/starkwlkr/723804939463360512/barbenheimer-cillian-murphy?source=share
If I let you go
https://look-at-the-soul.tumblr.com/post/697195381112651776/one-shot-master-list-an-so-i-finally-got-this
Love War
https://causeimhappinesss.tumblr.com/post/177658470794/embed
You have something on your face
https://mythos-writes.tumblr.com/post/679096768752943104/you-have-something-on-your-face
Proud
https://storiesforallfandoms.tumblr.com/post/616219300227940352/proud-cillian-murphy
New Change
https://running-on-fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/186539015619/cillian-murphy-new-change
Break
https://peakyscillian.tumblr.com/post/653976957987454976/break-cillian-murphy-x-femreader-one-shot
The Wrong Path
https://causeimhappinesss.tumblr.com/post/175118227074/the-wrong-path-cillian-murphy-x-reader
That's a Wrap!
https://www.tumblr.com/graveyard-stray/743095097772654592/just-saw-the-wanting-to-write-x-autisticreader?source=share
#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy rpf#cillian murphy imagine#cillian x fem!reader#cillian x reader#cillian murphy smut
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girlhood is trying to pretend you aren’t clinically insane when someone brings up your favorite celebrity DILF in a convo.
#cillian murphy x reader smut#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy rpf#cillian murphy#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian x fem!reader#thomas shelby imagine#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby#peaky blinders x reader
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Cillian Murphy x male reader
Type: Headcanon
He loves wearing your t-shirts around the house because they're so big and comfy. Your sleeves come down past his elbows and the collar hangs low to reveal part of his clavicle. The scent of your cologne lingers faintly sometimes even though the shirts have been washed, and he finds it relaxing.
#cillian murphy#Cillian murphy fic#Cillian murphy x male reader#Cillian murphy x reader#Cilian murphy x requests#Cillian murphy x fanfic#Cillian murphy x fanfiction#Rpf
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him and i fr. (muse and artist fr) ("they are the only two people who think its a secret theyre in love" fr) ("cuando se confirme nos hacemos los sorprendidos" fr) (actor and director fr) ("when i make films you'll be the first i call up for the lead role" fr)
#i love him#this is a joke on the side of chris and cillian#rpf is not cool#dont do that#cillian murphy#chris nolan#christopher nolan#that one post that was like “this looks like a tabloid photo that was the basis for a homosexual rumor” or somethin#also that one tweet that was like “cillian murphy and a fag” and the last photo was this one too.#what did they put in this photo#i hate rpf but theyre so fucking funny pls.#uhm back to our regularly scheduled programming#gay mlm#gay#gay sfw#mlm sfw
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"Sometimes he catches himself thinking that Cillian might be his muse—a ridiculous thought, but undeniably at least a little true." - november flush and your flannel cure by alphabet_hitman on ao3
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hi yes, looking for a celebrity rp and my love interest will be cillian murphy. I’d prefer if you were okay with big age gaps, im talking about.. 20 year age gap - i can reduce the age gap a little but i like older men so 🤭 my love interest will be also harry kirton if you’re rly rly uncomfortable with age gaps, though.
Im in the central european timezone, 20 years old so pls 18+, no triggers, fine with nsfw themes, i do any pairing cause i dont discriminate and for now im looking for semi-literate to literate, i can be more descriptive but due to my work i cant whip out very long replies. Two paragraphs will be expected from me, maybe even three when im in the mood but no more than that :”)) i can play anyone for you ! Aight that’s it, pls like this-
-
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𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 | boyfriend's dad!cillian murphy x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | for some reason, your first instinct after the breakup was to talk to his parents; maybe because you'd come sort of uniquely close to them, for a relatively short relationship. you might not have gone to their house if you'd known you'd find mr. murphy there alone...
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ ONLY!! unprotected sex, creampie, oral m and f receiving), age gap (reader's age unspecified, cillian is 45+), hurt/comfort (but, you know, sexual comfort), infidelity, slight manipulation/coercion since the reader is very vulnerable at the time, somewhat inexperienced reader, degradation and praise, a little bit of breathplay, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia?, reader is slightly implied to be an immigrant/foreigner
note: yes I use his real name but this is just fiction and not meant to have anything to do with the real cillian murphy or his life/family so please keep that in mind!
He had a smile on his face as he opened the door and greeted you, but it fell instantly when he saw you biting down on your quivering lip, looking down to hide how red and watery your eyes were.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked, voice heavy with concern as he reached out and rubbed your shoulder. "Oh, god— come in, come in— what's going on?"
He ushered you into the house, shutting the door behind you and wrapping his arm around you as you sniffled. "I-I'm sorry—" you began instantly. “I thought— I don’t know why I even came here…”
But, actually, you sort of did. You’d been wanting to talk to Cillian’s wife, hoping for some motherly advice, until he answered the door and you abruptly remembered she was in England on business for a week or something. And you couldn’t exactly show up on somebody’s doorstep crying and say ‘oh, sorry, I thought your wife would be home— I’ll come back in a few days’.
You weren’t disappointed by running into him instead, really, you just felt a little weirder about it. The two of you had never actually been alone before.
"Don't apologise," he soothed, "it's okay, just tell me what's happened. Are you alright?"
"Yeah," you sighed, trying to compose yourself a bit as he guided you to sit on the couch with him. "Yeah, I'm okay, I just... um, well, it's sort of stupid—"
"I'm sure it's not," he offered with a small laugh, "if it's got you this worked up."
"We, um... I think we broke up?"
"What?" he breathed, knitting his eyebrows together— he cared more than you expected... but it sort of made sense, Mr. Murphy had always made you feel welcome here. Mrs. Murphy too, maybe ina different way. Yes, it's bizarre to respond to being dumped by going to visit the guy's parents, you needed a sort of... mature, familial presence right now while you were so far from your own.
You took him through the whole drama as efficiently as possible, trying to regulate your crying so he could actually attempt to make out what you were saying. He listened thoughtfully, perhaps with too much attention compared to what you expected— after all, this was stupid college drama and he was so much more mature than all that. Still, you appreciated a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on.
"And, uh, that's how he ended it," you finished with a sigh, sniffling as you recalled the heartbreaking conversation. "He basically told me that he's too young to be stuck with one person, and he needs to 'explore his options'..."
"Then he's an idiot," Cillian groaned, "and I hate to say that about my own son— but he's a fuckin' idiot."
"Well," you mumbled, "I don't know— I thought maybe he had a point. I mean, we're pretty young..."
"But look at you, honey," he offered pityingly, "you can't tell me this is what you wanted."
"No, but—"
"And yes, you're young," he added, "but not too young— not if it's real."
You bit your lip to stop it from shaking any more, and he cooed at you gently as he reached up to rub your shoulder.
“Poor girl,” he breathed. “Honestly, I always… well, maybe I shouldn’t say it now…”
You looked up at him expectantly, and he smiled nervously as he glanced away.
“Well… I guess I always thought that you could do better,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but, you know, I didn’t want to say anything, of course. He was lucky to have you, and I just hoped he would treat you right, but…”
“I thought I was the lucky one,” you replied with a thin smile and another little sniffle. “He could be really sweet, you know— he used to be. And I always thought he was, uh, sort of… you know, out of my league.”
“Oh, honey, no,” Cillian frowned, moving his hand up to your face and holding your cheek, wiping a small tear away with his thumb. “You’re gorgeous.”
You laughed awkwardly, not sure what to think— or how to think— with him looking at you like that. “I… I don’t know, you’re sweet, but—”
“No, really,” he assured, and only when you met his gaze did you realise how close he was. You wouldn’t call it too close, only because it didn’t bother you like you knew it should. “You’re so beautiful.”
You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing actually came out… there was nothing to say. He was coming closer, you knew it, and you wanted to reach up to stop him just as much as you wanted to shut your eyes and give into it. You ended up sort of splitting the difference: you rested your hands on his shoulders, but didn’t push him away, and gasped slightly just before he kissed you. Even a second of resistance could’ve given you some plausible deniability, but no, you fluttered your eyes shut and kissed him back; it didn’t help that you could feel how warm and strong he was through the t-shirt, holding on tighter to his shoulders with a hum.
His hands wandered to your waist, pulling you into him— and you were like putty, embarrassingly enough. With him kissing you like that, you really couldn’t do anything but let him pull you around wherever he wanted. His lips were soft and gentle, his tongue teased you so carefully, and he even sighed against your skin in the sweetest way… you were totally helpless already.
Sure, some part of you knew how fucking bizarre this was— that you were kissing Mr. Murphy, your boyfriend’s dad— well… ex-boyfriend’s. You weren’t blind, you noticed how attractive he was when you met him, but you’d managed to successfully ignore it since then. It made sense, after all, since the first thing you’d noticed about your boyfriend was his good looks… but Mr. Murphy was handsome in a totally different way. Strong and broad— not especially massive or anything, still a lean guy— with thin streaks of grey in his hair, a patient sort of smile, subtle wrinkles around his eyes that added a sense of wisdom to his expression… really, he was a bit more of your type. But that was something you had forced yourself not to acknowledge— until now.
You sat up slightly, holding onto his neck, breathing in sharply through your nose as you kissed him back a little harder. You could feel him smiling— god, even just that made you feel so desperate— and he even moaned ever-so-quietly when you ran your fingers through his hair.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed against your lips, breaking away just enough to make you open your eyes— his lashes seemed especially long as he looked down at your legs curled up on the couch (and his hands petting them slowly. “You haven’t been treated properly for a long time, have you?”
You whined in the back of your throat involuntarily as you nodded— how could he see right through you like that? It wasn’t like it was bad with your ex, it was just… not good. Not enough. You wanted to feel wanted, not used— not a means to an end.
“Will you let me?” he asked softly, breathing beside your ear on his way in to kiss your neck. You gasped, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close, head falling back to give him as much of you as he wanted. His tongue was fucking fiendish, the way he used it to tickle along your pulse, the sharpness of his teeth making you jolt only for him to soothe you with his plush lips.
“Yes,” you panted, “fuck— I, god, I can’t believe we’re doing this…”
He laughed a little. “I can,” he admitted. “All I could fucking think about since I met you…”
That surprised you— you’d never noticed anything that would’ve made you think he thought of you that way… but knowing that he, apparently, had made a shiver run up your spine.
He certainly hid it well, playing the part of the slightly-embarrassing dad and polite husband so well that you never would’ve known… oh god, his wife. You didn’t want to think of her now, yet the unavoidable memory stirred arousal alongside guilt in your gut. You had no idea you were this sort of person— but you weren’t really operating logically right now, anyway.
He held your face again as he pulled back, petting your cheek— it made you feel especially juvenile when he did that, holding your chin to examine you. This wasn’t really the ideal state for you to be looked at, in your opinion, with you having been crying all evening. But he looked amazed by you, even if it was just for a moment before he looked down at your body and smirked.
“Take this off,” he instructed, tugging at your shirt slightly. You thought it would’ve been a little more romantic if he helped you out of it, but it was alternatively a bit sexier that he was just going to sit back and watch you strip for him. It must have been his way of demonstrating his power over you, that you were just going to take it off and toss it aside without question. Which, of course, you did.
He smiled proudly at the sight, and before you could even get your bra off, he started to carefully tease you through it— fingers running around the edge, moving the straps off your shoulders, tickling up your sides as you shifted nervously on the couch.
“Look’t that,” he whispered proudly, and you took a second to realise that he was referring to your nipples getting hard enough to poke visibly through the fabric; you felt self-conscious all of a sudden, even if he was clearly enjoying what he was seeing. “So needy, huh?”
“Y-yeah,” you admitted, whining when he reached inside the cups and ran his fingers over your breasts— they usually weren’t so sensitive. “Fuck,” you breathed, shutting your eyes as a way to try to escape his gaze. “I… I need you.”
“Fuck, baby, don’t talk like that,” he groaned, “m’gonna try to take my time with you— how am I supposed to do that if you say such lovely things?”
His lips were on your neck again— and he was leaning you back, laying you down under him, tugging your shorts down with a bit more urgency than he’d had before.
When you were basically naked— or at least, your bra and panties pushed out of the way enough that he could see what he needed to— he purred at the sight, grinning as you hastily undressed yourself the rest of the way.
"Of course he couldn't appreciate this," Cillian sighed, baring his teeth just a bit. "Of course he couldn't appreciate a perfect fucking body like this— a perfect little pussy like this..."
You were about to open your mouth to say something, though you hadn't even decided yet what it would be, but only a low moan came out when he held your legs open and dove between them, humming as he lapped at your clit. You couldn't imagine why you were so sensitive, but your whole body was shaking already just from the gentlest motions of his tongue...
"Fuck," he said, muffled against your skin, before he pulled back enough to bite playfully on your thigh. "Fuck, darling, you taste delicious. Christ. You're too perfect..."
He devoured you again, exploring all over you with his tongue as your thighs kept instinctively clamping down on his head. He kept looking up at you through it all, even when you couldn't stand to meet his gaze and had to arch your back from the pleasure. "Fuck!" you yelped, grabbing tightly onto his hair. "Fuck, Mr. Murphy, I— oh, god..."
"He never made you come like this, did he?" Cillian realised with a groan, nearly growling when you shook your head. "Has anyone?"
"N-no," you shakily admitted, and he moaned around you as he suckled harder on your clit for a moment until you whined loudly.
"Oh, poor thing," he cooed, "how could anyone taste this sweet cunt of yours, and not want to spend hours between your legs?"
He didn’t need to spend hours, though— the taboo nature of the situation seemed to turn your body into overdrive, making you so sensitive and desperate… or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, but it was hard to say.
The point is, all too soon, you were shivering under him, back arching up off the couch, holding on tightly to his hair. He hummed approvingly, even moaning against you as he slid his tongue inside; he must have been able to feel you pulsing, moving closer and closer to the edge, because he shut his eyes tight and seemed to focus harder and pushing you further until you couldn’t take anymore.
“Fuck, fuck!” you sobbed, thighs shaking around his head; there really was no exploration to it, no teasing, he just went right in and expertly played you like he’d done this a thousand times. Maybe he had… but, obviously, he’d never done it to you. Were you that easy to solve?
Obviously, that question suddenly became the last thing on your mind as your orgasm wracked through you. He growled encouragingly, still keeping his pace, but you could barely hear it past the ringing in your ears— and your own cries of his name, of course.
He only broke away when your squirms turned into real avoidance: you could only take so much, especially with him suckling on your clit like that.
You were almost nervous to open your eyes again— and you were right, he looked so gorgeous between your legs, obviously smug with having just made you come, it was nearly criminal.
“Is it really that easy to make you come, honey?” he laughed, petting your legs sweetly as he pulled back, looking up at you with a proud grin. “That’s so fucking cute, baby…”
As he sat up again, wiping the slick off his mouth with the back of his hand, you got this weird, clingy feeling— wanting to chase him even just as he barely moved away.
But he’d sat up for a reason, and you started to realise it when you sat up, too, and noticed the thick bulge in his jeans.
"Why don't you show me what you can do, sweetheart?" he encouraged with a smile, opening his belt for you. "I'm sure you've learned a thing or two..."
Though you still felt terribly nervous about it, you leaned forward towards his lap. Would it be awful to admit your mouth watered when he freed his cock from his jeans and boxers, holding it out for you as a little bead of precum formed at the tip?
"Show me, baby," he whispered again, "and look up at me."
You nervously blinked up at him, meeting his gaze from his lap, as you wrapped your lips around his swollen head. He bit his lip right away and reached up to hold onto your hair, groaning as you swirled your tongue.
"Fuck," he smirked, "you're sort of a tease, aren't you?"
You weren't trying to be, really, but it didn't sound like he minded too much...
"Oh, fuck," he moaned deeply, making you pulse inside as he tilted his head back. "Fuck, baby, that's good— your mouth is so fucking warm..."
He gasped and panted as he held your head, guiding it to bob just a little faster than you had been moving. "Sweetheart," he choked, "you're so fucking good... fuck!"
The praise made your chest fill with warmth, even if there was still some part of your brain that was recovered enough from the orgasm to remember how horrible this all was. It was horrible, but perfect— and feeling his cock throb against your tongue was perfect, too.
You’d never been told you were so good at this before, but he kept moaning and petting your head encouragingly, whispering the most wonderful and filthy things. “Just like that, honey,” he cooed, “mm— pretty thing… knew that mouth of yours would feel so fuckin’ good… just keep sucking my cock, sweetheart.”
That you did— harder and faster, stroking what your mouth couldn’t fit, moaning softly around him. As you tried to take it deeper, desperate to please him, you gagged on his thick head.
“God, it’s so cute when you choke on it, baby,” he chuckled. “Do it again.”
This time it was almost too much, but he held your head down and groaned deeply. It would’ve bothered you more— not being able to breathe— if he didn’t sound so sexy right then…
Thankfully, he pulled you off just in time, making you yelp as he held you by your hair— only to kiss you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Moaning, you melted into his arms, and let him guide you to straddle his lap. Feeling his jeans against your thighs and his shirt against your chest made your heart skip.
He took another long look at you when he broke away, a new darkness in his bright eyes.
“You’re so sexy,” he laughed softly, running his hands over your nude form and raising a brow as he watched goosebumps break out over your skin. “God, I need to be inside you…”
You bit down on your lip but it didn’t do much to suppress your whimper; lifting yourself up a bit, you grasped his cock and slid it through your folds, guiding him to your entrance.
You both gasped when he slipped inside, even when it was the slightest penetration— his whole head wasn’t in yet, and you just knew it would stretch you more than you were used to.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned loudly, tilting his head back, “you’re so wet, sweetheart…”
Lowering yourself, you took in a shaky breath, whining slightly as he opened you up one inch at a time... and each one seemed somehow thicker than the last. His fingers seemed to dig deeper into the skin at your hips and ass the lower that you sank onto him.
You could barely believe that you took it all; that you relaxed into his lap fully even when you feared being split in half by how thick he was. “Oh my god,” you blurted out, operating on instinct as you started to move— grinding back and forth, desperate for friction despite having been satisfied by his incredible mouth just a few minutes ago.
"Fuck, there you go," he encouraged with a growl, looking down at your hips rocking in his lap. "Ride me, just like that— fuck, ride my cock, little fuckin' whore..."
You whimpered at the insult, holding tighter onto his shoulders, but it only made you move faster. "S-so... so deep, Mr. Murphy," you whimpered.
"Yeah? You can take it," he promised darkly, holding tighter onto your waist as he dropped his head back with a low groan. "God, you're tight— fuck."
You gasped as he bucked his hips up, creating more pressure against your over-sensitive clit. "Oh, fuck," you breathed, struggling to cope with all the sensations he was giving you.
Both of you settled on the right pace, and he switched between resting his head back against the couch (giving you a nice view of his gorgeous neck, how could just a neck be so sexy?!) and looking down to watch you go. “So fuckin’ cute,” he praised— though you were sort of surprised to hear him describe you that way at a time like this. “So needy, honey… you want more, don’t you? You wanna go even faster.”
Now that he said it: yeah, you did. You bounced up and down, your moans coming out all shaky and uneven because of the movement, and he grinned proudly.
His hands wandered up from your waist to your chest, groping you eagerly as you gasped out his name in response. “Love these tits of yours,” he informed you, sounding oddly sweet for how dirty of a compliment it was. “Took everything in me not to stare at them when you’d come over for dinner… see what you do to me, sweetheart? Haven’t felt this desperate since I was your age.”
Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing, reminding you of how much older he was at a time like this. He purred when he felt you clench on him, obviously affected by the comment.
“Should’ve known you’d give in right away,” he went on, softening his voice to nearly a whisper as he watched you move with heavy eyes; you angled your hips back and moaned louder, his cock rubbing against just the right spot every time now. “Hungry little thing like you— now I wish I hadn’t waited so long. We could’ve been doing this the whole time… I could’ve shown you how much better it can be, when somebody really takes care of you.”
Whimpering, you felt another heady pang inside you— if he kept talking like that, you wouldn’t be able to keep your head on straight… then again, the fact that you were here proved that you were less stable than you thought.
“Faster, sweetheart,” he ordered again suddenly. “I wanna see how desperate you can get.”
You furrowed your brows together, almost pouting, but did exactly what he wanted— you wondered if you looked as pathetic as you sounded, riding him recklessly, chasing another peak even when it took all of your strength in those shaking legs.
He grabbed you by the jaw and guided you into another desperate kiss— all teeth and tongue and low moans. “Good fucking girl,” he snarled. “Good little slut.”
“Fuck,” you panted, moving faster. “Fuck, I’m close—”
“I know, honey,” he cooed, nodding as he moved his hand down to your neck. “Show me how bad you need it, sweetheart. Let me see it, I wanna see you come for me.”
Tossing your head back, you cried out his name again— why did you always do that when you came?— and felt it overtake you. It was even heavier than the last one, even more numbing and draining, and you didn’t even notice how hard you were digging your nails into his shoulders.
When your body failed and you came to a shaky stop, he didn’t give you much time to catch your breath: he grabbed you tight, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder, and began to buck his hips up into you quickly.
“Oh my god, oh my god!” you whined, overwhelmed by the feeling, holding onto him tightly just to have something to keep you grounded.
“Fuck, m’gonna come inside you,” he warned with a growl. “Gonna fill you, baby, you’ll be so fuckin’ full of my come—”
You sobbed and buried your face in his neck, starting to cry again for a completely different reason than before.
“Tell me you want it,” he ordered, speaking roughly right against your ear.
“F-fuck, I want it,” you gasped, “I want you to come— fuck— come inside me—”
He choked out a few more swears, he held you tight enough that you started to imagine what his bruises would look like on you tomorrow, and with a low groan of your name, it all suddenly slowed to a stop. You moaned weakly when you felt his cock flexing against your walls, even more heat pooling inside you. With what little energy you had left, you softly kissed his neck— until he seemed to come back to reality and pushed you back enough to be face-to-face with you again.
You realised suddenly that you were still sort of crying from the intensity of it all, and got nervous with him staring at you like that. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled as you wiped your face.
“Don’t apologise,” he told you again, moving your hands away so he could look at you himself. “Besides, you look even cuter when you cry.”
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sugar daddy cillian or robert fischer pls i beggg !!
THIS IS SO!!! had me sweatin writing this fr… also this got rly long by accident and i kinda underutilized the sugar daddy part, i apologize😓
warnings. daddy kink, anal sex, mildly dd/lg, au!cillian (divorced, again not to be disrespectful it’s just to be convenient)
“D’you like it?” Cillian asked, sneaking up behind you in front of the mirror and wrapping his arms around your waist.
You giggled, “You know I like anything you pick out for me, daddy.” He’d bought an expensive pink silky lingerie set for you, skimpy and revealing but with soft cream ruffles and strategically placed bows that made you look like a little angel — his little angel, he’d so often remind you — and you tried it on for him as soon as you got home.
He chuckled deeply, pressing kisses into the crook of your neck, “I know, I know… you’re a good girl like that, aren’t you? Always wantin’ t’please.”
You grinned sweetly, tilting your head to the side to allow further access to your neck as Cillian’s kissing and nipping grew rougher. “Only ‘cause you spoil me so much.”
Cillian’s grip tightened around you, making the seam of your ass press flush against his clothed cock, which you vaguely felt hardened and pulse at the feeling of your sweet ass. “Gotta spoil m’girl, don’t I? What kinda daddy would I be if I didn’t…” he hummed, trailing off as his hands seemed to form a consciousness of their own, sneaking into the waistband of your new panties.
His fingers seemed to graze everywhere but where you needed him most, kneading at the flesh of your ass, imprinting his fingernail marks into the skin of your hips— even fucking petting your mound, but not at all going lower.
“Please, daddy?” you begged with a whimper, your thighs clenching on instinct.
“I’ll only touch your other hole, angel. You’re not on anythin’ right now.” He chastised, pulling away from you completely and sitting on the edge of your bed.
“We could use a condom,” you insisted weakly, despite knowing his answer anyway.
“No,” Cillian shook his head, “you know daddy’ll only come raw.”
You pouted, taking gentle steps and sitting on your plush mattress beside him. Here was the crux of the matter: you ran out of your birth control a few weeks ago and couldn’t get your doctor to prescribe it again — y’know, just tedious medical bullshit — and with Cillian’s existing children, the divorce, your paid arrangement… let’s just say, it’d be the terrible cherry on top if he got you knocked up.
You hadn’t had his cock in you at all, and since running out of your pills it’d just been other stuff, like head or fingering or very, very rough nipple play— all good stuff, just not enough stuff. You wanted him to fill you up, stuff your cunt to the brim with his thick length, but he refused.
He did, however, offer up the alternative: anal, to which you shook your head and shuddered— you’d never done it before, and if your friends' experiences were anything to go by, you didn’t want to. They always said it was too harsh, that it hurt and he’d stretch your hole too painfully, that you wouldn’t be able to sit properly for days after.
But by now… you were going stir fucking crazy. It felt like one long game of edging, ‘cept there wasn’t going to be an end ‘till you got back on birth control, which could be in months from now. You missed his delicious cock so much, the sweet curve that tickled your cervix just right, the veins that rubbed your walls like he’d stuck his tongue right in you…
You bit your lip, peering into his soft blue eyes, before sighing. “Okay… you can - put it in my other hole,” you whispered nervously, tucking your hair behind your ear.
You didn’t miss the way Cillian brightened, how his body relaxed with relief at your long-awaited agreement. “Good girl,” he praised, pushing you onto your stomach lightly, petting your hair out of your face.
He then dragged your panties down slowly, hands splaying across your ass cheeks and humming satisfactorily at the wetness your cunt had been collecting. You were sopping, your sweet liquid smearing against your lips and dirtying your soft, supple thighs.
You flushed at his intense staring, pressing your face deeper into your baby pink sheets, feeling every bit the little girl Cillian told you you were, getting ready to be fucked in the ass in your overtly feminine bedroom. You heard him fumble with his jeans, before letting out a sharp gasp when two of his fingers dipped into your cunt, swirling around your hole for a pleasure-filled moment and then coating your puckered asshole with the juice.
“Don’t be scared, my sweet girl,” he soothed softly, lightly toying with the rim of your hole, a finger or two able to comfortably press in. “I’ll be gentle.”
Then, Cillian lined up his thick head with your hole, inhaling sharply as he pushed in. A pained whimper left your throat at the painful stretch, and he cooed, lightly spitting onto your ass to moisten the area up more. “So fuckin’ tight,” he groaned jiltedly, unable to keep in his audible pleasure despite the way you writhed.
You breathed in and out shakily, incredibly glad that Cillian had stopped for a moment to let your tense hole readjust to his thickness. You could see clearly how your friends’ protests were based in fact — but you could also feel that familiar heat building into your stomach, the insatiable little monster in you acting up ‘cause Cillian had you wrenched on his cock.
“Can I move?” He asked breathlessly a short bit later, cock swelling when your hole clenched at his words.
“Ah… uh-huh,” you responded weakly, spreading your legs more, as if it would help lessen the sting. It didn’t do much, other than spur Cillian’s hungry appetite more, but the effort was appreciated at least mentally.
“Fuck,” he cursed when he pulled out then slid back in, a measly few seconds interval between the two actions. It was so quick it made your head spin and your insides burn, but he noticed this rather quickly and massaged your hips with his fingers gently.
“I’m sorry, angel,” he apologized, “just need y’so bad. Haven’t had you in so long.”
You blinked blearily, shaking your head. “N-no, don’t be… I’ll… I’ll be a better angel for daddy.”
He smiled, pressing a wet kiss to your ass cheek, “Thank you, my sweet.” Then, he pulled out again - slower, thankfully - and then pressed back in. He gathered a good pace: not too fast, not too slow, and the pain that you’d felt taking you over scarily dripped away into a pleasure you’d never felt before.
His cock just felt so much bigger in your ass, and it was already plenty for your cunt. “God, I love your little holes,” he wheezed out, and your back arched, your first moan slipping out of you that night.
Cillian grinned. “Such cute noises, all for this cock in your tight ass.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but were cut off by your second sound: a wet mewl as his balls brushed past your puffy clit. Your head was swimming with these stranger sensations swirling all over your body, the weird, out of place knot stirring in your lower stomach from anal.
“Oh, baby, you’re so good for me,” Cillian praised, seemingly out of nowhere, but you didn’t have time to be confused when his thrusts got harder, a modicum of the pain you’d felt earlier returning as he forced his cock deeper within your ass.
You’d realize a little later what he meant, why he fucked you rougher so suddenly: your walls finally relaxed sround his length, pulsing every so often and feeling like it wanted him to have his way with you.
“Big,” you squeaked out, squirming and gripping your mattress for dear life. He rutted into you carnally, your ass bouncing with every needy push, jaw falling slack when the pads of his fingers cheekily found your clit, rubbing and pressing on it.
Your sticky, filthy orgasm was sneaky, hiding behind his groans or your shallow intakes of breath, and came out to surprise you when Cillian’s hips jutted right against yours, his cock deeper than he’d ever been in your cunt. Your cunt clenched around nothing, creaming on his balls as you choked out his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“You came on my cock in your ass,” he said, amazed and a hundred percent more turned on, sliding in and out of you hurriedly like if he didn’t climax as quickly as you you’d change your mind about anal and leave him in the dust.
After another loud moment of fucking, skin slapping on clammy skin, breathy whines falling from your lips, desperate growls out of his, you felt the familiar rush of warmth fill you — in your ass, this time, which was similar and completely different all at once. Like, you certainly felt full, but his load didn’t easily drip out of you like it would’ve in your cunt.
Cillian released a satisfied sigh, leading his softening cock out of your stretched out asshole delicately, telling you to breathe when his head had to exit and reawaken the terrible initial stretch.
You were face down into the mattress, ass up in the air directly in Cillian’s eye line, knees pried open, back arched— you were utterly, completely wrecked, fucked out beyond belief at the strange combination of pain and pleasure. Cillian leaned down slightly to suckle on your sensitive clit, the torturing tease, before leaning back slightly and frowning, because his come still didn’t spill out of your tight hole.
“Push f’me, my sweet girl, let daddy see himself drip out’a you,” he ordered huskily, spreading your ass cheeks wide with his large hands.
You pushed once, and sighed tiredly, feeling his come slowly slide out of your spent hole. It was wet, warm, and thick, coating your cunt’s outer lips lightly.
“That’s a good girl,” he patted the small of your back sweetly, then turned you over to your side to face him. “Now, baby, because you’ve been so good, what do you say about going to Paris? We’ll get those pretty red-bottoms for you, and the sweet Chanel dress too…”
#burnyouwithacigarettelighter#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy rpf#cillian murphy
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masterlists
dominic sessa masterlist
joseph quinn rpf masterlist
jq characters masterlist
eddie munson masterlist
cillian murphy masterlist
#masterlist#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn#joseph quinn rpf#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#dominic sessa
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Missed Irish hubby's birthday and now I must make it up to him with a fic. Or a drabble.
#Cillian Murphy#It'll be with Tommy or Jim though#cause I don't do rpf anymore#I never know what day it is anymore lol#Thomas Shelby
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y’all ever look at him and get angry at how unbelievably attractive he is. like how dare they put him on this earth with a face like that.
#i hope someone understands this#maybe i’m just tired#cillian murphy rpf#cillian murphy imagine#cillian murphy in a suit#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy#peaky blinders x reader
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So...I've never been a big writer of RPF, and haven't written any fanfiction in years. Writing - all creative activities really - have become a struggle for me at the moment.
But reading some of the lovely Cillian fics in tag of late (they've been a nice comfort for me) has had me coming up with my own ideas. One was an idea that started out as an original story idea, but I think it could work as an OOC Cillian fic.
It would be...very unusual to say the least, which is why I'm hesitant to do it.
It would essentially involve Cillian being a vampire. As I said, this started as an original story lol.
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