#jackson rippner
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#this is about cillian murphy's characters#Tommy Shelby#Jonathan Crane#will never forgive nolan for not giving us a long fight scene where dr babygirl ends up covered in his own blood#basic needs#batman#scarecrow#batman begins#cillian murphy#nolanverse#peaky blinders#thomas shelby#red eye#Jackson Rippner#28 days later#red lights#tom buckley#maslow's hierarchy of needs#poor little meow meow#babygirl
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PROVE IT ───
jackson rippner ✧𖦹
ೃ⁀➷ “You think you are possessing me / But I've got my teeth in you.” — ‘Unicorn’, Angela Carter
pairing. jackson rippner x reader
summary. after breaking up with your boyfriend. you meet a handsome stranger at a bar. you tell him your cunt’s better than the girl’s your boyfriend cheated on you with; he tells you to prove it.
warnings. swearing, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, porn with some plot, impact play, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
word count. 3.6k
a/n. i seriously doubt i wrote jackson’s character accurately in this so please comment anything i can improve on LOL🙏
It’s not often you spill your entire life story to a stranger at the bar, but this one, this stranger with his watery blue eyes and plush lips, is oddly inviting; charismatic to a fault. It makes you want to give him everything, and absently, in your alcohol riddled mind, you think he’d make a good scammer.
Or, serial killer, whichever he prefers really.
But it's not entirely his fault; you’re stress drinking, downing too many shots in too little a time frame, and the alcohol’s already hit your system ten-fold.
You’re there because you’d broken up with your boyfriend the night before. You’d been dating just short of a year. He was required to travel a lot, mostly in Europe, as per his job, and you let him go each time without qualms - love them, let them go, right?
Wrong. He’d been cheating on you since he went to Copenhagen — four months, now — with a pretty little Dane that wanted to marry.
You were furious when he told you, of course, it’s fucking insanity for him to marry someone he’s known for four months, but you began seeing all the differences between you and the woman he cheated on you with: she, a perfect homemaker, you, a distressed professional he saw maybe once a month.
“Hey, hey, don’t beat yourself up,” the stranger across from you said softly, breaking you out of your nostalgic stupor and back into reality. “‘cause he’s a right asshole. For cheating on you like that.”
The man had entered the bar hours after you did, housing a simple drink or two and absently watching the softball game on the bar TV, before you drunkenly inched closer to him, desperate to rant your dilemma to just about anyone who’d listen. He bit, and here you were now.
You peered up at the man, inspecting him. He’s gorgeous, definitely, but you can’t tell if you actually think that, or your foggy, not-been-fucked-for-months mind just wants him to rail you into next week.
No matter, you thought, downing another shot. It burned the back of your throat sweetly, fire trailing down your insides. “M’not beating myself up,” you protested weakly, “jus’ — m’just… wondering if her cunt was - so much better than mine,”
He laughed, boisterously, the kind of laugh you hear rumble out from a close friend while you detail every wrongdoing or shameful memory in your life: he’s comfortable right now, as are you.
“Well,” he inched closer, large hand sitting itself on your thigh and slowly inching upwards, “if it bothers you that much, why not prove it? That your pussy’s as good as you think.”
This wasn’t the first of his attempts to flirt with you: firstly he’d tucked a stray hair away from your face, later he swiped a drop of drink off your lip, then he’d clutched you by the waist, pulling you close to him when someone squeezed past you in the crowded bar. His brisk touch wasn’t unfamiliar by any means, but it did suggest more than the other ones, especially coupled with the lustful words he was purring in your ear.
Then, there’s a gap in your memory. One too many shots, a stranger toying with the hem of the skirt you donned for the bar, and his sweet voice in your ear was too much for your dizzy head, and the only thing you remember is this: one moment, he’s getting braver, rough fingers ghosting the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and the next, you’re pressed against a bathroom stall wall, the handsome stranger’s knee pushing your quivering legs apart.
You’re trading wet, messy kisses, and his hands are sneakily climbing up your shirt till they reach your chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath from him: “Fuck, sweetheart, no bra? You really were looking for someone to prove you right,” he cooed, touching your breasts needily.
He’s kneading you artfully, fingers pawing at your flesh like he’s never felt something so soft, so plump. Your back arches as he does this; you’re practically putty in his hands.
It doesn’t slip past you that you’re being felt up in a bar bathroom by a gorgeous stranger whom you don’t know the name of, but you don’t care. “Please,” you beg, his name coming up completely blank on your tongue, “please.”
“‘Please’ what, honey?” The stranger says huskily, one of his hands moving from your breasts up to your jaw, pushing it to the side to gain access to your neck. “Please kiss me? Finger me? Fuck me?”
You’re too drunk - and fucking horny - to deal with his theatrics, so you whine instead of answering, your weak fingers carding through his brown locks.
“God,” he says, “How long has it been since you’ve been properly fucked? Just some touching and you’re already too fucking dumb to speak.”
His words make your cheeks burn with shame, but it also makes your core throb. The oh-so sweet stranger who listened to your problems all night telling you you’re just a dumb horny bitch is such a juxtaposition it's got you all hot and bothered.
“Please,” you beg again, more desperate than before, “I need you.”
The man let out an incredulous chuckle, head cocking back. “Baby, don’t tell me you like it like that. God, you’re such a fucking whore,” he said, before undoing his belt buckle and fly.
He had noticed how your legs clenched around his knee, how your breathing got sharper as soon as the words “dumb” and “whore” slipped out of his pretty mouth, how your fingers trailed his back needily, desperate for any kind of touch.
You bit your lip, watching the stranger through bleary, hooded eyes. He’d pulled his pants down just enough for his boxer shorts to be visible, before he grabbed you by the waist and turned you to press your face against the wall.
One of his arms then draped across your shoulders, pinning you down and arching your back, hard, making your ass press flush against the large tent in his underwear. You let out a small gasp at the feeling, and you could practically see the smirk curling slyly on his face.
He can’t be that big, right? It was just your drunk mind, making him feel bigger than you thought through his shorts. Plus, you hadn’t been fucked in over a month — you were probably just not used to it.
Because, that’d be totally unfair - he’s beautiful, charming, an amazing kisser, and has a huge cock? No fucking way — if he was all that, he’s definitely a secret terrorist, or something.
However, these days, you’ve learned that you don't have the best intuition. First, with your boyfriend, then again, with the man who just pulled out his thick cock, stroking it gently.
“Oh, fuck,” you cursed, head straining to look at him behind you. Unconsciously, you shyly closed your legs at the sight of him.
“Ah, ah, ah,” the man crooned, his other hand sliding between your legs and spreading them apart once more. “No take backs, honey. You did say you wanted me, did you not?”
The two of you were flush against each other, and you could feel his hard length resting between your legs. Just that, just him between you, already had you trembling in anticipation.
“Then fuck me already,” you bit back, feigning confidence. In actuality, you were thinking: how was all that supposed to fit? And, of all people, you, who hadn’t been stretched out to fit any cock at all, not since last month, when your boyfriend made his routine visit. You were a loyal girl, alright, and your fingers never went as deep as any cock could.
But the moment for you to reveal your worries passed, and he simpered. “So fucking eager.”
Then, his large hands smoothed down the swell of your ass, following the curve, before he lifted his hand up and came down on your cheek, making a loud noise reverberate throughout the empty bathroom.
Your breath caught in your throat, a choked gasp mixed with a tense moan coming out instead, and you flushed. Thank god you were pressed against the cold bathroom stall wall, for it provided a miniscule relief to your burning face.
He’d spanked you, and you fucking moaned.
“So you do like it dirty.” he cooed, fingers returning and hooking into the waistband of your panties.
“I bet,” he said, dragging the thin fabric down extremely slow, “that you didn’t come to the bar tonight to just drink,” he pressed closer against you, your folds now sitting right above his thick length, “you came, with no bra and a slutty skirt on, looking to get fucked senseless, didn’t you?”
He slowly slid in and out against your folds, his cock just barely grazing your clit, and you swore you could have screamed. The way he was teasing you was absolutely delectable and, in the same vein, incredibly torturous.
“Answer me, honey.” he hummed, free hand rubbing circles on the skin of your hip.
You let out an exasperated groan. “I - I came here tonight, to - ah!” you squeaked when the fat tip of the man’s cock poked your tight hole.
“You came here tonight to… what?” He said, nonchalant, as if he wasn’t slowly driving his large dick into you.
“I came here to…” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ground your thoughts, and squarely not think about how mouthwateringly good the handsome strangers cock felt, “to get—“
Then, the loudest keen you’d ever heard tore out of you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, when he suddenly shoved all of his length into your soaking cunt.
He bottomed out with a breathy laugh, watching your knees buckle and your mouth hang wide open. Then, once more, his calloused hand came down on your ass, a large crack sounding out within the bathroom.
“Shut the fuck up, whore. Someone’ll hear.” The stranger said, as if he hadn’t just made a loud noise spanking you like that.
But the way he insulted, complemented, mocked and teased all in a few sentences had you shuddering; never in your life did you think such dirty words could make you so wet.
You barely kept in another whine, waves of pleasure ebbing throughout your body. The burning pain of the spank in combination to how your walls squeezed around his cock had you barely coherent, your face taut with pleasure.
“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping all over my cock,” he whispered, leaning down for you to hear. As he did so, however, his dick pressed further into you, and another helpless groan rolled off your tongue.
“But you’re too goddamn loud.” The stranger growled, and the arm of the hand that was pressing you against the wall shifted, now covering your mouth.
Before you could protest, he slid out, then snapped into you. Immediately, you saw stars, and a muffled mewl slipped past your lips.
“Jesus christ,” he murmured, “your little fuckhole’s taking me so well.” He began to slide in and out at a fast, rhythmic pace, so fast you could barely comprehend the ecstacy you were feeling.
“Oh my god,” you barely stuttered out past his large hand. He was pounding in and out of you relentlessly, selfishly, no regard for your moans or helpless whines, merely focussed on thrusting his fat cock into your sweet cunt.
Then, the both of you heard the bathroom door open, and you froze. The handsome stranger moved quickly, grabbing you by the waist and planting you on his lap as he sat down on the toilet. His other hand, still trained on your mouth, gripped tighter than ever when he felt the groan bubble up from your throat: this new position of you on his lap had his long length pressed right against your cervix.
“Now you really gotta be quiet, honey,” he whispered, pressing his face into your neck. You shut your eyes helplessly, a dejected whimper exiting your mouth.
“Just be fucking quiet. You don’t want everyone in this bar to know what a dirty slut you are, spreading your legs for a fucking stranger in the bathroom, right?” He said, words foul and like poison, but actions completely stark to it: he was pressing sweet, chaste kisses on your shoulder, laying his head on your back.
The man in the other stall was taking so fucking long to finish, and, despite the stranger’s words, he began to slowly rut into you, his large hands coming to rest on your hips and help you slide up and down on his cock.
Your eyes widened. “What are- ah, wh— what are you doing?” you said, a stuttered, hesitant moan leaving your mouth, but you were completely without the motivation to actually stop him: the pleasure you felt earlier had increased immensely in this slower, riskier pace he took on.
“Shh,” was all you saw him say, as you strained your neck to look at him. He looked the epitome of smug, lips curled, cheeks flushed attractively, strands of hair falling down onto his forehead.
Without his hand to muffle your groans, you muffled them yourself, biting down on your tongue. One hand of yours gripped onto the stranger's thigh to keep your balance, and your other hand sneakily traveled down to your wet, hot mound, fingers beginning to rub at your clit.
He noticed this, however, hand gripping at your wrist and pulling you back to pin your arm behind you. “Only I get to touch you,” he snarled, “because this fuckin’ pussy’s all mine. Gonna be all mine.”
You let out a shaky exhale at his words, but you found your cunt more flexible than before, the soft slapping of your skin between each other sounding easier, wetter. Jesus, did you really get more turned on by what he’d said?
Finally, the person who had wandered in and entered the stall beside you exited the bathroom entirely, and you belted out a sharp moan with how the stranger swiftly picked you up and pressed you against the wall once more, this time facing him.
He plunged his big cock into you like nothing before, animalistically, nails digging so hard into your hips you swore he drew blood. His pace was stuttered, desperate, like nothing could distract him from pounding into you, not even a fucking meteor.
You, on the other hand, were arching, the pleasure taking your body over completely. Your hands carded through his brown hair, tugging when he hit that particularly spongy spot into you. He groaned, a rough and stuttered thing, feeling himself brush against that spot every time.
Your tight cunt was stretching and contracting around his dick, like you were made with his fat length in mind, and it drove you up the fucking wall: the pain in your hip, the cold linoleum wall, his cock thrusting in and out — it was all so much, and your orgasm began to spill out from under you. It was slow, like water coming out of an overfilled glass.
“You — god, you’re fucking coming, aren’t you,” the stranger said knowingly. Your cunt had gotten tenser, stickier, trying to grip at him like you were afraid he’d never come back to you.
You nodded rapidly, opting to do so in fear an unintelligible string of groans would come out instead of your words.
He grinned, and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock deeper access into you. Your toes curled, the new angle like being impaled, his dick easily slipping past your slick folds.
One of his hands lifted off your hip and trailed across your lower stomach, “Can you feel that, honey? Its my fucking cock, so deep m’gonna shoot my come right in your womb,” he purred, pressing the bulge.
Both of you were affected, a breathy grunt slipping past his lips, and you a feverish mewl. You couldn’t believe how big he was, large enough for him to be fucking visible on you from the outside.
Suddenly, you remembered the man’s name: he’d said it, offhand, to the bartender before you dragged him to the bathroom. He asked the bartender to put your drinks on his tab, under the name Jackson.
You face grew taut, your orgasm suddenly switching from a slow, sneaky drip to a hard smack, right across your face. “Jackson! Jackson, please,” you moaned at last, his name sounding right at home on your tongue.
“Fuck, honey, you remembered? God, that’s so hot,” He whispered sweetly, then dragged you through your orgasm, thick cock pounding in and out of your throbbing core.
It was like all the pleasure had steadily built up within your insides, all up into a big ball, then had suddenly burst, flowing throughout your entire body like you weren’t already being fucked relentlessly.
“Such a - fuck - tight and pretty pussy,” he said, leaning into rest his head against your chest. You were weak, sensitively riding out your high, but you knew Jackson wasn’t quite as close.
His thrusts began getting sloppier, harsher and focussed merely on feeling your walls against every inch of him. Your head rested beside his own, your eyes practically crossing with the overstimulation.
Despite your orgasm, your cunt was still soaking, definitely dripping and marking a wet patch on both your skirt and his pants. It made you tremble, thinking of you two tiredly exiting the bathroom, disheveled and having to cover the other up.
At this point, you didn’t know what kind of filthy fucking noises were exiting your mouth, with Jackson’s grunts and groans covering up your whines completely.
“M’gonna come,” he said a few long moments later, almost inaudible. “Say my name, say who owns this tight fucking pussy.”
“You do! Jackson does!” You exclaimed, his cock ripping in and out of you quicker and more jolted. “Jackson owns this pussy!”
Jackson grinned weakly, and with one final, harried thrust, he let go deep within you. He clenched his jaw, piercing blue eyes shutting tight and losing himself within the warm and wet feeling of your cunt squeezing him for every drop.
You were so fucking full, and even when Jackson pulled his softening cock out of you — which, was still huge despite its idleness — you felt stuffed to the brim.
His come dripped down your leg, and he promptly pulled your panties up, patting your worn out cunt as he did so. “You’re taking all my fucking come, so good honey.” he said, pressing a hungry kiss to your neck. “You were right: this cunt’s better than whoever your shit ex cheated on you with.”
“Told you so.” You gazed up at him through heavy-lidded, gleeful eyes. He was an absolute darling sweetheart, it seemed, switching from degradingly fucking you to romantically praising you. “Are you… up for round two?” you said, as he slipped his hand within your own, clasping tightly. You didn’t really mean round two - though, you wouldn’t protest it, especially with his delectable way of fucking you - you actually just wanted to go home with him… see where this relationship could lead you.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to ask. You’re comin’ home with me tonight,” he saw through you cheekily, pulling you close to him.
So, you did go home with him, and in the morning you laid beside him in the ruffled white sheets, counting the freckles on his face.
His eyes fluttered open when you shuffled. “Were you watching me?” he said, voice low and sleepy.
You nodded silently, your hand coming up to pet his skin comfortingly. After a beat passed, you asked the question that was bothering you all morning. “Jackson, you wanted to fuck me first, right?”
He blinked, tense for a moment, before smoothing out his expression. “What?” he opted on saying instead, sounding every bit clueless and entirely convincing.
Not convincing enough for you, however. “Baby, you think I didn’t notice the shots you were calling over and inching toward me? I was drunk, not stupid.”
“Are you saying I took advantage of you?” He said darkly, a side of him otherwise unknown to you ‘till now.
You raised a judging brow. “No need to be offended. I wanted to see where it was going to go: ‘did the handsome stranger want to fuck me, or did he want to kill me?’.”
He pulled you close to him, his arm snaking around your hips. “So, what are you saying?” he said, pressing a patronizing kiss to your forehead.
“Hm. Well, I jus’ wanna know if this is a one nightstand.”
“And you don’t care about the - drinks, the “taking advantage” part?”
You let out a laugh. “I was confident, darling; I keep pepper spray and a pocket knife in my purse. Even if you did - which you didn’t - I’d make it out alive.”
Jackson bit his lip, looking up at you. This had meant to be a one night stand, considering the job he had, but you were looking at him so sweetly, so accepting, like you secretly knew what he did for a living and wanted him despite it.
“Not a one night stand,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.
You beamed, and, later, when you did find out what he did for a living, you merely cocked your head. Thought about it… outweighed the pros, the cons, (and the fact you were completely right: he was perfect, but also a fucking sociopath), and merely shrugged.
“Honey, you’ll never do anything to me. Why should I care what you do for a living? Just don’t,” you warned, staring at him like you could and would fucking kill him, “cheat on me.”
You didn’t have the best intuition. And, as it turned out, a great moral compass, either.
#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy#jackson rippner#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner smut#redeye
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#Cillian Murphy#jonathan crane#scarecrow#batman#Batman begins#dark knight trilogy#the dark knight#the dark knigth rises#jackson rippner#red eye#pig#disco pigs
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𝟑𝟎,𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 - 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐧𝐞𝐫
jackson rippner x f!reader
Usually, airports were the bane of your existence due to your career and the constant requirement to travel. But when you stumble upon a handsome man at the airport bar, your disdain for flying seems to change.
warnings: smut, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, public sex, mile-high shenanigans
word count: 2780
author’s note: not proofread again lulz but when do I ever?? anyway I got a request for this and had to write it right away because I love jackson sm omg. please lmk if you enjoyed and send some feedback <3
main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here
You wouldn’t mind it if you didn’t have to step foot inside another airport for the rest of your life.
Unfortunately, your career requires you to travel every month, so your escape from airports will have to wait. You doubt there’s anything that will make your experiences with the liminal spaces any brighter or more profound- you doubt there’s anything that would make them even a smidge exciting. But, who knows, maybe one day you’ll eat your words. So, until then, you’ll fast-walk through airports and terminals with your carry-on with the deepest resting bitch face you can conjure up. And it appears that today will be yet another day that you muster up one.
Deciding to hit the best bar in the DFW airport during your routine TSA spiel, you weave around the other flyers in the corridors in a hurry. Even if your red eye flight has been delayed about two hours, you figure two hours in an airport could be better spent drinking. After scouring the entire airport numerous times on each trip you’ve taken from DFW, you finally settled upon a corner bar near your gate. After passing by it a few times, you decided to give it a chance. Its appearance is initially off-putting- it is dark and moody. Still, it had an oddly comfortable atmosphere and good drinks, obviously. You stroll up to the bar, smiling and nodding to the bartender you’ve come to know here. Going to sit in your usual booth, you discover there’s someone already seated there.
“If this were middle school, I’d tell you this is my spot,” you joke as you approach the man, whose face is covered by his long bangs.
A pair of sharp blue eyes glance up at you from their place on the cocktail menu in his large hands, and a sweet smile graces his lips when he looks you over, “I certainly apologize for stealing your spot. Care to join me? I can buy you a drink to make up for it.”
You give him a questioning look, half-joking with your tone, “What’s in it for me?”
“A free drink and your spot back,” the man says haughtily, a mischievous gleam in his eye.
“Deal,” you reach a hand out for him to shake.
“Deal,” the man says, accepting your hand and shaking it firmly.
You slide into the booth, sizing the man up, “What’s your name?”
“Jackson,” the man says, his eyes nearly piercings into yours, “Jackson Rippner.”
“Oh,” you raise your eyebrows, suppressing a giggle, “your parents must hate you.”
Jackson laughs, shrugging, “Yeah, you could say that. But you can’t hate anyone if you’re dead.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry-”
“No need. Finished them off myself,” Jackson says, deadpanning.
You pause before laughing at his joke, “Gotcha.”
“So, what’s your drink of choice?” Jackson asks, changing the subject lightly.
“Hmm, I don’t think I’ll tell you just yet,” you let your eyes roam everywhere but Jackson’s face until you land your gaze back on him.
“You want me to guess, then?” Jackson asks, “I’m good at that, actually.”
“Oh, really? Prove it, then,” you say with a playful edge to your tone.
Jackson puckers his lips, furrowing his eyebrows in thought, “I’m thinking white liquor,” he trails off, “Maybe vodka, something fruity but not too skimpy.”
“You’re close, but not quite,” you bite your lip.
“I think you’re the type to have a classic no one considers.”
“Which is?”
“Dirty Shirley,” Jackson snaps his fingers, pointing at you confidently.
“Nope,” you say, grinning, “Just a vodka and Sprite for me.”
“Ah, but I was close.”
“Yes, you were very close,” you say, having the urge to flirt with this man you don’t even know.
“I’ll go grab that for you,” Jackson says, getting up out of the booth and heading to the bar.
While he’s gone, you rummage through your bag for a perfume roller, quickly rubbing some on your pulse points. Then, you unbutton the first two buttons of your blouse, revealing your cleavage just enough to be subtle. Turning around for a second, you see Jackson heading back to the booth, and you brush yourself off before slipping the perfume back into your bag.
“A vodka and Sprite for the pretty lady,” Jackson places your drink down in front of you before returning to his spot across from you.
“‘Pretty lady,’ huh?” you raise an eyebrow, taking the two black straws into your mouth.
“What can I say?” Jackson raises his hands in defense, “You are a pretty little thing. I’m glad I sat in your spot.”
“Oh,” you say, trying not to let your face heat up at the compliment, “Well, I’m glad too.”
The both of you silently sip your drinks after that, sharing fleeting glances while giggling. You decide to be cheeky, slipping off one of your heels and running your foot underneath Jackson’s pant leg. You nonchalantly look around the bar, chewing on your straw as if you weren’t up to anything. Jackson is staring right at you with a smirk as his eyes stare holes into your off-cast ones.
“Feeling a little naughty, are we?” Jackson whispers, just loud enough to hear over the music.
You move your eyes toward him, “How do you mean?”
“I see,” Jackson looks down at the remainder of his second drink, “You wanna play like that, huh?”
“Play like what?” you challenge him, pushing your foot farther up his leg, now going over his pants and toward his thigh.
Jackson chuckles, about to say something, but he’s interrupted by the airport intercom. Your flight is a few minutes from boarding.
“Oh, that’s me,” you frown, downing the rest of your second vodka and Sprite before looking at Jackson, “What do I owe you?”
“For the drinks? Nothing,” Jackson licks his lips, “But for the teasing? We’ll have to see about that.”
“Oh really?” you ask, your heart rate now picking up at the obvious flirting.
“Really.”
“And what will you do about it?” you daringly ask.
“Well, we are on the same flight,” Jackson says, “So we’ll have to see.”
The two of you head over to the gate, getting in line to board. You boredly flip through a book your friend suggested for you to read on the flight. Jackson takes notice of this.
“Bookworm? Didn’t pick that up about you,” Jackson asks, rolling back and forth on his heels and toes.
“Depends on the book,” you say, pursing your lips as you skim over the words, “Don’t think I’m a fan of this one, though.”
“That’s a shame. Any ideas of what you’re gonna do on the flight?” Jackson inquires, a flirty undertone in his question.
“Hmm,” you wonder, “Probably sleep. Unless I find something else to do.”
“Ah,” Jackson nods, “Hopefully, you will.”
“Hopefully,” you chuckle.
You and Jackson get separated during boarding, but you do a double-take when you arrive at your seat.
“Are you in the right seat?” you ask.
A familiar pair of striking eyes look up from a book to meet yours, “Did I steal your spot again?”
“No,” you shake your head, laughing, “I’m seat fifteen B.”
“And I’m fourteen B,” Jackson closes his book.
“Interesting,” you say, “Small world, huh?”
“Small indeed,” Jackson exhales, about to say something, until a lady a few rows down asks for help with her carry-on.
You move to the side, allowing Jackson to scoot by you. As he does, he puts a gentle hand on your waist, sending goosebumps up your spine. You watch as he helps the lady, and you try not to laugh when she tries flirting with him. Jackson returns to the row, moving past you again and plopping into his seat.
“I know we talked for what, two hours? But I never asked, why are you headed to Miami? Work or play?” Jackson asks, buckling his seatbelt as the flight attendants announce preparation for take-off.
“Work, unfortunately. I take this trip often, red eye and everything,” you say, resting your head on the headrest behind you.
Jackson nods, “I’m here for work too. I hate flying, not going to lie.”
“Me too,” you grumble, “I hate everything about flying, including the airport and everything that comes with it.”
“Everything?” Jackson presses jokingly.
“Well, today was different. I actually had a nice time at the airport, especially since I got to meet you,” you say, keeping your eyes on the flight attendant as she goes over the safety precautions and flotation devices under the seats.
“Good to know,” Jackson says, placing a hand on your knee.
You look at his hand, feeling very warm all over. The plane begins to speed up and ascend, and you relax in your seat, Jackson’s hand still on your knee. His nose is in his book as you try your best to read your friend’s book suggestion. When the plane finally reaches 30,000 feet, the seatbelt light turns off, and the lights dim. Flight attendants offer pillows and blankets, and you take a blanket, tucking your book away and covering yourself with the blanket. You’re on the verge of sleep when you feel Jackson’s hand slide up your thigh. You pretend you’re asleep, not moving or reacting to his touch. His hand is hidden by the blanket, so no one can see his hand move further up, dangerously close to your core. You’re wearing a dress, so there’s easy access. Not that you were complaining that Jackson was touching you. You were feeling him up earlier at the bar, so now it’s his turn.
Jackson sneaks his hand back down your thigh and over your dress, slowly making his way over your hip and waist, up to your clothed breast. The blanket‘s hem was tucked behind your shoulders, covering up your entire body, so no one could see Jackson’s hand crawl underneath your dress again. This time, to squeeze at your breast. You try not to move or make a noise as Jackson takes your nipple between his fingers, pinching it lightly. Pretending as if he woke you up, you rouse and sit up straight.
“What are you doing?” you ask, acting as if you were asleep.
“I know you’ve been awake the whole time, sweetheart,” Jackson whispers.
“No, I wasn’t,” you say innocently.
“Don’t lie to me,” Jackson chastises, twisting your nipple harshly.
You bite your lip, muffling a moan. You squeeze your legs together as he continues to tweak the bud.
“Is this what you want? Hmm? Teasing me earlier with your foot, I figured I’d play with you too.”
Jackson’s hand moves to your other breast, flicking your nipple. His other hand travels under your dress, his fingernails pressing into your skin. You bite your lip to stifle a moan from the sharp sensation on the sensitive skin of your thigh. His fingers ease to your core again, ghosting over your clit as you open your legs.
“Be quiet like a good girl,” Jackson says, eyes darting around to ensure no one is looking despite the lights being off.
You nod as he presses two fingers to your clit, rubbing slow, soft circles. Warmth gradually spreads in your lower belly at the sensation, and you widen your legs further. Jackson pulls his fingers away momentarily to slip them inside your underwear and continue his movements on your bare bundle of nerves. You cover your mouth, exhaling shakily at the stimulation. Jackson slips a finger inside you after playing with you for a while.
“Already so wet?” Jackson teases in your ear, his lips brushing against it.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath.
Jackson slowly pumps his finger in and out, eventually adding a second one. You shutter from the delightful stretch. You look around before subtly jerking your hips forward, riding his fingers.
“Fucking yourself on my fingers so good,” Jackson nibbles at your ear lobe, “Can’t imagine how you’d feel around my cock.”
You bite your knuckle to hold in a desperate whine at his words, “Please,” you whimper.
“Please, what?” Jackson asks, his fingers picking up the pace.
“Fuck me,” you whisper, “Take me to the bathroom and fuck me against the wall.”
“What a brazen little one you are,” Jackson grins, pulling his fingers from you and sucking your arousal off them, “It’s gonna take a little more than that, though.”
You groan at the loss of fullness, “Like what?”
“Beg.”
You pull Jackson’s hand back to your soaking slit, “Please touch me, fuck me, do anything you want to me. Please.”
“Keep going,” he pants, circling your clit with his fingers again.
“Jackson,” you sigh, “God, I need you inside of me. So bad,” you hiss.
“Go,” Jackson whispers, “I’ll meet you there.”
You hurry to pull down your dress, pulling the blanket off you before quietly walking to the bathroom. You check the vacancy before pulling the door open, leaving it unlocked for Jackson. You sit on the toilet, waiting patiently as your pulse thumps in your ears. A few moments pass, and the door opens slightly, revealing Jackson before he slips inside the bathroom. You stand up, but before you open your mouth to say something, he picks you up and presses you against the wall. You wrap your legs around Jackson’s waist, kissing him with a bruising force. Jackson slides his tongue through your lips and into your mouth, exploring it as his hands grip your ass. You reach a hand down and unzip and unbutton Jackson’s pants, your hand snaking past his underwear band and wrapping around his cock.
“Fuck,” Jackson seethes, already hard from previous events in your seats earlier.
He pushes up the hem of your dress around your hips, pulling your underwear down far enough for him to slowly enter your throbbing core. Both of you gasp at the feeling, hours of pining hitting the climax. You thought Jackson was attractive the moment you laid eyes on him. You aren’t passing up the opportunity to join the mile-high club with such a gorgeous man. Jackson pushes further into you, and you relax more so he can press his hips into yours. Your fingers grasp at his hair as he pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back in. Your back roughly hits the wall behind you, but it wouldn’t be the last time. You have to hold onto the wall with one hand to not bang into it, your other hand holding onto Jackson’s hair for dear life as he fucks you without mercy.
“God,” you say, the word drawn out as you and Jackson’s hips slam into each other.
Jackson covers your mouth as you stare into his blue eyes, now darkened with lust, “Stay quiet.”
You nod, “Mhmm,” you hum from underneath his hand.
Your eyes stay on each other as you move your body forward in time with Jackson, his cock hitting that spot inside you perfectly, sending shockwaves over you. Jackson wraps an arm around your waist, holding you steady as his other hand moves between the two of you to rub tight figure 8’s on your bundle of nerves. You squeal, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Jackson continues to fuck into you like you’re a sex object. You feel yourself clenching around him as your orgasm creeps up. You pull on Jackson’s hair harshly, causing him to moan as his hips stutter. You do it again, and he has to bite your neck in order not to moan out loud.
“Are you gonna cum?” Jackson grunts into your ear, “Huh?”
“Yes,” you gasp, “Fuck yes, I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum around my cock, pretty thing.”
Your release smacks you in the face, sending your body reeling as it nearly convulses against the lavatory wall. Jackson cums right after you as the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock sends him over the edge. You milk him for all he’s got, rutting your hips through both of your orgasms. You both catch your breath as Jackson lets your legs collapse back to the floor weakly. He holds you up as you regain your posture.
“I suddenly really like flying now,” you push your hair out of your sweaty face.
“Me too,” Jackson says with an expressionless face, which you match.
Suddenly, both of you burst out laughing but cover your mouths quickly before anyone can hear in the plane. After cleaning yourselves up, you both successfully sneak out of the bathroom and back to your seats, covering up with the blanket.
“Ever barhopped in Miami?” you ask Jackson, trying your best to hold your eyes open.
“Nope. You?’
“Nope. Want to?”
“Absolutely.”
taglist:
@baizzhu @aporiasposts @hjmalmed @queenshelby @amanda08319 @naty-1001 @orijanko @raineeace @nela-cutie @cutexlr
#jackson rippner#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner x reader smut#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner x you#jackson rippner x y/n#jackson rippner x you smut#jackson rippner x y/n smut#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy x reader smut#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy x you#cillian murphy x y/n#cillian murphy x you smut#cillian murhy x y/n smut#jackson rippner imagine#cillian murphy imagine#floralcyanide writes#red eye#red eye (2005)
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Tighter than usual
◇ Pairing: Stepdad!Jackson Rippner X stepdaughter!Reader
◇ Warnings: smut, cheating, thigh fucking, p in v, Jackson, rough and dark
◇ Summary: Jackson searches satisfaction after a wet dream.
◇ Note: Came up with this idea yesterday and my lovely @mrkdvidal1989 helped me so much! Another amazing collaboration, enjoy!
Quietly opening the door, Jackson slipped inside without a sound. Whole house was dark, as his wife and Y/n were already sleeping. He was tired, hungry and completely drained.
It wasn't surprising how late he was coming home, both his wife and step daughter knew how demanding his work was.
Quietly making his way up the stairs after locking the door, he passed by Y/n’s room, glancing inside to see if everyone was okay.
The twenty year old was sleeping, as always at that time of the night, covered head to toe with her heavy, fluffy blanket, peacefully breathing.
After seeing it, Jackson didn't wait any longer before heading straight to the bathroom for a quick shower, and less than fifteen minutes later he was finally in bed. The coziness and warmth overtaking him in seconds before he fell into a deep sleep.
”Fuck” Jackson murmured as he woke up covered with a thin layer of sweat, his whole body hot after the wet dream he had. A low groan leaving his lips as he reached under the blanket, feeling the rock hard erection that formed between his legs.
Hard, hot and aching under the slightest touch, he knew that it wasn't an option to go to sleep with that. Huffing with how incredibly warm and aroused he felt, Jackson's hand wrapped around his thick member stroking it for a moment before he let go. The sensation of his own fingers wasn't enough in any way.
Turning his head, he noticed the beautiful woman laying by his side, facing away. Her hair resting messily on the pillow as she slept rolled in a little ball. It's been so long since the last time they had sex, Jackson thought with sadness mixed with annoyance.
Throb of his cock only deepening the despair, as he scooted closer.
His big hand moves slowly on her body, his breath getting heavier as he stroked slowly her calf… feeling her soft skin while moving his calloused fingers up slowly, following the line of her bare, long leg.
His face moved closer to the back of her neck, allowing him to bury it in her hair.. taking a long sniff of her scent before groaning softly, getting more impatient with each second passing.
His hips moved involuntarily forward, making him find a bit of the friction he craved as his hands moved up the silky tank top she was wearing. So that he could stroke her bare hips before grabbing them.. his cock rubbing against the fabric of his boxers in an almost teasing way. He needed more… he deserved more, he thought as the frustration and anger started to grow in his body, making him quicken his movements.
Pulling down his underwear freeing his cock from the boxers that grew too tight, too soon.
Jackson's lips leaving wet kisses on her soft, smooth skin, his breath getting heavier and heavier at the thought of just taking what he wanted.. no, deserved. She smelled of.. a sweet, fruity scent that made his eyes roll in the back of his head, heart pounding in his chest at the burning list rushing through his veins.
It was his wife’s duty to take care of his needs anyway so he could just slip it in her pussy while she kept sleeping, right? It's not like it would be the first time he did it.
His bare chest kept moving up and down quickly, his chest hair tickling the woman’s back as his hips pressed harder against her round ass, making him groan softly breathless, his big hand flat against her tummy before he decided to pull carefully down the clothes that were covering her lower half.
His callous hand kneading his flesh of her butt, his breath caressing the shell of her ear
“Fuck, honey” Jackson growled softly, smirking against the soft skin of her neck “Someone went to the gym, huh? This round ass of yours wasn’t that firm from what I remember” he praised softly, nibbling on her skin, getting more eager and horny. It was true, her body felt.. more firm. Sexier than the last time he had the opportunity to feel it well.
It wasn't really surprising looking at how they just kept arguing all the time, the last time they slept together over six months ago.
“Yeah..” he hummed, grinding his bare, leaking cock between her ass cheeks as he stretched to grab the lube from the bedside table. His bottom lip caged between his white teeth as he kept moving his hips. We don’t need a condom, do we, honey? He thought, glancing at the still sleeping woman, his chest pressed back against her back as he spreaded the lube on his cock, pumping it a couple of times before thrusting it between her clothed thighs. No, we don’t.. bet you won’t mind, he thought again as his eyes rolled back and his mouth dropped slightly. Remembering all the arguments she caused lately, acting ungrateful and rude towards her hardworking husband, Jackson bared his teeth involuntarily as anger filled his veins.
He deserved to take her. Now and anytime.
His hips moved on their own as his hand kept her bare thighs together “Such a good, little slut” he murmured, increasing the speed after he checked that the woman was still asleep.
His eyes narrowing softly as the thoughts kept spinning and occupying his mind, anger was now boiling in him as his hips increased the pace, making his skin slap against hers. His legs pressing her own down into the mattress, keeping her in place, angled the way he wished.
That's the least she can do, he thought with arrogance, stay fucking put.
He couldn’t hold it any longer, the need to be inside of her completely overwhelming his senses. So completely lost in his pleasure he grabbed his cock, squeezing it in his fist lightly as his eyes fell shut for a moment, before moving her a bit. After making her change her position to allow him to press his thick cock at her entrance, Jackson's eyes widened feeling how wet she was in her sleep.
Someone had a wet dream too, huh? He thought with a grin.
He didn't budge or planned to give her an easy time after waiting for several months. Mercilessly thrusting it completely at once, despite remembering how she always struggled to take him.
His hips smacking her ass harshly “Nu, no spankies, daddy” a soft tired and breathless voice murmured, followed by a whine as his pubic bone kept slapping against her ass, his aching dick inside of the tight warm pussy, burying deeper and deeper with each stroke until finally, he nestled balls deep inside her for a moment, breathing deeply. Jackson didn't remember her being so.. tight. The sudden squeeze on his cock made him have to breathe a couple seconds to ensure he wouldn't cum right away.
“Daddy—” the voice repeated in a whine, squeezing him with her slick, hot walls as never before.
His incredibly bright eyes snapping open as soon as his brain registered whose voice it was, his hips continuing to thrusts in an animalistic pace. Fuck, he thought, stretching his body to go deeper inside of the warm cunt. His jaw dropping open in a silent groan when his hands grabbed his stepdaughter’s breasts from under her silky tank top.
“Fuck, baby.. shhh, everything is all right, go back to sleep.” he murmured, not stopping his assault at her cunt “Such a good girl, yes?” he praised, holding her closer as he increased the speed, listening to her soft moans and whimper.
Jackson wished he could stop, but the lack of pleasure for the last months made him go absolutely feral at the sensation of a tight pussy relentlessly squeezing him and sucking him right back in every time he'd pull back.
Y/n tried to look at him, turning her head to the side, but he didn't let her. Grabbing her jaw with his right hand, he squeezed it tightly keeping her head in place, panting right by her ear, his hot breath hitting the skin on her neck.
”Shouldn’t have come here dressed like that.” He hissed, hearing the whimpers pushing past her lips with each thrust. Jackson's hips had their own mind, picking up a fast rhythm, fucking her hard and without any intention of stopping despite knowing how wrong it was.
“Where’s your mother?” he rasped out, groaning animalistically in the crook of her neck. It felt so.. forbidden for the both of them.
Jackson couldn't help but let the little thought blossom in his mind, after getting neglected by his wife for so long.
Revenge sounded pretty good to him, especially if it consisted in exploring and finding pleasure by using the young body that aroused him since the first time he saw her.
”She.. She..” Y/n attempted to respond, his fingers pressing on her neck a little too tightly to speak freely. ”She went to.. the club.” She managed to stutter out, followed by cries and loud moans as Jackson sped up, hitting her pussy harder than before as anger grew even more.
“Of course, she went” he spat, clenching his jaw in annoyance and anger “Fucking whore” he insulted his wife, holding Y/n’s throat to keep her in position as his hips smacked against her red butt “But you are better, aren’t you?” He whispered, breathing deeply, inhaling her sweet scent again.
Jackson leaned in closer, his wet lips grazing over her neck, a little above his hand. ”You’re not a whore like your mother, eh?” he breathed out, making her whine as his thick cock brushed her sweet spot “You’re a good girl, right, sweetheart?” His low voice praised her as Jackson's moves became more sloppy, more careless as he started feeling his climax getting closer and closer, tension in his lower stomach getting stronger with each thrust.
“Fuck, fuck—” he cursed, inhaling sharply… her scent getting him, making him feel surrounded and dizzy for a moment, till he suddenly felt a grip on his balls, her soft hand caressing them, causing him to finally shoot his load inside of her with a low groan.
“Fucking naughty thing” he rasped in her ear, making her giggle cutely that brought a small smile on his face. A smile that dropped as soon as her smaller hands moved his big one on her lower tummy “Will be a mommy now… mommy of your babies” she teased, holding back a smile as she felt his whole body tense, his hand gripping slightly the flesh of her tummy.
“W-what?” he murmured as thoughts ran inside of his head.
Jackson was completely frozen as his brain started working again, no longer clouded with lust.
Y/n shut her eyes, feeling that he didn't soften inside her yet.. but rather twitched again.
With a high pitched whine she started moving her hips while rubbing her clit, not wanting to be left without orgasm.
Jackson let out a choked breath, shocked with her previous statement as she kept moving, impaling herself on his still hard cock.
“Y/n..” He breathed out, holding her hips, but it didn't take long before she came, spasming and shaking for a couple minutes.
As soon as her orgasm subsided, Y/n breathed out with a giggle, turning back to face him. A mischievous smile on her face before he pecked his lips, turning back around.
“No worries, daddy, I'm on a pill.”
Taglist:
@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989
#jackson rippner x you#jackson rippner x y/n#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner#cillian murphy fic#cillian fic#cillian murphy#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy x you#cillian murphy x y/n#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian murphy fanfiction#cillian murphy fluff
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some Jonathan crane x fem!yn doodles for you all ..
#jonathan crane#jonathan crane x reader#jonathan crane x you#jonathan crane fanfic#jonathan crane fanart#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#cillian x fem!reader#cillian murphy fanart#jackson rippner#jackson rippner x reader#I’m getting tired of adding tags#art#yippeeee#sketch#he’s so babygirl#I love my wife Jonathan crane
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Coldfire - Pt. I
Pairing: Jackson Rippner x F! Reader
Fandom: Red Eye (2005)
Summary: As if catching his eye wasn't dangerous enough, you just had to tease him.
Warnings: SMUT. porn with plot but the plot is hush hush, non-con, teasing and a LOT of foreplay, semi-public sex, violence, near somnophilia, rough sex, humiliation, degredation, dirty talk, pet names, hair pulling, strangers, power imbalance, ("schoolgirl" university theme, but reader is of age)
WC: 6591
You’d smiled at him. That was all.
And now the man beside you was tapping you on your knee, firmly enough to let you know he wanted your attention. Badly.
Flopping your head to one shoulder, you looked up at him, startling blue eyes catching yours again as he smiled around white teeth. “May I help you?” your tone bordered playful and annoyed.
As if to address you more directly, the young man cocked his head slightly to mimic the motion of yours, smile fading as his eyes narrowed, roving across your features.
“I haven’t seen you around.” His voice was low, soft as silk. Were you not focused, you could’ve gotten lost in it. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
You tapped the end of your pen against your chin absently, looking him up and down. “I just enrolled a week ago,” you answered. “I haven’t seen you, either.”
“It’s my first time taking this class.”
Your eyes wandered to the empty desk in front of him, the space that only his shoes occupied on the floor. He’d dressed for the occasion, charcoal suit jacket and slacks pressed to perfection, silver dress shirt undone a button, but he’d brought no bag. Chestnut hair was swept to either side, settling perfectly over his ears, not a strand out of place, but he had no fucking bag.
A black watched poked from the cuff of his suit jacket.
1:07.
“You don’t say,” you murmured, and drew your gaze from his lazily, your pen lowering back to your page as you turned your focus back to the professor. This was important. You didn’t have time for distractions, even if they looked at you with big, blue eyes and smelled like sandalwood and…
Cinnamon, you realised, as your pen laid its haphazard strokes to the page.
Black ink streaked across the line as he tapped you again, this time on the stretch of bare flesh between your stockings and your skirt. Convenient, you thought. Goosebumps rose where his touch had been, and you sighed, clicking your pen as you turned to face him again, those frighteningly blue eyes boring into yours and his bottom lip nearly turning to a pout.
He was going to be a problem.
“Do you have a pen and paper I could borrow?” He asked, almost apologetic by the way his brows pressed together and his soft voice rose. Almost.
Tension eased from your body as you sighed, the breath having built in your lungs without you knowing, and you reached for your bag on the floor. Cold air kissed your skin where your shirt hiked up from your waist, your fingers rifling around for a loose page from your book and your spare pen. When you came back up, your cheeks were flushed and you had to brush a few strands of your hair from your lashes, but you still caught his eyes venturing lower than they should have for a split second.
“Usually, you bring stuff to take notes with,” you told him, an edge to your tone. As he reached for your spare pen, you pulled it back, a coy smile on your mouth. Something dark flashed in the bright of his eyes. “Often people bring a bag, or something. I’m assuming you forgot that…” you reached the pen out to run along the line of his hair, a strand coming undone and flopping over an unblinking lash. “… when you were doing yourself up all pretty.”
The corner of his mouth quirked, ever-so-slightly, but eyes of shattered ice seemed to latch to your soul, sinking hooks of steel into your chest. He blew a puff of air from his lips, the strand of chestnut hair settling messily over his forehead. You smirked as you handed the pen over, trying to ignore how warm his hand felt as it brushed yours. Repaying him in kind, your fingers brushed his thigh as you passed him the sheet of paper.
His gulp was audible, and you couldn’t help but be pleased with yourself. That would shut him up for a while.
You glanced up at the clock.
1:10.
“You’re one to talk, sweetheart.” That silk voice drifted to you again, and your grip tightened round your pen, the tip stilling on the page. “Bit of a short skirt for the schoolgirl look, don’t ya think?”
This time, when you looked, his gaze was shamelessly glued to the patch of skin above your stockings, and when those blue eyes met yours, you could tell you knew exactly what he was doing.
“Got the hots for the professor, or something?” he pried, biting his lip as he side-eyed you. Your brain went fuzzy at the motion, and you found you couldn’t stop staring at the way those lips parted, the bottom chapped slightly from the dry air and flushed pink from his teeth.
You straightened your spine, hiking your skirt up with an intent that surprised you. “It got you to look, didn’t it?” you almost purred, your teeth running along your lip to imagine, for only a moment, they were his.
It was a game now. He had you where he wanted you, and you knew it.
His watch read 1:11.
Attention sweeping back to the guest speaker, you tried to ignore the blue eyes that darted down to your thigh in the corner of your vision.
Focus, you told yourself, the world blurring at its edges as a heat began to build between your legs.
The guest speaker was drawing a diagram of an atom on the chalkboard. He was some hotshot physicist, recently employed by the military, lecturing at one of the top universities in the state. You were certain it was all very interesting, what he was saying. It was a shame you couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but the vexing stranger beside you.
Of all the days he could’ve picked to sit beside you.
“You want people to look, don’t you?” His voice wasn’t silk. It was poison. His tongue, a knife so sharp you wouldn’t know you’d cut yourself on it until it was too late.
1:13. Your eyes darted from the clock to the physicist, to the board, to the piece of chalk he gesticulated with. He was one of those well-dressed, prissy types who seemed to look down their nose at you when they talked. But you were sitting close enough to the front row that you noticed the faint lines of purple beneath tired eyes, the shadow of stubble growing in along a sharp jaw…
Fuck. Without realising, your thoughts had wandered back to the stranger, and you shot a look at him as if to blame him for all of this.
“Something wrong?” the stranger asked, brow furrowing in something akin to mockery. The bastard, he wasn’t even using the supplies you gave him, that he had asked you for. He was slouched back in his seat, pen tapping idly against a blank page. Why was he even here?
Your eyes darted to the lines of fatigue beneath his bright eyes, to the shadow of stubble along the jaw he shifted.
“You’re not taking notes,” you pointed out, before turning your attention back to the speaker, and then the clock.
1:17.
“Neither are you.”
Your pen stilled and your blood ran cold. Looking down at your paper, you realised it was utter nonsense; something about isotopes, scribbles, uranium, scribbles…
You decided to go back to tapping the pen against your chin.
1:18.
You watched the physicist’s lips move, but no sound seemed to come out. Your blood was starting to pound in your ears.
But the scoff of the stranger cut through the noise like a knife through butter. “How much did they pay him for this?” he said. “An IED won’t detonate without an oxidizing agent… potassium, chlorine, hydrogen peroxide, fuck’s sake, is this paranoia or laziness?”
It was as if he was talking about mundane, everyday things. His voice was so sweet, his words seemingly so benign that you almost didn’t register what he was saying. It was his frustration that caught you off-guard.
1:20.
“Hey, pal,” someone hissed behind you. “Some of us are trying to listen.” Their voice was so jarring in contrast to the stranger’s that you nearly jumped. You were too antsy. Sweat pricked at the back of your neck, stress creeping in to your joints.
Chewing at your pen, your head swivelled to the side. The chatty stranger was staring down the guy who’d shushed him, a familiar darkness flashing once more through his eyes. The darkness, it met you briefly, as he turned back around, taking notice of your attention. He fluffed his collar and smiled. The shards of ice in his eyes melted, jagged edges blurring.
Had you imagined it?
Probably, you thought, your head weighing heavy on your spine as you turned it to settle your gaze once more on the physicist. Hell, you were practically drooling around your pen; it felt wet against the swell of your lip. Murderous glares were apparently your thing.
1:22.
“You know…” A hot breath raked down your neck, and his silken words seemed to unravel in the space between you like a spool of thread, his lips softer than they looked as they brushed your ear. “ … I think you want to catch someone’s attention.”
You froze up, the strings of his breath sending shivers along your neck. Your jaw turned sore around your pen. You shifted in your seat, practically rubbing your thighs together to sate the itch between them.
1:23. Fuck it. You had work to do, but this man seemed intent on getting under your skin. Why not get under his?
“Oh, and that’s yours, is it?” you purred, not an inch between you as you met his gaze boldly. A freckled nose brushed yours, and bright eyes blackened from dilated pupils. His lip caught in his teeth again, and you had to look away to stop yourself from combusting. You thought you saw him smirk.
1:24.
“You sure are glancing at the clock a lot. Got somewhere to be?” he said, and you tensed.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you muttered under your breath, tearing your eyes from the clock and regarding him with a tinge of suspicion, pen rapping lightly against your front teeth.
“Maybe I already know.” He leaned forward again with a sly grin. “You see, you’ve caught my interest.”
“Really,” you purred, biting your pen. He was forward; you would give him that. He thought he was winning this game, this game that only he knew the goal of. Whether you were more excited or infuriated, you couldn’t tell, but your blood burned hot beneath your flesh and your heart raced within your fluttering chest.
Mirroring his grin, you set the pen down, and fixed him with your gaze. “You see, maybe I do want to catch someone’s attention,” you spoke to him in a soft, slow tone. “Not the professor. His bodyguard, in the doorway.” Blue eyes bore into yours so intently, you swore he didn’t blink. “Maybe after the lecture I’m going to drop my notes on the way out. Bend down to pick them up, my skirt hiking up to reveal a pair of lace panties,” your fingers curled around the bottom of your skirt, revealing more of your flesh, his eyes darting down to take in your little show as his tongue caught gently in his teeth. Before he could catch a glimpse of what was underneath, you released the fabric, and it tumbled over your thigh. Blue eyes flashed dangerously as they returned to yours and his smile faded, chest heaving with quickening breath.
“Maybe I stand up too fast,” you said. “I stumble, backing into him. I spin on my heel and apologise and I look him up and down, all-innocent like.” You demonstrated your words, letting your gaze rake across the buttons along his shirt, the simple leather belt above his slacks. When you looked back up to meet his gaze, batting your lashes, it was as if the ice in his eyes had completely melted into pure, white-hot need. This only spurred you on, your heartbeat pounding between your legs as you brought your finger up to a lock of your hair. “Maybe I twirl my hair. We get to talking. We end up in the hallway, on the way to a storage room. Thing is, see…” With your other hand, your finger began to slowly trace up his thigh, making small circles. “… I can’t keep my hands to myself.” Darkness collided with blue fire as you grabbed at his thigh, nails digging in. He looked almost wild, ready to devour you, his perfect hair flopping a little over his eyes. “There are wet floor signs up. No one goes down there. So he grabs me by the hips and lifts me against the wall. Maybe you’ll walk by, catch a glimpse of my heels knocking together behind him. Maybe you’ll hear me whimper, my lips parted and eager.” His eyes darted to your mouth, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he leaned in ever-so-slightly, entranced. As if you were giving him ideas.
Cold washed over your face as you sprang up in your chair, your hand returning to your own lap as you looked at him triumphantly and said, “Or maybe I just dress like a slut because I really want to get an A.”
Yup, you definitely hadn’t imagined his murderous look. Because right now he was looking at you like he wanted to either rail you against the desk or choke you out cold. Maybe both. And if you weren’t careful, you were going to melt under that coldfire gaze.
A sigh escaped a pouted lip as you set your sights back on the rather disinteresting chalkboard. Above, the clock’s hand inched dangerously closed to half-past.
This time, the scratch of his stubble brushed your earlobe and you shuddered beneath his panted breath. “Stop pretending like you care about the lecture. I know you just want to be fucked.”
Time, for one moment, seemed to freeze. Everything went still. People around you were packing up books, but no sound travelled past the deaf ring in your ears, punctuated only by the thud of your heart.
And then the clock’s hand reached 1:30. And the world slammed into you, the screech of chairs against flooring and the bustle of rowdy students seeming to split open your head, and streaks of red and blue and grey moved in front of you – binders, cardigans, hoodies, varsity jackets, all spilling through the aisles in one converging mass.
“I have to go,” you told the stranger, who stayed planted in his seat, staring up at you as you slung your bag over your shoulder and pressed your book to your chest. “You can keep the pen and paper.”
A puff of hot breath warmed the backs of your thighs as you purposely turned your back to him, skirt swishing in his face as you shimmied past.
Smoothing out your clothing, you released a shaky sigh, slipping into the mass of students as if swept up by a tide. The flurry of air sent a shiver down your sweat-dampened neck, and you tried not to focus on how the lace seemed to cling, already messy and wet and used, between your thighs.
As you passed the bodyguard in the doorway, your elbow caught in the crook of someone’s arm, and your notebook fell to the floor. Knees bending slightly, your fingers grasped for the metal bindings, your index snagging one of the rings. The world seemed to spin as you straightened, and when you backed up a pace or so, your ass hit something solid. Fingers ghosted over your hips, and your breath hitched in your chest.
“There you are, sweetheart,” a familiar, silken voice met your ears. Confused, you turned, and a hand settled in the groove of your waist, pulling you close.
“This one, she’s a little clumsy when she’s not on her meds,” the stranger told the bodyguard, and indignation passed across your features, but his fingers tightened around your waist, and his side felt sturdy against you. “Excuse us,” he said, and pushed you back into the flow of the crowd.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” you hissed at him, eyeing the bodyguard as you passed. He disappeared among the many bobbing heads.
“I have a special assignment for you.”
“Look, if you wanna give me your number, I – “
“Will do exactly as I say if you want to live,” he finished your words. “See, you’ve created a bit of a problem for me. It wasn’t meant to go like this.”
“Go like how?”
“You’ll see.”
His fingers were wrapped around the curves of your waist almost possessively, the heat of his palms burning through your thin shirt, guiding you through and from the crowd and into a hallway where the click of your heels punctured the silence and yellow, wet floor signs seemed to race past your vision. His stride was long, yet purposeful, with a contagious sense of urgency, as if he were on a mission, and you couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or excitement that seemed to stir in your belly. Gravity tugged you downward for one cruel second, adrenaline seizing you as your heel slipped from under you, but his body was there to catch you, firm against your spine, and his hand scooped beneath your skirt to grab a handful of skin and lace. You were righted with a startled huff, your ass dragging against a rather prominent outline in his slacks before you were shoved through the doorway.
“Sir, this is the women’s bathroom,” you sassed, as he manhandled you into the room that you hoped wasn’t as empty as it sounded. “I don’t think you’re allowed in here.” The last words left your lungs in a spool of thin air; you nearly went stumbling forward as he shoved you again, this time with the intent to put space between the two of you. Whirling on your heel, you saw him draw a lanyard from his pocket and you frowned.
“Oh, I don’t think anyone will mind,” the stranger said, turning the key in the lock of the door. You narrowed your eyes at him in confusion as a smile stretched across white teeth and bright eyes gleamed with equal parts annoyance and mischief.
“Bit overdressed for a janitor, don’t you think?” You looked him up and down, your heart pounding against your ribs, with nothing but your words to arm you. You glanced at the stalls, all swung half-open.
Darkness flashed through bright eyes, and another lock of chestnut hair flopped over his forehead as he tilted his head down to glare at you, like a wolf would its prey. “Do I look…” He advanced, and you backed up instinctually, ass hitting the edge of the counter. “… like a fucking janitor to you?” His hot, minty breath raked across your face, your painted lashes fluttering, and his fingers snaked through your hair, gathering a handful in his palm and forcing you to look up at him. Fire raced along your scalp, and a sneer pulled over your teeth.
“Hey, the jumpsuits aren’t really my style, either… but if you don’t mind, I have somewhere to be…” The second you pushed yourself off the counter, his weight pinned you against it, the ceramic digging harshly into your spine. Your eyes darted to his watch.
1:35.
Damn him.
“I really think this is more important.” His voice dropped low and husky, caution laced into his growl of a tone, and something about the way you looked at him seemed to make him all the more feral.
You could barely contain your scream as you plunged your neck forward, white-hot pain stinging your scalp as your teeth snapped at his wrist and he pulled; your lips brushed flesh before your head was yanked back in a dizzying wave, and the fluorescent bulbs of the bathroom exploded like fireworks as your skull came crashing against the counter. The sounds of your struggle faded away into a harsh ringing; everything was too bright, too loud, the brilliant white of the fireworks flooding through the thick mass of hair that fell over your eyes. You shuddered, the fight leaving your body, and you were sinking, the world turning on its shaky axis.
A warmth brushed over the bare flesh of your thighs, the curve of your hip, blocking your fall and lifting you almost gently atop a hard, damp surface. Knives of white sliced your retinas as your head rolled back, and you groaned, squinting your eyes shut. It felt as if the knives were cleaving open your skull, smoldering with heat as if drawn from hot coals as your head met another hard, solid object.
A soft tutting filtered through the ringing of your ears, and distantly, a voice spoke to you, edged like the blades that split your skull, “Vicious little thing, aren’t you? Rabid bitch. Gonna have to put you down if you pull something like that again, sweetheart.”
What was he talking about? Why were you in so much pain? Why wasn’t the man reacting to the world rocking back and forth?
“Open your eyes…” The knives began to dull, their edges softening into silk spools. “Look at me, sweetheart… I want you to look at me.” You winced as light flooded your vision, a gentle hand sweeping the hair from your face and ghosting your parted lips before cupping your chin. “Look at me,” he repeated, firmer this time. It must have been important, so you peeled back your eyelids, weary.
The fireworks bled across your blurred vision, and pain tap-danced along your skull, your gut churning but the stranger’s hand steadying you. Navy and grey and white all undulated around the distinct figure of the man, black suit eclipsing the light. Your head was heavy, so heavy that you could’ve toppled, but he still held you firm, and each time you blinked, a new detail came into focus. His hair, dark, messed; his lips, parted, flushed pink.
His eyes, blue. So blue.
“That’s it… good girl.” Were it an object, you could’ve sunk into that voice, let it chase away your pain and soften the fall when gravity finally won you over. A soft whimper came shattered from your lips, suddenly dry. You snaked a tongue between them and felt the sting of your teeth as his hand lowered beneath the weight of your skull. Warmth danced along the flesh of your thighs, stretching your panties taut, a finger brushing the heat between them. Another whimper rose to your tongue, which watered as the spice of cinnamon and the creaminess of sandalwood collided with your senses. The fresh bite of mint, joining the mix as his breath pooled at the base of your neck.
“I think you want to stay awake for this, sweetheart.”
“Wha…” Your lips barely formed a sound as your eyes fluttered, and no sooner did you wonder why he wanted you awake did the thought disappear from your clouded mind, and a jolt travelled from the pool of heat between your legs to the very top of your skull, numbing the pain for a split second of bliss.
Shards of light danced across your vision, black lashes streaking across white, and oxygen raced to your skull as you gasped at the feel of a finger inside you.
“Can’t believe you’ve been wet all this time for me,” the man murmured into your ear, the ringing seeming to soften around his silk voice. “Turns out you were a slut after all.”
“Mm…” The sound came involuntary from your lips as his finger dragged against your velvety walls, curling against just the right bundle of nerves to send a warm tide of relief all the way up your body, your flesh buzzing and your eyes rolling back as the pain gave way to bliss.
“You’re liking this, aren’t you?” the stranger cooed, the cool trace of mint still on the hot breath that flushed your cheeks.
Your hips rolled forward as he wedged another finger inside, needy and pathetically desperate, but you didn’t care. You merely sought the friction of his hand, the release he granted you from the white-hot pain that was beginning to melt like butter into the background. You squirmed around him. His chuckle was warm, and encouraging; your jaw lolled open to uncage your heavy breath, and when he curled both fingers, your world erupted into tremors of euphoria and sweaty flashes of heat. Everything was fuzzy, your mind softening at its edges and your back arching as another jolt came racing through you. Your thighs clenched around him, and, by some cruel twist of fate, before you could tumble over the precipice of rapture, he withdrew his fingers and left you aching, empty, as you slumped over his shoulder, panties snapping back over your flesh.
With your lips parted against his neck, you could taste him, the creamy undertone of his aftershave and the spice of the cinnamon shampoo as his hair tickled your forehead. Even the scrape of the slightest trace of stubble along your nose was strangely comforting. The solidness of his chest, beneath your trembling form, keeping you from sinking to the cold ground.
“Wh-why did you stop?” you finally formed a coherent sentence, though your words came out in more of a whine than anything.
“Because…” The silk threads of his voice frayed as a growl reverberated through his chest, buzzing against your sternum, and sticky fingers, sweet with the scent of your juices, wrapped round your chin and forced your head back so you could look him in those blue, blue eyes. “… I had work to do, until you created a bit of a problem for me.”
Blinking hard, you tried to bring his features into focus, the sharp line of his cheekbones reminding you of the sharp slashes against a chalkboard. With his other hand, he took yours, your nails hooking along the metal buckle of his belt before brought to rest over the outline of his cock through his slacks. Instinctively, your fingers curled, as if seeking warmth, and you felt him twitch in your palm as his jaw clenched and his coldfire gaze devoured you, ice prickling at the back of your neck and molten lava seeping between your legs.
“This is the consequence of your actions…” He pressed your palm harder against the line of his cock, and your thighs shifted, aching for friction. Yearning to feel something more substantial inside you than his fingers. “Your fault… your problem… my slut… ” Now that you were awake enough to hold your own neck up, he released your chin to press his finger to your parted lips. You tasted yourself on him, but it does not repulse you; if anything, the addition to the delectable potion of sandalwood and cinnamon and mint only seems to spur your appetite, moistening your lips as saliva pooled on your tongue.
“Now you have to deal with this problem of yours.” His thumb stroked your cheek, his hips rutting gently into your hand. His lips flushed brighter after he caught them in his teeth, and your eyes traced the bow of them, mesmerised by the lurid colour in your world of black and white and navy.
“Now, I’d have liked to see you getting on your knees for me, would’ve liked to see these pretty lips around my cock, would’ve liked to see what that sharp tongue of yours could really do, but, I think it’s clear you’re a little too out of it for that, so…” He scrunched his face up in mock sympathy, and the slivers of ice in his eyes glinted like knives. “It looks like I’ll have to fuck you instead.”
I know you just want to be fucked, his voice seemed to echo in the empty chamber of your skull, and your brow furrowed despite your hips grinding feebly against the ceramic of the counter. Your heart thudded against your chest, seeming too quick for how slow everything else moved around you, and as he wedged his thumb past your lip, prodding at your teeth, your head flinched back and the blurry image of a clock materialised on the wall.
“Remember…” he said as your eyes focused on the object on the wall, wondering why it was so important to you. “… it didn’t have to be this way. If only you hadn’t resisted… if only you hadn’t been such a goddamn tease in the first place…”
Alarm shot like electricity up your arms, leaving goosebumps, but you couldn’t tell exactly where the hand of the clock was, or what it meant. Your head was still too fuzzy, your memory of how you even ended up here still just out of reach.
“Open your legs,” he ordered you.
“I have somewhere to be…” you mumbled. “Got something really impor –“
“No, you don’t,” he said, barbed wire weaving itself into the silk of his tone. A hand ran between the parting of your thighs, sending shivers along your flesh, causing your heart to pound faster in your core. His teeth grazed your neck as he growled in your ear, “Open. Your. Legs.”
Despite the soft moan he managed to pull from your diaphragm, you didn’t obey, and a huff of disgruntled breath stirred the wisps of hair from your neck as he forced your legs open with a sudden violence that got your heart hammering and your veins singing with fire. You attempted to slide off the counter, finding yourself unable to lift your own weight, and for one moment, you seemed to fall, with nothing beneath you but the harsh pull of gravity.
And then your face was nestled back in the crook of his neck, and those hands cradled your ass, and the hard line of his cock shifted the lips of your pussy apart ever-so-slightly.
“Shhh, it’s all right.” His tone smoothed into a hushed, gentle whisper, and the shift was so jarring that the clock and the urgency and the fuzzing memories of what had occurred before all faded away. “You don’t need to think about anything right now except me being inside you, about how good you’re gonna make me feel, babygirl.” He placed a kiss so soft to your shoulder that you couldn’t help but ease, his soothing voice lulling you into submission. “I’m gonna take care of everything… just so long as you let me do what I like to you… just so long as you know you’re mine… my good girl.” You could feel his lips pull into a smile against your flesh, a hint of darkness creeping into the melody of his tone. “You’re not going anywhere.”
All that existed now was him, and the distracting feel of his cock begging for entrance past your thin layers of clothing, and the heat that came in waves over your limbs as your heart beat too fast for your body. With your mind drawing blanks on your prior concerns and the scent and taste of him against your tongue so sweet, you found yourself giddy, a giggle chiming from your chest as you began to nip playfully at the soft flesh of his neck. Your hand came up to his throat, as if to have some kind of control over him as he did you in this moment, applying force as if to push him away, and beneath your palm was the rumblings of a warning growl.
“You’re not being a very good girl,” he remarked, and in another violent outburst, your spine was slammed against the corner of the counter, and pain shot from your tailbone all the way up to your skull, reminding you of the injury you’d sustained. Your gut churned again as his fingers dug into your sides, twisting you around until you caught a blurry glimpse of your reddened face in the mirror, mascara smeared across your cheek and your lips parted in a sinful gasp.
Bitter cold washed over your thighs as he pulled your skirt up, the sound of a buckle clanging through the slight ringing still in your ears. You barely had the time to process what was happening before feeling the sharp snap of your panties being torn from your thighs, the burn they left against your skin a welcome distraction from the pounding in your skull, and your thighs tucked together instinctively as cold nipped at the most sensitive part of you and his cock brushed teasingly against the line of your legs.
The stranger tutted in disproval and forced fingers between your thighs again, his other hand weaving itself through your hair and grinding your jaw against the cold ceramic of the counter. “No, no, sweetheart… don’t play those games with me,” he reminded you, and a hint of defiance coursed through you, ready to land on your tongue in the form of some venomous remark, when the words, breath and energy were ripped from your aching body and the desire that simmered beneath your surface was finally met.
Your scalp burned as he pulled you flush to his chest, sliding down on his cock, the thickness of him seeming to split you in two. Your eyes shuttered and you panted in exultation, knuckles chafing against the countertop as he began to fuck you, his own breath hissing against the sensitive groove of your neck as he adjusted to your tightness.
You whimpered from the bursts of euphoria that accompanied each thrust of his hips, some rolling over you like a heavy tide that left you trembling and weak, ready to unravel around him, others striking you quick as lightning and threatening to plunge you over your precipice. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hair so tight explored your body as if you were his property, slipping beneath your shirt and groping almost painfully at your breasts. The feel of his thumb brushing across a pert nipple made you arch your back, his cock pushing deeper inside you and causing your whole body to shudder.
“F-fuck – “ you hissed, your hand reaching around to grab at his hair, needing something to pull at, something to sink your nails into as pain blended with pleasure.
“That’s my good girl.” His hot breaths came panted against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin with each thrust. “That’s my good. Fucking. Girl.” Each word came out raspier, growled from the darkest recesses of his chest, and his hips bucked so violently into you, you remembered for a brief moment that he’d had the audacity to call you rabid.
You could do nothing as he left himself sheathed inside you, warmth spilling along your inner thighs as he came, his teeth biting at your skin as your fingers tugged at his messed hair. Still grinding desperately against his length, you stirred a deep, resonating moan from him, and his breath shattered against your neck.
You hadn’t realised just how firm his weight had held you in place until he pulled away, gradually, his hands slipping from your hair and your stomach and twirling you in a daze back around to glimpse soft freckles and sharp cheekbones undulate in your vision. His cock, slicked with his your nectar, brushed your stomach, leaving residue that was warm at first and cruelly cold as he backed away.
“And now you have a mess to clean up,” he told you once he’d caught his breath, swiping a finger across the slit of your still-throbbing heat, gathering the unique elixir of sex and forcing it past your teeth. Your lips curled around his thick finger and you suckled, a moan catching in your throat at the sordid taste.
Roughing the same hand through your wild hair, he flashed a grin at you, and though your vision still swam, it couldn’t obscure the wicked glint in his eye. He looked you up and down, as your weak legs trembled beneath you and you shivered with the cold rush of your sweat and his cum on your thighs. You were sinking again, gravity slowly claiming you, your consciousness feeling as if it might slip into oblivion.
“Do you need me to take care of you, babygirl?” He almost taunted, though his words were woven soft as silk spools again. A hand grazed your thigh, and you shivered beneath his touch. “You need me to take care of you, don’t you, because you can barely stand after getting fucked so hard.”
You could only whimper in agreement as you sank to the floor, thighs still burning from chafing against the counter and darkness teasing the edges of your vision. He wasn’t there to catch you this time, instead busy buckling up his belt. “Fine, fine… I’ll take care of you, just as soon as I finish your job for you…”
Something heavy settled in your gut, and you blinked away the darkness, panic rising in your throat as you curled against the tile flooring. Looking up at him, you watched as he straightened his shirt, groomed his hair back to its meticulously tailored façade, felt spite tinge your tongue like bile as you watched the hand of the clock tick by a fraction.
“So incompetent…” he muttered, his gaze torn between you and his reflection now, trying desperately to smooth out his hair, to brush out the last wrinkles from his suit jacket. “It’s fine. I think I have a new assignment for you, anyway.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, pain exploding behind your temples. “You wha… you… “
Swallowing against a dry throat, keeping yourself upright by the sheer force of your quivering arm and white knuckles against the tile, you watched as he made his way to the farthest stall. The panic wove itself round your lungs, stealing your breath and blackening your mind’s edges again. You flinched as you heard him rifle around in the toilet paper dispenser, the sound familiar to you – you’d done such a thing not even an hour or so prior – until he emerged with the reason why. The black metal of your Ruger was small yet menacing in his hand as he checked the magazine, and pain exploded in your skull as fragments of your mission came screaming back to you, the preparation you’d put into this particular assignment because you knew you were being tested by the higher-ups…
“Seriously, Y/N? You thought you’d be able to hide this up that short skirt?” He shook his head, tutting again as you wondered how he knew your name. Cocking the action caused you to flinch one more time, and asked, voice wavering,
“Who are you?”
“The name’s Rippner. Jackson Rippner.”
Your hand slipped from the tile, and came to your mouth in a silent gasp, the blackness overtaking you as you realised that not only had you failed your mission, but you’d just been fucked by your boss.
The world seemed to narrow and close like the end of an old film, until all you could make out was the silhouette of his cocked head, the flash of white teeth as his lips curled into a smile so dreadful that it would forever etch itself into your memory.
And that was all.
A.N. Please let me know if you would like a Part 2!
Now excuse me while I go hide I've stayed up all night and am posting this on half-dead 7 am brain before I can regret it
PART II HERE
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#jackson rippner#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner x you#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner imagines#jackson rippner fanfic#jackson rippner fic#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy x you#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian murphy#jack rippner#red eye 2005#s: coldfire
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Give us thigh riding with Cill or Tommy, please 🙏🏻😮💨
Thank you nonny for this wonderful request <3
Lazy Sundays || Cillian Murphy x Reader
warnings: Smut, thigh riding, cursing, sort of exhibitionism (Cillian is on the phone while... reader rides his thigh), choking, Cillian being a little rough with reader, degradation, general adult content!!
18+ Minors DNI
The sun had barely risen when you woke up, and Cillian was nowhere to be found, which was unlike him so early in the morning. You frowned as you sat up, rubbing your sleepy eyes, and softly slipped out of bed to find your husband.
You found him at the bottom of the stairs, grumbling on the phone with someone. You assumed it was something work-related. You quietly padded down the stairs and sat down next to him with a gentle smile, still incredibly sleepy and wanting to go back to bed.
"Hey baby," He mouthed to you silently before grumbling something back to whoever was on the phone was. He wrapped an arm around him, pulling you into his side. You curled around his arm and nuzzled your face into his soft sleeve. "Thanks, Gary... bye, mate." Cillian muttered before hanging up the phone.
"Cillian..." You whispered with a pout. "Let's go back to bed... you promised a lazy Sunday today... and it's too early..." You winged.
"Sleepy girl," He chuckled breathily, leaning in and pecking you on the lips. You hummed happily at the little sliver of love he gave you. "Come on, darling... let's go back to bed." He extended a hand out to you as he stood up and you took it gratefully as you yawned dramatically.
Cillian gave you a gentle smack on your ass as you crawled into bed. "Why'd you do that?!" You whined.
"'Cause I can," He snickered, pulling the both of you under the covers and pulling you close to him, conveniently placing his thigh right in between your legs. "You're so beautiful." His voice was low and gravelly; he was still quite groggy from how early it was in the morning, and the low vibrations made you feel so fucking dizzy.
"Cillian..." You whispered as he slipped off his long sleeve shirt and ushered you to take yours off too.
"Morning sex?" Cillian asked as if you would say no. "Please, baby? Fuckin' had the nicest dream about you last night."
"Oh, yeah?" You grinned, the both of you fully topless and Cillian's thumbs rolling easy circles on your exposed nipples. "What happened in it-"
RING! RING!
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Cillian groaned, reluctantly pulling away from you slightly to reach over to his phone that lie on the bedside table. "It's from the same bloke... he's tryin' to arrange a time for an interview." You whined as he started to get out of bed.
"No... stay..." You clung onto him, digging your fingernails into his biceps. "I'll be good... I promise..." You gave him those eyes you knew he couldn't deny.
"Alright, just be quiet..." He said cautiously, laying back down as he brought the phone to his ear. "Hey, Gary... what's up? Somethin' wrong?"
As you zoned out of the conversation, scooting yourself slightly closer to Cillian, trying your best to seem as casual as possible. Cillian hummed as he discussed a time and place and chatted on the phone, not paying mind to the fact your thinly-clothed cunt was beginning to slowly grind itself on his thigh. Biting your lip, keeping in your whines as you looked up at Cillian, feeling incredibly flustered by how nice his thigh felt against your clit. You noticed the stubble that accumulated along his picture-perfect jaw and rolled your eyes into the back of your head as you found the perfect rhythm. He was so perfect; every part of him fit perfectly with you... or inside of you. No one else's thigh could get you off the way his do.
It took Cillian a few moments to realize what was happening, and by then, it was too late to stop you. He raised an eyebrow disapprovingly. You knew he couldn't say anything, which made you smirk. He could just push you off of him, and you'd stop, yet here you were, shuddering with pleasure as he flexed his thigh precisely to enhance the pleasure you were feeling. He kept talking nonchalantly, acting as if his hot wife wasn't fucking herself on his leg, acting as if he didn't have a raging boner that was begging to be touched. The man on the other end of the phone had not even the slightest clue that there was anyone else even in the room with Cillian.
"Sounds good," Cillian hummed. "Alright, yeah... see you then." And when he tossed his phone to the side (not before turning it completely off), he looked at you with a fire blazing in his eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I... don't know... what... you're talking about..." You said through tiny gasps.
"Yeah?" He quipped as he jolted his thigh right up into your pussy, causing you to let out a loud mewl. "Why the fuck is there a wet patch on me leg then? Hmmm?"
"Don't know... Cillian..."
He shook his head in disbelief before curling his fingers around your throat and pushing you down into the sheets until he was hovering above you, his hand still choking you firmly. "Such a spoilt whore," Cillian growled as he slipped your soaking panties down until you were entirely bare before him. "You couldn't even wait five minutes for me to get off the bloody phone."
"J-Just... I'm so horny..." You whined, voice high pitched, and your body writhed for any sort of touch as he held your thighs open. Your glistening hole was on display for him. It felt shameful and humiliating the way he was looking at you. Despite the fact he had seen you in every angle there was to be seen and had seen your vagina countless times, it still felt painfully vulnerable when he had you spread out like this. "Please..."
"I know," He soothed, running a finger down the smooth skin of your inner thighs. "You just can't help it..." He cooed, and you smiled at how sweet he was being. "Y'just so dumb and pathetic, aren't you? Can't think about anything except gettin' fucked when I'm around... know you can't help it, yer just a girl..." He whispered into your ear, and you were revelling in his words and gentleness until he placed a harsh and hard smack right on your poor clit.
"Fuck!" You cried, arching your back. "Why'd you do that?!"
"Don't pretend to be innocent, Y/N," Cillian muttered as he switched the position so you were straddled on top of his thigh. "Go on, ride my thigh." He demanded.
"But..." You slid your hands up his other thigh to where his cock fought with his trousers to be free. "I want you... inside of me..."
"Too bad, eh?" Cillian smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yer not getting any help either, gonna have to do it all yourself... like a big girl." Cillian leaned back, a smug grin on his hauntingly beautiful face.
So slowly, feeling awfully embarrassed, you pressed your naked sex against his hairy thigh and began rocking yourself in slow motions. You closed your eyes, holding onto Cillian's waist for balance as you picked up the pace, moaning desperately for release.
"Look at the mess you're making," Cillian scolded with a 'tsk tsk', eyes fixed on the way you rubbed yourself on his thigh. "Gushin' all over me leg, you look so cute."
"Let me cum on your thigh..." You whined quietly, head hung low with shame as you felt your impending high coming closer and closer. "Please."
"You're gonna cum already?" Cillian laughed condescendingly. "Go on then, give me a show."
You nodded and mumbled a sweet little 'thank you' before grounding your pussy even harder and faster into his sticky thigh until you found yourself trembling on top of him. His hands now reached out to you, guiding your hips along for you while you let yourself be swallowed whole by your orgasm. He knew you were too limp to do it yourself and even once you were done he kept rocking you back and forth with his hands, moving you like a puppet until you were begging for him to stop.
"Please... Cillian..." You cried, trying to raise your hips up to stop the torturous friction. "Please... it's too much."
"Nuh-uh... want one more from ya... then I'll consider giving you my cock."
You squeezed your thighs tightly around his, clit aching from the sore friction and how overstimulating it was. Cillian was mesmerized by the way you looked, too busy watching the way his thigh grew wetter and wetter and the way your hips looked in his hands. It was the most beautiful sight to be seen... and with the added sound of your sweet moans of his name... he felt like he could cream his pants without even laying a hand on his cock.
"That's it, angel girl," He praised, bucking his thigh up into you harshly. "You look so pretty, so perfect, getting me all wet."
"Gonna cum... again..." You choked out, eyelids squeezed shut as you began convulsing.
"There we go, give it to me," He cooed, voice low and intoxicating. "Fuckin' hell," He could feel your cum leak out onto his thigh, it was almost a bit ridiculous how wet you got from him and how much of a mess you made. "Good girl... good girl... that's right."
You collapsed on top of him once he finally set you free. You panted, crawling up so your head was by his, and you kissed him gently. "Thank you... thank you... Cillian..." You whispered, all dazed and sleepy since it was still early in the morning.
"Not done with you yet," Cillian whispered, running his lips along your sensitive neck. "I think you've been good enough for a treat."
Your ears perked up at that and suddenly your eyes were no longer drooping. You sat up like an excited dog and looked at him with your head tilted. "What is it?"
"Gonna let you suck me cock," He grunted, slipping the band of his Calvin Klein briefs down until his hard cock laid flat on his stomach, oozing precum from his pinkish head. Your lips parted as you drooled at the sight and wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft. You were practically making heart eyes at it. "Don't act all shy on me now, love... go on... I know you know how to suck me off... now go on and do it, and I'll cum down your pretty throat."
-----
i listened to cry by cigarettes after sex on repeat while listening to this. i hope you enjoyed! it's short but i like it :-)
#cillian murphy#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy x reader#cillian x reader#tommy shelby#thomas shelby#peaky blinders#cillian x fem!reader#cillian murphy fanfic#peaky blinders imagine#cillian murphy oneshot#cillian x y/n#cillian murphy fanfiction#jackson rippner#raymond leon#jonathan crane
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Practice Makes Perfect
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Pairing | stepdad!Jackson Rippner x reader
Summary | You go to your stepdad for help… with very pure intentions… obviously. (Heheh)
Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, innocence kink, corruption, large age gap, but not under age, hand jobs, oral both m and f receiving, spanking, daddy kink technically, also incest I guess?, groping, thigh riding, praise, a sprinkle of degradation and humiliation.
Words | 7.5 k
Notes | I hope it was worth the wait folks. Also ionno how I feel about this gif but whatever lol
Ao3 link | <3
Masterlist
You liked making men crave what they could never have, that’s why you dress the way you do. But it seemed like the one man you actually wanted to crave you, never did. Much to your disappointment.
But you liked doing it in a subtle way, where at first glance, it wouldn’t seem like your goal was to get his attention. You’d wear loose, frilly skirts, always on the shorter side, but not short enough to be too obvious, and tight crop tops that were somewhat see-through. You also liked wearing pretty dresses and knee high socks and dainty jewelry and soft makeup. All of which at first glance would just seem like a cute, unintentionally sexy— yet still in an innocent way somehow— outfit.
Nothing you ever did caught his eye though. Sometimes you’d forego the bra all together so that your nipples were just barely poking through the thin fabric of your top, but you still didn't get a reaction. So you decided to step it up.
“Mr. Rippner?” You asked quietly, making him look up from the computer screen as you hesitantly walked in.
“How many times have I told you to call me Jackson.” He said teasingly.
“Sorry…” You couldn’t help the blush that painted your cheeks when he gave you a soft smile.
“What's up?”
“I can come back later if you’re busy…”
“Never too busy for you. Come sit.” He clicked a few buttons on the computer then gave you his full attention. You dragged one of the arm chairs a little closer to his desk, then sat down.
“I just… had a question— questions. But I’m scared to ask my mom.” You said quietly, nervously playing with the fabric of your skirt.
“Scared?”
“I don’t want her to see me any differently… and I’m scared that asking this might do that.”
“You can talk to me.” His tone was so genuine that it made you want to tell him anything and everything about yourself, even your deepest secrets. His warm smile wasn’t helping much either.
“Thank you… So, um— there’s this guy that I like..” He just barely stiffened when you said that. “He’s older,”
“How much older?”
“A little more than twenty years…”
“He’s in his forties?”
“Early fourties, yes.” You said quietly, not able to maintain eye contact any longer. You couldn’t figure out what emotion was on his face right now. “But I really really like him, Mr. Rippner, and he treats me right.”
“Any man going after you who’s that old will not treat you right.”
“Oh…” You kept your eyes on your lap as your chest ached. Even though this wasn’t a direct rejection it still hurt. “Sorry.”
“Hey— no, I'm sorry.” His tone was noticeably softer. “I just worry about you, kiddo.” Your whole face heated up at the name, as it always does. “I'm sorry. If you still want to talk, I'm here for you.”
“Thanks…” When he didn’t say anything, you took that as your cue to continue. “I- I’ve been having.. bad thoughts about him, Mr. Rippner. And I know that it’s wrong, but I just can’t help it. I don’t even really know what he’s making me feel, just that it makes me feel dirty…” His cheek tensed as he clenched his jaw.
“Inappropriate thoughts, you mean?” He clarified and you nodded in response. “I see. And before I respond, what exactly is it that you’re asking me?”
“I- I want to impress him… but I’ve never done.. anything. I’m scared I’ll make a fool of myself, so I was hoping… you could help me?”
“Help you?” He choked out. You nodded and bit your lip. “Let me just make sure I’m hearing this right. You want to fuck a man twice your age,” you blushed at his crude words, “but you’re nervous about it… so you’re asking your step father, who’s also twice your age, to help you practice so you feel more confident?”
“I’m sorry, this was stupid.” You muttered as you got to your feet.
“Sit down.” His voice was technically still soft, but you could hear the underlying sternness in his tone, so you lowered yourself back down in the chair. “Why me?”
“I just… I trust you a lot, Mr. Rippner— more than most. I know you’d never do anything to take advantage of me.” You said, even though you hoped he would.
“And what about your mom?” That made you frown.
“I didn’t mean it in a cheating way. Just for you to show me what to do— to teach me. That’s not cheating.”
“Sweetheart…” He started, making your frown deepen. “You understand why this would be wrong other than that, right?”
“…No.” You did.
“Not even talking about the fact that I'm twice your age— I’m your step father. This is not something that step fathers teach their step daughters.” He explained gently.
“Oh.. I guess you don’t have to, then. I can just… ask him to teach me or something.”
“Absolutely not.” He said sternly, startling you. “Telling him that will practically give him the green light to manipulate and coerce you.”
“He wouldn’t do that.” You frowned.
“Yes he would. Every man would.”
“Clearly not every man.” You muttered.
“Look,” he sighed, “I do want to help you, kiddo, but it’s more complicated than that.”
“It doesn’t have to be..”
“But it is.”
“Are you not attracted to me?” You asked suddenly. “Is that why?” He sighed again and looked away from you, making your stomach churn. “Oh.” You felt like you were about to cry any minute now— this is not going how it was supposed to at all. You felt stupid and embarrassed and you wished you never came in here.
“I…” he sighed, “It's not that. I shouldn’t be attracted to you, honey. It’s wrong.”
“…But you are?” He said ‘shouldn’t’ so maybe that’s a good sign.
“It’s doesn’t matter if I am,”
“I’m attracted to you, Mr. Rippner.” You said quietly, waiting nervously for his reaction. “It doesn’t feel wrong.” He let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes as his head tilted back a little. You watched him carefully, trying to figure out what he was thinking. When he suddenly leaned back up and opened his eyes, they were significantly darker, the pretty, pale blue almost gone now. “Mr. Rippner?” You asked when he didn’t say anything.
“I’m not going to show you, but I’ll tell you. How does that sound?” You frowned and looked away.
“Okay… If you think that’s best, I trust you.” You said, silently praying for him to do more than talk to you.
“Let’s just start off with you telling me what you do know.”
“Um… Well, I’ve seen people kiss.. and I’ve tried to practice, but it feels awkward and I don’t want it to be weird when it happens.”
“You never kissed anyone?” His eyebrows were raised as he stared at you in poorly concealed surprise.
“…No.” You said, voice small.
“Okay,” he cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, “okay. What else?”
“I mean… I think I mostly know how the rest of it goes? The part where.. I don’t really do much. It’s the other parts that I don’t know.”
“You mean foreplay?” You nodded with a blush. “And you know how to practice safe sex, right?”
“A condom?”
“That’s the most common way, yes.” He leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy breath. “Okay. I think I can help you out with some of it, but the rest you might just need to practice on your own.
“But I have!” Your blush deepened when you realized what you just implied.
“You have?”
“I- I mean.. I just— It…” Nothing you could say would save you.
“Dirty girl… Do you have a toy hidden somewhere?” He said teasingly and you didn’t know how to respond, not when the real answer is so much more embarrassing and perverted.
“Something like that..” He examined you carefully, making you feel like he was uncovering every secret you've ever had.
“Oh I see.” He chuckled. “Creative little minx, aren’t you? What’d you use?” You looked down and bit your lip, feeling far too embarrassed right now. “Hairbrush handle? Cucumber?”
“Stop teasing me, Mr. Rippner.” You pouted and he gave you a small smile.
“I’ll stop teasing once you stop calling me that.” When your gaze stayed on your lap, he continued. “Where'd you use it? Your mouth or your cunt?” Your head snapped up with a gasp at his vulgar language.
“Mr. Rippner!” You scolded him, but your cheeks were far too red to uphold the sternness of your reprimand.
“It’s just a simple question, kiddo. You’re going to have to get used to those words if you want my help. I can’t really explain it without saying it.”
“I- I know. It just caught me off guard is all and um… mouth.” You muttered, not able to maintain eye contact. “But I couldn't do it, it was too hard.”
“What’d you try to do, sweetheart?”
“I dunno… just— anything that I thought might be right. I didn’t really know what to do.” You looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Need someone to teach me…”
“You know that I can’t.” He said softly.
“But how else am I supposed to learn? Why can’t you just help me?” You pouted, making him sigh.
“I am helping you.”
“But….” You were going to beg again, but so far that’s gotten you nowhere, so you decided to try something else. “Fine— I’ll just find someone else!” You said, standing up and turning around to walk out.
“Sit down. I won’t tell you again.” He said sternly, making you freeze, but not turn around yet.
“Mr. Rippner…” You finally turned back to face him, but you couldn’t look at him, “I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day,”
“You really don’t want me to tell you again.” He warned and for the first time, you felt a little afraid of him. It was flustered fear, but fear nonetheless. You slowly walked back over and sat down again.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to help you, but you’re not going to tell anyone. Especially your mother. Do you understand?” You couldn’t help the smile that creeped up on your face as you nodded.
“Come here.” You got back up and walked around the desk, waiting awkwardly for the next instruction. “On your knees.” Your stomach fluttered and you could feel the ache between your legs that you usually get when you’re near him. Slowly lowering yourself to the ground, you placed your hands on your lap and looked up at him as he rolled his chair back and faced you.
“Do whatever you think is right. I’ll stop you or tell you what to do if you need help.” Even though that made you nervous because there was a higher chance you’d embarrass yourself, you agreed.
Shuffling forward, you settled between his legs and reached for his belt. The bulge in his pants was already making your mouth water and you pressed your thighs together without thinking. His breath hitched when you accidentally brushed his crotch, but he let you continue until his pants were open enough for you to pull them down a little and reach inside to take out his length.
You gasped at the size of him and stared at it with wide eyes and slightly parted lips— how is this ever going to fit.. anywhere inside you when it barely fits in your hand? He brushed your hair out of your face and you swallowed thickly as you forced your eyes away from his length to look up at him.
“Y-you’re… Are they all this big?” You asked nervously, making him chuckle quietly.
“Not all, but I’m only a little above average.”
“Oh.” So the average is only a little smaller? That didn’t ease your nerves at all.
“Just take it slow, kiddo. Don’t rush into it, go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.” You were struggling to get yourself to follow the soft demand because of how badly you wanted to impress him. “Start with your hand.” You nodded and swallowed down the lump in your throat as you reached for his length. Tentatively grasping it in your hand, you stroked him slowly, looking up at him for confirmation. “A little harder, love.” You squeezed harder, but immediately pulled back when he winced.
“I’m sorry,”
“That’s okay. Here,” he took your hand in his and wrapped it around his cock, moving it slowly. “Like this, okay?” When you nodded, he let go for you to continue on your own. You noticed that his limited reactions seemed to mostly happen when you were at the tip, so you focused on that, rubbing your thumb over the bead of clear liquid on top, making him curse under his breath.
“You know what that is?” He asked, almost breathlessly.
“…Precum?” You were terrified of embarrassing yourself by saying the wrong thing, but you vaguely remembered learning that somewhere.
“That’s right.. good girl. Have a taste.” With a blush from the praise, you tentatively brought your hand up and sucked your thumb into your mouth. “Do you like it?”
“I think so. It’s… watery but a little sweet almost?” He laughed quietly and you gave him a small smile.
“Keep going.” You started stroking him again, keeping the pace a little slow as you got used to it. “Do you want to try using your mouth now?” You looked up at him nervously, but nodded anyway. “Okay, just suck on the tip while you keep stroking it.” You shuffled forward even closer and placed your free hand on his thigh to steady yourself as you leaned up a little. When you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, he let out a shaky breath and put his hand on top of yours on his thigh.
“Suck it and flick your tongue over it,” you obeyed and he let out a low moan, “there you go… Keep using your hand.” You hadn’t even realized you stopped stroking him until he mentioned it.
“Atta girl. You’re a natural, kiddo.” You couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out at the praise, even if he was just teasing you. You continued stroking his length while mouthing at the tip, not sure what to do next. Thankfully he seemed ready to help you with that.
“You want to draw it out a little so how about you practice kissing, hm?” You perked up at the thought of finally being able to kiss him, but almost pouted when you realized he didn’t mean on his lips. You gave the tip and quick kiss, then looked up at him, asking a silent question of what to do. “Kiss all over it, sweetheart.” You obeyed, working your way down the underside of his cock. “Good girl. Keep going down.” You were quickly reaching the base and you looked up at him in confusion.
“You didn’t think you were just going to suck my cock, did you?” He chuckled, making you frown. You did think that… What else would you suck? “Start with kissing and licking my balls.” That made you pull back as your eyes widened.
“Your— But… Is that,”
“You’re not going to impress any man with a mediocre blow job. I’m trying to help you, baby.” You didn’t know that was a thing you had to do… and for some reason it felt dirtier than everything you’ve done so far. He picked up on your apprehension and his teasing smirk dropped into a more serious expression.
“Hey, we don’t have to.” He said softly, genuinely. “The second you change your mind, we’re done, no questions asked. I can make you some hot chocolate and put on that movie you like and we don’t have to mention this ever again.”
“I…” You swallowed the lump in your throat as your gaze shifted between his eyes and his cock. “Can we still do all of that after we do this?” You asked timidly, making the corners of his lips turn up into a small smile as he reached out to pet your hair.
“Of course we can, kiddo. I’m pretty much done with work for the day so I’m all yours until it’s your bedtime.” You flushed at the mention of the silly rule he was so adamant about implementing. You told him that you’re an adult and adults don’t have bedtimes and he said that he just wants what’s best for you and that getting a good night's sleep is one of the best things you could do to take care of yourself. You didn’t protest again after that— mostly just because you liked the idea of him having that power over you.
“Since it’s Friday… could we maybe.. extend my bedtime?” You asked coyly, staring up at him with wide pleading eyes. He raised his brows as he looked down at you for a moment before letting out a breathy laugh and looking away.
“You’re getting too spoiled. I might as well start calling you princess.” He said with a sly smile, making you blush.
“If I’m your princess, does that make you my daddy?” You asked innocently, making his breath catch in his throat, but he recovered quickly and decided to tease you a little.
“Now where did you learn something like that?” Your blush intensified and you couldn’t maintain eye contact any longer.
“Heard some classmates talking about it…”
“Aren’t you a nosy little thing? But no kiddo, that doesn’t make me your daddy. I’m still just plain old stepdad Jackson.” He said with a small shrug.
“But… if I want you to be?” You asked nervously. He let out a heavy breath that turned into a quiet chuckle.
“If you want me to be… Then, we'll do a trial run tonight, how does that sound?”
“Good. Thank you, daddy.” You decided to try it out immediately and it was strange how natural the word fell from your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his cock twitch.
“Okay, princess. You do a good job and I’ll reward you by pushing your bedtime back an hour.” That made your face light up, but you were feeling bold right now.
“…Two?”
“Thirty minutes?” He asked, in the same tone as you, making you pout and accept his original offer of one hour. “Pick up where you left off.” He spread his legs to give you more room to shuffle forward and lean your face close to his length, but instead of aiming for his cock, you went lower. You did as he instructed, kissing and licking them gently. It felt dirty and wrong doing this, but somehow, at the same time, like the most fulfilling thing you've ever done.
“Now suck one into your mouth.” The second your lips wrapped around one, he cursed under his breath and let out a sigh of pleasure, but it quickly turned into a wince, making you pull back instantly. “Gotta be gentler, honey.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You rushed out, face flushing with shame, and he shushed you.
“It’s okay. Just do it a little softer.” You hesitantly leaned forward to try once again, now much more apprehensive this time. “There you go…” He cooed, “Few more seconds, then do the same to the other one. Don’t forget to use your hand on my cock while you do this.” You blushed at the crude words but wrapped a hand around his length again to start pumping slowly before releasing him with a loud pop and moving to the other one. His sounds gave you confidence and you flicked your tongue as you sucked, then pulled back to keep licking and kissing while you stroked him. It was hard to multitask though with how overwhelmed you were getting from his scent and his hand holding yours on his thigh and just his closeness.
You tried not to get too embarrassed when your spit kept building up until it was covering your lips and chin, making you feel even dirtier. But you realized that you like how it feels. You like feeling filthy as you make him feel good.
You kept mouthing at his balls, occasionally sucking on them, and he placed his free hand on your head, stroking your hair.
“Fuck… Look at you— Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” He asked teasingly, not giving you a chance to reply before speaking again. “There’s no way this mouth belongs to my innocent little girl.” You blushed, feeling shy at the compliment.
“Daddy…” You whined against him, never stopping the movement of your hand or mouth.
“It’s okay, kiddo. You just keep sucking on my balls and stroking my cock. Don’t need to do anything else.” You whimpered and squirmed at his feet, quickly growing uncomfortable with the weird feeling between your legs.
“Daddy, it hurts.” You didn’t want to disobey him by stopping right after he told you to keep going, so you barely pulled back enough to get the words out.
“What hurts?” You whined quietly and pressed your thighs together. His gaze traveled down your body curiously. “Your cunt?” You mewled and blushed at the vulgar word, but nodded in agreement.
“You’re a proper whore, aren’t you?” He chuckled, making you frown and pull back.
“No…”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, baby. If sucking balls is what gets you off, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Stop making fun of me.” You pouted, making him smile. “And ‘m not a whore.”
“Of course you’re not a whore, princess. You’re my whore.” Your entire face heated up and the ache between your legs got infinitely worse. “Isn’t that right?” You whined quietly and he chuckled.
“Y-yes…” You whispered. “Yours.”
“My what?” Your expression turned into a pout and you averted your gaze. “Hm?”
“Your— your whore.” You choked out as tears welled in your eyes from the humiliation of it all.
“Good girl. Keep going.”
“But,” He gave you a warning look so you ignored the fire in your belly and leaned back in. Your hand picked up again as you tried new things with your mouth on his balls, making sure to repeat the ones that drew any sounds from him. There was even more saliva now and you could feel some of it dripping down your neck to your chest.
“Go a little lower now.”
“W-what?” You choked out, trying to pull back, but he used the hand on your head to hold you there. “Relax, kiddo. Just a little bit.” He explained, but you were still apprehensive. He pushed you down until your chin hit the chair then pulled you closer, burying your nose into his balls and holding you there.
“Lick.” He demanded, but you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be licking. Since you weren’t able to question him, you just stuck your tongue out and moved it as best you could with how close he was holding you to his body. “There you fucking go.” He groaned, bucking his hips against your face.
“So fuckin’ filthy.” He said through a breath. Despite the degrading words he used, his tone was full of admiration and pride. “Covered in your own spit as you lick my taint.” He chuckled, voice a little darker now. “Work your way back up slowly.” He lessened the pressure on your head and you gave one last lick before moving up to his balls, mouthing at them for a few seconds, then kissing up his length until you reached the tip. You pulled back and looked up at him, waiting for the next instruction eagerly.
“…I’m on the fence about teaching you this.” You furrowed your brows in confusion.
“What is it?”
“It’s not necessary for a good blow job, you can leave a guy plenty satisfied with what I’ve taught you so far, but this just makes it even better.” You wanted to make him feel even better so there wasn’t any doubt in your mind.
“Please teach me?” You asked, even though you still weren’t really sure what he was talking about.
“Are you sure?”
“Please, daddy.” You whined.
“Okay, princess. Hands off.” You let go of his cock and placed your hand on his thigh. “Open.” Your mouth fell open and he adjusted so he was gripping your hair, then slowly lowered you onto him.
“First I want you to show me how far down you can take it.” He kept his grip on your hair, but let you move freely. Slowly forcing yourself down, you looked up at him for a moment before taking a deep breath through your nose and closing your eyes to concentrate. This is what you’re not good at. You kept going down until he brushed the back of your mouth. When you tried to move down even more, you gagged and had to pull off.
“Good girl. Almost halfway.” You all but beamed at the praise. “I’m going to try holding you there. Pinch my thigh if it’s too much, okay?” You nodded and he gave you a small smile. “Take a deep breath.” You inhaled and let your mouth fall open, waiting for him to guide you down onto his cock. He pushed your head slowly until he reached the back of your mouth, then held you still. You were fine for a few seconds as you breathed heavily through your nose and focused on suppressing your gag reflex, but once it started, you couldn’t stop it and you had to pinch his thigh.
“That was good, kiddo. You’re already getting better. Just try to keep your mouth open wider so your teeth aren’t touching it, okay?”
“Okay. Sorry…” You looked away, feeling embarrassed. You didn’t know how you were supposed to open your mouth any wider when your jaw was already starting to ache because of his size.
“Don’t apologize. You’re learning, you’re bound to make a mistake or two.” He said, easing your nerves.
“Can I try again?”
“Whenever you’re ready.” You sank down on his cock voluntarily this time and took deep breaths through your nose as he held you there. You didn’t want to gag, but you could feel it coming anyway. When it happened, you squeezed his thighs to keep yourself from pinching him, wanting to hold out a little longer. He shushed you and used a hand to pet your head while the other held you down as your body instinctively tried to pull up.
“Good girl. See if you can control it.” You squeezed your eyes shut with a strangled whimper and tried to breathe slowly. “That’s it… I'm going to pull you up a little so you can take a breath.” He lifted you only an inch or so up and you heaved in a shaky breath before he pushed you back down. You weren’t expecting him to actually only let you take a single breath, so you gagged again the second he hit the back of your mouth. This time though, you gagged hard enough to make you feel like you could throw up if it happened just one more time so you pinched him and he pulled you off.
A string of saliva connected your lips to his cock and you panted heavily, trying to catch your breath and push down the nausea.
“I’m so proud of you, kiddo. You’re doing amazing.” It didn’t feel like you were doing amazing, but you blushed at the compliment anyway.
“Thank you.” You rasped, giving him a small smile. He cupped your cheek, rubbing the saliva on your lips around a little as he returned the expression.
“Keep this up and I might consider pushing your bedtime back two hours instead.” Your face lit up at that and he laughed under his breath.
“Really?”
“You deserve it.” You smiled and his thumb swiped over your lips again, so you took it into your mouth and sucked lightly. “Christ— You’re going to kill me, baby.” He groaned, making you blush. “Do you think you can try something a little harder now?”
“I think so.” You said quietly, after reluctantly pulling away from his thumb to speak.
“I’m going to push you down farther, okay? You’ll probably gag, but I know you can take it.” He pushed your hair out of your face and gave you a reassuring smile. You nodded and moved closer to his length, taking a deep breath and waiting for him to push you down. He did it slowly and stopped once he reached the back of your mouth. Placing both hands on the back of your head, he applied more pressure, but did it quickly. You gagged instantly, but it cut off into a garbled whimper when he breached your throat barrier and pushed you all the way down until your nose was buried in his pelvis and your chin was resting on his balls.
“Fuck— good fucking girl.” He said through a moan. You tried to stay there despite the intense need to gag, but it was quickly becoming too much. “You feel incredible, baby.” You squeezed your eyes shut, hearing him curse under his breath as you choked. When you couldn’t take it anymore, you pinched his thigh and he hesitated for a second before letting you pull off. He stroked your hair as you coughed and tried to catch your breath. You looked up at him through teary eyes and his other hand moved to cup your cheek and brush his thumb over your lips that were slick with even more saliva now.
“How you holding up?” He asked softly and you cleared your throat before responding.
“Good I think..”
“Do you want to stop?” Kind of… but at the same time you wanted more. More of this— more of him.
“No- no… I want to keep going.”
“Don’t just say that because you think it’s what I want to hear,”
“‘m not. Wanna keep going.” You whined.
“Do you want to keep doing this or go back to what you were doing before?” He seemed to like this the most and you wanted to practice so you could get better for him. So even though your throat was already sore, you said yes.
“This.”
“Okay, baby. Whenever you’re ready.” You cleared your throat again and tried to even out your breathing before wrapping your lips around the tip again, waiting for him to push you back down. He moved you slowly until he reached the back of your mouth and you braced yourself for what was about to happen.
Even though you were anticipating it, you still gagged when he applied more pressure, and then choked when he finally entered your throat. You were coughing and sputtering around him, each time forcing more spit out of your mouth, making your face heat up when you felt more of it roll down your neck to your chest.
“That’s it… Good girl.” The moan that escaped you because of his praise sounded more like a garbled, incoherent sound rather than anything else. “Fuck— I’m gonna come, baby.” He groaned, making your stomach flutter.
You wanted nothing more than to pull off so you could breathe and cough, but you wanted to let him finish. So you squeezed his thighs hard enough to make him wince and his hips flinched up, burying his cock even deeper.
“When I pull out, keep your mouth open.” He rushed out and you could only make a strangled sound in return. His hips were rutting up into your mouth now as he kept a tight grip on your head, not letting you move when your body reflexively tried to pull away. He cursed under his breath, then let out a loud groan, and you felt heat in your throat until he pulled out. You coughed, but tried to keep your mouth open as he stroked his cock in front of you, making more come land on your tongue and around your lips. When his sounds quieted and his hand slowed to a stop, he stared down at you as he panted.
“Swallow.” He demanded softly. You reluctantly closed your mouth and swallowed, then he swiped up the come that landed on your face and put it on your tongue for you to swallow as well.
You tried not to let it show in your expression, but you weren’t expecting it to taste like that at all and it caught you off guard. Especially because you were expecting more of the sweet taste that the precum had.
“Everyone tastes like that?” You asked quietly, making him chuckle.
“I wouldn’t really know, sweetheart, but I would assume so.” He wiped your tears and the spit from your chin and your stomach fluttered again at the soft, simple action. “You did such a good job. I’m so proud, kiddo.” Your whole face flushed at the compliment, but you didn’t understand why he said it since it didn’t seem like you improved much.
“Thank you..” You said anyway, making the corners of his lips turn up into a small smile.
“Get up here, princess.” You immediately got giddy at the thought of being so close to him and you eagerly climbed onto the chair and straddled his legs, putting your hands on his shoulders. He rubbed up and down your thighs slowly, teasing you.
“Do you think you’ve learned enough?” You tried not to frown at the thought of this ending so soon.
“No…” You muttered, looking down.
“No? What else can I teach you, baby?” He chuckled. You knew his question was rhetorical, but you answered anyway.
“I- I don’t know how to… touch myself.” You said with a blush and his eyes widened a little.
“You don’t touch yourself?” He asked through a breath, almost completely frozen.
“I’ve tried… I just end up feeling awkward and dumb so I stop. But I need you, daddy, it hurts. Make it go away.” You whined, giving him puppy dog eyes and a frown. He cursed under his breath and closed his eyes for a moment, his grip tightening on your thighs.
“Fuck— fuck, okay. I’ll teach you, but after that, no more.”
“Okay.” You agreed, even though you knew you were going to be begging him to keep going when he decided to stop. He took a deep breath and you waited anxiously for him to do something.
“You have to start slow, build up to it. Women are different from men, they need more than we do to get started.” His hands dragged up your thighs— over your skirt— to your hips, then up your waist, and sadly back down again.
“Don’t wanna start slow.” You whined, squirming in his lap.
“You told me to teach you and that’s what I’m doing, princess.” You huffed and looked away from him with a pout. When he suddenly grabbed your cheeks in one hand, then turned you back to face him and pulled you closer, your breath caught in your throat.
“I don’t want any attitude from you when I’m the one doing you a favor.” He said lowly, but you were distracted by his breath fanning your lips and his grip on your face. “I control how fast or slow we go. Do you understand?” There was that fear again, only this time you subconsciously tried to grind against him.
“Y-yes.” You whispered, staring at him with wide eyes, getting needier and needier. “Please,” You whined, squirming again, but stopping when his hand moved down to your throat.
“What did I just say?” He gritted.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry— But I can’t take this anymore, it’s torture!” You cried. He stared at you with a dark look that made you nervous and you waited anxiously for what was next.
“Fine. Up.”
“Daddy…” You whined, but it cut off then he roughly grabbed your hips and lifted you to your feet. He didn’t even give you a demand before pulling you forward by your hips so that your legs were on either side of one of his. You gasped when he pulled you down and reached for his shoulders to steady yourself. “Grind on my thigh.”
“W-what?” You choked out, eyes widening even more.
“If you want to act like a bitch in heat, that’s how you’ll be treated. Hump my fucking thigh or we’re done for tonight.” He menaced, making your whole face heat up. You’ve never heard such degrading words before, especially not aimed at you, and even though you were probably supposed to be upset that he basically just called you a dog… you started moving your hips anyway.
“You need to learn,” he landed a hard smack on your ass, making you cry out and tighten your grip on his shoulders, “when to fucking listen.” Another spank, this time on your other cheek. “I didn’t have to let you suck my cock, but I did…” When he hit you again, you felt tears brimming in your eyes. “I didn’t have to teach you how to deep throat,” you let out a choked sob when he hit you again, the hardest so far, “but I did.” He growled, spanking you twice in quick succession.
“I’m sorry!” You cried, squeezing your eyes shut.
“Look at the fucking mess you’re making.” He roughly fisted your hair and forced your head down so you could see the damp spot on his pants where you were grinding. You whined, getting so overwhelmed with the feeling between your legs and his words and his hands and just him.
“Get the fuck up.” He suddenly said, making your heart drop. Was he going to leave you like this? All needy and achy?
“Daddy, ‘m sorry.” You whimpered, staring at him with puppy dogs eyes and a pout. In response, he just lifted you off of him by your hips and stood up. You protested with a whine, but it cut off when he pushed you in front of the desk and roughly forced your chest down on it. You tried lifting yourself up, but he just placed a firm hand between your shoulder blades and forced you back down.
“Stay.” He growled, making you stiffen. He flipped your skirt up and you squirmed with a low whine. “No shorts?” He spanked you again and you quickly scrambled for purchase on the desk. When he roughly groped your ass, you let out a quiet moan and squeezed your thighs together, but he kicked your legs apart, not letting you have any relief.
“Daddy…” You whined, but it cut off into a yelp when he spanked you again. He roughly cupped your sex and you mewled in response as you pushed your hips back.
“Such a needy fucking pussy for a virgin.” He gruffed, making you blush, but it only intensified when he pulled your panties to the side.
“Fuck…” He muttered, then dragged a finger through your slit, spreading your arousal. “Fuck!” You jumped at the sudden increase in volume. Was he mad? He sounded like he was quickly losing his composure and you weren’t exactly sure why or how you could help him.
“Daddy?”
“Shut up.” He hissed, roughly gripping your underwear and pulling until he ripped it off of you. “Just shut the fuck up.”
“Mmph!” He shoved your panties in your mouth before you could even register what was happening. He ignored you and roughly groped your ass again, pulling you apart to spread your holes and cursing under his breath. When wetness and heat replaced the chilly air on your clit, your hips flinched back toward the pleasure as a surprise moan escaped you.
He licked over you slowly, still having a firm grip on your ass to keep you spread open. Moving up to your hole, he licked and sucked, making a loud, vulgar slurping sound that had you whining from embarrassment.
You whimpered, hiding your burning face in your arms. He lapped up your arousal for a while before going back down to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. You choked on a whimper at the sudden, intense pleasure, making him chuckle against you.
Your knees shook and you moved your hands to grip the desk, trying to ground yourself, but it was just so fucking intense. Eventually, your legs got too weak to hold you up and all of your weight was resting on the desk with the hard wood digging into your hip bones painfully.
You whimpered, feeling your stomach tighten with arousal even more, but let out an anguished sob when he suddenly pulled back. Your head was spinning with how fast he lifted you off of the desk and sat you down on his chair, removing the makeshift gag.
He pulled your hips to the edge and dove back in eagerly. Your hands landed in his hair as you rocked your hips against his face, moaning and whining at the new feeling— you could already tell you were getting addicted. Moving down to your hole, he lapped up your arousal and rubbed his thumb over your clit, making your stomach feel even tighter.
“If you let that… that fucking pervert anywhere near you I swear to god you won’t be able to sit for a fucking week.” He growled and you moaned at his words as well as the sudden possessiveness in his tone. “This pussy is mine. Do you understand?” You mewled and tugged his hair, trying to pull his mouth back on you, but he was stronger.
“Y-yes. Yours, daddy.” You whined, tugging harder. “Please!” You cried, when he still wouldn’t give in. “It’s yours, daddy! I’m all yours.” You sobbed out, grinding your hips in hopes of getting the stimulation back.
“Pull your shirt up.” He gruffed, only leaning back down after you obeyed. His mouth took over his thumb again and he reached up to grope your breast as he sucked on your clit in an almost feral manner. “Who’s tits are these?” He mumbled against you, starting to toy with your nipple now.
“Yours.”
“Who’s allowed to see them?” He switched hands, giving your other nipple the same treatment.
“Only you.” You said through a breath, feeling the coil in your stomach get impossibly tighter.
“Who’s allowed to touch them?”
“Only you, daddy. Please!” He didn’t respond, he just worked harder and faster on your clit until you fell over the edge. You sobbed out a moan and pulled on his hair hard enough to make him hiss in pain. But that was overshadowed by the feeling flooding your entire body, making you tremble and writhe as you rutted against his face. You weren’t lying when you said you don’t touch yourself, but now that you know what an orgasm feels like? You might start trying honestly.
Once your body sagged into the chair and your sounds died down, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening. You were panting, still trying to calm down even though you were practically dizzy with pleasure. You felt warm hands running up and down your thighs, soothing you, and you gave him a dopey smile as your eyes fluttered open to look down at him.
“You’ve got quite the grip on you, kiddo.” He chuckled, making you blush and loosen your hands in his hair.
“Sorry.” You said sheepishly, trying to rub his scalp a little to soothe the ache he must be feeling from you pulling so hard.
“You okay?” He asked and you nodded wordlessly. “I… I didn’t mean to get so harsh. I just worry.”
“I know, it’s okay. I won’t go near him.” It felt like you were hit with a wave of exhaustion all of a sudden. Is that what orgasms do? Make you sleepy?
“Good girl. You tired?” When you nodded, he chuckled quietly. “Let’s get you cleaned up really quick. Wait here.” As if you could stand on your wobbly legs. You thought with an internal scoff. He left the room and returned with a damp washcloth a minute later. He started with your face, gently wiping the mascara from under your eyes and the dried spit around your mouth, trailing down your chest. Once that was cleaned up, he went even lower. You jolted when the cloth brushed over your folds.
“I’ll be quick.” He said, trying to soothe you. He wiped the area gently and you couldn’t help the quiet moan that slipped out when he brushed your clit. “None of that.” He reprimanded you softly and with a smile. When he finished, he pulled your top back down and fixed your skirt.
“Do you still want that hot chocolate and movie?” You nodded with a lazy smile and he chuckled before picking you up and carrying you to the living room. He set you down on the couch gently and laid a blanket over you, then kissed the top of your head. As he was walking to the kitchen, your brain was already starting to come up with new ways to get this to happen again. You still have so much to learn, after all.
Taglist (join here)
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#jackson rippner x reader smut#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner#stepdad!jackson#red eye#red eye movie
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heres my roman empire
#cillian murphy#jackson rippner#this is a girlblog#female manipulator#manic pixie dream girl#hell is a teenage girl#im just a girl#just like me fr#hyper feminine#female hysteria#lana del rey#lana del ray aesthetic#ultraviolence#red eye
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MISS ME ?
Pairing - Jackson Rippner x fem!reader
Summary - Jackson was assigned with assassinating you, but how could he kill such a sweet thing like yourself?
Warnings - 18+, noncon, dubcon, stockholm syndrome, smut.
Word count - 1.3k
Your apparent premature death was a tragedy to the world. A sudden shock to hear a promising young woman to have been deemed dead by a shipwreck with a handful of casualties. It was predicted that you would live a fulfilling life, by being the daughter of an established politician. You were goal driven, focused on your studies and wanted to help change the world for the better. That was all gone now, but you were never even on the fucking boat.
When Jackson Rippner was assigned with assassinating you for revenge against your father, the first thing he wondered was who would want to kill a sweet thing like yourself? The more he studied you, the more he desired you. It was only reasonable to have a taste of you before he killed you. It’d be like throwing away a freshly baked cake.
But he became infatuated by you when you fought, swore, cried and begged underneath him. The way you were able to make him come so fucking hard, not to mention the way he was able to make you come so fucking hard, sealed a new fate for you.
Jackson was never one to renegotiate, but he made an exception for you. For free of charge on Jackson’s sole behalf, and an unwritten waiver that if you were to ever be found alive, the client and Jackson’s company had no involvement, you could live. He thought he was doing you a favour, you were not dead because of him. But you weren’t exactly living either.
Your prison was a modern cabin in upstate New York. Jackson chose this home many years ago because he liked being secluded, he didn’t trust people and valued his privacy. It never really crossed his mind that he would share his humble home with anyone in the near future.
“Sweetheart?” Jackson called out, shutting the garage door behind him and dropping his suitcase.
He pouted his lips as he looked around the main living area for you. He climbed up the flight of stairs and headed straight for the bedroom, a smirk on his lips. You weren’t on the bed, but in the corner of the room all curled up.
“Oh baby” Jackson sighed as he slid off his jacket. You looked up to him with tear stained eyes. “Come here” he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Hesitantly, you got up and gradually went to him. You straddled his lap, because he would have it no other way and he caressed your flustered cheeks.
You couldn’t help but to be relieved when he did come home. Isolation can drive people insane. He liked not talking to you when he was gone, just to make you go that little bit more crazy that what if he never came back. He thought it would make you acknowledge him more, he was right.
“Oh, how I missed you baby. Sorry I was gone for so long, business just got a bit out of hand. I was able to manage though” he explained as he petted your hair, admiring how you were wearing his shirt like always.
“I-I missed you too” you stuttered out. Jackson smiled and you could feel his cock harden underneath you. You were hesitant to ask, “you’re not leaving again, are you?”
“No baby, I’ll be staying for a while. I deserve a break” he answered softly, his lips brushing over your ear.
You didn’t reply, but instead laid your head onto his shoulder. Jackson couldn’t help to have a smug look on his face by thinking of the progress your relationship has made. At first, you despised his touch. He had to take a bit of time off work just to break you down, train you. Christ, he didn’t expect you to have so much dignity and fight in you. Not that he thought that was a bad thing.
There was only one occasion where you almost managed to escape. You managed to slip out of your restraints and successfully unlocked the door just for the alarm to go off. You bolted for your life, but Jackson was quick to catch up. Typically, you tripped and rolled your ankle. Jackson made sure to drag you back to the house by your injured ankle. Where he tied you up tightly to the bed, stuck a vibrator in you and left you for over an hour. Afterwards, he fucked you and your overstimulated cunt a couple of times just to really remind you not to ever pull another stunt like that again.
When Jackson did have the trust in you to be left alone, he wasn't hesitant to threaten you by killing your whole family if you tried to hurt yourself whilst he was gone. Yeah, it was nice to think about how far you guys had come.
“Baby, show me how much you missed me” Jackson murmured as the sensation of you pressed against him.
You sluggishly lifted your head and leant in to kiss him. Jackson’s arms snaked around your back and he fell back onto the bed. Your hips humped his slowly and controlled. You were rolled over onto your back as Jackson began to unbutton his shirt.
“Tell me, did you miss me? Or my cock?” Jackson teased as he pulled off his shirt and threw it aside.
“Both” you sighed, gradually unbuttoning your own shirt.
“Oh, lucky us” he grinned as he pulled out his hard cock.
Jackson pulled off your shorts and panties with ease and aligned his cock to your entrance. He didn’t even have to consider spitting into his hand, he knew you were already dripping. With a stern push, he was inside of you. A harsh moan left your lips in the process.
“That’s a good girl” Jackson grunted as he went on to find his pacing, “taking my cock so well. God how I fucking missed you” he kissed your jaw.
You hated him. Every single thing about him, you despised. Mostly, you hated how you depended on him. Jackson Rippner was all that you had now, so you couldn’t even hate him anymore. Every breath you took was for him. Your life was his for the taking.
“Fuck” Jackson purred by your ear. “I can feel how much you missed me” he mumbled, your walls clenched against him in a rhythm.
Your legs wrapped around his snatched waist as he started pounding into you. Jackson was deeply groaning with his forehead pressed against yours, your hands pinned above your head by his. You started crying out when he hit your sensitive spot. So he kissed you to make you feel better.
“Can you finally see how I saved you?” Jackson smugly asked, his hands now on your hips. There will definitely be a bruise in the morning.
“Yes” you exhaled, your arms wrapped around his back, nails dug into his bare skin.
“Do you love me?” Jackson asked, slightly unsure if he even wanted to hear your answer.
“Yes” you breathed, he grabbed your chin to make you look at him. “I love you Jackson” you admitted, knowing it’s what he wanted to hear.
Jackson didn’t say it back, but it was clear he did, in his own little fucked up way. His smile was soft and hopeful. Unexpectedly, he came inside of you, a broken moan leaving his lips.
“Fuck, I’m sorry baby. I just missed you so much” he apologised, slowly pumping himself inside of you, you moaned softly.
Aiming for your sweet spot, Jackson started pumping rapidly against you. You bit your lip as you quickly came undone around him, your walls pulsing against his sticky member. Laying defeated in the bed, Jackson pulled himself out and smiled at your mixed fluids on himself.
Jackson fell onto the bed next to you and pulled you into his arms. “You’ll never understand how happy I am to have decided not to kill you” he murmured by your ear as you laid in an unfazed state.
You looked up to him, “so am I”.
#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#jackson rippner#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner x reader#red eye 2005#cillian murphy smut
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I just want to see pretty men crying, or bleeding, or both.
#This post is about every character ever played by Cillian Murphy#jonathan crane#tommy shelby#robert fischer#jackson rippner#peaky blinders#the delinquent season#batman begins#inception#watching the detectives#28 days later#oppenheimer#cillian murphy
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HONEY, I’M HOME ─── jackson rippner ✧♤
ೃ⁀➷ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” — ‘Letters to Milena’, Franz Kafka
pairing. jackson rippner x assassin!reader
summary. jackson hires a prostitute the night before meeting his target. only thing is, you’re not a prostitute— you’re an assassin hired to kill him. but he catches your eye, and instead, you keep him for yourself.
warnings. swearing, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, slight housewife kink, kidnapping, drugging, pretty toxic relationship lmao, somnophilia, dubcon, hate-sex kinda, guns, choking, stockholm syndrome, cervix fucking, jackson gets a taste of his own medicine basically😭, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
word count. 6.1k
a/n. OKAY i know i said it was going into the direction of dom!reader but i got possessed and now,,, now we have this hate sex filth🫡
i.
When Jackson comes to, the very first thing his mind registers in your perfume. It’s sweet and vanilla-y and entirely intoxicating, sending his mind whirling back to prehistoric days, childhood days, a vague mother figure he’d long forgotten about pressing sugar cookie dough onto a metal pan.
Instead, as Jackson’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the bright, warm lamp-light curling around him and the various furniture in the room, he sees you, sitting in front of him on the floor.
Your knees are pulled up and tucked under your chin, and it seems you’ve fallen asleep, your face peaceful and serene as soft inhales and exhales of breath leave you.
You look like a pure angel, dolled up in a silk lace dress and neat bows so pristinely Jackson swore he could see a halo resting above your soft locks, but he knows you’re someone who can kill — has killed.
Jackson had been staying in a motel, readying himself to meet the target he was stalking the next day — some politico's daughter, y’know, perfect blackmail material — when you’d knocked on his door, dressed in a skanky skintight dress and garter belt, promising some fun for a flimsy fifty.
Prostitution was illegal in this state, but Jackson had some money and time to kill — plus, if he didn’t get something now he’d probably fuck his target, which wasn’t really encouraged considering he could get attached, all that bullshit job professionalism. He wouldn’t, obviously, but his higher-ups didn’t think the same.
So he agreed; you looked stupid enough, and with that nice pair on you, those sweet curves, you were bound to be a good fuck. And you were definitely enough for him to handle— handle killing, he meant. It’d be easy: get you a little tipsy ‘cause it was his “kink” or some shit like that, kill you when you’re coming, dispose of your body, and meet the target in the morning.
But then you’d kissed him, hungry and desperate and rough, and totally, completely, slipping the pill tucked under your tongue down his throat.
Jackson realized immediately, his hands darting to the gun he had tucked in his belt, but you punched him in the stomach and the jaw before he could even undo the safety. And then he’d done it: he’d swallowed the drug, and the effects were instantaneous, the connection between his thoughts and his limbs losing focus, body sluggish like he was wading through water.
So suddenly had the situation had gone from him hiring a prostitute to getting fucking drugged by one, and he felt his composure slipping, the outrage burning in his lungs. Jackson thought himself to be a logical, well-thought out man who planned things to the tee, and this was not fucking following his plan.
“What did you - do t’ me?!” He spat, voice growing slurred, bent over and clutching his stomach.
“Mm,” you considered telling him, pursing your lips and watching him sway back and forth, “just a little something to calm you down. But, honey, I think you better sit down… it's not a mild drug.”
“Answer my fucking—“ Jackson started caustically, then felt that familiar pins and needles sensation appear in his arms, then spread to his legs, before finally falling to the floor.
“See?” You cooed, standing above him. You watched him struggle against the drug for a moment, before grinning and pulling him up off the floor onto the bed.
Jackson listlessly fought your touch, slowly thrashing and kicking at you; his limbs may have grown numb, but his inhibitions had not lowered whatsoever, nor his paranoia. Good paranoia, in this situation, just not so good that it kicked in before you shoved a paralytic down his throat.
You rolled your eyes, sitting down beside him and pushing his head onto your lap, digging your elbow into his chest to make him stay in place.
Jackson choked at the pressure, blinking rapidly. “Who th- the -- fuck are you?”
“I’m an assassin, honey. I’m gonna kill you — or, y’know, I’m supposed to kill you.” You beamed at him, “but I can’t do that, now can I? That’d be a waste of such a pretty face.”
Jackson’s brows knitted exasperatedly, mouth contorting to speak, but nothing came out. In fact, his mouth hadn’t been moving at all— his face had grown numb, now blankly staring up at you.
“There we go,” you said happily. “The drug’s all kicked in now, hasn't it? I’ll speak freely, ‘cause y’can’t answer me anymore, not even scream or cry.”
You sighed, your shoulders slumping like you were finally able to fucking relax, and began petting his hair before continuing. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you? Stalking that politician’s daughter… were you gonna fuck her? Threaten her dad, have some fun, then kill them both?”
Jackson’s breathing grew more furious, eyes widening— or, they would’ve, if he could move. This was about his job, about the target, not just some fucking freak accident and a crazy prostitute.
You frowned, shaking your head. “You’ve gotta do more research on the people you blackmail, honey— Mr. Politican’ll do anything to keep his little princess safe. Even murder.”
You then got up, and Jackson watched you pull something out of your tights, unable to respond or protest or even fucking move, frozen still on the cheap motel mattress.
“But like I said, you’re too cute to die like that. I think I’ll keep you for myself.” You winked, before pricking him in the neck with the needle that was hidden in your tights.
His breath hitched, but there was no use: black quickly curled into the edges of his vision, and one second passed, then another, then he was out.
That brought him back to now, waking up with his arms handcuffed behind him and his legs tied roughly to a wooden chair. He rustled, pulling against the cuffs as quietly as possible, gaze still obsessively trained on your every micro-movement.
But it didn't matter: your eyes opened the moment you’d heard his breath catch and stutter, and you got up lightly, dreamily, like you were some figment of Jackson’s imagination rather than a psychopathic kidnapping assassin.
“Morning, honey,” you whispered, getting up off the floor, rubbing your eyes and yawning. But he didn’t respond, still pulling at his restraints, eyes thinned and focussed.
“Are you mad at me?” You whined with a frown, circling around his chair and playfully covering his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry. I’ll buy some cute lingerie, give you a little show… do you like lace? Or maybe leather?”
Jackson’s nostrils flared, growing irate and incredulous at your antics, and he snapped. “Do you really think you can keep me here? Make me play fucking house with you?” He shouted groggily, body still feeling the aftereffects of not one, but two, drugs.
You blinked numbly, hand finding his face, and you pressed his cheeks together, making him look up at you. “I won’t make you play house with me, Jackson. But it's the only thing you can do. You’re dead.”
Your tone had gone cold, using his real name instead of your pet-one, expression going blank and completely unfeeling at his words. Then, you fumbled for something on the wooden vanity beside you two before lifting it up to his face.
It read: TERRORIST GROUP LEADER’S REMAINS FOUND IN RED-EYE FLIGHT WRECK.
Jackson’s lips parted, feelings riddled half in shock and half in utter fury, gaze shaky as it flitted back and forth between you and the newspaper you were holding up. “I’m fucking—“
“Alive, I know. That’s kinda the point,” you finished his sentence with a chuckle, shaking your head like any of this was a joking matter. “When a plane goes down and catches fire, burning everybody, they won’t individually check who's who, honey. If there’s a name on the seat, there’s someone in it, and they’re dead… you’re as good as dead.”
Jackson’s eyebrows were still knit, but he suddenly stared straight ahead, listening to you silently and trying to make sure you were still too focussed on explaining theatrically to realize he was about to dislocate his thumb.
He could deal with the stool later — he just needed to get his arms free and escape. What with your grating voice and the fucking pronunciation of death you’d forced upon him, god, his fury was rising quickly, and he wanted nothing more right now than to fucking kill you.
You finished your explanation, peering deeply into his bright blue eyes, and you were about to wrap your arms around his neck and press him comfortingly to your chest when he successfully freed himself, and his hands shot out from behind him to strangle you.
His fingers curled around your neck extremely easily, tightening and contracting around the thing snugly. Jackson was seeing red, the anger accumulated from every little insane fucking thing you did to him bursting.
You struggled against him, your mouth opening and closing pitifully, leaning down into his grip— until your lips tilted upwards, a devilishly cheshire smile digging into your cheeks like it was an expression God never intended you to make.
Jackson only realized you’d taken his gun away from him when he felt the tip of the barrel kiss his temple, cold and clammy. He was still disoriented, and didn’t exactly comprehend all the facts ‘till they fucking punched him in the face. Or, in this case, threatened to shoot him point blank.
“L’mme - l’mme go, h’ney,” you whispered raspily, your eyes stuttering in their socket as he pressed deeper. Simultaneously, completely on instinct, you pressed the gun further into his skin.
“You’re too fucking weak to fire that gun,” he growled, digging his thumbs into the neat notch in the middle of your neck, his fingernails scratching bloody marks into your sensitive skin.
But you frowned weakly, and then Jackson heard that all familiar click, making him blanch. The strength in his hands didn’t falter, however— it got angrier, more desperate, like you wouldn’t automatically shoot him if he just translated his wrath into his grip.
“I d’nt- w’nna k-kill you,” you shook your head a bit, but both your threats remained the same: his hands making you go lightheaded, go blue, and the gun in yours making him sweat, the image of you splattering his brain against the wall clear as day.
Jackson felt your finger twitch, and he closed his eyes, grip going tense then faltering completely: if you shot him now, there was no point holding on. But you did the same— you thought he’d snap your neck right then and there, so you pulled away.
Just as quickly as you two had attacked one another, your resolves’ had crumbled, murderous intent clearing the room like someone had opened a window and let it all out. Silence filled it back up instead, a steady tension permeating with it, and it was fucking suffocating.
“What do you - want from me, exactly?” Jackson questioned first, several long moments later, words slow and collected. He’d try to calm himself and hide his anger away for later, because he now knew that you meant for him to meet only two ends here: forever with you, or forever dead— and neither were ends he was intending to have.
To escape, crawl under your nose and perhaps kill you along the way, he’d need to know the rules— play your little game. This cat and mouse mess could be done in a flash, and he fucking knew you had a weakness. He could feel it in your touch, how you gripped him, the lonely warble in your insane words.
Sure, you kidnapped him and were calling him honey, treating him like he was your plaything, but Jackson had always been good at reading people, even before he’d become an amalgamated mess of an assassin, terrorist and blackmailer: you needed someone in your life— be it a husband or a hostage.
You got down on one knee, looking up at him through your wet lashes, breathing still ragged. One of your hands took his own dislocated one, while the other fished through your silk dress pockets, pulling out a gold band ring identical to the one gleaming prettily on your left hand.
You didn’t answer his question saying for you to marry me or for you to love me— both things Jackson would expect you to say, especially with your oddly profound obsession with him (despite the fact he was positive you’d only known him for a few weeks at most.) No, you’d smiled, a lovely duchenne one, rosy-cheeked like a fucking schoolgirl confessing to her crush, not an assassin who’d kidnapped him, and said, “For you to be mine.”
Your hand curled around his dislocated thumb and quickly snapped it, cruel and rough but perfectly back in place, before you slipped the ring onto his finger shakily, and brought his hand up to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.
“You’re mine,” you repeated in a whisper, sounding every bit like a warning rather than a celebration.
ii.
After a few days of living with— or, more accurately, being held captive by you, Jackson thought he had you all figured out. It usually only took a few days for him and a target to become acquainted anyway; mutual acquaintance or not.
He found that the warmer he treated you, the more freedom he’d have. Like, after you slipped the ring on his finger, you undid the ropes tying his legs. A reward, you’d said, for accepting your… unity.
But you still switched out the clinky metal cuffs for zip ties. “I can’t have you doing that nifty little thumb trick anymore, can I?” you explained. “But I still want you to walk around. Take a tour of the rest of your life, honey.”
Then, you told him you had to go to work — to which Jackson rolled his eyes, considering assassination wasn’t exactly what he’d call work, though, he would also have to call himself a hypocrite — and left. Jackson wasn’t shy about roaming about the house, especially to look for a fucking escape, but he was firstly confronted with the sheer size of the place you’d locked him in.
Where he’d first waken up was the master bedroom, long and wide with a king poster bed and canopy, a pair of couples vanities side by side, two walk-in closets and one large ensuite. The rest of the house was the same, being two stories tall and terribly extensive: Jackson ran out of fingers on his hands to count how many rooms were in it.
By the time he’d combed through the entire house — discovering a measly two possible escape routes in the process — it was dark outside, and you entered through a front door Jackson couldn’t find for the fucking life of him.
It was appalling, firstly how spontaneous and carefree you were whilst simultaneously thinking of everything that could go wrong, and secondly, how up to par your skills were to his. He wasn’t one to gloat, but he knew just as well as his coworkers that he was a large step above the rest— and it seemed you were, too, the only equal he’d encountered in his line of work… and the only person who’d bested him.
“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-songed in the hallway, poking your head into each and every room for Jackson’s familiar form.
Jackson had settled back in the master bedroom, sitting on the very chair you’d untied him from that morning, and when you finally found him you cooed. “Aw, baby, you don’t hafta’ stay here all day.” You said, lifting his chin to look up at you.
Jackson grit his teeth, his temper suddenly getting the best of him, and he spat at you. But the effect didn't work nearly as well as intended: you didn’t even wince, merely blinking and bringing two fingers to your cheek and wiping the slick off. You pouted at him for a second, made your eyes real big and pitiful, before kissing him on the cheek… and shoving your spit-slicked fingers into his mouth, making him gag.
It looked like you were enjoying his suffering, before pulling away a moment later. “Well, no matter,” you said, brushing his actions off and regaining your happy mood. “I know you weren’t really here all day, honey.”
Jackson’s lips parted, eyes thinning suspiciously. “What the fuck are you—“
You suddenly pulled out your phone, showing camera angles from all throughout the house… and more startlingly, previous footage of him, scouring the house’s windows and poking through the various furniture and rooms earlier in the day. “You are quite the curious cat.”
“You have a camera?” He asked indignantly. Honestly, he should’ve expected it: it’s like, what do you get when you have a captive itching to escape and an obsessive, head-over-heels captor with plenty of money on her hands?
“Several,” you preened, “so don’t bother escaping.”
Then, you hooked your arm into his and dragged him to one of the (many, many) dining rooms.
“Now, I’ve never exactly had a hostage before,” you offered, pushing him into one of your cushy walnut dining chairs, “so I just realized you haven’t eaten. God, I’m so sorry, honey, you must be starving.”
With that, you ducked into the large kitchen a room away, and then returned holding a steaming plate of something, setting the dish down in front of him. “It’s not exactly, y’know, fine dining,” you said, picking up the spoon hidden in the food and scooping up some peas, “but it’s home-cooked. Not my home cooking, obviously, it is -- was, a target’s. I had a plate earlier, don’t worry, it’s good.”
Jackson stared at you, mind spinning with the information you were nonchalantly throwing at him: you were feeding him, your hand holding the cutlery, his mouth around it like he was fucking six, and the person who had made this food was dead, having had their throat slit or something.
But there was another thing in Jackson’s mind, a tiny, weak voice within him that told him to just shut the hell up and eat the damn food. His survival instinct, probably, but then it went on to think that you weren’t that bad, feeding him and keeping him safe from the police in this nice, grand house— and Jackson squished the voice. No fucking way in hell was he experiencing early stage stockholm syndrome.
At his reluctance, you frowned, and forced the spoonful in his mouth. “Eat,” you scolded, and fed him till the whole plate was finished.
He ate, of course, not because of the little bitch voice in his head, but because of the fact that he actually was really fucking hungry. The gesture seemed to warm your heart, for some fucked up reason, and you later sat in the livingroom with him and loosened his zipties.
There was a brief moment, however, that Jackson felt even an iota of fear: when his hands were slightly free, he immediately reached to grab you— he was taller, stronger, and could certainly defeat you in mere moments.
But your sneaky fingers tightened his restraints at the drop of a hat, your head butting his jaw so he fell back on the couch. “Try anything,” you warned, tone suddenly dark, “and I will break your fucking wrist.”
At his tentative, jaw slightly dropped, shaky nod, a cold sweat beaming down from his temple, you dissolved into a fit of laughter at his expression and undid his ties once more. This time, your hand held his in an intimate death grip, thumb curled sweetly around the wrist, that warning still ringing in his head.
He was learning how to play the game, though. His captor’s behavior. What you liked, what you didn’t. The extent of your mercy.
Jackson cleared his throat, searching for a question that might make you open up. “…What’s your name, anyway?” Yes, he didn’t even know your fucking name, and he doubted that the tacky prostitute name you’d given him initially was your real one.
You looked up at him, surprised he’d speak first, nonetheless to know more about you. So, you indulged, and told him your name, things you liked, didn’t like, your hobbies… all normal people stuff— y’know, first date stuff.
“I keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me,” you confessed, leaning your head on his stiff figure, “‘cause I’ve known you for a very long time.”
Jackson’s breath hitched. “How so?” he said, trying not to give away his eagerness; he was going through all the steps he did when first meeting a target, like being kind and sweet, respectful and attentive, really buttering them up and coaxing information from them, before going in for the kill. In Jackson’s current case, the “kill” was a kiss.
It’d be something chaste, nervous, like he was unwittingly slipping into your trap and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling within him toward you, so you would fall into his; hook, line, and sinker… and maybe completely undo his zipties. He’d have to lay low for a few days, obviously, and build up that obsessive trust of yours, before going in for the literal kill.
But then again, Jackson, with that delirious little ego of his, kept forgetting your skills were up to par with his, and you were the first and only person to ever fucking best him.
You grinned thinly, knowing exact what he was doing, noticed the pattern his words went in, trying to shepherd the conversation to get the answers he wanted, and you pulled away from him. “I’ll tell you another day, honey. M’gonna go to bed,” you whispered sleepily, redoing his zipties. “Join me. I don’t like it when you tire yourself out.”
And so you left, and Jackson watched your hips sway, legs carrying you down the long hallway into the master bedroom. As soon as you were out of direct view, he sucked in a sharp breath, seething angrily.
Fuck, he thought, the realization of his predicament settling within in him at last. He’d always been told this: if you didn’t believe you could escape your situation within the first day, you would never escape at all. He thought it a silly mantra, because he’d always devised an escape plan after thinking on it for a few long moments.
Never did he think he’d find himself in a situation where that actually fucking applied, never did he think he’d meet his equal, and never in his entire, terrorizing existence, did he think he’d be helpless.
But Jackson had to persevere. Had to. He had not survived every terrible incident thrown at him in his tired lifetime, just to accept this. And so, he went to bed with you, the zipties rubbing his pale skin raw, and he watched the shadows on the roof shift with every hour that passed.
He did not sleep, certainly not with you by his side, and though it looked like it, you did not either. It was the paranoia of two terribly similar people; gaze dancing in the dark and never finding each others, waiting for the moment one of you snapped and you had to attack or defend.
The next day, and the next day after that, he went to bed beside you. Just like that, turned into weeks turned into months turned into seasons changing, and the zipties became cloth became your hand holding his.
It was a culmination of feigned loving, fake vulnerability, and pretending he’d gotten Stockholm syndrome that got him to this point. Every “honey, i’m home,” or kiss or hug or pet-name you stabbed into him, he returned with a “welcome home, honey”, a peck on the cheek, a hand holding yours, his venomous tone switched like a light into something sweet, soft.
One night, with his newly ziptie-free arms wrapping around you, your back nestling sweetly against his torso, he has to remind himself that it is not real. None of it was real: he was not your husband, you were not his wife, you did not love each other, you were not normal fucking people— you were the captive and the captor.
Jackson had to remind himself he didn’t actually love you, because that night he thought: if you used him, he would use you. He would take you whenever he wanted, like how you used him. A man has needs, he thought, and being trapped in this house with you meant those needs could be met.
It reminded him of when you first met— not the kidnapping part, of course, but of the kissing and the touching, your tits pressing softly against his chest, his hands following the swell of your ass.
With a start, he realized he’d had some kind of unintentional celibacy enacted upon him: he couldn’t fuck anyone other than you, obviously, having been trapped in that house, but he never entertained the idea of fucking you because he hated you. You don’t fuck the bitch you’re planning to kill any day now.
But your warm body against his awoke something in him, his forced celibacy unable to survive against the pure lust he felt filling him now. You were beautiful, undeniably, with pliant thighs and delicate curves he could see himself getting between animalistically, roughly, a kind of morbid sexual revenge against your captivity of him. It helped entirely that this was the most vulnerable he’d seen you, completely without any weapons, curled warmly into his side.
After studying your breathing for a few seconds, ensuring you were still asleep, Jackson carefully slipped away from you to kneel in front of you in the middle of the bed. He admired your night getup: those silk dresses you adored to wear at home, and absolutely no underwear.
He then pried your soft thighs open slightly, dipping his head between them and losing himself in the sweet scent of your cunt, before chancing a stripe up to your clit. He flattened his tongue, wanting to collect your taste on it completely, and you merely sighed, turning over slightly and widening your legs in your sleep, like you somehow knew what he was doing and wanted it.
He pressed his mouth up to your cunt fully now, his nose hitting your mound as he devoured you, tongue filling every crevice and fold you had like he was starving. Your small whimpers and breathy sighs grew louder now, more frequent, and then Jackson suddenly pulled away, satisfied with how he readied your hole.
Jackson shimmed himself out of his boxer shorts, a pair with silly little hearts he’d never seriously buy for himself— you bought them, as soon as you’d captured him, clearly having fun with the utter control you could display on him, down to his fucking undergarments.
He shook himself slightly, refocussing on the matter at hand: fucking into your glistening cunt. There was something oddly empowering about doing this to you when you couldn’t protest, regaining some control over his own fucking life by terrorizing yours.
But he wasn’t sure you’d fucking care anyway: he knew you liked to peek around the corner when he was showering, “accidentally” walking in when he was in the middle of changing, not-so subtly bending down and pressing your ass to his crotch.
He sighed slightly, rubbing his hand up and down on his hard length in the dark, before lining it up with your entrance. Jackson muffled the groan that curdled in his throat with his large hand, breathing shakily and finally pushing past your slick folds. You were soaking, and he didn’t know if it was because of his previous foreplay or if you were just naturally like this, all horny because he slept beside you at night. He wouldn’t put it past you if that was the case: your obsession with him was clear in every single way.
You made a noise in your sleep, and Jackson froze, hands instinctively coming up to press lightly against your throat — an unconscious thing on his part, formed when his hands had been zip tied and the only thing he could do was choke you, unable to grip any weapon properly. But you didn’t wake up; your face merely screwed together, before smoothing out and returning to blissful unconsciousness.
Jackson let out a sigh of pleasure and relief, your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. He gripped the sheets beside your head and began thrusting in and out of you: at first gently, afraid to wake you up, but as the minutes dripped past, Jackson grew desperate, fucking into your cunt roughly. He wanted to abuse your tight little pussy, stretch you wide open and take you for everything you had.
“Fuck,” he grunted under his breath, snapping his hips harder against yours, “Fuck!”
His exclamation of sexual satisfaction startled you awake, but he didn’t notice how your eyes moved behind your eyelids, too focussed on pounding his rock-hard cock into you. For all the insanity and behavioral issues God gave you, he certainly made up for it in the way he crafted your cunt: extremely warm and easily wet, a sticky hole that sucked him in but was still cramped, like it was begging him to force your walls open.
“Honey?” you murmured foggily, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were about to speak again, when Jackson suddenly found your g-spot, and rammed continually into it, making a filthy mewl leave your lips.
“Fuck, you woke up?” Jackson cursed, looking at you for the first time. His thrusts were unrelenting, though, now not caring if you’d woken up and just wanting to feel your hole squeeze around him again.
“Jackson, I was - sleeping,” you squeaked out, hands moving to his back and digging your nails into the skin.
“That’s kinda the point,” Jackson mocked, tone sarcastic and peeved like you were interrupting him. “And don’t fucking fight it,” he warned angrily, hand leaving the mattress and roughly squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your nightdress, “‘cause I’m not stopping ‘till I come.”
You pouted fake-sadly at his words, but your back arching gave you away, keening when he kneaded your tit too meanly and made a shock of pain run up your body. “Feels so good,” you grinned sweatily, but he just rolled his eyes.
“Shut up,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “didn’t fucking ask what you thought.”
He pushed your face to the side so he was looking at your jaw, more content with treating you like just some hole, but you didn’t care: he, your darling, was fucking you. He wanted you so bad he fucked you when you weren’t even awake. God, you could’ve kissed him right then and there, but he probably would’ve hit you. (Not that you would mind… but you wanted your honey to take control, have it his way for a bit.)
Jackson rutted into you fast and selfish, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the violent way he fucked you: your sick pleasure came at the expense of your weeping cunt, which was trembling in the stinging pain he was inflicting, cockhead stretching you wide.
Then, Jackson’s hands slid down to your hips, so he could shove his cock deeper into your cunt, pressing his weight so heavily onto your chest you could barely breathe. He groaned; you were clearly affected by the action, bearing down on his cock suddenly, and he reveled in the ecstacy.
He fucked you slightly and slower, and you only realized what he’d been doing when he leaned down to get a better angle, bullying the head of his cock against your cervix: he was trying to fuck into you further, push his dick so close, so snug against your womb that there was no doubt in hell his load would impregnate you. His actions were dictated not by any sense of reason, but by a crude, carnal desire, wanting nothing more but to make you scream.
And you did scream alright, a breathy, brutal scream; a mix of whimpering pain at the way his head pushed against you, and of shameful, drooling pleasure, his delicious length making you feel fucking bloated, you were so full.
One of Jackson’s hands reached up to your head to pull your hair, making you whine at the pain of the tug, and he growled out a string of curse words, before thrusting his cock so angrily it was like a punishment, surely bruising your cervix, and releasing his thick load deep inside. His come flooded your cunt, pumping you full of his salty cream, fucking you still.
Jackson then panted raggedly, feeling your gummy walls tense at the pain of him pulling out, flopping down beside you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you absently, pulling his boxer shorts back up to his hips.
You bit your lip as you clenched your thighs together, whining slightly at the pain blooming deep within your abused cunt, and at the loss of pleasure— you hadn’t come after all, Jackson being entirely selfish in his fucking. “Uh-huh,” you murmured weakly, feeling the strength in your body leave you completely. “You’re a mean one, honey.”
“Good,” Jackson said, chuckling darkly. It was the first laugh you’d heard rumble out of him the entire time you’d held him captive, and you drank it in: it was pleasant and breezy, like cold water on a hot day. It was certainly out of place, such a gleeful laugh after savagely fucking you, but you welcomed it anyway.
Jackson suddenly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “M’gonna use your hole whenever I want, and you’re gonna take my cock no matter what, ‘till you’re begging me to stop,” he growled in your ear, making goosebumps break out on your clammy skin. “Least you can do for fuckin’ kidnapping me, you psychotic bitch.”
“Oh,” you purred, batting your lashes up at him, “it’d be my pleasure to be your fucktoy.”
Jackson grinned, at you, for you, and you thought to yourself that kidnapping him was the best thing you ever fucking did.
iii.
Somewhere, muddled between you kidnapping him, the two of you almost killing eachother, and him fucking you dumb, Jackson caved, and he started to believe he actually loved you. His mind didn’t have any qualms accepting that you were his new life— living in your house, only knowing you, and only ever talking to you.
Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, or those delicious fantasies you’d whisper in his ear at night (“Y’know, honey, it’s really you who should be saying you’re home. What do you think, huh? You coming home from a long day of work to me, in my panties and an apron, no bra and a sweet, home-cooked meal on the table. Dessert’ll be, of course, me,”) or maybe it was just you.
You, despite your terrible job and seriously obvious insanity, being the epitome of fuckable: horny when he was, a talented, needy mouth, able to take anything he gave you to while always going back to being tight as fuck, and intensely eager to have him.
You, who controlled his life, and he, who controlled you. The way you treated each other was probably illegal somewhere, but in that house not even the fucking law mattered. (You still remember when Jackson got his gun back, and he teased your clit with the cold tip till you creamed down the barrel… a terribly memorable story that always made you groan.)
Jackson was extremely well aware that there was something strange about your relationship, and not just the fact it occurred in the strangest way possible, but that he was essentially giving up to you— losing his inhibitions, at least against you. Something about… putting his well being in your hands. His needs. His wants. His life. Spending the rest of his life with you; in this house, accepting life and no escape.
But still, for a man like Jackson, who had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for a life of normalcy, a life of love, this certainly wasn’t a bad way of living. He had a house nicer than anything he’d ever lived in, didn’t have to work, could do whatever he wanted all day, and got to pound his cock into your perfect little pussy every single night.
#wowee this has a lot of words and a lot of warnings#this is filthy i apologize#cillian murphy smut#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner x reader smut#red eye#jackson rippner
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Cillian Murphy as Jackson Rippner | Red Eye (2005) dir. Wes Craven
#cillian murphy#jackson rippner#red eye#wes craven#flimedit#cillian murphy edit#cmurphyedit#dilfgifs#dilfsource#movieedit#moviegifs#thriller#coppoladelreygifs
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˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―
! please remember, in order to participate in kinktober, you must be 18+ as there will be nsfw material involved. anyone not following these rules will be blocked!
✧ hello! it's that time of year again (: I did my first kinktober last year, and it was a success (and still is), except I never fully finished it ): I'm hoping this year will be different because I'm starting as early as feasibly possible. if you think you've seen this post already from another account, you're correct. that's my account, except it is currently shadowbanned. so, I made this new account and decided to redo this masterpost as I'll probably be posting kinktober here. also, the prompt list has been edited as 28.08.2023.
✧ here is the taglist form if you'd like to be tagged in my kinktober works! click meee!♥
✧ prompt list is below!
day one. cockwarming with: Cillian Murphy
day two. nipple play with: Jonathan Crane
day three. blood play with: Charlie Walker
day four. orgasm control with: Stu Macher
day five. praise kink with: Mickey Altieri
day six. degradation with: Jonathan Crane
day seven. bondage with: Billy Loomis
day eight. edging with: Ethan Landry
day nine. breeding kink with: Roman Bridger
day ten. mutual masturbation with: Austin Butler
day eleven. throat fucking with: Ethan Landry
day twelve. threesome with: Stu Macher/Billy Loomis
day thirteen. knife kink or gun kink with: Gun Kink/ Tommy Shelby
day fourteen. sex toys with: Cillian Murphy
day fifteen. hate sex with: Jonathan Crane
day sixteen. thigh riding with: Richie Kirsch
day seventeen. sex tape with: Roman Bridger
day eighteen. squirting with: Neil Lewis
day nineteen. public play with: Jackson Rippner
day twenty. voyeurism with: Ethan Landry
day twenty-one. corruption kink with: Jonathan Crane
day twenty-two. daddy kink with: Cillian Murphy
day twenty-three. spanking with: Austin!Elvis
day twenty-four. shower sex with: Mickey Altieri
day twenty-five. roleplay with: Austin Butler
day twenty-six. face sitting with: Raymond Leon
day twenty-seven. dom/sub with: Ethan Landry
day twenty-eight. drunk sex or high sex with: High Sex/Stu Macher
day twenty-nine. phone sex with: Ethan Landry
day thirty. anal sex with: Jackson Rippner
day thirty-one. mommy kink with: Jonathan Crane
#cillian murphy#jonathan crane#ethan landry#austin butler#austin!elvis#jackson rippner#tommy shelby#billy loomis#stu macher#ghostface#poly!ghostface#cillian murphy x reader#jonathan crane x reader#ethan landry x reader#austin butler x reader#austin!elvis x reader#jackson rippner x reader#mickey altieri#mickey altieri x reader#roman bridger#roman bridger x reader#richie kirsch#richie kirsch x reader#charlie walker x reader#charlie walker#raymond leon#neil lewis#kinktober 2023#kinktober#floralcyanide kinktober
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Naughty Little Thief
Dark!Jackson Rippner x Theif!Reader
Word Count: +5,416
Warning(s): +18, Non con, Theft, Stalking, Manhandling, Forced Oral (m receiving), Forced Stripping, Forced grinding, Unwanted orgasm, Classism, Verbal abuse, Partial loss of virginity, Rimming (f receiving), Public sex, Humiliation.
Author's Note(s): I'm bored at work and wanted to kill some time before studying. Here's more Cillian content.
It's the holiday season, and you end up pickpocketing the wrong person. He makes sure you'll regret ever crossing paths with him.
You felt bad for what you were about to do. But he didn't seem like he was financially struggling. So of course, you decided to pickpocket the stranger. Deep down you hated it, but there was no other choice. It was either this or going hungry tonight. At the end of the day it didn't matter, money was money. That was the mindset that's kept you alive for so long. You spot the chosen victim, he's a businessman, seemingly in his thirties, wearing an expensive tailored suit. Jackpot.
You wind your way through the crowd of shoppers, scurrying towards the unsuspecting man. You're right beside him, giving a light pinch to his left side. As soon as he turns to find the source, you quickly reach into his right pocket and pull out his wallet, scurrying into the crowd to disappear. That was almost too easy. You could tell by the texture alone that it was expensive. You turn it around and read the embroidery on the flap, 'J. Rippner'. A man who has good taste.
But before you could open it, someone grips the back of your neck. A large leather hand digs into your skin. You cry out, dropping the wallet as both of your hands reach for the stranger's. He turns you to face him. It's Rippner, and he's pissed, "Where the hell do you think you're going? Hm?"
"I...I.." you were at a loss of words. He drags you by the arm into the nearest alleyway. You look around for someone, anyone who would see what was happening and stop him. No one, of course. Who would help a thief like you? He slams you hard against a brick wall, your head throbbing in pain from the impact. It takes you a while to catch your breath as all the air had escapes your lungs. He uses his body to trap yours between the cold stone, caging you with him.
He growls, "You wanna steal from me you thieving little bitch?!", he's fuming, "I should drag your ass straight to the police station," he hisses, his features twisting with anger. You could tell by those cold, piercing eyes that he was not an easily forgiving man. Yet still, you tried to persuade him, "W-wait! Please! I'll do anything! I-I swear!"
Jackson pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering up at down your quivering form. He's thinking of something that would satisfy his growing hunger, "Show me your tits," for a moment, you couldn't believe what he had just said, brows furrowing in confusion, "I-I'm sorry?" you look at him as if he'd grown two heads. He leans in, now grumbling, "Show me those tits, and I'll decide if you're worth letting go,"
His hands grip the front of your jacket as he unzips it. He rips open the buttons off your blouse, ignoring your protests. Finally reaching a lacy bralette hidden under all those layers. He whistles, "Well I'll be damned, you weren't expecting anyone, were you?" he mocks. Your fingers dig into his arms, but it was futile. You bare your teeth at the man holding you hostage, "Go to hell you perv!" that remark only worsens your situation. He drags the fabric down, revealing both your breasts to the winter air.
You gasp, trying your best to cover them. A leather gloves reaches to twist one of your buds. His voice is stern, "I'm sorry, what was that?" pulling harshly at the sensitive nub. You yelp from his touch, retreating in hopes that he would halt his actions. You were wrong, instead that bratty tone from earlier, landed you a harsh slap on the chest. His gloves didn't ease the impact. He delivers strike after strike against your bare flesh. Until both buds began to peak on their own.
He fondles them in his hands, eyeing his work, "Nice tits..." he gives both of them a squeeze, pulling them towards him, "Very responsive..." his deep voice now a purr. All you could do was glare back at him with tearful eyes, trying your best not to cry. You hadn't expected a complete stranger to be so cruel. You, a literal thief.
Jackson dips a finger into your mouth. When you try to bite down, he delivers a light tap on your jaw. Holding the back of your head with an iron grip as he points in your face, "Don't even think about it, I'm not joking I'll drag your sorry ass bare naked down the streets," he threatens. His hands reach around your waist. He yanks your pants down to your ankles. Exposing your bottom half to him.
He takes a look at the panties you were wearing. Staring back at the teddy bear print and smirks, "How adorable..." his fingers slide in between your legs, caressing the now slick folds though the fabric. You turned your head to the side to see if any onlookers would pass by. He notices and angles his body to cover your form. He whispers in your ear, "Shh...I just need you to help me, and I'll help you, then we're even," it sure as hell didn't feel like it.
He reaches around the waist of your panties, slowly sliding off your underwear. He groans at the sight of it, licking his gloved digits before sliding them up and down your slit. You whine from the light, sensual touches. He reaches for your opening, collecting any wetness. His breathing increases, as does yours. He captures your bud in his hand, teasing it until you almost lost footing. You grip his shoulder for balance. He chuckles, "Oh you like that, don't you?" he teases. That earns him a harsh slap.
You were done being his little plaything. No more, you weren't going to whore yourself out to anyone. Especially not to some trust-fund baby. His head whips the other way, strands of his hair now dangling against his forehead. His cheek twitches, as if there were a battle going on inside him, "Oh, you've fucked up now..." both his hands are around your neck, squeezing it as hard as he could. You try fighting back, fingers digging into his wrists.
But it was futile, there was no way of stopping him. When your vision begins to blur and grip starts to weaken, he lets go. You cough hysterically, trying your best to breathe again. He waits until you're done with the dramatics. He grips your chin, eyes boring into your own, "That, was a warning," he pushes both your shoulders down until you're on your knees, "This, is your punishment," slotting his foot in between both legs.
He forces you to sit on his leather shoe, tilting your head to look him in the eyes, "Get yourself off," he commands. By now, you know not to disobey his orders. You try testing the waters, the cold leather felt uncomfortable against your bare mound. It was almost unbearable. It takes a while before you collect any slickness. Your ears getting warmer despite the weather.
Rippner chuckles, he retrieves his foot before you've had a chance to finish. He examines his now wet shoe. He sneers, "Really? You're seriously getting off on me using you like this?" a cruel grin plays on his face. He presses his shoe against your bare pussy, he mushes it against the opening, "Of course you'd like that...you're nothing but filth..." his cruel words made you blink back tears. They feel hot gliding down your cheeks. It almost makes him feel bad for doing all of this to you. But then again, you did just try to rob him.
He sighs, "We've got to do something about that mouth of yours," he suddenly unzips his pants, pulling out his half-hard cock. Your eyes bulge at the sight of it, pressing your lips shut in protest. He held his girth in one hand and your hair in the other. Jackson glides his shaft across your face, his leaking tip smears precum on your cheek. He mockingly taps his cock against your lips. His voice is raspy, "Does this make you squirm?" he knew exactly what he was doing to you with those words.
He pinches the bridge of your nose to cut off any air supply, forcing your mouth to open. He doesn't waste any time shoving his member deep inside. His tip now touching the back of your throat. It makes your eyes water. The corners of your lips rip from the stretch of his girth alone. How it could fit, you hadn't a clue. Both his hands grip the sides of your head, as he begins to buck his hips. He groans, "Oh fuck...you feel fucking amazing..." moaning with each thrust.
He stops himself from going any further. He wants to cum inside, but not in your mouth. No, he'll save it for some other time. He pulls you away from his cock and you're an absolute mess. Spit and tears everywhere. He lifts you by the shoulders, pressing you against the brick wall, again. He aims his tip against your cunt. It takes you a moment to process what was happening. Then in a split moment both of your arms shoot out, "N-no! Not there!" You cried, "Anywhere but there!" your voice starts to break.
Even after losing everything, you still didn't want your first time to be with a complete stranger. He could do whatever he wants, just not that. His long fingers wrap around your neck, adding a bit of pressure as he whispers in your ear, "Oh? And why is that?" genuinely curious. Your answer is faint, almost silent. He didn't quite catch what was said, "I'm sorry, what was that?" he held your jaw in place so he could look at you in the face. There was no way, not at your age. Did he hear you correctly?
You were starting to get pissed off, "I said I never fucked before, asshole!" that had you receive a harsh slap on the ass, "Ow! Ow okay! I'm sorry, just stop already!" that explains a lot. How you managed to leave his gloves and shoe soaking wet. As much as Rippner wants to pump a load into that sweet pussy, he decides to save it for later. Instead, he flips you over, your bare chest now against concrete.
Jackson bites his lips. He can't believe he's getting on his knees for someone like you. He parts both your cheeks, spitting at your rim to get it nice and wet. He flattens his tongue, lapping it against the tight ring before thrusting it in. Your knees began to buckle, you use the wall for support. Pressing your face against the brick. He bobs his head to a rhythm, and you can't stop moaning. His tongue reaching deep inside the muscle. His free hand reaches to rub at your clit, while the other pumps his cock.
After a while he stands up, aiming his now leaking tip against the rim, "This is going to hurt, a lot," he starts to enter, pushing inch by inch. You squeal at the stretch. A gloved hand muffles your cries. He began to give short, small thrusts. He grunts from how tight you were. Almost climaxing from the squeeze you gave. He quickens his pace, wrapping his other arm around your waist for better leverage. From there he went on autopilot, ignoring your pleas to slow down. He simply couldn't, he doesn't want to.
Finally, he releases a load deep inside. You felt his hot spunk coating your insides. Your head felt heavy after already reaching your own orgasm. His head hung over your shoulder. His breathe felt warm, "I've been eyeing you for a while, little mouse," It's true, he's been watching you for some time. You had first caught his eye when his chauffer was stuck in traffic. He watched as you went into action. It was remarkable, that talent of yours.
He's been planning this for some time. Today he wanted to see you up close. He had to know more about you. Even asking his ride to drop him off a few blocks. Jackson purposely took this route knowing that he'd get robbed. He needed an excuse to talk to you, his little specimen of interest. He knew the exactly how you would steal from your victims. Although he couldn't feel the hand reaching into his pocket, it was pinch you gave to his side that indicated him the wallet had already been stolen. That was his sign to take over the situation.
His arms are still wrapped around your upper body, hands now playing with your tits, "I'm Jackson by the way, Jackson Rippner," he tells you while still buried deep inside, "You've been targeting this street for a while now, you live around here?" no answer. You downright refused to entertain him any longer. He gasps, "Oh...that's right I completely forgot..." he grips your hips, slowly pulling out his member. He hisses from the feeling. It's almost too good to stop.
He retrieves a napkin from his coat pocket and hands it to you. When you refuse to take it, he isn't mad. Although you were testing his patience. He helps you get changed, satisfied that you kept his load in. Your panties were probably soaked by now. Once the both of you were decent, he asks you again. Yet still, no answer. For that he lands another slap on the same spot. You yelp from the impact, "Here! I live here!"
"I know that, but where? This is a shopping district, there aren't any homes in this area, so, answer my question: Where do you live?"
You look out the alleyway to a place across the street. He pulls you in, with an arm now wrapped around your waist. From a distance it seemed as if the two of you were lovers. You guide him to where you've been living in the past few months. Right across the street in a small, worn-out vehicle. Jackson raises a brow, "You live...in a car?" he sounds genuinely surprised.
It's the dead of winter. Not exactly the perfect time to be stuck out on the streets. But it was all you had. You turn around to face him, "Yeah well, some of us don't have daddy's money to get us by..." you scoff. He likes that answer. Good, you wouldn't have anyone to miss you. He grins from ear to ear, tilting his head, "If that's the case, you're coming with me," He drags you to a mysterious black car with tinted windows. Your feet drag against the pavement. You' we're too exhausted to fight back.
It felt uncomfortable trying to find a sitting position. Jackson hops in right after, sitting unbearably close to you. He held you close, like a lover would. He sighs with adoration, "You don't have to worry about your things because I'm keeping you," he taps the tip of your nose, "But no more stealing? Got it?" he'd rather not draw any negative attention your way. Jackson then hums a holiday tune, which one you didn't care. All you could think of was how much you regretted ever stealing from him. He held you close to him, stroking your hair before giving a chaste kiss, "Merry Christmas to me, eh?"
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