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red-riding-wood · 4 months

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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

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul

#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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nyxvuxoa · 10 months

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Cillian Murphy as Jack Rippner ⤷ Red Eye, 2005 | dir. Wes Craven

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kittenonpluto · 5 months

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"You're a spy. I should've known." "No, I'm not a spy." Cillian Murphy as Jackson Rippner Red Eye | 2005

#cmurphyedit #cillianmurphyedit #cilliangifs #red eye #red eye 2005 #jackson rippner #jacksonrippneredit #redeyeedit #the lil lip bite please!#cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #*casgifs

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rinasunny · 8 months

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Red Eye 2005 + textposts

#red eye 2005 #red eye #lisa reisert #jackson rippner #jackson x lisa #lisa x jackson #cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #text posts

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rukcin · 10 months

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Romcom ❤️❤️❤️🤧

#red eye 2005 #cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #lisa reisert #jackson rippner #jackson x lisa #red eye

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darthannie · 6 months

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day twenty-two: dacryphilia with jackson rippner

pairing: Jackson Rippner x f!reader word count: 698 warnings: dubcon/noncon, degradation, name calling, Jackson is abusive, hatefuck (?), reader doesn’t cum a/n: Two in one day! Yay! Hopefully I catch up. In the meantime, enjoy mean Jackson doing terrible things. kinktober masterlist

Jackson really was an asshole sometimes. Your fights with him became more and more frequent, usually when you asked him about work. He never explicitly told you what was going on, but you could tell something was eating away at him. Anytime you mentioned it he snapped at you. This particular spat got ugly.

“Jackson, I just don’t understand why you won’t tell me what’s going on. You’re being a fucking asshole to me for no reason.”

This time he decided to make it personal. “I didn’t ask for my girlfriend to be such a fucking bitch.”

“Choose your next words wisely, or you won’t have a girlfriend to fucking abuse anymore.”

His eyes bore into you, closing up the space between you and pushing you up against the kitchen table. He grabbed your face to force you to look at him. “You make me sick, you know that? You should be fucking ashamed of the things you let me do to you. You’re a good for nothing whore. You’re worthless.”

“Jackson, you don’t mean that…” You hadn’t meant to start crying but something snapped inside you causing a torrential downpour of tears. You loved him, but he could be so ruthless. You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

To Jackson, these situations were foreplay. They were very real insults to you. To him, they were playful comments designed to get you right where he wanted you. Broken. Submissive.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry,” he said under his breath. The statement gave you whiplash. It wasn’t the first time he went from berating you to being sweet, or at least trying to be sweet. He got off on making you miserable. You could tell what his end goal was when you saw the bulge in his pants.

You couldn’t stop crying. For whatever reason, today was the day the dam broke. “I’d tell you to stop crying and suck it up if it wasn’t turning me on so much,” he gestured with his head, “Get on the table.”

You did as he said and pulled up your skirt in the process. One less thing he had to command you to do. “Good girl. You already know what to do. I have you well trained, don’t I?”

“Yes, Sir. You do.” You were on autopilot. Your responses were mechanical and your tears stopped. You were exhausted by the constant hot and cold temperament that Jackson displayed.

He unzipped his pants and pulled your panties to the side. He was lining himself up when you tried to close your legs. “Shhhhh,” he cooed as he opened them back up again, “It’s alright. You’re gonna feel so nice by the time we’re finished.”

“I hate you, Jackson.” Your tears started again as he thrust in you. He grabbed your tits through your shirt as he railed into you. His eyes never left yours. His jaw clenched as he watched the tears stream down your face. “My little crybaby is all worked up isn’t she?” He thrust faster. He went as deep as he could, feeling the way your wet hole sucked him in. You could tell this would be over quickly. Jackson wasn’t going to last long if you were crying; he made that clear when you saw how quickly he got turned on.

You tried to wipe your tears away while your body moved back and forth on the table. Jackson took your arms and pinned them above your head, getting close to your face as he said “I love it when you cry. You’re so pretty when you’re a mess.” His thrusts started to get sloppy.

He quickened his pace and came inside you, his groans filling up the room. He pulled out and watched his semen pour out of you; he liked to watch. He put your underwear back in the right position, fixed your skirt, and then put himself back in his pants. He pulled you off the table and into a big embrace. He held you tightly, hoping to keep you close for at least a moment longer.

“I love you. You’re so perfect for me,” he said. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylum, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka, @no-fooking-fighting,@queenofstresss, @flwrs4aust, @mrkdvidal1989, @00hsv, @laylasbunbunny

(If something is up with your tag or you would like to be added, let me know!)

#annie writes #kinktober ‘23 #jackson rippner x f!reader #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner #dark jackson rippner #red eye 2005 #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian x reader

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illusioncanthurtme--art · 3 months

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I love it when commissions give me an opportunity to watch a good movie! Lisa and Jack from Red Eye (2005) for unapologetically_bellers on instagram! If you've seen this movie, you KNOW it's a good one. There was a strong part of me that wanted to draw him based on the end of the movie when he's wearing the milf scarf, (if you know you know) but I decided to go with something inspired by the bathroom scene, because their faces are closer.

(plus the sketch + an alternative sketch!)

#red eye 2005 #red eye #cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #jackson rippner #traditional art #traditional illustration #traditional drawing #pencil art #pencil drawing #character art #character drawing #character illustration

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fanofspooky · 1 month

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Horror movies of 2005

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liliesdiary · 6 months

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Stalker Jackson Rippner

Stalker!Jackson Rippner x You

Summary: Jackson Rippner has been stalking you for months now for a job, now that his job is done, he follows you in a dark alleyway and holds you at gunpoint as he fucks you. enjoy <3

Warnings: dubcon, stalker, mentions of stalking, threat kink, gun play, dacryphilia

Word Count: 800

Daydreaming about Jackson Rippner holding you at gunpoint and fucking you in a dark alleyway.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you stare into the cold blue eyes of the stranger. His grip on the gun tightens as he leans in closer to you, his breath hot and rank against your cheek. You can feel the barrel of the gun pressing against your temple that makes you squirm. Your black heels make noises against the pavement as you try to escape his grasp.

"Hush now doll, if you scream I won't hesitate to put a bullet in that pretty head of yours." he says as he pins you to the wall and gropes you, "Fuck, you look so fucking hot trembling under me. Now be a good girl for me and stay still." His voice sends shivers down your spine. With one swift motion, he yanks the dress off of your body, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable. You gasp in horror as his eyes roam over your naked body, taking in every curve and contour with a predatory hunger.

"You're so fucking beautiful, doll," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "I could have any woman I want, but it's you I crave. You're mine now, whether you like it or not."

His hands grab hold of your waist, pulling you closer to him. You can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, and the thought sends a shiver of fear and revulsion through you.

Your tears flow down your face as you beg and plead for mercy, but Jackson only laughs cruelly at your plight. "Oh, quit the act," he sneers, his grip on your hair tightening. "You think you can play this innocent act with me?"

With a swift motion, he shoves you against the wall, pinning you in place. You struggle futilely against his hold, but he's too strong for you. "I've been watching you for six months now, sweetheart," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "I've seen everything. I know what you ate today, I know where you work at, and I know that you're wearing your favorite panties right now, the ones that drive me insane because fuck you look so good in them. And I know that deep down, you want this just as much as I do."

Before you could react he pulls back suddenly, revealing a twisted grin on his face. "And oh my, the type of porn you enjoy is vile my love." He chuckles darkly as he hears you gasp. "Well, guess what, princess? Today's the day we make all of your filthy fantasies come true."

Your heart races as you learn that this man has been stalking you for the past six months. He knows everything about you and it scares the shit out of you. You've always fantasized about being taken by a stalker, but now that it's happening, fear and excitement battle within you. As Jackson pulls his cock out, your body responds involuntarily, betraying your deepest desires.

He smirks at your reaction, knowing full well what he's doing to you. "See? I told you, you wanted this." he growls, his voice thick with lust. With one swift motion, he positions himself between your legs, pushing inside you without any warning or hesitation.

You gasp in surprise and pain as he begins to thrust into you, his movements rough and brutal. Despite the fear and discomfort, you can't help but feel a strange sense of pleasure building within you. It's unlike anything you've ever experienced before, and you find yourself responding to his every move. As he continues to fuck you, you realize that this is exactly what you've been craving all along. The thrill of danger, the feeling of being completely at his mercy... it's all too much for you to resist.

You moan loudly as Jackson continues to fuck you, his brutal thrusts sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can't believe how much you're enjoying this, despite the danger and fear that surrounds you. His cock slides in and out of your tight hole with a rhythmic precision, each thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

As he pounds into you, he presses the gun harder against your head, making it clear that any attempt to resist will be met with a bullet in your skull. But instead of scaring you, this only arouses you more. The thought of being completely at his mercy, of having no control over your own body, is incredibly thrilling.

You can feel him getting closer, his breathing becoming more labored with each passing second. Suddenly, he groans loudly, his cock swelling inside you as he releases his load. Your body shudders and convulses as you experience an intense orgasm, your walls clenching around his cock as he spills his seed deep within you.

As he pulls out, you collapse onto the ground, breathless as cum drips down your thighs. He smiles down at you, his eyes filled with satisfaction. "I’ll be back soon, my doll.”

#jackson rippner x reader smut #jackson ripper x reader #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner #red eye smut #red eye movie #red eye 2005 #red eye #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fic #stalker!jacksonrippner #lilies valley <3 #lily's daydreams <3 #lily <3

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lis-likes-fics · 4 months

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Frauds

Pairings: Jackson Rippner x Reader Word Count: 8.1k words Prompt: Face fucking Warnings: NSFW, NONCON, dead dove: do not eat, smut, swearing, blackmail, mentions of murder, mentions of human trafficking, oral (m!receiving), face fucking, brief suffocation, fingering, dumbification, floor sex, forced orgasms, forced creampie... A/N: This is another super dark one so, please. Reader discretion is advised. Reader is kind of morally lacking in this one, but compared to Jackson... yeah. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and read at your own risk. Thank you!

You've been to better bars.

You swirl a cherry in your drink as you sigh, rolling your eyes at the lack of taste—a long, white counter and glass shelves with gold linings. The stool you sit on is a dark maroon with gold structuring to match. So…plenty of gold and far too bold to actually be worth any of it. Not to mention the cheap syrups in your liquor.

And this case isn't giving you any favors. Your client is a moron with no good evidence that you can use to win his case. It's a lost cause, and he's definitely guilty.

Why had taken his case in the first place? You were great at your job and you picked your clients well. If you lost this case, it would ruin your winning streak. This whole thing was a mess.

As you lift your eyes to stare at the wall of liquor behind the bar, your gaze catches that of a man in the mirror. You only lock eyes for a moment, his gaze almost chilling as he looks away and tries to hide a small smile. You lick your bottom lip and turn your gaze back down to your drink.

You have given up on the bar and decide you need to rest anyway. It's late and your exhaustion with work is doing you no favors.

You sigh as you wait for the rose gold elevator doors to part ways as the fading pulse of the button's light signaled its functioning.

A gentle ding, and you step into the small box that will deliver you to the seventh floor. It's as the doors are closing that a hand sticks out and grabs it, halting its movements as it retreats back into the shaft.

The man from before, who'd caught your eye in the mirror and bashfully turned away, steps inside with a smile on his plump lips and a dull spark in his ice blue eyes.

"Hey, sorry. Can I…?"

Internally, you take a breath in and hope he's not a creep with pretty eyes. Externally, you smile and side step, giving him more room to walk into the spacey elevator and take his spot beside you. He returns the grin.

The doors close quietly as he presses eight.

You consider the number. Floor seven to nine are suite floors. If he got the floor above you, he must have a nice sum of money in his pocket. Glancing over him as he stands with his hands in his pocket. His suit is inexpensive, a dark blue jacket and slacks and a white button down. His shoes are creased with the look of faux leather and his hair and stubble are in need of a trim. But he's got a silver watch on his wrist that must be worth hundreds.

You glance away from him. You check your own watch for the time, sighing as it creeps closer and closer to midnight.

The elevator rattles, and you both instinctively find purchase on the golden bar behind you for support. The rattling subsides after a moment, and you look at the red number on the wall. Three.

"Shit," you curse, glancing again at your watch and then at the number. "No fucking way."

"Goddammit," he muttered, walking up to the panel and jamming the service button with an annoyed huff. But the whole panel is off, the lights turned to pitched back like the floor sign which had faltered with a flickering red a few moments ago. It’s as though the whole thing just shut down, and now you’re both just stuck here.

“I’m reporting this. Absolutely ridiculous,” you mumble, pulling out your phone as you begin to dial the hotel’s number. You stop short with an incredulous breath. “Of course there’s no reception. Why the fuck would there be reception?”

He slaps his hands on the elevator doors a couple times to no avail. With a hefty sigh, he speaks, "Here, I'm sure it's fine. They'll notice something's wrong when someone else tries to use the elevator."

You turn to look at him, moving almost as though you just remembered he was here. You raise a brow and crossed your arms at his suggestion. "And how long could that take? It's almost midnight, most people are asleep by now."

He sighs again, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Fair point…"

You huff, backing against the wall and sliding down to the floor. You look up at the ceiling and shake your head. He mirrors you, taking his own spot at the other end of the elevator to give each of you your space as you take in the situation. Silence falls through the air.

"I didn't need this tonight," you mumble, dropping your head in your hands. "I've got too much shit to deal with tomorrow…"

He hasn't looked away from you, but you haven't looked at him much so you don't necessarily notice. Honestly, you've hardly noticed him at all. He's merely a presence within your vicinity, but not much in your mind.

"Something coming up?"

Again, you look up like you'd already forgotten he was there again. You take in the sight of him, considering him, before seeming to fully take in his presence to finally let him take up space in your mind.

"I'm a lawyer," you tell him with a new kind of attention. You almost sound boastful, but not enough to call you narcissistic. If anything, you sound annoyed by the end of your sentence, "Something is always up."

"A lawyer?" he says, raising his brows in subtle surprise.

"Yeah," you respond, pride seeping now into your tone.

"How's that?" he leans forward, interested in what you'll say.

You sigh heavily. "Stressful," you say. "Shoulda been so much easier than this. You know, I graduated top 5% of my class at Yale. I'm fully set at one of the best law firms in the country."

You miss the way he almost rolls his eyes as you nearly flaunt the spectacle of your career.

"Wow," he says. "Sounds amazing."

You shrug. "It is, but, God, is it taxing. I was so ready to go to bed, and then I hopped into this elevator and it shut down. Just my luck, right?" You shake your head. "I have this trial in the morning, and it's already giving me shit."

He hums. "A trial?" he says. "Is it rough?"

You shrug a shoulder. "Legally, I can't tell you anything."

He tilts his head playfully, offering a smile as he looks back at you with strange eyes. "Who am I gonna tell?"

You narrow your eyes, your own smile curling on your lips. "I don't know. I don't even know who you are."

He looks you up and down for a moment, almost seeming to size you up before he leans forward just enough to hold out his hand. "Jackson."

You look at it, then at him. You go to shake his hand, but he turns his to take your fingers in his, like he was going to bend down and kiss your knuckles. But he doesn't, he just brushes his thumb across them and smiles.

You stifle a grin. "You got a last name, Jackson?"

He licks his bottom lip, considering before he tells you. "Rippner."

You raise a brow. "Jackson Rippner?" you say, stifling a tiny smile with your teeth sunken into your bottom lip. That was unfortunate, a name so obviously susceptible to double-takes and raised brows. "Your parents were not kind."

He shakes his head, smiling a bit himself but clearly not enjoying the topic of his name decision. "No, they weren't."

Eager to change the topic before he loses interest and decides he wants to talk no longer, you shift to be able to lean a little more naturally toward him. "What do you do?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "I'm a travel agent…of sorts."

"Ah," you hum. "My cousin's one of those." You nod to support your claim.

He narrows his eyes slightly, tilting his head. "I didn't catch your name."

You tell him, and he raises his brows pleasantly. It's strange, though, how his eyes don't seem to change. "Considerate parents, then," he compliments. "That's pretty."

"Thank you."

He reaches a foot out and taps it against yours, and the gesture is so strange, as though you've known one another for years and you are catching up after a long time apart. "This case must be kicking your ass though, huh?"

You sigh heavily, breaking off into a grin. "You have no idea. The whole case is turning out to be a shit show—my client's a dumbass, all his associates are dumbasses. It's like they've never opened a law book." You shake your head. "I shouldn't have taken it."

"Why did you?"

"Looked hard." You shrug, "I don't take easy cases. There's no point in winning an easy case unless you need the extra points, and I've got a streak to maintain. But, apparently, I didn't pick something hard, I picked a lost cause."

He leans his head back. "So he's guilty?"

"Well, I couldn't very well tell you that, could I? I mean, I've already said too much as it is," you smirk.

He returns the look, his lip curling. "So he is guilty?"

You just sigh again, deflecting his question as you lick your bottom lip. "Been doing this for years, and I've only ever lost once." You turn to him, brows raised in pride, "You know, I once accepted a case more obviously guilty than this one, and I won it with ease."

He almost sighs, licking his bottom lip and nodding along. "Sounds riveting," he mumbles, a little too obvious.

You scratch your neck, glancing away and chuckling lightly. "Sorry, I'm talking too much," you smile.

He gives you a charming smile, seeming to move closer to you. His fingers suddenly brush yours, and you realize then that he's gotten close enough to do it. "Don't worry about that," he says. "I happen to have an affinity for pretty girls with pretty voices."

You lick your bottom lip and tilt your head away from him, narrowing your eyes playfully. "You trying to charm me?"

He raises a brow and smiles slyly. "Is it working?"

You cut your eyes away from him. "Maybe a little." You look back, "I just so happen to like pretty boys with pretty eyes myself."

"Oh, you think I'm pretty?"

You stand and stifle your laugh. "Don't get cocky," you mumble.

He chuckles. “You got a boyfriend waiting for you or something?”

You kick your foot against the floor, shaking your head. “Nope,” you shrug. “No boyfriend.”

He stands, regarding you with a shocked look. “No? Beautiful woman like you?”

You laugh, his charm rubbing off on you. You just shake your head again, looking at him. “No time. My hours are between 12 AM and 12 AM.”

He hums, stepping closer to you as you lean on the wall. “Hm, well, that must be why you're so stressed…” He thought for a moment before shrugging a shoulder. “That and the–”

“–Shit stain of a client.”

He laughs. “Yeah.” Standing in front of you, he licks his bottom lip and raises his hand to brush his knuckles under your chin. You sigh gently, silently. “Maybe I can help with that,” he suggests.

“You?” You raise a teasing brow. “How do I know you're not some freak?”

He shrugs again. “Well, if I am, I'm a freak who thinks you're gorgeous.”

You hum, biting your bottom lip. “You could be lying,” you speak gently, trying not to ruin the moment.

He's standing so close, you can feel his breath on your skin as his knuckles keep caressing your jaw. “You always have this much trouble trusting people?”

You shrug, “Maybe, maybe not. And, besides–”

His lips crash upon your own, silencing you as he pulls you into a consuming kiss. You hum lightly, leaning into him as your eyes flutter closed as you bring your hands up to cup his face. His hands tighten around your waist.

His tongue swipes along your bottom lip before he pulls back, sighing against your mouth. “Lemme help you out, sweetheart.”

You chuckle, pushing past your scrambled thoughts. “In an elevator?”

He smiles. “Well…we gotta make due, huh?”

Just as he goes in to kiss you again, the elevator rattles, and you break apart from him in favor of holding onto the railing before you fall. The number on the wall lights up again as it goes back into motion.

With a surprised chuckle, Jackson looks at you. “Are you magical, too?”

You smile. “I might be,” you say matter-of-factly. Rather than leaving it there, you continue. “My parents always called me their little witch, mainly because I had a talent for making their money disappear whenever I said please.”

He rejoins you, his hands on your waist as he looks at you. “Manipulative, then?”

You shrug. “I'd say…highly persuasive.”

He pulls you in even closer so your bodies are pressed together. “How about I persuade you to come up to my room? I'm sure I could…accommodate you for the night.”

His offer is tempting.

“You're not some sort of serial killer, are you?” you half-joke.

He raises a brow. “Do I look like a serial killer?”

You huff laugh. “No, but you are avoiding the question. I'm a lawyer, that's suspicious.”

He rolls his eyes. “No, I'm not a serial killer.”

“But–”

Once again, you're silenced by another kiss. The elevator stops and the doors open on your floor, but neither of you move as you continue to kiss.

When the doors close, he pulls away. “Hush,” he says simply.

You bite your bottom lip. “Okay.”

The elevator moves and ascends to the next floor, his floor. You smile, and he leans in to kiss you some more. It's quieter this way. He's happier this way.

He molds your lips to his almost forcefully, as though they don't quite fit together but he's intent on making them. He presses you into the wall, his knee flipping between your own as he slowly parts them.

When the doors open again with a quiet ding!, he backs away from you. Drunk off his kiss, you glue yourself to his side as he wraps an arm around you and leads you out of the elevator and to his room. He swipes his card and pushes you inside.

As the door closes behind him, he grabs you by your hips and pushes you against the wall once more. His lips crash down on yours, you sigh into his mouth.

Between kisses, he speaks. “Finally, I've got you completely alone.”

You chuckle to yourself. “That sounds suspicious.”

He slides a hand under your shirt, flattening it against your stomach before gripping your waist. “You think everything is suspicious.”

He lifts your shirt over your head, cupping your breast in his hand, nearly squeezing it too hard over the fabric of your bra. “Not everything,” you hum, pulling him in by his waist to feel his body against yours. You shrug, smiling teasingly. “Maybe I just don't trust you.” You kiss him, grabbing his tie. “Should I?”

He sighs between kisses. You miss the way he rolls his eyes. “Maybe you shouldn't.”

You chuckle, pulling at his shirt. “And yet, here we a–”

He slaps a hand over your mouth, stopping more sound from coming out of you as he covers his annoyance with a tight smile. “Stop talking.”

You hum and smile against his palm, agreeing.

He sighs, letting you go and leaning forward to kiss you. “Let's give you something else to do with that pretty little mouth of yours. Whaddya say?”

Again, you agree as you kiss him once more before lowering yourself to your knees. He watches you undo his belt, opening his pants and pulling him through the flap in his boxers.

You sigh when you lay eyes on his cock, thick and hard. You pump him in your hand, sticking your tongue out and licking a long stripe up the underside of him. His eyes flutter and he lets out a breath through his nose as he hums.

He watches you wrap your lips around his tip, suckling gently. He sets a hand on your head, tangling his fingers in your scalp and gripping lightly. You bob your head slowly up and down the length of him, taking him farther down with each movement of your head. He curses under his breath, spurring you on.

You hum around him, the feeling of his heavy cock weighing down on your tongue making your clit pulse eagerly. You reach a hand down, slipping it under the waistband of your slacks and pressing your finger against your clit.

You lave your tongue along his slit, taking in a breath before pushing him all the way down your throat. You hear his breath hitch, his hand tightening in your hair as he brings another to the back of your neck.

You start to pull off of him when he grabs you and pulls you down again. You choke around him, not expecting it as he holds your head still, grinding his hips against you as his cock pushes against the back of your throat.

You place your hand on his hips, trying to tell him to ease up. You could feel your lungs tightening as you lost air. But he just groans, keeping you there a moment longer. You begin to panic. He doesn't care.

When he does let up, you suck in a deep breath, choking again as you start coughing. Your throat is sore from the abuse. “Jesu–”

“Shut up,” he says, taking you by your head again and stuffing your mouth with his cock once more.

You try to push him away, to no avail. He grips you tight and starts fucking into your mouth, thrusting his hips back and forth as he leans his head back and moans. The tears slip down your cheeks as more and more gather. He looks down at you and smiles wickedly.

“You look so much better like this.” He chuckles, as though he'd just come up with a funny joke. “You sound so much better like this.”

You can't help the way you gag as he keeps fucking your mouth, saliva and precum dribbling at the corners of your lips.

At one point, you stop fighting him, squeezing your eyes shut and waiting for him to stop on his own and put you out of your misery. Without your fight, he loses interest as he pulls out of your mouth with a heavy sigh.

You try catching your breath again, coughing as you do. The fear and anxiety swirls in your belly. As you wipe your mouth, you go to speak, to tell him off for the way he handled you.

As the first word begins to breach your lips, he pulls a gun from his shoe. You freeze entirely when he aims it at your face. You hold your breath, afraid to move and motivate him to shoot.

“You say a word and I'll put a bullet in your brain. Do you understand me?”

You swallow thickly, the fear making you speechless anyway. You nod slowly.

“Good,” he smiles, lowering the gun but keeping it firm in his grip, daring you to speak again. He sighs heavily, like he's relaxing for the first time as he stuffs himself back in his pants and reaches down to grab you by your upper arm. He drags you through the suite, pulling your reluctant body with him and dropping you onto the floor of the large bedroom.

He sits on the chair, making you look up at him from the floor as he crosses his legs and leans back. He loosens his tie with a sigh. He seems comfortable.

He stares at you for a while, thinking to himself and doing poorly to contain his grin as he does. “You were a lot easier to get to than I thought you'd be, I'm gonna be honest here,” he finally says.

You clench your jaw but keep your mouth firmly shut as he smooths his fingers along the nose of the gun. “You were supposed to be this really amazing lawyer that was just…impossible to manipulate. I honestly thought this would be tough…” he starts laughing a little, “but this was one of the easiest assignments I've ever had.”

Your stomach flips, and your mouth tastes bitter.

He shakes his head at you, highly amused by his own words. He shrugs. “It was real easy getting you to talk. I mean,” he scoffs, “you started yapping the moment you opened your mouth, and all I had to do was sit through it and pretend I actually cared.”

He holds a hand out to you, like he's giving a side note. “By the way, outing your client like that? I feel like you're supposed to know better,” he critiques.

You still don't speak, and he enjoys making you endure the uncomfortable silence as he stares at you. He gives a shit-eating grin. “You know, I'm proud of you. You haven't opened your mouth once.”

You try not to huff a breath, scared that he would count that as speaking and get rid of you right there. He just keeps watching you, admiring your ability to stay silent. You clench your jaw. Why was he doing this?

As if he read your mind, his eyes light up and he laughs. “Oh, shit. I haven't even explained anything yet.” He breathes in, clearing his throat.

“I am Jackson Rippner. When I said I was a travel agent, it was more that I'm an agent who travels around leading assassinations and government overthrows…the usual terroristic activities.” He smiles, almost proudly. He paused, like he's waiting for you to say something. When you don't, his brows furrow, the confusion etched into his features.

“This is usually the part where people react to my big reveal. ‘What do you want? Why are you doing this?’” He shrugs, “You're kinda just staring at me, sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw, continuing to stare with locked teeth, frustrated by his taunting. Then it hits him.

“Oh, right! Yeah, you can speak.” His face drops slightly, the threat in his eyes returning. “Slowly.”

You lick your bottom lip, sighing to ease your nerves. You'll be fine. You'll be fine. You'll be fine…

“What do you want from me?” you ask slowly, your voice quieter from the pure fear coursing through your veins.

“Oh, easy,” he grins. He separates each of his words with the tap of his gun against the tip of your nose. You jump at each little contact it makes, beginning to shake as you close your eyes and steady your breathing through your nose.

“I…want you..to win.”

You furrow your brow, tilting your head slightly as you open your mouth, unsure of what you'll say. You need to be careful about what you'll say. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I–”

“I have in my possession,” he drops his gun with a heavy clatter on the side table as reaches over to it, grabbing a stack of manilla folders off the surface and bracing it in his hands, “evidence and alibis for your client, William Paulson, to prove his innocence from the multiple charges of–” he opens it to read off the list, flipping through the pages as he does “–tax fraud, embezzlement, human trafficking, and murder.”

Your eyes widen as you completely still. You'd known about the tax fraud and embezzlement. This guy was obviously guilty—and heavily, at that—you took the case mostly just to prove how good you are.

But murder and human trafficking?

You did not sign up for that.

He tosses the files in front of you for you to examine. Tentatively, you pick it up and begin to scan over the files.

Jackson watches you process that information, staring at the floor and shaking your head. “Oh,” he covers his mouth with the tip of his fingers, just to be dramatic, “you didn't know about that last part?” He purses his lips and hums, shrugging. “Well, lucky for you, all the evidence steers clear of that so you should be fine.”

You couldn't do this. Well—obviously, you could easily win this case—but you didn't want to represent someone like this. Sure, you've represented criminals like this before, but, looking at these numbers, you could not support him without a guilty conscience.

The numbers were far too high.

“I…” you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. You look up at him, “I can't defend this guy.”

Jackson laughs at the absurdity. “You already are,” he says, his face dropping in the next moment. “And you don't have a choice.”

He snatches the files from your hands, crossing his legs and setting them back on the side table. He gives you a moment to process, looking down on you as he sighs.

“The real hard part about this whole thing,” he says, bringing you from your thoughts, “was trying to figure out who was most important to you, someone I could use to blackmail you into doing whatever I wanted…but then I realized.” He laughs, licking his lips. “The thing you care about most is your career. You’ve brought up your family once since we started talking, and that was to say you used to manipulate them out of money.”

You clench your jaw as he keeps talking. “I mean, it's the holiday season! Most people talk about going home for Christmas, but not you. No, you didn't stop talking about your golden career.”

He leans back and rolls his eyes, disgusted by the fact that you wouldn't shut up, and less about your apparent lack of family values. “Hell, I've been watching you for weeks and you haven't called Mommy or Daddy once, haven't visited in longer. No point in visiting their little house in your hometown—4266 Red Bud Lane, right?” He shrugs, like he hadn't just proven that he knew exactly where you grew up, where your parents were right now, probably asleep in their beds and unaware of the danger they were in.

You suddenly begin to feel really guilty about not visiting…

He continues, unaffected. “All I have to do is provide evidence that proves your whole career has been a fraud and you'll do anything to keep me from releasing that to the world…won't you?”

You feel a little more guilty at the fact that you'd just become more upset over the fact that he would even threaten such a thing. You try not to think about it too much.

“I am not a fraud.”

You did not work this hard to be labeled a fraud.

He smiles. “Well, of course you're not. The evidence doesn't have to be true, it just has to be believable—and believe me, it is. I mean, coulda fooled me. This evidence gets in the right hands and–”

“You wouldn't.”

He tilts his head, leaning forward in his chair. “Do you really want to take a chance on that?” Your breath is heavy in your chest, the rage filling you at the thought of him ruining your life like this.

You hate to say it but you haven't truly had your parents in your life for years. Losing them would be so difficult to get over but…you could. With time, you could get over that.

But losing your job, having your career fall to ash in your hands, having your life dissolve into nothing but that of a fraud…you couldn't get over that.

Jackson chuckles lightly, watching the anger flare in your face. “Maybe I took it too easy on you. I should remind you who really had the upper hand here.” He begins to stand, to get close to you as he reaches for his pants.

Your eyes widen and the anger dissolves into fear. “No, please…”

He smiles. “Much better.” Your frown deepens and you turn away, looking down at the ground as you think. He rolls his eyes, annoyed by you and your “dilemma”.

“Forget all your moral shit… All you have to do is agree to take this evidence before the judge and negotiate his innocence, and you're home free.” He shrugs, “I mean, I'm basically saving a guy's life here. I'm usually the one telling my guys to kill ‘em. I'm a fucking saint right now.”

You huff. “You want me to get a human trafficker out of prison time.” You lick your bottom lip, thinking carefully. “I would rather lose this case.”

He smiles. “But you won't. I have other ways of making you cooperate, sweetheart. Trust me, this is easier for you.”

You don't reply.

“All you have to do is show the evidence,” he says, holding his hands out like he's laying it all out on the table. “I'll even throw in a bonus. You show the evidence, and I'll get your name on billboards across the country as a national icon in criminal justice. How's that sound?”

Your heart skips at that. The expansion that would create in your career. You could go big, you could start your own business, grow your career so that your name lived on even longer after you were already dead.

But your moral obligations made it a little harder to decide—despite the fact that they were apparently so low that it was hard for you to decide.

“Well?” he says, impatient with your contemplative silence as you stare at him. “What's it gonna be? God, I can't get you to stop talking and now you won't even open your mouth?” He leans forward in your face, tilting his head as he speaks quietly to you. “Is it because I stuffed it?”

“Fuck you,” you spit, your voice just as low but with far more force.

He sighs, blinking. “I tell you what, I will.”

Your eyes widen. The regret buds in the pit of your stomach as he stands. “Wait–”

“Ah-ah. You wanna act all high and mighty, like you're some—what, some moral legend?” He bends down to your level. “You're nothing. You're a power-grabbing whore, at best.”

Your stomach flips. “But don't worry…I can make sure you won't forget that again.” He begins to open his pants again.

You panic. “I'll do it. I'll do it!” You gasp, clenching your jaw. “I'll present the evidence.”

He smiles, pleased but not satisfied. “I know you will.”

As he begins to reach for you, you scoot back quickly, eager to get away from him as he grants you this dark look in his eye.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he slaps his palm down on the gun on his side table and takes it in his hand. He hasn't even pointed the gun at you before you stop moving, holding your breath to keep quiet.

“Thank you,” he smiles.

Jackson begins pulling off his loosened tie, grabbing you again as he turns you over onto your stomach, straddling you as he puts you on the floor. He drops the gun again with another clatter and you feel like it'll go off if he does it again. He ties your wrists behind you. Tight. And when he's finished, he turns you onto your back.

You stare up at him from the ground as he looms over you. He smiles, his eyes scanning over your body, “Where to begin…” He's no longer holding his gun, but you are in no position to grab it and defend yourself. Besides, he doesn't need to hold it, it just needs to be close enough that he can grab it…

You close your eyes shut when his hands cup your chest through your bra before he grips it tight and rips it off. He kneads greedily at your chest, humming at the feeling of the malleable flesh in his hands.

After a while, he lets you go to strip himself of his pants. Your jaw tightens and the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach has you shaking. When his bottom half is bare, he strokes his cock in the palm of his hand as he thinks.

“I'm going to enjoy breaking you,” he says, excitement tightening his stomach as he smiles. He leans forward onto his hands so his face is inches from your own. “But don't worry, sweetheart…I'll make sure you're begging me to fuck you by the end of this.”

You stifle the sob that begins to rise in your throat, swallowing thickly as the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Please…” you whisper quietly so as not to provoke him, in hopes of deterring him, finding some inkling of a good conscience in his head.

But he just smiles fondly. “See? You're doing great already.”

He takes his cock in one hand and the back of your neck in the other as he lifts your head up. “Open up,” he orders. You do not obey, clenching your jaw tight as refusing to let it go.

“Come on,” he warns you, tsking to himself when you still don't listen. He sighs, “Well, if that's how you want to play it…”

Jackson pinches your nose between his thumb and forefinger, and he pinches it tight. You begin to panic quicker than you would have liked, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you lose breath quicker than you anticipated.

“I have nothing but time, sweetheart. You, on the other hand, do not.” He just shrugs, watching your chest swell and your legs twitch, your body revolting against its lack of oxygen.

And when you can no longer take the burning in your lungs, you open your mouth.

Before you can take your breath and clamp your mouth shut again, his cock has invaded your mouth. You choke, squeezing your eyes shut and blinking away the tears as he thrust himself in deep. He lets out a loud groan, and the unmistakable sound of him smacking his palm against his gun again stops you from biting down on him before you can even think about it.

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling out to the tip just so he can thrust back in as though he was just fucking your pussy. He smiles as he watches you, audibly moaning as he starts thrusting in and out of your tight throat. His eyes stay focused on the bulge the imprint of his cock makes as he holds you up for easier access.

Your cries are interrupted by your gag each time he pushes in, only aiding to the pleasure of your sounds as he continues. The slap of his balls against your nose is hot and heavy and loud.

He keeps fucking your throat, moaning roughly as he does. You clench your thighs and try to keep your cries and your gags to a minimum so you aren't spurring him on with such lewd sounds. He covers the front of your throat with his other hand, feeling his bulge with a laugh.

“God, you take me so well, sweetheart,” he says. “Perfect fucking mouth.”

His precum is dribbling from your mouth and the taste of him continues to assault your tongue. You wish you could push him off—or do anything to make him stop—but the threat of his gun stops any thoughts from forming.

So, just like before, you don't fight him. As he holds you still, you let him do as he pleases, trying to ignore the lack of air between each thrust.

When he pulls out of your mouth, your gasp turns into a heaving cough as you choke on the air given to you. You wipe away the precum spilling over your lips and chin and cheeks, you try not to have to swallow whatever is in your mouth. You catch your breath as Jackson throws his head back and lets out a long, groaning sigh.

“God, I could never get tired of that,” he says, almost like he's lost in a dream. He watches you try to recover, sitting back with his arm propped on his knee. “I mean, the way your throat just…bulges with my dick is amazing. If you didn't act like you don't want me so badly, you'd realize how good it feels.”

You're disgusted by his insinuation that you'd still willingly want to fuck him after he's threatened your career and your family, held a gun to your head, fucked your throat twice.

Moving to sit up, you steady your breath. “I do not…want you.” You shoot him the angriest look you can muster. But he just laughs at you.

“Keep telling yourself that if it'll make you feel better,” he says. “But I know what you are.”

“I–”

“Still so talkative,” he sighs. “One would think you'd learn by now.”

You don't have time to process his hand wrapping around the back of your head, or him pulling you down in front of him, or him taking his cock and pushing it between your lips again. Your surprised whimpers slip from your throat and only add to his pleasure as he makes you take him again at his own desire. He moves your head up and down and up and down and just enjoys himself fucking your mouth.

He shoves one hand under the waistband of your slacks after a moment, snaking his fingers under your panties as he feels your heat. He hums roughly and a stray sob erupts from your throat at the feeling of his thick fingers slipping past your folds to feel you.

“God, you're wet,” he laughs. “I knew you liked it. Even if you keep acting like you don't.”

You hate this, you hate him. You hate that your body is betraying you with the slick you'd gathered from the anticipation of his violation, the fear coursing through your veins. Angry tears slip down your cheeks.

His fingers drive inside of you at the same speed that his hands move your head on his cock. You stay as silent as you can manage as he does, hating how each pump of his fingers makes it easier and easier for him to slip inside of your warmth.

And when he pulls out of your mouth and your cunt again, after you've collected yourself one more time and caught your heaving breath, you don't say a word.

“You keep making such a fucking mess, sweetheart,” he tuts, looking down at his crotch, covered in your saliva and his precum. You think he'll take you by your head again, but he doesn't.

He tilts his head, his curved lips smiling. “You're not gonna say anything?”

You don't even look at him, sitting up slowly and doing your best to ignore the taste of his salty arousal on your tongue.

“Hm, that's no fun,” he mumbles, though his grin remains. He sighs, glancing around as if contemplating something before his eyes land on you once more. “Alright. I'll give you five seconds to decide where you want me to fuck you, or I'll decide myself.”

Nowhere. You don't want him to fuck you anywhere. The thought of him pinning you down and fucking you and stretching you out with his cock and cumming inside of you…

It's…

Disgusting. It's absolutely disgusting, the swell in your belly be damned.

You clench your thighs, moving to stand so you can get to the bed.

But apparently…your time had run out.

“The floor, it is,” he smiles.

“Wait–” He doesn't. He brings you down to lay on your stomach as he shifts behind you. You clench your thighs, feeling his hands grab your sides and feel them. Your skin crawls with the sensation, but you can't do anything but feel it.

He rips your pants down your legs, your whole body moving with how roughly he handles you. Then he takes your panties by the waistband and splits them apart. You know he has the patience to pull them off you, he just wants to hear your gasp when he rips them off instead. He wants to see you shake.

You feel weak and vulnerable like this: bare on the floor with your hands tied behind your back. Which was his goal, of course. To show you “what you really are”.

His hands knead your ass greedily and his fingers dip between your thighs to slip inside of you again. And you're wet, arousal is slipping from your pussy like you'd already cum.

“Wow,” he chuckles. “Slipping inside of you will be no problem.”

You brace yourself, clenching your thighs and shutting your eyes right.

Without warning, his cock presses inside of you, burying deep in one, long thrust. You sigh heavily, stifling a whine at the feeling of it. He moans, too, letting himself sit in the deepest part of you as he relishes in the warmth of your pussy.

“God, that's perfect,” he hums. “Perfect pussy.” His hands grip your hips and pull you back against him as he grinds inside of you.

You whimper, hating the sick, pleasant feeling curling in your belly. “Jackson,” you whisper, a silent sob slipping from your lips, “please.”

You wish you hadn't said that.

“See? What did I say?” He leans down so his lips brush your ear when he speaks. “You'd be begging me to fuck you.”

You're not sure what you were begging him for. To stop? Most likely. To keep going? Probably not. To go harder?

You hope not.

Jackson wastes no time with ease. With you held securely in his hands, he just starts fucking you. Rough and raw. His hips snap into your ass with every thrust, in and out as he begins splitting you apart. You squeeze his cock and feel a muffled cry claw at your throat as the ecstasy of his intrusion tears you apart.

It's hard not to be vocal, not with all of the mixed feelings swirling inside of you, entering every crevice of your being just as he did—forcefully and without mercy.

He takes you by your hair, still holding you tight, and pistons into you. His voice is low and rough. When he tugs on your hair, you let out a quiet whimper at the pain that stings at your scalp. “You like this, sweetheart?” he questions. “You like being fucked on the floor like a little whore?”

You're scared to open your mouth and protest. The only thing keeping you from moaning at the unwanted pleasure and encouraging him any more is your lips being closed shut.

But he doesn't like that. Leaning down to your ear, his hips slam harder into you and you have no choice but to cry out. “Answer me, you little slut,” he growls, his hand gripping your hips letting you go just to smack the side of your ass. You gasp at the harsh sting, closing your eyes shut as you finally respond to him, your words mixing with pathetic sobs.

“Please,” you gasp. “I can't.”

“Can't what?” he urges. “Can't take it? You can't take me pounding your little pussy like this, sweetheart?”

Gripping your hair, he pulls you back to look at him, smiling at the helpless look on your face. “Feels too good, huh? Shit, you look so pretty fucked out on my cock like this.”

Your mascara’s running, your lipstick is smeared. You know you look a mess, with the tears on your cheeks and your hair mussed up.

What makes it worse is that you're all alone. No one has any reason to suspect that you may be in danger. He'd brought you up here with his charm, encouraged you to follow him with the promise of good sex. Hell, you were making out in the elevator like two horny teenagers.

Now you're on the floor of his suite, getting fucked out of your mind like some whore. And you hate the pleasure that's coming from it.

"Look at you," he laughs, his plump lips pink and smiling. He plants his hand next to your head once more as the other holds your hip up for the right angle. “So fucking desperate, the way you—fucking grind against me.”

You hadn't noticed yourself doing it. As he points it out, the realization pulls a weak sob from your throat that makes him scoff and roll his eyes, amusement in every crease of his face.

He presses down on your back, pushing you rougher into the cold, hard floor. His thrusts are short, grinding into you and brushing that spot deep within you over and over again. You whine and moan through every moment, too dumb-fucked to care about how stupid you probably sound, your eyes tearing up and the tension in your muscles building.

But he doesn't care about whatever turmoil is going on in your ditsy little brain. All he cares about is the feeling of your helpless body losing against the weight and the strength of his.

When the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, you thought you went blind for a moment as he continues to fuck into you. You curse under your breath, your voice pitchy and pathetic as you clench around him at the feeling of your aching clit being abused by his skilled fingers.

His punishing rhythm becomes erratic, messy and unsteady as you clench his cock out of the sheer involuntary pleasure he forces into you. Your skin rubs harshly against the floor as his rough thrusts continue to rock your whole body. You think you'll be bruised all over tomorrow. His heavy breath is loud, short huffs ending in strained grunts. God, he's so close. You're so close.

His hips continue to snap into yours, shoving deeper and rougher. His finger on your clit continues to build you up, higher and higher and higher.

Until the tension snaps and you're being thrown off the edge, loud and pitchy moans tearing at your throat as the pleasure blinded you. Your pussy flutters around him, your legs shake, your jaw gapes like a fish out of water.

Your cry stutters in your throat when Jackson's hips rut into you, sinking in nice and deep until he's buried as far as he'll go. He grinds against the deepest part of you, his jaw flexing as he drops it wide, his eyes just as open as he stars out into the blissful abyss. And he grinds so harshly that you feel the pain knaw deep within you, but the dull ache of him is numbed by the light-headedness of your orgasm.

His hot release spills in your belly, and your shuddering sob falls from your lips and on deaf ears. One hand grips your hair for dear life, the other holds your back down, the pain mixed with the ecstasy of your release is a maddening feeling.

And you're helpless to do anything but take it all. All you can feel is the pressure of his body on yours and the feeling of him filling you up, your cunt so tight around his cock that you milk every…last…drop.

You lay there limply, catching your breath as your cheek presses against the floor. Jackson, slowly returning to his senses, allows his muscles to release, his knuckles easing on the tangled locks of your hair. A long, strained sigh lifts from his throat as he pulls out of you.

And he leaves you there, drained and aching on the floor like a discarded shirt after a long day.

You feel warm and wrong, light with your release and heavy with shame. Your nerves are still tingling, your pussy is still fluttering, your thighs are still trembling with the slightest twitch. Letting out your own long, exhausted sigh, all the tension leaves your body and leaves you feeling empty, despite the fullness of your freshly filled womb.

Jackson disappears for a moment, returning with a glass of liquor that he sips slowly at in one hand and a hotel robe in the other as he stares at you. Sobered up, the smallest of smiles pulls at his lips as he hums lightly. He brings the lip of the cup to his and then tosses the robe next to you.

“I trust–” he sighs forcefully as he sits next to you, “–you'll pick the smart choice and present the evidence.”

He starts undoing the knot of his tie around your wrists to free you. You still don't move, though the ache of your arms has you grunting.

He tucks his knuckle underneath your chin to make you look up at him. He smiles, his eyes just as dark and just as void. “You can go now,” he mumbles, gesturing to the files on the side table. “Don't forget your files.”

You glare at him with as much resentment as you could muster. This seems to amuse him as he lets the air of a chuckle pass through his nose.

“I'll be seeing you soon.”

Your skin crawls with his promise.

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ilovetoxicfictionalmen · 7 months

Text

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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red-riding-wood · 4 months

Text

Coldfire - Pt. II

Read Part I here!

Pairing: Jackson Rippner x F! Reader

Fandom: Red Eye (2005)

Summary: Intent on turning you into his plaything, Jackson "takes care" of you after you wake up in his hotel room.

Warnings: SMUT, non-con (prev) and dub-con, sexual violence, kidnapping, power imbalance, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, biting, blood, violence, humiliation, degredation, dirty talk, pet names, hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics. This is a dark!fic and a tad disgusting. Read at your own discretion.

WC: 6511

Pain. It was the first sensation you felt. The first and, for a moment, the only thing that existed.

Your skull pounded with a dull, resounding ache that seemed to trail down your spine, as if someone taking a sledgehammer to the back of your head. The pain radiated from your spine to your shoulders, your limbs, shot to the core of your stomach and settled between your sticky thighs.

Next, came the soft brush of a pillow against your face, your head lolling against the stuffed fabric, your body weighing so heavy that you thought you might sink into the bed.

The pillow smelled clean as you grasped feebly at the cotton sheets, deciding to ball the fabric in your fists because it grounded you, because it seemed to be one of the only things that were tangible in this half-awake reality of pure, almost numbing pain.

But the spice of the cinnamon that tickled your nose churned hot coals in your gut, stirred a fire deep within your core. Familiar, oh so familiar…

Voices came to you, distant and well-mannered and urgent, drilling themselves through the pockets of pain in your skull.

As a thin, white light began to filter past your haze, you wondered if these were the voices of angels, calling you to Heaven. Were they always this obnoxious?

They were taunting you, more like. That must have been it, you realised as your eyelids peeled back only for white-hot fire to singe your retinas.

Maybe this truly was the punishment for pledging your soul to violence

The light came from a crack between thick, black curtains, haphazardly drawn across a massive window frame. The light bled across your blurred vision, but colours and shapes were beginning to form around it now, and though the voices seemed to heighten in intensity, you could now discern your surroundings as some private room, the overhead blessedly off and the lighting dim.

A hotel, it seemed, as the gleam of white plastic winked at you in the shred of sunlight. A mint, on a pillow.

Your mouth watered, but your lips were dry and your reach clumsy as you tried to swipe up the mint. Your stomach roiled with an empty kind of nausea.

Candy clutched in quivering hand, your fingers stilled as you undid the wrapper. The voices were clearer, but quieter now.

“... crime scene…” Pain. “… terrorist act ….” Pain. “… killer on the loose…” Crinkling plastic. “… university …” Why was this mint so damned hard to open? “… physicist, Doctor Cal…” Was that the ticking of a clock? “… shot with .380 ACP…” More pain.“… total lockdown…” The mint left a sharp kiss on your tongue.“… chaos...” Your blood ran cold as you recognised the taste, recalled the heat of the breath that had raked across your face…

The voices were interrupted by the click of a lock, and you startled, images of a spinning bathroom and bright, white fireworks racing through your aching skull as you buried the wrapper of the mint beneath one of the pillows, as if you were a child caught with their hand in the candy drawer.

As the door swung open, and a soft whistling filled the room, you rolled your head to the side, glimpsing the time on the alarm clock.

4:13.

For a moment, your muddled brain thought that perhaps he wouldn’t see you; your vision hedged where the skin of his neck came into view. Your breath hitched in your chest and your skull pounded, and you watched as he removed the black blazer as if he were coming home from work, whistle slowly fading from his lungs. A heavy sigh made his chest rise and fall beneath his white dress shirt, the collar stained in red.

The scent of iron, sweat and sandalwood came to you; you had breathed against that collar, you had buried your face in the warmth of his chest and tucked your head beneath the hard line of his jaw.

Your mouth watered around the mint as you recalled the chalky pill he’d placed under your tongue, shushing you and petting your hair and lulling you to sleep with a voice like silk.

The man folded his blazer and tucked it beneath the flashing screen of the TV – the source of the voices, you ascertained – and after rifling through his pockets, he placed upon it a hotel keycard, a bloodied tissue, a Ruger LCP. .380.

The familiar, metal clang of a buckle sounded, and he loosed his belt from its loops, coiling it beside the Ruger. Cold danced along your thighs, and you felt the ghost of a burn along your stinging flesh. You realised you weren’t wearing anything underneath your skirt.

He reached in the pocket of his slacks, leaning slightly as if to fetch something particularly irksome from their depths, and added a lace garment and a loop of dark fabric to the strange pile of items.

Everything dawned on you at once, weighing so heavy on your fatigued limbs that you thought for one moment you really would sink into the bed, slammed against your pounding skull as breath poured into aching lungs and the mint caught just in time between your back molars. You remembered hiding that Ruger and your holster-garter to the toilet-paper dispenser in a bathroom with navy blue stalls. You remembered lace panties behind ripped from your thighs as he shoved you against the bathroom counter.

Your eyes squinted, narrowing against the harsh light of the TV now to see cameras pulling back on footage of the university, cop cars with flashing red and blue lights and squealing sirens, listened to the droning voice of the newscaster announce the harrowing details of the death of the target you’d failed to kill.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” A perky yet soft tone innerved your aching limbs, and your head stirred against the cinnamon of his shampoo and the cotton of the pillow.

“Fuck,” you groaned.

“And still thinking of the fun we had…” he chuckled as he approached the end of the bed. You wanted to land one good punch to his smug face, knock out his perfect white teeth. Maybe when whatever drugs he’d given you were gone from your system, provided he didn’t kill you before then.

“Does this mean I’m fired?” Your voice came raspy from your dry throat as you shifted, a lightning bolt of pain seeming to bring every neuron alive with white fire as you lifted your head slightly to look at him.

Jackson leaned down, resting the palms of his hands against the bedframe and smiling at you. “That depends,” he said, and you lowered your head back to the pillow as you rolled the dissolving mint on your tongue.

“On?”

“On how well you behave.”

“What do you want from me, Rippner?” You almost whimpered.

He tutted. “I may have to knock points for your lack of professionalism. That’s now how you speak to your boss.”

Your head hurt too much for this childish nonsense.

“And how may I be of service, sir?” You tried to force the sarcasm past your tired tone but you were drained.

“Good girl.” Those two words stirred the coals of that fire within you, making your sticky, cold thighs squirm. And that damned smile disappeared from view as he righted himself, and circled round to your side of the bed.

“I’m here to take care of you,” he told you, and the mattress sank beneath his weight as he took a seat, your nails digging into the fabric of the cover as if to keep yourself from slipping off. “And before you even think of screaming… remember what happened last time.” He brushed a lock of hair from your eyes with a surprising delicateness.

His words seemed oddly nice for a terrorist, but you weren’t fooled. There was a darkness that you could hear now beneath his silk tone. One you cursed yourself for not recognising before.

“What a relief,” you murmured into the pillow. This time, your sarcasm thankfully came through.

Warm fingers peeled at the tops of your stockings, and your knees rose instinctively, but he gave you a warning look that froze you in place – not in fear, but in a strange excitement.

“Don’t you want to feel clean?” he asked, as he peeled the thick fabric from your legs, cold racing along your flesh.

You didn’t think that you’d ever feel clean after being introduced to his sinful touch and piercing stare.

“I just want a hot bath and a very long extension cord.”

“One thing at a time, sweetheart…”

Jackson paused when the stocking rolled down to your heel, and the sharp sound of a zipper met your ears. He slipped the heel and stocking off with gentle fingers. Wisps of chestnut hair fell across his forehead as he admired your bare skin. What was he doing, playing boyfriend with you?

“Where are we?” you asked, wishing to fill the silence that seemed all too comfortable. The news on the TV made it sound like you’d just woken up in your condo, only extremely hungover.

“A hotel.”

As his fingers rolled the other stocking down, you had the brief urge to kick him with your heel.

“Where is the hotel?”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he said, in a half-exasperated, half soothing tone. “Just let me take care of you.” Your heel was cast aside, and the urge was gone.

The mint clicked against your teeth in the silence, and it burned your throat as you swallowed. A hand ran up the bare flesh of your calf, prying your knees slightly apart. Your heart raced in your chest, skull pounding, flashes of heat racing beneath your flesh and icy hooks sinking into the deepest fibres of your being as his gaze met yours between your thighs.

Coldfire.

You wet your lips with your tongue, thinking that for a moment, with his bright eyes and his parted lips and his hair just a little bit messed, he looked almost cute like this. For a terrorist and stalker and serial killer, that was.

Like you were one to talk.

“Careful looking at me like that.” A smirk curled the corner of his lip, and the strange innocence of his expression vanished. “I don’t know if you can handle a Round Two.”

Why did he have to ruin the moment by opening his smarmy fucking mouth, you thought, but the throbbing heat between your legs wished for other things.

And what moment could you have possibly imagined? Fuck, you were delusional.

And before you could fire back with a retort, the smirk fell from his face and icy gaze devoured you. You shivered beneath his touch as he pried your legs apart, coming up between them like a predator, eyes locked on his prey. Like a mouse pierced by snake’s venom, paralysis seeped into every pore.

A hot breath swept across your lashes in the second that he spared your soul from his gaze, twin blues running down your flushed face. Though his movements and touch were gentle, his mouth pressed to yours firmly, pulling a slight moan from your lungs. Your hand reached upwards to curl the fabric of his shirt into a fist, but he forced your wrist down. You shattered a gasp onto his tongue at the sudden, sharp movement, the bed hinges creaking from the force exerted. His fingers wove through yours, curling round your knuckles and squeezing ‘til your flesh turned white. His weight sunk onto the delicate blood vessels of your opposite wrist, your pulse hammering against his palm.

Jackson was quick to force his tongue inside your mouth, and you jolted as the remnants of the mint hit the back of your throat. Unable to do anything about it, you bit down on his lip, hard, and he growled into the kiss. Teeth grazed your tongue as you rolled it forward, and he pulled away, spitting the mint onto the sheets. His icy eyes flashed with hellfire but your body sank with relief into the mattress, tension leaving your body.

“Wouldn’t want you to choke,” he uttered darkly, fingers releasing yours to glide across your neck, shivers running down your throat as his palm once again found your pulse, fingertips brushing the beginnings of your scalp.

“Did I tell you that you could have that?” he demanded, the bright of his eyes chased by the dark.

“It was complimentary.” You sneered up at him.

Hands swept beneath your spine, pulling you upward, and the world teetered on its axis and pressure mounted your skull. Your legs wrapped around his waist, nails seeking purchase in his back to ground yourself, a moan hitching in your chest as your hips rolled forward and your bare pussy sank around the outline in his trousers. The jolt that travelled through you, from bottom to top, was perhaps the only thing that kept you from passing out as you felt the weight of the drugs tug at your limbs. Something peeled off from the back of your skull and you hissed, pawing at blood-crusted locks of hair.

“No, don’t touch that,” he told you, almost concerned. With you now firmly straddling his lap, and his legs folded beneath him, he gently pulled your hand away and replaced it with his own. Eyes narrowed in concentration, and he bit his lip. “The bleeding stopped.” A small, white bandage was pulled away, tape burning your scalp briefly as it tugged at a few threads of your hair, and your eyes tore from his to examine the almost black crimson on the white material.

Was that all? It hurt so much.

Noticing your wince of pain, he sighed, and your arm hooked with desperation round his neck as he leaned forward to reach to the end table, gravity tugging at your spine.

You jumped, nails scraping his back, as a bottle of pills was tossed in your lap, hollowing your skirt around your thighs, and he righted himself with a glass of water in hand.

You released your hold on him to accept the water between shaking fingers, and he shook out two pills of Advil on his palm. Wedging one between his thumb and forefinger, he pressed it gently to your lips.

“Wash your hands,” you told him as you looked him up and down, at the blood that dappled his white collar and was still smeared slightly at the corner of one dark brow, and he rolled his eyes, forcing the pill past your teeth. He helped tip the glass of water to your lips, and repeated the process with the other pill.

“My pain didn’t seem to stop you before,” you said once he’d put aside the water glass and pills. “Why are you playing so nice, all of sudden?”

One hand landed on the bare flesh of your waist, slipping beneath your shirt, and the other brushed another lock of hair from your eyes.

“I told you I’d take care of you,” he said.

Before you’d the chance to respond, he was tugging your shirt over your arms, and you shut your eyes, the collar passing your lashes and crest of your skull. Lucky for him, you weren’t wearing a bra, and for the first time, his gaze landed on the swell of your breasts, your nipples hardening in the sudden cold. His lips parted and his pupils dilated.

“You have a strange way of doing that,” you remarked, breath coming shallow from your chest. Your fingers traced the collar of his shirt, still slightly damp with blood, and began undoing buttons as a sly smile crossed your face, making it all the way until his shirt came apart and your eyes widened at the sight of the dark line of hair disappearing past the hem of his trousers. Your curiosity would someday kill you if he didn’t.

“Shhh. Just rest, now…” his words confused you as he lowered your spine back to the soft bedding, but his voice melted like honey into every pore, and the mattress welcomed you. Breath pooling at the base of your neck, wet lips placed a kiss to the notch of skin in between your collarbone.

You understood now, and you found yourself with no complains, shutting your eyes and allowing his hot breath to trail down your sternum, arching your back when he reached your stomach. His nails dug into your waist, hands fitting perfectly in the grooves above your hips like you’d been made for him.

You shivered, remembering what he’d felt like inside you.

Lips brushed your navel, nose tickling your soft flesh, and his tongue began to lap at the juices that had dried on your abdomen, tasting you. His fingers hooked in the hem of your skirt. It was the only fabric between you, and even then, it had pulled taut round your spread legs. Another zipper came undone, and the checkered fabric was cast aside, sounding like it landed in a heap somewhere on the floor. Cold swept across the heat of your cunt, and lips slowly ghosted down the length of your pelvis, burying his nose in the crook of your thigh and inhaling deep.

Your elbow had stirred, fingers coming to rest on the wet streaks his tongue had left across your stomach, though not quite reaching him, for your body still seemed to move slower than the world around you. Yet, he was almost too slow; he was taking his time, and you needed him like you’d never needed anything before. You whined out your disapproval, and he nipped at the pocket of your thigh as if to correct your behaviour.

And instead of finally giving you what you desired, he began to trail kisses down your inner thigh, hands following his movements. Your eyes blinked open in confusion, and you winced slightly in pain as you craned your neck to look down at him. Though the pillows were elevated, you sought a clearer view. What did this bastard think he was doing?

Feeling faint, you sank back into the pillow and succumbed to his teasing, a soft sigh hanging on your lips.

“Beg me for it.” His command came gruff against your skin, his tone akin to that which he’d used when he’d come deep inside you. You could still feel the last of his hot seed dribbling out of you, almost as if innerved by his words.

You chuffed out a laugh, and your head spun. “Yeah, right…” you murmured, but jolted as he placed another nip to your soft flesh. An electric current seemed to flow from his teeth through every fibre of your being, every synapse in your brain. You were too easy, you realised, as you relaxed and huffed out another sigh.

“Oh, please, Mr. Rippner… please take care of me…”

“Mm… what’s that, now? What do you need?”

“You. I need you, fucking Hell,” you breathed as you felt him smile against your thigh, the faint stubble of his jaw scratching the delicate flesh. “Please, I need to feel your tongue against me. I need you inside me… please…”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take care of me… clean me… fuck me – I don’t care at this point.”

He tutted. “How unprofessional of you, wanting your boss to fuck you. That ought to knock off some points, for sure.”

“Stop being a goddamn tease,” you groaned, rolling your hips against empty air. Your fingers slid down your slicked pelvis to try and sate the itch between your thighs, deciding you’d do it yourself at this point. He swatted your hand away, and your knuckles burned.

“Who’s the boss here?” His breath hissed against your thigh, heat trailing down your flesh with a shiver and his nails digging in again.

“You are.” You pouted your lip, shame creeping in but you didn’t care.

“Good girl.” The praise, uttered in such a guttural tone, made your core clench around nothingness, and his tongue began to light a trail of fire up your sensitive flesh, until his nose struck the groove of your thigh again and then his hot breath finally huffed against your folds. “So desperate for attention, so wet for your boss you’re wanting to touch yourself already. What a good fucking slut.”

Then why not let me? you thought with bitter longing, but didn’t dare utter the words. His teeth were currently hovering over a part of yourself that you didn’t particularly want bruised.

Though, on second thought…

“Come onnnnn,” you whined. “Get on with it.”

The sting of teeth landed on the lip of your pussy, and you chimed out a giggle as another wave of excitement crashed against you. “You’re so predictable…” you teased, words slurring as the heat of arousal pounded hot in your skull. The pain, you realised, was beginning to slip farther and farther from you, like a red ribbon caught in the vicious wind.

“Hey.” You jolted again as his palm struck your pussy, sensitive flesh stinging but your core clenching again with need. “Look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you looked down at him, the burn of his coldfire eyes igniting something inside you that threatened to spill like lava from every pore, every fibre. You breathed heavy and smiled, admitting, “All right, maybe not so predictable.”

“Remind me, sweetheart, what do you need right now?”

“You.” A whimper was cast to the air like a prayer, and you giggled again, hair spilling around you as you laid back.

He placed a gentle kiss right on the lip of your pussy, as if to make it all better. His nose tickled the slick parting of your cunt, and you trembled.

“Good girl.” The heat of his breath raked your folds, and you nearly lost it, fingers grasping at the fabric of his shoulder.

Finally, the wet swipe of his tongue sent you into overdrive, dragging with a deliberate leisure along your slick parting. Your back arched, shaking, into the sheets, and your fingers sought his hair, threading through the strands as you squirmed under the increasing pressure of his tongue. Not teasing anymore, it was clear he wanted to devour you. And it was clear you wouldn’t last very long.

Like some kind of starved animal, he lapped up your juices, fingers forcing your legs further apart and stirring a squeal from your diaphragm, a noise which only spurred him on, teeth gently grazing your clit and his tongue circling your entrance to draw every last bit of sweet nectar from you. Thick fingers ran along your outer thighs, palms rubbing at your hips as if to encourage you on.

Stopping to catch his breath, he groaned, panting against your trembling folds, “You taste so good with my cum inside you, babygirl.”

“Fuck,” you breathed, hips bucking against his face, the stubble of his jaw lightly burning your skin. A knot tightened deep in your belly, walls clenching. He chuckled at your enthusiasm, which only sent you further over the edge, one hand cupping your ass as his tongue sought the taste of you back out, nose nuzzling into your clit. A myriad of sensations slammed into you all at once.

“Jack…” you moaned, tugging a fistful of his hair.

He stilled just as you felt yourself ready to tumble over that familiar precipice, thighs trembling around him, back fully arched as if to reach for the heavens while hellfire brewed beneath your flesh. Breaths came quick against you, nails sunk deep enough into your skin to well blood around his nails, and he growled, the sound seeming to reverberate through your core.

“Jackson,” he corrected, tone thick with darkness. Lust. Wrath. All things sinful.

“J – Jackson.” You would say anything if it meant feeling his tongue against you again, if it meant some sort of release from the pain that still lingered beneath the surface of the pleasure he gave you.

“Mm.” Approving, he placed a kiss to your clit. Your nails raked along his scalp and the bucking of your hips became more erratic, so with his hands he pinned your waist down, a huff of fiery breath trailing up the cold of your stomach. You squirmed, desperate for release, as he prodded at your entrance, and you couldn’t take it anymore as his nails dug against your ribcage and his palms flattened against your stomach, and your walls finally clenched around his tongue as it slipped inside.

You fell limp under him, your head tipping back to the white ceiling, your lips still parted from chanting his name like a sordid prayer, stars exploding across your vision and your skull inundated by a fire that cleansed the pain and brought with it only bliss.

You heard him swallow against a dry throat, and you lifted your starry gaze to watch as he swept his tongue along his upper lip. Bright eyes darkened by lust met yours, and you relaxed your hold on his hair, watching as chestnut locks fell around his face, clung to the sweat of his forehead. A few threads that sprung awry were limned by the blue light of the TV, the carnage that continued its broadcast. His shirt hung open, exposing the bare sheen of his chest. Your juices coated his nose and freckled cheeks, his sharp jaw framed by your thighs as they closed slowly around him. You’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“So, did I get an A?” You huffed out teasingly, and though you hadn’t thought it possible, his eyes darkened another fraction, shards of shattered ice sharpening like knives around the pools of ink black that bled into pale irises. Your sides burned where he dug his nails in, and you added, “A participation award, at least?”

Grabbing hold of your hips, he yanked you forward, your legs hooking over his shoulders and something wicked glittering in those darkened eyes. A brief moment of panic seized you as you were tugged down from your throne of pillows. His flushed lips were parted, a bead of your nectar dribbling down his chin. Looking more akin to a wild animal in that moment than he did a man, you felt the unravelled knot begin to weave into something dangerous in your gut.

“You think this is over?” he demanded, practically snarling, lips pulling in a wide grin round his white teeth. He began placing kisses and nips to your trembling thighs, ghosted a shuddering breath over the heat between them. He already had you moaning from how sensitive you were. “It’s not over ‘til I say it is, sweetheart.”

He’d told you not to scream, so you had to clamp a hand over your mouth, cries muffled by your sticky palm that smelled of mint and saliva and the faint trace of sex. He attacked you, tongue and teeth and all, while you were still coming down from your first orgasm. Yet, your hips still bucked against him, and he kept tugging you closer, grinding the slit of your cunt against his face, suckling and nipping at the delicate folds and finally forcing his tongue back inside you. Your other hand found its way back into his hair, clutching the messy strands as if your life depended on it.

You were quite certain at this point that he was trying to kill you.

Finally, as if in frustration, he hooked a finger inside you, reaching places his tongue couldn’t, and you bit down on your hand, rolling your hips madly against him despite the fatigue that weighed on every limb. Your bliss rolled over you in white-hot waves, in shivers of burning cold that seemed to electrify your skull.

Coldfire.

“Come for me one more time, baby,” he urged you, trailing sloppy, wet kisses up your stomach, gliding his weight over you to witness the look on your face as he worked his finger inside you. The knot in your belly tightened and unravelled in the space of those words alone, and you shuddered out a groan as your toes curled and your thighs closed around him. You became limp again, head spinning and darkness hedging your vision.

“Good girl.” A kiss was placed at the swell of one breast, his nails running up and down your sides. Your legs were still slung over his shoulders, now hooked around the curve of his spine, and the last thing you felt before oblivion took you was the heat of his palms on your flesh, the scrape of his bloodied nails, the graze of his teeth and the softness of his lips as he worshipped your body with little praises.

---

The dip of the bed beneath his weight was what woke you, your nose still buried in the cinnamon shampoo of his pillow and your nails clutching the fabric for dear life as the mattress creaked. Pain thudded beneath your skull, but not as intensely as before, and you were able to peek open your eyes, catching a glimpse of the alarm clock.

8:56.

A wicked finger of cold ran down your bare spine as the sensation of his body heat left you, but you remained still, waiting, like an animal playing dead. Maintaining an even breath this time. Shallow, faint.

The soft padding of Jackson’s feet against the carpet disappeared round the corner, along with the low melody of his whistle, and your breath hissed slowly from your teeth. You looked to the TV, now silent, and the blazer he’d folded across the stand. Your deadly affects were gone. Of course. Why would life ever make escaping your kidnapper that easy?

You glanced then to the door, your heart picking up speed in your chest.

But did you really want it to be easy?

Deep down, you couldn’t help but feel like you had something to prove. You’d let this man beat you and best you and had found yourself wrapped around his finger, and worse yet, he’d killed your target. You’d failed your mission.

He must’ve thought you were so pathetic.

The sound of a shower turned on, past the drywall divider of the hotel. The bathroom was located directly behind you, which must have meant the kitchenette was to your right, towards the window side.

8:59.

You had to take a minute to steady yourself against the edge of the bed as you pushed yourself up, the heels of your hands shaking against the mattress. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Head lowered between your legs, your dizziness gradually ebbed, and your toes brushed the carpet.

Legs trembling beneath you, cold washing across your nude form, you slowly crept your way into the kitchen, peering down the hall to the bathroom. Light pooled beneath the doorframe and, by the sound of it, the water still buffeted the porcelain of the tub, nearly masking his idle whistle.

Your scalp itched where you’d been struck, and you resisted the urge to paw at it. You wished desperately to fetch another glass of water to sate your parched tongue. But your eyes caught on the soft glint of knives along a magnetised strip on the wall, and you moved forward, heart pounding so hard in your skull that your breath caught in your chest, for you feared you would not be able to hear your surroundings.

The knife made the scarcest sound as you pulled it from the metal strip, and trembling fingers tightened round its handle, lowering the weapon to a defensive position at your belly. Some semblance of power coursed through your veins, hot and thick and whelming, intoxicating you for one moment as you drew a shaky breath into your lungs.

Until the noise of the shower and the whistling stopped, and your blood ran cold. The drip of water began to time to the mad beating of your heart and the rest was only silence.

Thud, thud, thud, thud…

Turning on your heel, you slipped round the corner of the wall divider and held your breath as the bathroom door swung open. A shiver passed through you in your cold sweat, and though you listened intently, the blood roared too loud in your ears to hear anything more.

“Put the knife down, sweetheart.” His voice came to you just from the other side of the wall, calm and warm, like a man coaxing his lover back from the cruel grip of calamity. You startled, your breath hissing between your teeth, though his words slid over your bare skin like silk.

Jackson emerged from behind the wall, fully clothed, hair not even damp from the shower. His hands rested at his sides, no weapons – he didn’t need them, for that tongue of his was as sharp as your knife and fire raged in those icy eyes.

“You tricked me,” you breathed, collecting yourself, stalling. He was right there in front of you… you could lash out, in one quick motion and allow your blade to meet blood and bone. “You knew I’d wake up and you turned the shower on to see what I’d do.”

“Very astute. Has anyone told you you should be a detective?” he rasped sarcastically, voice darkening. Despite his gentle plea to put aside your weapon, he had that predatory look about him that made your flesh crawl with bitter cold but your insides melt like honey.

In the second he took for his eyes to rake down your nude form, you darted to the left, reckoning you could outrun him better than you could fight him, but his hand caught your ankle and you fell, squirming in his grasp. The rough carpeting scraped your bruised flesh, and kicking at his hands, as you felt his weight clamber on top of you, clutching your knife tight as you attempted to draw it back in to your chest.

“I told you not to play games, sweetheart,” he said, hands gliding over your skin. The heat of his breath raked across the small of your back.

Twisting, you didn’t kick this time, but brought the knife in a wild slash towards him; his hand captured your wrist, squeezing again at the delicate blood vessels beneath your flesh, reminding you briefly of the brush of his lips against yours. The knife slipped between your fingers, landing somewhere beside your head in the sea of hair that spilled beneath you as you stared helplessly up at him.

There was no fear in his gaze. Only darkness.

“You know what happens to bad girls…” His other hand wove its way through your hair, bunching the locks in his fist and tugging at your scalp. Magma consumed your skull, and your lips parted in a breathless cry, the oxygen forced from burning lungs. Your fingers grabbed for his jaw, his throat, but as you tightened your hold, so did he; threads of hair snapped from their roots, and for one blinding second, all you knew was pain.

And without thinking, you screamed.

Jackson’s hand came to clamp around your mouth, frantically loosed from your hair, and instinct brought your hand in a striking blur across the hollow between his jaw and his throat, where you knew you could render him unconscious. His weight teetered over you, eyes widening, a gust of breath burning your eyes as it was forced from his lungs. Blinking wildly and gritting your teeth, you struck him again, until you managed to slip from beneath him. Fingers grasped for the knife, the cool, varnished wood of the handle a welcome comfort in your palm.

As you made it to your feet, he sent his teetering weight forwards, crashing against you but you held on tight to your blade even as the breath once more escaped your lungs, and your spine hit the wall, jarred but consumed by adrenaline that set your veins alight with fire.

“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, any playfulness of his façade shattering like the icy shards of his wild eyes. From his shift in tone, you knew that there was no going back.

Nails dug into your skin, cruel and unrelenting, and his arm slammed your right wrist into the wall, attempting to disarm you.

Little did he know, you had switched the knife to your left.

The heat of his blood spilled around your knuckles where you clutched the knife, having driven it deep beneath his ribs, and his nails loosened from your flesh, a wheezing cough sputtering against your cheeks. For good measure, and smirking revenge, you wove your fingers through his hair, and brought his skull against the wall.

A trail of crimson smeared across the alabaster-white as you watched him sink to the floor, your chest heaving with ireful breath and his eyelids fluttering, working hard to focus on you as his fingers grasped feebly for the knife you’d left buried in his stomach.

“Feels great, doesn’t it?” You hissed, cocking a brow at him. Standing here, watching as he gasped for his breath and tightened his grip round the knife, unaware he was slicing the flesh of his own fingers on the blade, you felt powerful.

While your adrenaline lasted, you gathered up your clothes – or rather, what remained of them –, shimmying your skirt over your hips and tugging your shirt over your arms. Next, you began searching drawers, yanking them wildly from the TV stand. One clattered to the floor, but at this point, noise was no longer your concern.

You found your belongings and snapped your garter over your thigh, checked the chamber and mag of your Ruger to find he’d been kind enough to load fresh bullets, and hooked a finger over the torn lace panties to bring them up in the low light of the room.

“You can keep them,” you said, tossing them against his face, his eyes still wide and his jaw now clenching. Something like fury passed through the blue of his gaze, but still no fear. Strangely, both unease and a familiar dash of excitement brewed beneath your flesh.

Finally, you made a call to 911 from the room’s phone, telling the operator that there was a man who’d been stabbed and desperately needed medical attention. You hung up just as they asked for your name, bloodied fingers tossing the phone on the bed in your haste. There was no point covering your tracks; your DNA was everywhere, and you knew, from the fury in the man’s eyes, that it wasn’t the law you would need to watch out for.

"Y/N," he wheezed, breath hissed between his clenched teeth, and you paused. "I'm going to fucking ruin you."

"Oh..." you purred, a smile twisting your lips. "I'm counting on it."

And it wasn't from his words, but from the excitement beneath your flesh and the dull ache of your loins that you knew that it would not be the last time you saw Jackson Rippner.

And as you left, door slamming in your wake, you realised,

Maybe you enjoyed your little games.

A.N. I'm on the fence about carrying this into a series since I have a lot to work on at the moment, but can definitely consider it if there's a demand!

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