#red eye fanfic
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"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader
(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.
𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)
𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth
once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!
Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.
The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately. No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it. And believe it or not, he wanted more than that. Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone. He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night. Either, or both, would do.
It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you. He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job. It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels. The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security. This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.
But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window. His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…
He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation. But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.
Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.
~
The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you. He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with. Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.
For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you. It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction. Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong. This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been. His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike. God, did he really have a crush? How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.
"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.
"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said. He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.
"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.
"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.
"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"
Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."
He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive. "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.
"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”
As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.
“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."
"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer. Like fish in a barrel. "How old is it?"
"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.
"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again. "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious. Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."
You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about. He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.
“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson. It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”
You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him. “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”
“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”
“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained. “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”
Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying. And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still. A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do. And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people. You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again. He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it. No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all. Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.
And he also found that annoyingly attractive. Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.
….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!
“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied.
“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.
“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around. Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”
“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own. I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”
“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled. “For me it’s probably cocktails. I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”
“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”
“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”
“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.
Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess. Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected. All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.
“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”
You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.
“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.
For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh. “You were on the right track,” you admitted.
“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration. After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”
“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.
“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself. Your drink order, I mean.”
Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far. Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment. “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.
He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown. Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off? You’d seemed so flattered before. “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice. “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?
“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face. “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there. So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”
“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch. “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there. I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”
You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly. “Yeah, it is.”
“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on. “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”
You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace. “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply. “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.
“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.
“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.
Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself. Bitch. But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course. Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted. Do what I say, or he gets hurt.
Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician. But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.
~
The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.
“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.
And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him. He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.
“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties. “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him. But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going. Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.
It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth. “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck. “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”
Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.
“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while. “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."
Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long. That made you feel more violated than anything.
“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait. I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”
You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything. “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.
“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”
It was the way he said that word: sweet. It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day. Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that. “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”
“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.
“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”
“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face. “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly. “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”
“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.
“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned. “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers. Don’t give me one.”
Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself. Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen. And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.
“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.
You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.
“Say it.”
“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.
“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.
“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.
“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.
“Yours! Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek. “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this.”
You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest. “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”
You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.
“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.
“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck. “You’re right— you can do whatever you want. I can’t stop you. Isn’t that what you wanted to prove? Just… just don’t make me—”
“Make you?” he repeated. “No, no— you wanted me. I could tell. Only thing stopping you was him.”
He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.
“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you. “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”
Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.
“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts. “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”
You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come. “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.
“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.
“I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.
“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick. “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic? That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only. That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least. You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”
He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.
“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.
“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved. “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”
"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"
Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.
A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin. You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.
"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"
He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"
As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.
"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.
He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself. You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head. He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.
“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip. “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”
You shook your head. “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say. Don’t hurt him.”
“Open your legs,” he ordered.
Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.
“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.
He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further. His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.
Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum. "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled. You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away. Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other. "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.
Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.
You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking. Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you? Or was it for his own benefit?
He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open. Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.
“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course. Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely. “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”
You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips. “So wet. Fuck. When’d you get like that, huh? Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”
He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.
“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly. “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”
You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.
“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed. “Fuck, I might break you…”
He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction. There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips.
“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless. “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”
He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.
“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised. “Now you try it.”
This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside. He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.
“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks. “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl. Knew you could.”
You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet. He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.
“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head. “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”
You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned. “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”
Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.
“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.
You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.
“Go on! Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.
You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this. From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening. Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…
But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.
“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”
“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.
“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly. “Please fuck me.”
You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you. You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside. “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh. “Fuck, it’s tight. Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town. I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”
Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.
Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this. The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.
Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment. “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.
“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously). “Not used to anything this big, huh?”
You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend. You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.
“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust. Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life. “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”
The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to. It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.
“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this. “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”
Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once. Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder. He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore. Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck. One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.
“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss. “Fuck.”
But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him. “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”
“God,” he growled, “say my name again. That’s so hot.”
You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late. “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.
“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.
“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this. “Jackson, f-fuck—”
He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…
As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair.
"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.
Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.
Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.
You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole. “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.
“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.
“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain. “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”
“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper. Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling. “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”
Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.
“See? Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb. Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.
He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck.
"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"
He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass. You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…
"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."
You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.
“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster. “Needy little slut. You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”
You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.
"Answer me," he insisted.
"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.
"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.
"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.
“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone. “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”
“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”
"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"
He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.
"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue. "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."
You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.
He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction. "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"
You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird. Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.
“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.
At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting. But in a literal sense, it hurt less.
“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back. Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected. You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly. “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”
Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly. “F-fuck, wait—“
He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him. For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure. “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”
As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going. “Fuck!” you screamed. “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”
“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.
You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something. Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized. Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.
“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder. “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll. Show him who you really belong to now.”
“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries. If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).
It felt fucking good. You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious. And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless. You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually. Shameless. Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed. “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.
It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.
"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"
“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.
“Mm? Why not?” he smirked.
You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that. “What?” you just asked groggily. “Why… why do you think?!”
He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going. Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?
“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.
“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific. “Fuck!”
He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing. But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could. You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.
He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?
As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.
“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.
You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.
“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.
Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor. Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.
“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him. He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat. “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.
He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest. You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.
When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.
It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved. It’s over, he’s finally done with you. You did it. It’s over. But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.
“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you. “You see it, don’t you? He looks different now.”
You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing. You suddenly felt sick.
“He looks at you different now.”
You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that. Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you. But what had you done wrong? All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person…
Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.
“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”
Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek. “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault! I didn’t want this to happen!”
“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”
You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly. After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.
He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence. “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.
“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took. Everything. From me.”
“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you? Can’t help that?”
“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.
“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?”
Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience. You shook your head.
“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that. I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”
“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.
“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked. “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”
You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself. “Work…?”
“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”
#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner dark fic#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy smut#red eye fanfic
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Strange Attraction [Chapter Three] Missing Pieces [Jackson Rippner]
Mari was conscious, she had been for a while – enough to know that she had been placed in the trunk of her car – but her body was frozen. Her head felt like a fog had consumed it. Images flashed before her eyes like a time reel as she struggled to make sense of them. What did it all mean?
Forcing open her tired eyes, Mari stared into the darkness. She wasn't sure she even had them open until she was able to move her body, reaching up to touch her eyelids.
At least she was alive. But for how long, she wasn't sure. The car was still in motion, so wherever Jackson was taking her, he had yet to reach.
Taking an uneasy breath, Mari rested her hand on the floor beside her, running her fingers across the course liner as she searched for something to help her. She was horrified but common sense reminded her not to panic; to look for a way to escape.
The tag to open the trunk had been removed, and so far, Mari could not find anything lying around that might aid her in her escape.
It seemed like Jackson was one step ahead of her.
Mari groaned in frustration and eased onto her side, pressing her back against the rear seats. There was a lug wrench beneath the mat; perhaps she could use it to break out one of the taillights.
To her surprise, Jackson had overlooked it.
She was ecstatic. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her body and with a little effort she was able to yank the tire lug wrench out from beneath the mat.
But how was she to do this? Surely Jackson would hear her.
Fuck him! Mari didn't care.
She held the socket wrench end in one hand and pulled back the carpet, then began slamming the prying tip against the space where the taillight closest to her was as hard as she could. It was a struggle, but the light eventually came out, allowing in a wave of fresh air.
Mari took in a deep breath, then stuck her hand through the hole. Cold rain stung her skin as she waved her arm around hoping to attract the attention of another car. Someone had to notice her.
The car began to slow, and to her horror, Jackson pulled over. Did he notice the light was out? Mari pulled her arm back in and gripped the lug wrench against her chest. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest as she heard the door open. Footsteps steadily approached the trunk and Mari made a risky decision. As soon as Jackson opened the trunk, she was going to strike him with the lug wrench.
She played the scenario over several times in her mind. It seemed easy. There was no way she could mess it up.
As soon as the keys touched the lock and the trunk opened, Mari swung.
Unfortunately, the glare of a light pole blinded her, and she missed. Mari was lucky enough to catch Jackson off guard, however, making him jerk back to avoid the strike as it whipped through the air.
She bounded out of the trunk nearly falling as her feet touched the ground, then looked around. Where was she?
It was dark out and raining.
Jackson had pulled the car over near an old gas station with pumps that looked outdated. The station itself looked like it hadn’t been used in decades. There weren't even any houses around, just miles of road on either side.
Mari clutched the lug wrench in frustration and turned around pointing it at Jackson.
“Where the fuck are we?!”
Jackson attempted to take a step forward, but Mari swung the lug wrench again.
“Stay back!” She shouted.
He brought up his hands.
“Put the wrench down, Marianna. I'd rather you not make things difficult for me.”
“Fuck you!” Mari shouted.
He kidnapped her; he already made things difficult for himself.
“What do you want with me?” She asked.
“What do you want to know, Mari? Where you are? Or what my plans are with you?” Jackson asked with a bite.
Was he being serious? The said woman narrowed her eyes. The rain had already soaked down into her shirt making it cling uncomfortably to her.
“I want you to answer both questions,” Mari answered.
“Then get into the car,” Jackson ordered.
Did he think she was an idiot?
“No. You're going to answer my questions or I'm going to start swinging,” Mari snapped.
“That's not how this works,” he stated. “I'm going to show you something, then you're going to get in the damn car.”
He reached into his pants pocket and took out her phone. Mari raised a brow as he tapped on the screen and turned it around, showing her a video. At first, it was nothing; an out-of-focus bush, then when it panned out to a window that looked into a familiar kitchen. Where had she seen it before?
A minute later Zachary walked into the frame, searching through his fridge. Then the video ended.
Mari was horrified.
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing yet,” Jackson answered. He put the phone away. “He's safe as long as you cooperate. But if I don't call my partner at every checkpoint, then he's free to do whatever he wants to Zachary.”
Why would he do something so horrible? Mari thought that he may be telling her a lie to get her to do as he asked. But what if he wasn't?
She lowered the lug wrench.
“How do I know your partner won't hurt him anyway?”
“Because I asked him to send me a video every time I checked in,” Jackson answered.
So, he wasn't lying.
She didn't have much of a choice. Mari decided to play along. She needed questions answered and time to come up with a plan.
Jackson reached out for the lug wrench and despite not wanting to, Mari walked forward and handed it to him. He tossed the tool into the trunk and slammed the hood, then shoved the broken taillight back into its socket.
“Get in. We have to make a pit stop before dawn,” Jackson ordered.
Mari hesitantly walked over to the passenger side door and got into the car. Jackson joined her soon after.
“Are we going to make the next checkpoint on time?” Mari asked as she tested the door.
As she thought, the child lock was on.
“If we find a store that sells repair tape before we get pulled over,” Jackson answered.
Mari hoped they did.
Once the car was started, Jackson pulled away from the station and continued down the road. Mari sat silently watching the road as the headlights chased away the darkness. She was trying so hard to make sense of her unfortunate situation, but her head was a mess.
Not to mention the rain was starting to make her feel cold.
Mari linked her arms in front of her chest in hopes that she'd warm up. She was too damn scared to reach forward and turn the heat on.
But to her surprise, Jackson turned the switch and averted his eyes to her as she placed her hands in front of the vent.
Regardless, she said nothing until a sign caught her attention. Mari widened her eyes.
“We're in Pennsylvania?!”
Jackson hummed in agreement.
“For another 76 miles until we pass into Ohio.”
Where was he taking her?
“I don't understand what's going on,” Mari uttered.
“You don't need to, he mentioned. Just know that we have a long way to go.”
She leaned back in her seat and rubbed her sore eyelids.
“You are still under the effects of the Ketamine. I gave you a small dose, but it can last for up to 24 hours,” Jackson explained.
“You drugged your drink,” Mari mentioned. “Then knocked over mine.”
He was impressed that she knew that.
“I'll buy you a drink at the store,” Jackson offered.
Mari narrowed her eyes at him.
“And drug me again? No thank you.”
Jackson snorted. He had no reason to knock her out if she behaved. And other than her attempt to escape a short while ago, she was doing better than expected.
Silence fell over them again as the hum of the engine and swish of the windshield wipers lulled Mari into a conscious state of rest. She shut her eyes and didn’t open them again until the car came to a stop.
Jackson had parked them in the lot of a 24-hour Wal-Mart. He turned off the engine and turned to Mari.
“Remember what is at stake here. If you so much as come off as suspicious, then your friend is dead.”
Mari narrowed her eyes. She knew the deal.
“I got it,” she bit, sharp as a whip.
Jackson got out of the car and walked over to the passenger door, letting Mari out. His hand rested on her lower back as he ushered her inside. It was a bit awkward having him so close to her after how intimate they were before she was kidnapped, but she reckoned he was only doing it to keep her close in case she tried something.
Leading her into the car department, Mari noted that there weren’t many people in the store; there wasn’t even a greeter at the door.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“After 4 in the morning last, I checked,” Jackson answered.
No wonder.
Once he had the repair tape, Jackson took Mari upfront. There were no lanes open, so he used the self-checkout machine to pay. A woman wearing too much makeup stood near the help desk, eyeing them. The name on her shirt read Amy.
“It’s raining pretty hard out there,” she stated.
Jackson forced a smile.
“It sure is.”
Amy raised a brow.
“Where are you two from?”
“Washington,” Mari answered quickly.
Jackson rested his hand on her lower back, almost like a warning.
“We’re on vacation,” he mentioned.
“Oh yeah, where to?” Amy asked.
Mari averted her eyes to Jackson. She too was curious.
“Aspen,” he answered. “It’s our anniversary.”
She nearly snorted. Was he serious?
After a few minutes of awkward chattering, Mari slid her arm around Jackson’s waist and force a smile.
“We’re on a deadline, hon. We need to be going.”
Jackson politely excused them and waved to Amy as the woman watched them leave.
In the parking lot, Mari cracked a grin.
“Aspen? Did you pull that out of your ass?”
“It’s where we’re going,” Jackson merely answered.
As if she had been hit with a ton of bricks, Mari suddenly remembered something.
“My mom is vacationing in Aspen.”
“No one said that being the daughter of the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Defense was easy,” Jackson mentioned. “Enemies are made.”
Did he kidnap her because of her mother? All because of her occupation. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest.
Mari felt sick to her stomach.
The pieces were starting to come together.
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𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 - 𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐲
cillian murphy x f!eader (nsfw)
In which your breeding kink comes to light and causes a night full of undying pleasure with your boyfriend, Cillian.
warnings: smut, breeding kink, nipple play, kind of mentions the idea of breastfeeding (not by Cillian lol), biting, choking, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), pussy slapping, dirty talk, fingering, tongue-fucking
word count: 2039
author’s note: warning I didn't read this after I wrote it so if it flows weird or has repetition or anything, I'm sorry lol I just needed to post this for ya'll!! please reblog/ like or comment if you enjoyed it, I love feedback < 3
main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist | add yourself to the taglist here
Your head is in CIllian’s lap, his fingers carding through your hair gently as the two of you watch a movie. The lighting is dim, candles are lit throughout the living room, and an almost empty bottle of wine sits on the coffee table. You’ve got a slight buzz, and Cillian’s massaging of your scalp is making you dizzier. Kids run and play in the movie you’re watching, and suddenly, a thought pops into your head and comes straight out of your mouth.
“I want kids someday.”
You freeze, holding your breath for Cillian’s response.
You feel a hum rumble through your boyfriend as he continues to play in your hair, “Really?”
“Yeah,” you say, rolling over on your back so your face was toward the ceiling, “I mean, maybe.”
“It’s life-changing. It can be rough, but it’s a beautiful experience raising children,” Cillian admits, looking down at you.
The thought of mothering Cillian’s children sends chills across your body and warmth in your belly. You know he’s probably content with his two sons and couldn’t possibly want more children, but the mere idea of him cumming in you with a purpose turns you on. You have a breeding kink but have yet to bring it up to Cillian, as it’s a risky type of kink. Even though the two of you are in a committed and established relationship, neither of you has ever brought up the topic of having kids together. And going through with the breeding aspect of the kink entails the possibility of pregnancy. At this point in your partnership, though, you don’t bother using protection anymore as you trust each other wholeheartedly. Birth control is still used, however. You don’t have to have kids, of course, but the carnal need to be filled up by someone you love deeply is thrilling to think about.
“I know you’re well past wanting any more kids,” you say, looking Cillian in his enthralling eyes, “So it’s not something I think about too often.”
“I’m open to the idea, but if this is something you really want, we should definitely discuss it,” Cillian says, tracing his thumb along your jawline.
“It’s more or so the process of having kids that has always intrigued me,” you purse your lips, trying to think of how to get your desires across to him.
“You mean sex?” Cillian chuckles, “This sure is an interesting way of asking.”
You roll your eyes, smacking his stomach lightly, “Yes, but that’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
You sit upright, moving over to straddle CIllian’s lap before grabbing his face and kissing him deeply.
Pulling an inch away from his lips, you press yourself into him, “I want you to fuck a baby into me.”
“But-”
“I want you to breed me like an animal in heat,” you whisper, dragging your thumb across Cillian’s bottom lip, “Fill me up with your cum.”
Cillian clears his throat, “I think I know what you’re hinting at here.”
“And?” you search his eyes for any inkling of distaste.
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, my love,” Cillian shakes his head, snaking his arms around your waist as he stands up.
You wrap your arms and legs around him as he kisses you again, teeth clashing against yours. He nearly bumps you into the wall on the way to the bedroom, but you’re too focused on the feeling of Cillian’s mouth and his tongue lapping yours to really care. Finally arriving in the bedroom, Cillian drops you on the bed on your back, dragging you to the edge of the mattress by your ankles. You let out a squeal as he does so, giddiness shrouding you. The bedroom basks in soft light from the nightstand lamp, bringing out Cillian’s taut facial features. He focuses his weight on his hands, which are pressed into the bed at the sides of your head. He hovers over you, his icy blue eyes now darker around his blown pupils.
“A breeding kink, hmm?” Cillian smirks, leaning into your ear, “That’s hot. Good thing I’m into it as well.”
Shivers promptly cover your body in goosebumps as Cillian nips the shell of your left ear, sliding his tongue across your earlobe before taking it into his mouth. He bites it gently before pressing his lips to where your jaw meets your neck, cascading kisses along your skin. Your arms find themselves wrapped around Cillian’s shoulders as he travels to your neck with his searing lips. He then bites and sucks bruises on the column of your throat, marking you as his. Removing your sleep shirt, Cillian finds you have already shed your bra at some point in the evening. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he stares at your breasts, eyes hungry for you. Cillian then puts all his weight onto your abdomen, moving both his hands from around your head to grasp at your chest. He caresses his index fingers over your nipples, exhaling a satisfied laugh when they perk up immediately. Cillian dives his head down, taking your right nipple between his lips and slowly flicking his tongue across the sensitive bud. You groaned, unable to squeeze your legs together for friction as Cillian’s chest was between them. The other nipple is being lightly pinched, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. He continues focusing on your breasts, gradually getting rougher and harder with twists and bites.
“Wanna see your beautiful tits swollen with milk,” Cillian mutters, leaving bite marks on the skin around your areola.
His words cause you to become wetter, your hips involuntarily thrusting into Cillian’s, “Fuck, Cill.”
He massages your breasts, squeezing them and pushing them upward as he plays with your nipples.
“Need you to touch me, please,” you whine, your chest becoming sensitive.
Cillian moves down to your stomach, kissing and swirling his tongue around your belly button, “Gonna make your stomach nice and big with my baby.”
Cillian pulls down your lounge pants, tossing them to the floor. He grabs your hips, his thumbs anchoring you to the mattress as his breath fans across your damp underwear.
“So wet for me already? Ready to take me and let me fill you up?” Cillian nips at the skin of your thighs, his eyes not moving from yours.
“Yes,” you whimper, unable to wiggle your hips from his grip on them, “Need you inside me.”
“Need to prep you first, love,” Cillian kisses the wet spot of your underwear before pulling them off.
His tongue licks a fat stripe from your entrance to your swollen bundle of nerves, his beautiful lips encircling it as he lightly sucks it between his teeth. You can’t help but let out a deep moan at the contact, impatiently wishing he’d fuck you with either his fingers or his cock already. But of course, Cillian loves to tease and take all you have to offer before giving you what you want. He releases your clit, now focusing on your soaking entrance as he laps up your arousal there, pushing his tongue inside you. Cillian moves your hips upward so his tongue delves deeper into you, causing your toes to curl. Suddenly, a finger slides in underneath his tongue, exploring your g spot. You tremble at the feeling as pleasure courses through your veins. Then, Cillian adds another digit as he begins to fuck you with his fingers and tongue simultaneously. You thrust your hips as his free hand guided you to mercilessly ride his tongue and two middle fingers. You can feel the pressure of an orgasm creeping up on you, but you don’t want to cum yet.
“I need you inside of me,” you struggle to speak, your mind cloudy with lust.
Cillian slowly removes himself from your needy pussy, and you can feel yourself clench around nothing. He takes off his shirt, followed by his lounge pants and underwear. His length is hard against his stomach, leaking and ready for you.
“On your hands and knees, darling,” Cillian orders, and you hurry to the top of the bed, hugging a pillow as you lean down and jut your ass in the air.
Cillian flattens his hand on your shoulder blades, running his palm along your spine until it reaches your ass, where he gently squeezes. He spreads you open with both hands and your arousal glistens in the moody light of the bedroom.
“Soaked and ready for this cock, huh?” Cillian pushes your back down even further until your chest and abdomen are flush with the bed.
“Yes, sir,” you say, quivering with anticipation.
Cillian aligns himself with your core, sliding his head along your wetness, gathering enough for him to push in slowly without struggle. Your walls clench around him tightly as he inches into you. Finally, Cillian’s hips are against your ass, and he pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in.
“Fuck,” you sneer, fingernails digging into the pillow.
“Taking me so well,” Cillian grunts, slamming into you again, “Gonna slam my cock into your womb and fill it up with my cum.”
You whine into the pillowcase as his rhythm increases, your body rutting into the mattress. Suddenly, a slap lands on your cunt, causing you to jolt and clench harder around Cillian’s length.
“That feel good?” Cillian leans over you, his face now next to yours, “You’re so wet, I can feel you gushing around me.”
You moan loudly into the pillow as he pounds into your cervix, his head dragging along your g spot flawlessly with every thrust. Cillian slaps your clit over and over with the same rhythm as his thrusts, making you cry out. He grabs a fistful of your hair as he sits back up, pulling your head from the safety of the plush pillow.
“I wanna hear you, sweetheart. I wanna hear you take my cock like the cum-hungry slut you are,” Cillian says, pulling your hair harshly.
“God, fuck,” you scream as he thrusts particularly deep inside you, “I’m your slut. I need you to cum in me, Cill. So bad,” you whimper.
His pace becomes relentless, his hips snapping into your asscheeks forcefully as he takes you from behind. But he then pulls out, lets go of your hair, and flips you over on your back, and you nearly scream from frustration at the sudden emptiness. Cillian wastes no time pulling your legs onto his shoulders and rentering you, grabbing your hips and pulling them forward so he can fuck you as deep as possible. He slaps your sensitive and red clit again, over and over, before reaching his hand around your neck. He squeezes the sides of your throat, dizzying you as he slams his cock into your cervix almost violently. You were definitely going to be sore tomorrow.
“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp as Cillian grasps your breasts, harshly pulling and twisting your hard nipples.
“Do you want me to finish fucking this baby into you? Gonna milk my cock as you cum and feel me fill you up to the brim> Is that what you want?”
“Yes, please! Please, fuck, fill me up, Cillian. I need you so bad,” you moan, throwing your head back.
“Fuck,” Cillian growls, snapping his hips up, hitting you at a new and delicious angle.
It doesn’t take long for you to orgasm, as Cillian gives you one last particularly harsh slap to your clit before rubbing it vigorously. He soon follows with his own, his warm seed filling you as your walls milk him for every drop. Cillian runs his hand down your body until he pulls out, arousal and cum seeping out of you. He gathers some on his fingers before shoving them into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his digits, tasting a hint of yourself mixed with CIllian’s cum.
“Did you want me to take my pill tonight?” you say after catching your breath and letting Cillian collapse beside you.
“Only if you want to,” he says, “But I think we’d have a beautiful child.”
You chuckle before rolling on your side and tossing your arm over his warm chest, “That we would.”
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Coldfire - Pt. I
Pairing: Jackson Rippner x F! Reader
Fandom: Red Eye (2005)
Summary: As if catching his eye wasn't dangerous enough, you just had to tease him.
Warnings: SMUT. porn with plot but the plot is hush hush, non-con, teasing and a LOT of foreplay, semi-public sex, violence, near somnophilia, rough sex, humiliation, degredation, dirty talk, pet names, hair pulling, strangers, power imbalance, ("schoolgirl" university theme, but reader is of age)
WC: 6591
You’d smiled at him. That was all.
And now the man beside you was tapping you on your knee, firmly enough to let you know he wanted your attention. Badly.
Flopping your head to one shoulder, you looked up at him, startling blue eyes catching yours again as he smiled around white teeth. “May I help you?” your tone bordered playful and annoyed.
As if to address you more directly, the young man cocked his head slightly to mimic the motion of yours, smile fading as his eyes narrowed, roving across your features.
“I haven’t seen you around.” His voice was low, soft as silk. Were you not focused, you could’ve gotten lost in it. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
You tapped the end of your pen against your chin absently, looking him up and down. “I just enrolled a week ago,” you answered. “I haven’t seen you, either.”
“It’s my first time taking this class.”
Your eyes wandered to the empty desk in front of him, the space that only his shoes occupied on the floor. He’d dressed for the occasion, charcoal suit jacket and slacks pressed to perfection, silver dress shirt undone a button, but he’d brought no bag. Chestnut hair was swept to either side, settling perfectly over his ears, not a strand out of place, but he had no fucking bag.
A black watched poked from the cuff of his suit jacket.
1:07.
“You don’t say,” you murmured, and drew your gaze from his lazily, your pen lowering back to your page as you turned your focus back to the professor. This was important. You didn’t have time for distractions, even if they looked at you with big, blue eyes and smelled like sandalwood and…
Cinnamon, you realised, as your pen laid its haphazard strokes to the page.
Black ink streaked across the line as he tapped you again, this time on the stretch of bare flesh between your stockings and your skirt. Convenient, you thought. Goosebumps rose where his touch had been, and you sighed, clicking your pen as you turned to face him again, those frighteningly blue eyes boring into yours and his bottom lip nearly turning to a pout.
He was going to be a problem.
“Do you have a pen and paper I could borrow?” He asked, almost apologetic by the way his brows pressed together and his soft voice rose. Almost.
Tension eased from your body as you sighed, the breath having built in your lungs without you knowing, and you reached for your bag on the floor. Cold air kissed your skin where your shirt hiked up from your waist, your fingers rifling around for a loose page from your book and your spare pen. When you came back up, your cheeks were flushed and you had to brush a few strands of your hair from your lashes, but you still caught his eyes venturing lower than they should have for a split second.
“Usually, you bring stuff to take notes with,” you told him, an edge to your tone. As he reached for your spare pen, you pulled it back, a coy smile on your mouth. Something dark flashed in the bright of his eyes. “Often people bring a bag, or something. I’m assuming you forgot that…” you reached the pen out to run along the line of his hair, a strand coming undone and flopping over an unblinking lash. “… when you were doing yourself up all pretty.”
The corner of his mouth quirked, ever-so-slightly, but eyes of shattered ice seemed to latch to your soul, sinking hooks of steel into your chest. He blew a puff of air from his lips, the strand of chestnut hair settling messily over his forehead. You smirked as you handed the pen over, trying to ignore how warm his hand felt as it brushed yours. Repaying him in kind, your fingers brushed his thigh as you passed him the sheet of paper.
His gulp was audible, and you couldn’t help but be pleased with yourself. That would shut him up for a while.
You glanced up at the clock.
1:10.
“You’re one to talk, sweetheart.” That silk voice drifted to you again, and your grip tightened round your pen, the tip stilling on the page. “Bit of a short skirt for the schoolgirl look, don’t ya think?”
This time, when you looked, his gaze was shamelessly glued to the patch of skin above your stockings, and when those blue eyes met yours, you could tell you knew exactly what he was doing.
“Got the hots for the professor, or something?” he pried, biting his lip as he side-eyed you. Your brain went fuzzy at the motion, and you found you couldn’t stop staring at the way those lips parted, the bottom chapped slightly from the dry air and flushed pink from his teeth.
You straightened your spine, hiking your skirt up with an intent that surprised you. “It got you to look, didn’t it?” you almost purred, your teeth running along your lip to imagine, for only a moment, they were his.
It was a game now. He had you where he wanted you, and you knew it.
His watch read 1:11.
Attention sweeping back to the guest speaker, you tried to ignore the blue eyes that darted down to your thigh in the corner of your vision.
Focus, you told yourself, the world blurring at its edges as a heat began to build between your legs.
The guest speaker was drawing a diagram of an atom on the chalkboard. He was some hotshot physicist, recently employed by the military, lecturing at one of the top universities in the state. You were certain it was all very interesting, what he was saying. It was a shame you couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but the vexing stranger beside you.
Of all the days he could’ve picked to sit beside you.
“You want people to look, don’t you?” His voice wasn’t silk. It was poison. His tongue, a knife so sharp you wouldn’t know you’d cut yourself on it until it was too late.
1:13. Your eyes darted from the clock to the physicist, to the board, to the piece of chalk he gesticulated with. He was one of those well-dressed, prissy types who seemed to look down their nose at you when they talked. But you were sitting close enough to the front row that you noticed the faint lines of purple beneath tired eyes, the shadow of stubble growing in along a sharp jaw…
Fuck. Without realising, your thoughts had wandered back to the stranger, and you shot a look at him as if to blame him for all of this.
“Something wrong?” the stranger asked, brow furrowing in something akin to mockery. The bastard, he wasn’t even using the supplies you gave him, that he had asked you for. He was slouched back in his seat, pen tapping idly against a blank page. Why was he even here?
Your eyes darted to the lines of fatigue beneath his bright eyes, to the shadow of stubble along the jaw he shifted.
“You’re not taking notes,” you pointed out, before turning your attention back to the speaker, and then the clock.
1:17.
“Neither are you.”
Your pen stilled and your blood ran cold. Looking down at your paper, you realised it was utter nonsense; something about isotopes, scribbles, uranium, scribbles…
You decided to go back to tapping the pen against your chin.
1:18.
You watched the physicist’s lips move, but no sound seemed to come out. Your blood was starting to pound in your ears.
But the scoff of the stranger cut through the noise like a knife through butter. “How much did they pay him for this?” he said. “An IED won’t detonate without an oxidizing agent… potassium, chlorine, hydrogen peroxide, fuck’s sake, is this paranoia or laziness?”
It was as if he was talking about mundane, everyday things. His voice was so sweet, his words seemingly so benign that you almost didn’t register what he was saying. It was his frustration that caught you off-guard.
1:20.
“Hey, pal,” someone hissed behind you. “Some of us are trying to listen.” Their voice was so jarring in contrast to the stranger’s that you nearly jumped. You were too antsy. Sweat pricked at the back of your neck, stress creeping in to your joints.
Chewing at your pen, your head swivelled to the side. The chatty stranger was staring down the guy who’d shushed him, a familiar darkness flashing once more through his eyes. The darkness, it met you briefly, as he turned back around, taking notice of your attention. He fluffed his collar and smiled. The shards of ice in his eyes melted, jagged edges blurring.
Had you imagined it?
Probably, you thought, your head weighing heavy on your spine as you turned it to settle your gaze once more on the physicist. Hell, you were practically drooling around your pen; it felt wet against the swell of your lip. Murderous glares were apparently your thing.
1:22.
“You know…” A hot breath raked down your neck, and his silken words seemed to unravel in the space between you like a spool of thread, his lips softer than they looked as they brushed your ear. “ … I think you want to catch someone’s attention.”
You froze up, the strings of his breath sending shivers along your neck. Your jaw turned sore around your pen. You shifted in your seat, practically rubbing your thighs together to sate the itch between them.
1:23. Fuck it. You had work to do, but this man seemed intent on getting under your skin. Why not get under his?
“Oh, and that’s yours, is it?” you purred, not an inch between you as you met his gaze boldly. A freckled nose brushed yours, and bright eyes blackened from dilated pupils. His lip caught in his teeth again, and you had to look away to stop yourself from combusting. You thought you saw him smirk.
1:24.
“You sure are glancing at the clock a lot. Got somewhere to be?” he said, and you tensed.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you muttered under your breath, tearing your eyes from the clock and regarding him with a tinge of suspicion, pen rapping lightly against your front teeth.
“Maybe I already know.” He leaned forward again with a sly grin. “You see, you’ve caught my interest.”
“Really,” you purred, biting your pen. He was forward; you would give him that. He thought he was winning this game, this game that only he knew the goal of. Whether you were more excited or infuriated, you couldn’t tell, but your blood burned hot beneath your flesh and your heart raced within your fluttering chest.
Mirroring his grin, you set the pen down, and fixed him with your gaze. “You see, maybe I do want to catch someone’s attention,” you spoke to him in a soft, slow tone. “Not the professor. His bodyguard, in the doorway.” Blue eyes bore into yours so intently, you swore he didn’t blink. “Maybe after the lecture I’m going to drop my notes on the way out. Bend down to pick them up, my skirt hiking up to reveal a pair of lace panties,” your fingers curled around the bottom of your skirt, revealing more of your flesh, his eyes darting down to take in your little show as his tongue caught gently in his teeth. Before he could catch a glimpse of what was underneath, you released the fabric, and it tumbled over your thigh. Blue eyes flashed dangerously as they returned to yours and his smile faded, chest heaving with quickening breath.
“Maybe I stand up too fast,” you said. “I stumble, backing into him. I spin on my heel and apologise and I look him up and down, all-innocent like.” You demonstrated your words, letting your gaze rake across the buttons along his shirt, the simple leather belt above his slacks. When you looked back up to meet his gaze, batting your lashes, it was as if the ice in his eyes had completely melted into pure, white-hot need. This only spurred you on, your heartbeat pounding between your legs as you brought your finger up to a lock of your hair. “Maybe I twirl my hair. We get to talking. We end up in the hallway, on the way to a storage room. Thing is, see…” With your other hand, your finger began to slowly trace up his thigh, making small circles. “… I can’t keep my hands to myself.” Darkness collided with blue fire as you grabbed at his thigh, nails digging in. He looked almost wild, ready to devour you, his perfect hair flopping a little over his eyes. “There are wet floor signs up. No one goes down there. So he grabs me by the hips and lifts me against the wall. Maybe you’ll walk by, catch a glimpse of my heels knocking together behind him. Maybe you’ll hear me whimper, my lips parted and eager.” His eyes darted to your mouth, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he leaned in ever-so-slightly, entranced. As if you were giving him ideas.
Cold washed over your face as you sprang up in your chair, your hand returning to your own lap as you looked at him triumphantly and said, “Or maybe I just dress like a slut because I really want to get an A.”
Yup, you definitely hadn’t imagined his murderous look. Because right now he was looking at you like he wanted to either rail you against the desk or choke you out cold. Maybe both. And if you weren’t careful, you were going to melt under that coldfire gaze.
A sigh escaped a pouted lip as you set your sights back on the rather disinteresting chalkboard. Above, the clock’s hand inched dangerously closed to half-past.
This time, the scratch of his stubble brushed your earlobe and you shuddered beneath his panted breath. “Stop pretending like you care about the lecture. I know you just want to be fucked.”
Time, for one moment, seemed to freeze. Everything went still. People around you were packing up books, but no sound travelled past the deaf ring in your ears, punctuated only by the thud of your heart.
And then the clock’s hand reached 1:30. And the world slammed into you, the screech of chairs against flooring and the bustle of rowdy students seeming to split open your head, and streaks of red and blue and grey moved in front of you – binders, cardigans, hoodies, varsity jackets, all spilling through the aisles in one converging mass.
“I have to go,” you told the stranger, who stayed planted in his seat, staring up at you as you slung your bag over your shoulder and pressed your book to your chest. “You can keep the pen and paper.”
A puff of hot breath warmed the backs of your thighs as you purposely turned your back to him, skirt swishing in his face as you shimmied past.
Smoothing out your clothing, you released a shaky sigh, slipping into the mass of students as if swept up by a tide. The flurry of air sent a shiver down your sweat-dampened neck, and you tried not to focus on how the lace seemed to cling, already messy and wet and used, between your thighs.
As you passed the bodyguard in the doorway, your elbow caught in the crook of someone’s arm, and your notebook fell to the floor. Knees bending slightly, your fingers grasped for the metal bindings, your index snagging one of the rings. The world seemed to spin as you straightened, and when you backed up a pace or so, your ass hit something solid. Fingers ghosted over your hips, and your breath hitched in your chest.
“There you are, sweetheart,” a familiar, silken voice met your ears. Confused, you turned, and a hand settled in the groove of your waist, pulling you close.
“This one, she’s a little clumsy when she’s not on her meds,” the stranger told the bodyguard, and indignation passed across your features, but his fingers tightened around your waist, and his side felt sturdy against you. “Excuse us,” he said, and pushed you back into the flow of the crowd.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” you hissed at him, eyeing the bodyguard as you passed. He disappeared among the many bobbing heads.
“I have a special assignment for you.”
“Look, if you wanna give me your number, I – “
“Will do exactly as I say if you want to live,” he finished your words. “See, you’ve created a bit of a problem for me. It wasn’t meant to go like this.”
“Go like how?”
“You’ll see.”
His fingers were wrapped around the curves of your waist almost possessively, the heat of his palms burning through your thin shirt, guiding you through and from the crowd and into a hallway where the click of your heels punctured the silence and yellow, wet floor signs seemed to race past your vision. His stride was long, yet purposeful, with a contagious sense of urgency, as if he were on a mission, and you couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or excitement that seemed to stir in your belly. Gravity tugged you downward for one cruel second, adrenaline seizing you as your heel slipped from under you, but his body was there to catch you, firm against your spine, and his hand scooped beneath your skirt to grab a handful of skin and lace. You were righted with a startled huff, your ass dragging against a rather prominent outline in his slacks before you were shoved through the doorway.
“Sir, this is the women’s bathroom,” you sassed, as he manhandled you into the room that you hoped wasn’t as empty as it sounded. “I don’t think you’re allowed in here.” The last words left your lungs in a spool of thin air; you nearly went stumbling forward as he shoved you again, this time with the intent to put space between the two of you. Whirling on your heel, you saw him draw a lanyard from his pocket and you frowned.
“Oh, I don’t think anyone will mind,” the stranger said, turning the key in the lock of the door. You narrowed your eyes at him in confusion as a smile stretched across white teeth and bright eyes gleamed with equal parts annoyance and mischief.
“Bit overdressed for a janitor, don’t you think?” You looked him up and down, your heart pounding against your ribs, with nothing but your words to arm you. You glanced at the stalls, all swung half-open.
Darkness flashed through bright eyes, and another lock of chestnut hair flopped over his forehead as he tilted his head down to glare at you, like a wolf would its prey. “Do I look…” He advanced, and you backed up instinctually, ass hitting the edge of the counter. “… like a fucking janitor to you?” His hot, minty breath raked across your face, your painted lashes fluttering, and his fingers snaked through your hair, gathering a handful in his palm and forcing you to look up at him. Fire raced along your scalp, and a sneer pulled over your teeth.
“Hey, the jumpsuits aren’t really my style, either… but if you don’t mind, I have somewhere to be…” The second you pushed yourself off the counter, his weight pinned you against it, the ceramic digging harshly into your spine. Your eyes darted to his watch.
1:35.
Damn him.
“I really think this is more important.” His voice dropped low and husky, caution laced into his growl of a tone, and something about the way you looked at him seemed to make him all the more feral.
You could barely contain your scream as you plunged your neck forward, white-hot pain stinging your scalp as your teeth snapped at his wrist and he pulled; your lips brushed flesh before your head was yanked back in a dizzying wave, and the fluorescent bulbs of the bathroom exploded like fireworks as your skull came crashing against the counter. The sounds of your struggle faded away into a harsh ringing; everything was too bright, too loud, the brilliant white of the fireworks flooding through the thick mass of hair that fell over your eyes. You shuddered, the fight leaving your body, and you were sinking, the world turning on its shaky axis.
A warmth brushed over the bare flesh of your thighs, the curve of your hip, blocking your fall and lifting you almost gently atop a hard, damp surface. Knives of white sliced your retinas as your head rolled back, and you groaned, squinting your eyes shut. It felt as if the knives were cleaving open your skull, smoldering with heat as if drawn from hot coals as your head met another hard, solid object.
A soft tutting filtered through the ringing of your ears, and distantly, a voice spoke to you, edged like the blades that split your skull, “Vicious little thing, aren’t you? Rabid bitch. Gonna have to put you down if you pull something like that again, sweetheart.”
What was he talking about? Why were you in so much pain? Why wasn’t the man reacting to the world rocking back and forth?
“Open your eyes…” The knives began to dull, their edges softening into silk spools. “Look at me, sweetheart… I want you to look at me.” You winced as light flooded your vision, a gentle hand sweeping the hair from your face and ghosting your parted lips before cupping your chin. “Look at me,” he repeated, firmer this time. It must have been important, so you peeled back your eyelids, weary.
The fireworks bled across your blurred vision, and pain tap-danced along your skull, your gut churning but the stranger’s hand steadying you. Navy and grey and white all undulated around the distinct figure of the man, black suit eclipsing the light. Your head was heavy, so heavy that you could’ve toppled, but he still held you firm, and each time you blinked, a new detail came into focus. His hair, dark, messed; his lips, parted, flushed pink.
His eyes, blue. So blue.
“That’s it… good girl.” Were it an object, you could’ve sunk into that voice, let it chase away your pain and soften the fall when gravity finally won you over. A soft whimper came shattered from your lips, suddenly dry. You snaked a tongue between them and felt the sting of your teeth as his hand lowered beneath the weight of your skull. Warmth danced along the flesh of your thighs, stretching your panties taut, a finger brushing the heat between them. Another whimper rose to your tongue, which watered as the spice of cinnamon and the creaminess of sandalwood collided with your senses. The fresh bite of mint, joining the mix as his breath pooled at the base of your neck.
“I think you want to stay awake for this, sweetheart.”
“Wha…” Your lips barely formed a sound as your eyes fluttered, and no sooner did you wonder why he wanted you awake did the thought disappear from your clouded mind, and a jolt travelled from the pool of heat between your legs to the very top of your skull, numbing the pain for a split second of bliss.
Shards of light danced across your vision, black lashes streaking across white, and oxygen raced to your skull as you gasped at the feel of a finger inside you.
“Can’t believe you’ve been wet all this time for me,” the man murmured into your ear, the ringing seeming to soften around his silk voice. “Turns out you were a slut after all.”
“Mm…” The sound came involuntary from your lips as his finger dragged against your velvety walls, curling against just the right bundle of nerves to send a warm tide of relief all the way up your body, your flesh buzzing and your eyes rolling back as the pain gave way to bliss.
“You’re liking this, aren’t you?” the stranger cooed, the cool trace of mint still on the hot breath that flushed your cheeks.
Your hips rolled forward as he wedged another finger inside, needy and pathetically desperate, but you didn’t care. You merely sought the friction of his hand, the release he granted you from the white-hot pain that was beginning to melt like butter into the background. You squirmed around him. His chuckle was warm, and encouraging; your jaw lolled open to uncage your heavy breath, and when he curled both fingers, your world erupted into tremors of euphoria and sweaty flashes of heat. Everything was fuzzy, your mind softening at its edges and your back arching as another jolt came racing through you. Your thighs clenched around him, and, by some cruel twist of fate, before you could tumble over the precipice of rapture, he withdrew his fingers and left you aching, empty, as you slumped over his shoulder, panties snapping back over your flesh.
With your lips parted against his neck, you could taste him, the creamy undertone of his aftershave and the spice of the cinnamon shampoo as his hair tickled your forehead. Even the scrape of the slightest trace of stubble along your nose was strangely comforting. The solidness of his chest, beneath your trembling form, keeping you from sinking to the cold ground.
“Wh-why did you stop?” you finally formed a coherent sentence, though your words came out in more of a whine than anything.
“Because…” The silk threads of his voice frayed as a growl reverberated through his chest, buzzing against your sternum, and sticky fingers, sweet with the scent of your juices, wrapped round your chin and forced your head back so you could look him in those blue, blue eyes. “… I had work to do, until you created a bit of a problem for me.”
Blinking hard, you tried to bring his features into focus, the sharp line of his cheekbones reminding you of the sharp slashes against a chalkboard. With his other hand, he took yours, your nails hooking along the metal buckle of his belt before brought to rest over the outline of his cock through his slacks. Instinctively, your fingers curled, as if seeking warmth, and you felt him twitch in your palm as his jaw clenched and his coldfire gaze devoured you, ice prickling at the back of your neck and molten lava seeping between your legs.
“This is the consequence of your actions…” He pressed your palm harder against the line of his cock, and your thighs shifted, aching for friction. Yearning to feel something more substantial inside you than his fingers. “Your fault… your problem… my slut… ” Now that you were awake enough to hold your own neck up, he released your chin to press his finger to your parted lips. You tasted yourself on him, but it does not repulse you; if anything, the addition to the delectable potion of sandalwood and cinnamon and mint only seems to spur your appetite, moistening your lips as saliva pooled on your tongue.
“Now you have to deal with this problem of yours.” His thumb stroked your cheek, his hips rutting gently into your hand. His lips flushed brighter after he caught them in his teeth, and your eyes traced the bow of them, mesmerised by the lurid colour in your world of black and white and navy.
“Now, I’d have liked to see you getting on your knees for me, would’ve liked to see these pretty lips around my cock, would’ve liked to see what that sharp tongue of yours could really do, but, I think it’s clear you’re a little too out of it for that, so…” He scrunched his face up in mock sympathy, and the slivers of ice in his eyes glinted like knives. “It looks like I’ll have to fuck you instead.”
I know you just want to be fucked, his voice seemed to echo in the empty chamber of your skull, and your brow furrowed despite your hips grinding feebly against the ceramic of the counter. Your heart thudded against your chest, seeming too quick for how slow everything else moved around you, and as he wedged his thumb past your lip, prodding at your teeth, your head flinched back and the blurry image of a clock materialised on the wall.
“Remember…” he said as your eyes focused on the object on the wall, wondering why it was so important to you. “… it didn’t have to be this way. If only you hadn’t resisted… if only you hadn’t been such a goddamn tease in the first place…”
Alarm shot like electricity up your arms, leaving goosebumps, but you couldn’t tell exactly where the hand of the clock was, or what it meant. Your head was still too fuzzy, your memory of how you even ended up here still just out of reach.
“Open your legs,” he ordered you.
“I have somewhere to be…” you mumbled. “Got something really impor –“
“No, you don’t,” he said, barbed wire weaving itself into the silk of his tone. A hand ran between the parting of your thighs, sending shivers along your flesh, causing your heart to pound faster in your core. His teeth grazed your neck as he growled in your ear, “Open. Your. Legs.”
Despite the soft moan he managed to pull from your diaphragm, you didn’t obey, and a huff of disgruntled breath stirred the wisps of hair from your neck as he forced your legs open with a sudden violence that got your heart hammering and your veins singing with fire. You attempted to slide off the counter, finding yourself unable to lift your own weight, and for one moment, you seemed to fall, with nothing beneath you but the harsh pull of gravity.
And then your face was nestled back in the crook of his neck, and those hands cradled your ass, and the hard line of his cock shifted the lips of your pussy apart ever-so-slightly.
“Shhh, it’s all right.” His tone smoothed into a hushed, gentle whisper, and the shift was so jarring that the clock and the urgency and the fuzzing memories of what had occurred before all faded away. “You don’t need to think about anything right now except me being inside you, about how good you’re gonna make me feel, babygirl.” He placed a kiss so soft to your shoulder that you couldn’t help but ease, his soothing voice lulling you into submission. “I’m gonna take care of everything… just so long as you let me do what I like to you… just so long as you know you’re mine… my good girl.” You could feel his lips pull into a smile against your flesh, a hint of darkness creeping into the melody of his tone. “You’re not going anywhere.”
All that existed now was him, and the distracting feel of his cock begging for entrance past your thin layers of clothing, and the heat that came in waves over your limbs as your heart beat too fast for your body. With your mind drawing blanks on your prior concerns and the scent and taste of him against your tongue so sweet, you found yourself giddy, a giggle chiming from your chest as you began to nip playfully at the soft flesh of his neck. Your hand came up to his throat, as if to have some kind of control over him as he did you in this moment, applying force as if to push him away, and beneath your palm was the rumblings of a warning growl.
“You’re not being a very good girl,” he remarked, and in another violent outburst, your spine was slammed against the corner of the counter, and pain shot from your tailbone all the way up to your skull, reminding you of the injury you’d sustained. Your gut churned again as his fingers dug into your sides, twisting you around until you caught a blurry glimpse of your reddened face in the mirror, mascara smeared across your cheek and your lips parted in a sinful gasp.
Bitter cold washed over your thighs as he pulled your skirt up, the sound of a buckle clanging through the slight ringing still in your ears. You barely had the time to process what was happening before feeling the sharp snap of your panties being torn from your thighs, the burn they left against your skin a welcome distraction from the pounding in your skull, and your thighs tucked together instinctively as cold nipped at the most sensitive part of you and his cock brushed teasingly against the line of your legs.
The stranger tutted in disproval and forced fingers between your thighs again, his other hand weaving itself through your hair and grinding your jaw against the cold ceramic of the counter. “No, no, sweetheart… don’t play those games with me,” he reminded you, and a hint of defiance coursed through you, ready to land on your tongue in the form of some venomous remark, when the words, breath and energy were ripped from your aching body and the desire that simmered beneath your surface was finally met.
Your scalp burned as he pulled you flush to his chest, sliding down on his cock, the thickness of him seeming to split you in two. Your eyes shuttered and you panted in exultation, knuckles chafing against the countertop as he began to fuck you, his own breath hissing against the sensitive groove of your neck as he adjusted to your tightness.
You whimpered from the bursts of euphoria that accompanied each thrust of his hips, some rolling over you like a heavy tide that left you trembling and weak, ready to unravel around him, others striking you quick as lightning and threatening to plunge you over your precipice. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hair so tight explored your body as if you were his property, slipping beneath your shirt and groping almost painfully at your breasts. The feel of his thumb brushing across a pert nipple made you arch your back, his cock pushing deeper inside you and causing your whole body to shudder.
“F-fuck – “ you hissed, your hand reaching around to grab at his hair, needing something to pull at, something to sink your nails into as pain blended with pleasure.
“That’s my good girl.” His hot breaths came panted against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin with each thrust. “That’s my good. Fucking. Girl.” Each word came out raspier, growled from the darkest recesses of his chest, and his hips bucked so violently into you, you remembered for a brief moment that he’d had the audacity to call you rabid.
You could do nothing as he left himself sheathed inside you, warmth spilling along your inner thighs as he came, his teeth biting at your skin as your fingers tugged at his messed hair. Still grinding desperately against his length, you stirred a deep, resonating moan from him, and his breath shattered against your neck.
You hadn’t realised just how firm his weight had held you in place until he pulled away, gradually, his hands slipping from your hair and your stomach and twirling you in a daze back around to glimpse soft freckles and sharp cheekbones undulate in your vision. His cock, slicked with his your nectar, brushed your stomach, leaving residue that was warm at first and cruelly cold as he backed away.
“And now you have a mess to clean up,” he told you once he’d caught his breath, swiping a finger across the slit of your still-throbbing heat, gathering the unique elixir of sex and forcing it past your teeth. Your lips curled around his thick finger and you suckled, a moan catching in your throat at the sordid taste.
Roughing the same hand through your wild hair, he flashed a grin at you, and though your vision still swam, it couldn’t obscure the wicked glint in his eye. He looked you up and down, as your weak legs trembled beneath you and you shivered with the cold rush of your sweat and his cum on your thighs. You were sinking again, gravity slowly claiming you, your consciousness feeling as if it might slip into oblivion.
“Do you need me to take care of you, babygirl?” He almost taunted, though his words were woven soft as silk spools again. A hand grazed your thigh, and you shivered beneath his touch. “You need me to take care of you, don’t you, because you can barely stand after getting fucked so hard.”
You could only whimper in agreement as you sank to the floor, thighs still burning from chafing against the counter and darkness teasing the edges of your vision. He wasn’t there to catch you this time, instead busy buckling up his belt. “Fine, fine… I’ll take care of you, just as soon as I finish your job for you…”
Something heavy settled in your gut, and you blinked away the darkness, panic rising in your throat as you curled against the tile flooring. Looking up at him, you watched as he straightened his shirt, groomed his hair back to its meticulously tailored façade, felt spite tinge your tongue like bile as you watched the hand of the clock tick by a fraction.
“So incompetent…” he muttered, his gaze torn between you and his reflection now, trying desperately to smooth out his hair, to brush out the last wrinkles from his suit jacket. “It’s fine. I think I have a new assignment for you, anyway.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, pain exploding behind your temples. “You wha… you… “
Swallowing against a dry throat, keeping yourself upright by the sheer force of your quivering arm and white knuckles against the tile, you watched as he made his way to the farthest stall. The panic wove itself round your lungs, stealing your breath and blackening your mind’s edges again. You flinched as you heard him rifle around in the toilet paper dispenser, the sound familiar to you – you’d done such a thing not even an hour or so prior – until he emerged with the reason why. The black metal of your Ruger was small yet menacing in his hand as he checked the magazine, and pain exploded in your skull as fragments of your mission came screaming back to you, the preparation you’d put into this particular assignment because you knew you were being tested by the higher-ups…
“Seriously, Y/N? You thought you’d be able to hide this up that short skirt?” He shook his head, tutting again as you wondered how he knew your name. Cocking the action caused you to flinch one more time, and asked, voice wavering,
“Who are you?”
“The name’s Rippner. Jackson Rippner.”
Your hand slipped from the tile, and came to your mouth in a silent gasp, the blackness overtaking you as you realised that not only had you failed your mission, but you’d just been fucked by your boss.
The world seemed to narrow and close like the end of an old film, until all you could make out was the silhouette of his cocked head, the flash of white teeth as his lips curled into a smile so dreadful that it would forever etch itself into your memory.
And that was all.
A.N. Please let me know if you would like a Part 2!
Now excuse me while I go hide I've stayed up all night and am posting this on half-dead 7 am brain before I can regret it
PART II HERE
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#jackson rippner#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner x you#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner imagines#jackson rippner fanfic#jackson rippner fic#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy x you#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian murphy#jack rippner#red eye 2005#s: coldfire
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Red Eyes || Cillian Murphy x Reader
summary: You and Cillian take a plane trip and a certain Jackson Rippner steals his spot.
PART TWO to A New Pair Of Glasses
put my vibrator on and smoked a j and then wrote away on this one so i'm so very sorry if it is bad or strange or something.
Enjoy my lovely readers <3
warnings: SMUT!!, unprotected p in v, DUBCON AND NONCON THEMES!!!, Daddy kink, vulgar language, swearing, choking, car/airplane sex / public sex, tight spaces, handjobs, oral sex (f and m receiving + reader sucks on his balls?!), slapping, spitting, claustrophobia, roleplay (Cillian is roleplaying as Jackson Rippner), some mentions of subspace/being in subspace sort of, some more dacryphilia, degradation, overstimulation, talks of FAKE! Explosives and talks of FAKE! plane crashes, biting, fake cheating scenarios, vibrators, and general adult content!!!
LONG FIC!!
18+ MINORS DNI
Standing in the crowded airport, you leaned against Cillian for support as you waited in line to check in your bags for your flight. You were going on a trip to New York, and the flight would be almost eight hours.
"How are you feeling, love?" Cillian whispered, subtly kissing your neck. "You nervous about our flight?"
"I feel a little nervous... yeah..." You nodded, smiling softly up at him. "But we'll be fine... just... you know how I get..."
"It's alright, I'll be right there with you... the whole time," He hummed, resting his chin on your shoulder. The line was long and the waiting was tedious but at least you had the comfort of your boyfriend beside you.
After checking in and waiting for your flight, which wasn't for another hour and a half, Cillian and you decided to stroll along the airport stores, hand in hand.
"What's happening with that interview you have tomorrow?" You asked, leaning on him a bit.
"Oh... erm... I've forgotten his name..." Cillian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's literally something I had written down 'cause I t'aught it was funny..." Cillian groaned. "Oh... it was some bloke literally called Neil Lewis... some American guy..."
"No way," You laughed loudly, and Cillian looked at you, grinning fondly. "That's awesome, what's the interview even for?"
"I betcha a million bucks it's gonna be like sumn' about like..." He said these words while painting the air with his hands to make imaginary captions. "Neil Lewis.... and how he would react to different characters of mine..." He snickered and you laughed.
"That's a fun idea, though! Neil Lewis has always been a sweet spot of mine..." You sighed dreamily. You remembered when you and Cillian had first started talking and were only really doing all that sugar daddy stuff; you watched 'Watching The Detectives' for the first time. Of course, you hadn't seen all the Batman films at that point. You saw Inception when you were high and in some guy's Mom's garage and weren't comprehensive of what was happening except for when that one really sexy guy, Robert Fischer, showed up. That's when the movie had your attention. The guy was kissing your neck, and suddenly Robert showed up, and you didn't give a single shit about how hot the guy kissing you was; you'd look at the TV and moan louder than you did before. Neil Lewis had really awakened something else inside of you, though.
Something a little more tender.
He was just so cute, and as Violet said, 'You're like the sweetest guy I've ever met' (or something along those lines). You were sitting in a cute new little nightgown Cillian had bought you (oh, and a new vibrator with his initials carved in the middle). It was Valentine's Day, and unfortunately, he was in America shooting a film, and he wouldn't be back until the 17th. You were bratty and whiny, but you were grateful, and he knew that; you just liked to get sassy. You put on the romcom, an obvious choice as to why you picked it.
'Watching The Detectives' Starring Lucy Liu and Cillian Murphy.
You were already riled up when you saw him in the opening shot, but as time went on, you grew increasingly jealous of Violet and more in love with Neil Lewis, thus falling in love with Cillian Murphy. You remember calling Cillian up, despite the time difference, and rambling on about how cute he was in the movie.
Anyway... as you walk through the airport together and look at each other with your blazing love. Cillian lovingly kissed you on your forehead as you walked back to your gate.
"So about this flight..." Cillian cleared his throat after you walked along quietly.
"Yeah?" You hummed, tearing your eyes away from the cute dress you saw in one of those window stores and looked to Cillian with a grin.
"I won't be... erm... boarding on with you," Cillian cleared his throat. "I'm sitting in a different part of... de.... er... plane."
"What?!" You exclaimed, eyes widening and grabbing onto his arm tightly as you two swayed along. "What do you mean, Cill?"
"This flight is quite packed... and so I couldn't manage to fit us together so... yer gonna be in first class while I'm in coach..."
"What? Cillian? No... y-you take first class... you need it more than me..." You were pouting at him with the most pitiful eyes.
"No, baby... it's okay," Cillian hushed. "I'm sure you're gonna meet some guy in first class... who you can pretend is me..."
"I would never do that," You whispered, shaking your head insistently as you fiddled with the red ruby around your neck, thinking about Jonathan Crane. "Why would you say that?"
"It's okay, baby... you'll be able to sleep..." Cillian and you walked into a quiet little cafe. "They'll wake you right before we land... I doubt you'll be sittin' next to anyone since you're in first class..."
"Cillian... why didn't you tell me this sooner?" You whined, sitting down right beside him and clinging onto him while you still can.
"'Cause I know you'd never come if you realized we won't be sittin' together..."
"That's a fair point..." You mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder.
After sitting for a while and sipping the teas you had gotten from the airport coffee shop, it was time to board the plane. You wrapped your arms around Cillian and kissed him passionately.
"I'm gonna miss you so much... Cill..." You whispered against his lips breathily.
"I know, baby," He hummed, stroking your hair. "You're gonna do so good for me... you can handle it... I love you so much..."
"I love you..."
You couldn't dare look back as you walked off with just the weight of your onboard bag. You found your seat... and fuck, it was nice, you had plenty of legroom, and you could even push your headrest back so you could lie down. You watched people start to board the rest of the plane, waiting to see Cillian walk past, but he never did. You sighed and rested back in your seat, buckling up for the takeoff that always made you anxious.
"...F7... F8... Oh, here we go..." You heard an American accent from behind you and turned to look Cillian in the eyes. He had styled his hair differently and was wearing a completely different outfit from what he was wearing before. Cillian smirked as he coldly approached, and you realized what he was doing. He was being Jackson. Honestly, you had completely forgotten about that conversation you two had and didn't expect Cillian to follow through with it. "Oh, hello, seems we're sitting together?" He gave you a strange smile as he sat beside you and smirked. "The name's Jackson..." He reached out his hand for you to shake.
"Oh... it's... it's Y/N..." You smiled, playing along. It was unnerving the way he moved and spoke. It was truly like it was just another person who happened to look exactly like Cillian. Jackson shook your hand with a nod before receding back into his chair beside you.
The flight took off, and you clutched onto your seat for dear life, trying to ignore the feeling of having Jackson's eyes on you the whole time.
"You're a very pretty girl..." He hummed once you were in the air and could unbuckle yourself, looking at you with a tilted head and lustful eyes. "You got a boyfriend?" He asked as if he were interested.
"Y-Yes..." You nodded, feeling flustered, playing along with a hidden grin.
"Aw... that's a shame," He cooed mockingly. "If only he had been here... to protect you..."
"Wh-What?" You looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, laughing nervously. He just shook his head, scratching at his stubbly chin.
"Oh, don't worry," He reassured, mocking your trembling lip with a pout of his own. "I'm gonna take good care of you... sweetheart..."
"How... how...?" You stammered.
"You stupid slut," He spat, rolling his eyes at how pathetic you were. "You know how I'm gonna take care of ya..." Jackson's mouth got real close to your ear as he spoke the words, "I'm gonna fill that perfect little pussy with my seed..." He hissed.
"No... you can't... please..." You whimpered. About five or six people were sitting in the first-class cabin, yet luckily, none were sitting in front of you or behind you. "My boyfriend's in the... other cabin..."
"Oh, I know all about your little boyfriend... in fact... in the left pocket of his jacket... you see... I've been taking some sewing classes... and I was in your room one night while you were there, and he wasn't..." He laughed dryly, licking his teeth as he sucked in more air to speak. Your eyes were wide with horror and dismay... yet your legs squeezed together with arousal. "Anyway... as I was saying, in the pocket in his jacket is a tiny... yet very powerful explosive..."
"Wh-What...?" You panicked, speaking a bit too loudly. Jackson slapped a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.
"If you don't do everything I say, I've got the remote here in my pocket and this whole fuckin' plane will go down over the Atlantic," He whispered, only loud enough for you to hear. "Do you hear me, bitch? I'm an impatient man. You're going to do every fuckin' thing I tell you to do or say bye-bye to your boyfriend and the death of everyone on this fuckin' plane..."
You nodded your head desperately, tears slipping down your cheeks. He pulled his hand off of your mouth and wiped your spit off his hand with your shirt. "I understand..."
"Good," He said gruffly, checking his watch. "They won't be bringing out any of the meals for another hour, so I say we have a little... fun while we wait for our meals... and then, of course... there'll be dessert after our dinner..." Jackson smirked.
"We'll get caught... we'll get in trouble," You protested, tucking your knees up into your chest.
"Oh babydoll, don't you know what I do for a living?" He snarked, flashing his sharp teeth at you in that cold, threatening smile. "I know how to do many things... and not get caught..." He whispered into your ear, biting at your neck. "Now open your legs for me. I'm gonna put this cute little vibrator in your pussy, do you understand?"
"Al-Alright..." You slowly opened your legs. Your shorts were loose and thin, so you felt him slip his fingers up your thighs and in through the sides of your underwear.
"Fuck, you're soaking for me, princess..." He panted in your ear as he easily pressed two fingers into your cunt. "Doesn't that boyfriend of yours treat you well enough?" He teased. "I wasn't expecting you to be this turned on... I bet he doesn't make you cum enough, is that it?" His fingers began massaging your already sensitive G-spot.
"O-Oh... god..." Your head fell low as he continued panting in your ear, clearly getting affected by how good it felt to have his fingers inside of you. His cock strained against his tight sweatpants. "Jackson..."
"Wow, you gave in to that easily," He laughed, and you felt ashamed at how good you were feeling and how hard you were trying not to make much noise. It was good. The lights were quite dim since it was an overnight flight... everyone else was asleep or had their earbuds in. "You've gotta stay quiet, don't make me gag you," He demanded quietly as you saw the small pink vibrator that perfectly sucked on your throbbing clit. He slipped it into your underwear and turned it on... it was dead silent, but you could feel the intense vibrations. "Look at you, squirmin' for me, and that's only the first setting." His American accent was sickening and impossibly sexy.
"Jackson... I can't... it's too much," You dug your fingernails into the leather seats, clenching your teeth together. Your pussy quivered as he slipped his left hand into your underwear and covered you in a blanket provided to first-class flyers. Anyone walking by wouldn't even notice where his hand placement was. "I'm too... sensitive... it's too much, Daddy..." You whined, pressing your face into his shoulder and biting down on the material of his coat to quieten your stifled moans.
"Wow, look at that, I've got you calling me daddy..." He snorted, leaning back in his chair as he finger-fucked you and turned up the setting on your vibrator that sent crippling waves of pleasure through you. "Bet your real daddy wouldn't be too happy to hear that sweetheart..."
"You're not... you're not my daddy... it was a mistake..." You mewled quietly.
"I am right now, sweetheart," He took a whiff of your hair and bit back a groan. He was so turned on right now, and he wanted to drag you into the bathrooms and fuck you right now, but he wanted to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible. "I'm your daddy, say it... I'm gonna fuck you so much better than your daddy... gonna show you how a real man likes to fuck."
You caved in on yourself, squirming further into a ball as your entire body tensed. Your pussy clenched onto his fingers. Every time he flicked them out of you, a quiet yet distinct squelch of your arousal would be heard. Your orgasm lit you on fire, and he didn't slow down. In fact, his fingers moved even more precisely against your G-spot, causing you to croak and bury your face in your hands. You saw stars as you gushed around his fingers, and Jackson showed no signs of stopping as you came down from your high.
"Jackson... stop... stop it..." You cried, tears streaming down your face. "It hurts!"
"Oh, shut up, you spoiled brat," He grumbled, continuing to fuck you brutally with his talented fingers. "I saw what you did with that little doctor last week," He chuckled. "Your blinds are never closed... anyone passing by could see you whoring yourself out to other men..."
"Jackson, please... I just... I just need a break..." You whispered, flinching every time he massaged your spongy walls. He slowed down his fingers just a bit, it was enough to give you some relief.
"Does your daddy know about what you did with that doctor?" Jackson chuckled. "Imagine when he finds out about that... and finds out about... what you did with me on the plane..." He was getting off on your tears of guilt. "What a shame..." He whispered. "Especially since this means he'll have to cancel the reservation at that restaurant where... I'm pretty sure I saw him out shopping... the same day you fucked your doctor... could he have possibly bought a ring?" Jackson laughed mischievously. It would sound like someone told a funny joke to anyone else but to you... it was bloodcurdling at the realization of what he was implying.
"N-No..." You whispered, clutching at his wrist to slow him down.
"Would you have married him, or are you too much of a whore to settle down?" You could tell there was a deeper meaning in that question. Obviously, he was still playing along with the character. But you realized he wanted to know if you were ready for him to propose.
"Of... of course, I would have... I want to spend my whole life with him..." You whispered. "I... I... he doesn't have to know about what happened between my doctor and I..."
"I'll keep my mouth shut," He smiled with a rosy blush on his cheeks... burning through his cold demeanor. He grabbed a hold of you and kissed you sloppily, tongues and spit clashing together. He made out with you as he picked up the speed, and he was probably playing a dangerous game here by reaching up and groping at your tits. But the plane was dead silent, and he was getting desperate.
"Oh fuck... oh fuck..." You whimpered as he ran soft circles over your shirt, perfectly teasing your hard nipples. "I'm... cumming...." You whispered, arching your back into his hands, and you heard the familiar sound of him clicking the button to turn the vibrator up. You quietly thrashed around as he milked you for all you had.
"That's it... make even more of a mess all over my fingers..." He cooed, watching you throw your head back with your vision going black. "Such a fucking slut..." He grunted as he pulled his sticky fingers out from your underwear and popped them in his mouth. You watched, still mewling and squirming around with pleasure as you came. He closed his eyes and groaned with satisfaction as he licked his fingers clean. "Open your mouth,"
Hesitantly, you opened your mouth, and he grabbed your jaw roughly and spat onto your tongue. You moaned at the taste.
"Swallow it, bitch," He barked quietly, turning off the vibrator and slipping it back into his pocket. You had no idea how he managed to get that thing through checkage, but right now, you were too fucked out to care. "That's it..." He sighed happily as you gulped his spit down.
"Jackson..." You whispered, chest rising rapidly. "Need a break..."
Jackson scoffed. "You're not gettin' one, princess," He chuckled darkly in your ear. "Right now, you're gettin' up and going into that bathroom there..." He points to the first-class bathroom. "And in five minutes, I will follow in after you... and you're going to take my cock... like a good girl..."
You opened your mouth to protest but he looked away with a firm nod of his head. "Go on, Y/N, or I'll fuck you right here."
You hurriedly stood up on shaky legs, smoothing out your shorts, and tried your best to act casual as you made your way to the tiny stall at the end of the aisle. Jackson's eyes burnt holes in the back of your head. You glanced back at him momentarily to see him smirking at you devilishly.
The bathroom was small and tight, but it was enough to fit you in it {almost} comfortably. The following five minutes were long and torturous as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your once neatly combed hair was now messed up like you had just gotten out of bed. Anxiously and insensibly, you looked over yourself in the mirror, making sure you looked good and fuckable for your boyfriend. Two soft raps were heard in your stall.
"It's me," Jackson mumbled. "Let me in."
You quickly unlocked the door, and just as quickly as it opened, it was closed and locked. Jackson didn't say a word; he just grabbed you by the throat and pushed you up against the wall. Fuck, it was cramped in here with the two of you. He immediately latched himself onto your neck and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to stop you from crying as his hands worked to undoing your top and bra.
"Fucking hell, of course you've got perfect tits," Jackson groaned, lowering his mouth even more to pop your nipples into his mouth. Jackson's mean glare relaxed into shut eyes and furrowed brows of concentration. He moaned into your tits as he now slid down your shorts til you were just in your shorts and your blouse was wide open. "Whore..." He growled demeaningly as he was now face to face with your throbbing cunt. "Look how wet your panties are..." He whispered, tracing his fingers along your clothed slit. "This all for me?" He smirked as he pushed your panties to the side and kissed your clit.
"Oh... oh... god... J-Jackson..." You whined breathily, pushing your hands into his hair as he sucked on your clit like it was a cherry lollipop. His lips sucked harshly on your bud as his tongue slipped down and lapped your arousal up. His mouth was sinfully talented, and with the impending pleasure, you squeezed his head with your quivering thighs. "Fuck... you eat my pussy so good... fuck... oh..." You were giving it everything you had to not scream as he slipped two fingers into your juice-gushing cunt.
You were simply the sweetest of them all. Cillian grew high off of the way you tasted. It was like no other, truly incomparable to anything. None of the ripest and sweetest fruits could even begin to beat the taste of you. He'd happily die right here with your pussy in his mouth and the sound of your pretty sighs. Despite the deafening grip your thighs had on his skull, he was reveling in the way he was completely wrapped up in you. Like you were a spider luring in prey, and now you've caught it. But let's not forget who's in charge here... of course, it's Jackson. He's not eating pussy to get her off. He's eating pussy to get himself off. It doesn't matter if she screams or cries for him to stop. If that's what he wants, he'll drink her up like the essence of life for the rest of time. And oh, how good your fucked out pussy tasted. Jackson made you cum over and over again on his tongue until you were sobbing and trying to shove him away from you, but you were so fucking dizzy and still in the middle of cumming, so you had the strength of a twig.
"Pl-Please... Jackson..." You mewled, tugging on the roots of his hair to get him off of your pounding cunt. "It's too much... please... it's too much... fuck... stop... please!"
Tears were streaming down your face, and with your blurred vision, you looked down to see Jackson's newly opened ice-cold eyes staring straight up at you. You had seen that look from him a million times. You knew how much Cillian loved eating your pussy, and at this point, it wasn't even about being his character but enjoying the feeling of your heavenly sex in his mouth. The look in his eyes was identical to what a blood-drunk beast would look like as it devoured its unwilling and innocent victim. His pupils were blown wide, and his nostrils flared at the sight of your overstimulated tears. And this only made his cock that much harder.
"I'm serious, stop... please..." You whimpered, eyes falling in and out of focus. It truly felt like he was consuming you. "F-Fuck... you've had enough... please... Jacks... Jackson..." Your head falls back as you dissociate from reality. The confined space of being in this airplane bathroom with him wasn't helping with the overstimulation. Jackson had you cornered, as a predator would with its prey, and there truly was nowhere else for you to go from here.
"Alright..." He panted, lips smeared in cum and arousal as well as his own spit. "Time for me to fill you with my fucking babies."
"Just need a break... please... I need a break..." You wheezed, leaning against the wall for support. "Please... Jackson... I don't think I can handle it..."
"Oh, but that's not what your cute little pussy is saying... is it now?" He purred, spreading your folds open with two lazy fingers to peek at the sight of your dripping hole. "I'm fucking you whether you like it or not, princess... don't fucking deny me of what I'm so fucking entitled to..." He growled as he manhandled you into being in a more bent over position. You were completely helpless to him now. "If you even make a noise, I swear to god..." He huffed as he shoved your now discarded panties into your mouth to gag you. You let your head hang low with shame as you heard him undo his belt and zipper. "You're gonna enjoy this, I know you are," He whispered condescendingly into your ear, swiping a falling teardrop off of your cheek and licking it off of his thumb.
Your eyes squeezed shut as he poked at your entrance with the thick head of his cock, slowly teasing it in and out. Not enough to honestly give you anything, but just enough to rile you up. You pressed your ass back into his hips, and he willingly slipped in his cock. Despite how overstimulated you were just moments ago... your pussy changed its mind and decided it needed cock like your entire life depended on it.
"Look at that," He cooed as he slowly rutted his dick in and out of you. "I didn't think you'd fit so snugly around my cock. I thought you were gonna be a loose whore based on all the men you sleep with..." He said, and you mumbled through your cotton panties, but it barely made a sound. "Fuck... I see why he wants to marry you now..." Jackson hissed as he began truly pistoning his cock in and out of you. The wet noises were disgustingly loud, and anyone walking past could hear what was happening and immediately be suspicious. As well as the sound of his hips clapping with your ass as he fed you with his cock. Your mind was completely blank, like a loading screen almost the feeling of his dick was the only thing that mattered to you, your mind barely perceiving anything else.
The claustrophobia you felt before was non-existent, and it no longer was clear to you that you were literally in an airplane bathroom. You felt like you genuinely just were made to be fucked in the best way possible. Only by Cillian, of course... or well... uh... Jonathan... or Jackson...
"Excuse me?!" A knock from the outside pulled you out of your dumb whore state and made you look back at Jackson with a panicked expression. "How much longer are you gonna be in there? I really need to use this bathroom!"
"Too bad, wait for another one," Jackson grunted to the unwanted customer. "I'm gonna be a while."
"For fuck's sake..." The stranger grumbled before you heard the sound of them waddling away.
"You heard that?" Jackson growled in your ear, piercing your G-spot with every thrust of his hips. "I'm gonna take my sweet time with you, princess..." He moaned, hips trembling a bit at how good it felt to fuck you like this. The thrill of doing this was also an aphrodisiac to this situation, only fueling the fire. Of course, you'd done sneaky little things like this with Cillian before, but nothing this... outrageous... this risky. "How will your boyfriend feel about getting back to your hotel to find you full of another man's cum?" Jackson was groaning quietly. He was on the edge of bursting inside of her, but he wanted to hold on just a little longer. "He's not gonna be very happy, hmm?" He laughed at your tears, feeling the way you squeezed around him and told him you were starting another orgasm. And holding on to the edge was getting much harder for Jackson... with the way your cunt was absolutely trying to milk him for his cum.
"Mmmphhff!!" You moaned through your cotton gag, now soaked in your spit. Jackson laughed at the sounds you were making. He grabbed ahold of you by your hair while also keeping a steady grip on your lower back to keep you in place. He yanked on your hair like you were just a doll and looked at your big red eyes, sore from all the crying.
"Keep on cryin' like that, baby," He huffed, squinting his eyes on your orgasmic face. "Gonna spill my load into you cause of how fucking pretty you look when you cry..."
You cried in shame and embarrassment but also in pure pleasure that he was making you feel with his cock alone. You felt the hot spurts of cum begin to fill you up, and with that sensation alone, you felt yourself coming undone again. Jackson used you like a fleshlight, painting the inside of you white with his seed and getting off on how fucking pathetic you looked with tears smeared all over your face as well as your tits hanging out of your top. He looked away from your wet face to your coincidentally gushing pussy. He had never seen you so wet before, and his cock slid in and out of you like a waterslide. His cum was spilling out of you as his orgasm intensified at the beautiful sight of what his cock was doing to you.
"Shit," He hissed. His movements were sloppy, but it didn't matter to you because you had pretty much left this realm with how fucked-out you were. "Fuck, I need you to have my kids," He cried out, and you noticed that little bit of Irish slip out in his shaky voice. "Need to see ya pregnant... and fuck... fuckin' plump with my baby in ya... and... everyone will know who you fuckin' belong to..." Cillian whimpered, his hands now on both of your hips as he stilled himself completely. He shot the last squirts of cum deep into your womb.
He panted heavily as he remained inside of you. You both came down from your highs collectively. He slowly pulled out of you and that softness that lingered in the air immediately dissipated as he pushed you roughly down on your knees, face smushed against his wet cock.
"Lick me clean, slut," He commanded, hand placing your head firmly against his cock. "Want to see how good you are with your mouth."
You closed your eyes as you sucked off his cock. He was biting his lip to keep in the soft moans. His cock was still highly sensitive, but fuck... the feeling of you licking and sucking on him like he was a lollipop or some kind of sweet treat. He watched you with hooded eyes as you kissed down his clean shaft, now only coated in your saliva. Your lips wrapped around one of his balls, and swirled your tongue around them softly. He let out a loud gasp, growing properly hard again at the feeling of your mouth on his balls.
"Fuck... open your mouth... I'm gonna cum again... fucking hell..." Jackson grumbled, pushing you off of him and stroked his cock with his tip on your tongue. "I want you to swallow every last drop..."
"Yes... sir..." You nodded obediently, mouth watering, ready for the taste of his cum on your tongue.
With one last groan, he released his sperm into your waiting mouth. "Oh... fuck... princesss..." He sighed, cum spilling from your full mouth. As you tried to gulp it all down. His cock twitched a few more times before he stopped and pulled away, panting for air.
You licked your cum-covered lips and chin, smiling dopily like you were stoned. He tucked himself carefully back into his underwear and did his pants and belt back up, all while smirking at you.
"Jackson..." You whispered, melting to the floor after putting your underwear back on.
"Cillian, now, love," He whispered, crouching before you to help you back onto your feet. "You did so good for me... I'm so in love with ya..." He kissed along your face, holding you in his arms. "It's okay... baby girl, I'm right here,"
You buried your face in his neck and breathed heavily. You stood there while hugging until Cillian was fully dressed and stepped out. You waited it out in there for a little longer. You looked at yourself with red eyes and a dazed expression on your face. What had just happened to you, if anyone were to see you, was pretty clear. So as you slipped out of the bathroom, you didn't notice the two air hostesses watching you leave the bathroom that reeked of sex and cum now.
Cillian was sitting calmly, reading a book, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were full of love and also a look of concern.
"You alright, baby?" He hummed, stroking your hair affectionately. You nodded and pushed your face into his soft shirt, whining. "What is it? Did I hurt you too much?" He whispered with knitted eyebrows.
"N-No... daddy..." You whispered and he knew immediately what was wrong.
"Oh... baby," He hummed, quickly realizing you could push the armrest between you up, and he did just that, scooting closer to you and pulling your legs over his lap to cradle you more. "You sweet thing... you did so good for me," He praised lovingly, leaning down and kissing you softly. The position was a little suggestive to onlookers but not quite enough to necessarily get you in any trouble. "You're so fuckin' beautiful," He whispered with your spit drenching his lips, teeth, and chin. "Best girl... my best girl," He muttered before placing wet, sloppy kisses on the crowns of your forehead. "I love you..."
"I love you... Cill..." You smiled sleepily up at him, pussy mildly throbbing as you looked up at him. You just felt heavy with love and primal desire. It was hard to even focus on what you were saying or doing. Too preoccupied with taking in everything Cillian was doing. In a way, it was as if you were feeling everything he was feeling as if you had become one in mind and soul, both just existing, eternally connected and synced. It was symbiotic and so full of love. "You take such good care of me..."
Cillian laughed softly and kissed your face harder. "I could never care more about anything than you..." He hummed into your scalp. "You're my girl... you're... my world."
After those six words, nothing else really was comprehensive for you. You two cuddled up for the rest of the flight until you were made to buckle up for the touchdown. The long and treacherous journey of getting off an airplane into one of the busiest airports in the world was all a mind-numbing bore to you, and all your mind could really focus on was that Cillian was by your side with his hand resting on your lower back, guiding you through the maze-like hallways. In fact, you were in a trance at the way his arms looked carrying the heavy bags. You practically drooling with your lips parted, nearly wanting to take a bite from him. His arms drove you crazy, and the pure strength that he radiated from his body... that older, warm man.. sort of energy.
"C'mon, honey, this way, we're catchin' a car," He wrapped you up in one of his arms as he pushed along the trolley with your suitcases on it. "Don't wanna lose ya in New York City..." Cillian chuckled, and you just smiled up at him, silently looking around in amazement. "Still bein' quiet for me? Tha's okay, love, take your time..." He whispered sweetly.
You sat in the back of a black car, headed to a hotel on the city's other side. You sat in the middle, leaning on Cillian to rest as he looked down at you, the rising sun shining on his face angelically.
"Cillian..." You mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm cold."
"Yeah, baby, that's okay... you can hug me, c'mere... let me hold ya..."
This time, Cillian wrapped you up into his arms and ran his hands up and down your body. Checking into the lobby was long and tedious and dealing with Americans and other women ogling at Cillian made you want to puke your guts out. Like... stop looking at him like that. It was irritating the way they looked at you too, but at this point, you were too tired to care.
"Go on, baby... they've already sent our luggage to our room. I'll meet you there... Just gonna get us a snack..." He whispered in your ear as he was speaking to the receptionist. "It's okay..." He slid you one of the key cards to the room and patted you on the back. Hesitantly, you looked at him with a pout before walking to the elevator to find your room.
You were on one of the top floors of the tall building, and the hallways were long and white and blinding. It took you around another ten minutes to find your room. You sighed as you unlocked the door at the sound of a loud *BEEP* and waddled your way in; you let out a bloodcurdling scream at the sight of a man sitting on your bed with a sickening smile.
"Hello, darling," Jackson's cold voice chuckled in the dark. "I guess you weren't expecting me..." He laughed as he stood up from the bed. Your heart dropped, and part of you panicked... stupidly, you knew it was just Cillian continuing this little affair you were having. But part of you genuinely believed that it was Jackson, and you thought Cillian was downstairs, utterly unaware of this. He was so convincing.
"Wh-What...?" You murmured dumbly as he walked over to the door and locked it behind you.
"Oh darling, did you miss me?" His eyes in the dark were still eerily bright and unnerving, pupils blown wide as he looked at you like an owl in the night. "I bet your little pussy did," He said in faux sympathy, his hand cupping you through your shorts. You still hadn't fully recovered from what you two did just four hours ago, or however long it had been. "I can feel how hot you are for me..." Jackson spat. You were so entranced by what was happening that you didn't notice the complete outfit change. He was wearing a full suit. How would Cillian have time to beat you to your room and also get changed into a nice suit? But you didn't care. He was here, and that was all that mattered.
"Jack-Jackson... Cillian will be back... at any moment..." You whimpered as he pinned you against the wall and tugged your shorts down. "He'll... He'll hurt you... for touching me!" Jackson laughed wildly at your whimpering.
"Oh baby, I'd like to see him try," His laugh was sadistic and that of a villain's. "Think I'd... strap him to a chair and make him watch as I fuck you better than he ever could..." Jackson growled, pulling off his clothes. "Imagine how jealous he'd be... seein' me treat you like a whore, taking my cock so nicely... bet he'd never be able to look at you the same way again..."
"Jackson..." You said with tears in your eyes.
"Oh, you gonna cry more?" He snickered as he curled his fingers around your throat and pushed you down onto the bed. As quickly as you fell, he was on top of you, undoing his pants. "Fucking hell... thought about this tight pussy... gonna have to fill it with all of my cum..."
"Pl-Please... I'm still too sensitive..." You whispered and squeezed your eyes shut as he pulled your shorts down completely and ripped open your shirt. He was treating you like an inanimate object.
"Oh shut up, I know you fucking want me," He huffed. Your underwear was pushed to the side now, and the tip of his cock was pressing into your used hole. "Fuck..." Jackson groaned, shutting his eyes as your cunt squeezed around him like a vice.
"Please... I can't... I can't do anymore..." You cried, trying to push him off you, but it was no use. Your arms were like noodles at the moment. "Jackson..."
"Your pussy says otherwise," He laughed menacingly before slowly pulling back out with just his thick head in you. "You're so cute when you cry..." He snapped his hips back into you roughly, and you mewled as he brushed against your G-spot.
"Oh!" You cried. His hands groped at your tits as he began fucking you like some sort of inanimate sex doll. You couldn't deny the pleasure that was mixed in with the pain. It was all-consuming and truly debilitating. "Fuck..." Tears were slipping down your face as your body bounced with each thrust.
Jackson was fucking you like a feral animal, with absolutely no concern as to how you were feeling. Sweat was dripping down his neck, his pelvis slapping against your swollen clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your trembling body. God, it was shameful how good he fucked you. Cillian was really giving it his all to be this character.
"So fucking easy," He grunted. "You're such a fucking whore..." He growled. His American accent was spot on and eerily felt like someone else was talking and not Cillian.
"J-Jackson... you need to slow down... you're hurting me..." You whined as he pulled out of you and shoved you over onto your stomach before shoving his fat cock back in you. "O-Oh!" You choked out, reaching out your arms and gripping the bedsheets. "Slow... slow down... Jackson..." You whined, pressing your face into the sheets as you moaned pathetically.
"Shut the fuck up," He hissed, holding your plush hips in his hands as he rocked you back and forth on his cock. Jackson was loving the sight of your ass bouncing back and forth while he fucked you like a doll. The way he was fucking you was simply animalistic. Like he was the predator and you were the prey, he had found your weak spot, and he was now tearing you open, licking his teeth as he prepared you to eat. "Take my cock like a good girl would, bitch."
"Fuuuuuuck...." You cried out dizzily, mouth gaping wide as he tugged on your hair from behind. It was like a shot out of a porno, the sickening way his skin slapped against yours, or the way his hips were like literal pistons, drilling in and out of you. Meanwhile, the harsh grip on your hair was lulling you into a state of pure sex. You truly did not give a fuck what was happening, too distracted and in love with the fullness of his cock, fucking like all you were good for. "Jackson... Jackson.... please... fuck... please!" You weren't quite sure what you were trying to say. Your brain was no longer in coerce with your teeth and tongue and you were just spewing out broken sentences.
"What? You gonna cum?" He laughed sadistically. "That's right, cum on my dick, get it wet."
"Ernghhggghhg....." You drooled, moaning as he dropped your hair and quickly grabbed at your ass to fuck you further into your orgasm. Gee, you hoped the walls were thick with how loud you were being. With the slamming headboard and the way you were screaming for it, the surrounding hotel guests and people passing by in the hallways outside would surely hear every echo of it.
"So pretty when you're cockdrunk," Jackson grunted. "Bet your pretty boyfriend never fucks you like this... bet he's never got you seein' stars," His American accent made you squeeze. And in a way, he was right. You had never been so thoroughly spent as you were right now, and every nerve in your being was lit in some sort of rampageous flame and was endlessly burning in the pleasure. "Mmmm... I'm right... and you know it." He slapped your ass hard, having you seeing stars hanging around the room.
"J-Jaaaaccck...." You whined, pussy clenching down on his cock.
"Fuck..." He hissed disapprovingly. "Don't fuckin' do that, bitch... I'm not cumming in you yet."
"Please..." You whined. "Please, I need you... daddy... please..."
At this point, you were too dumb to realize it truly wasn't Cillian who was fucking you. You'd never call another man daddy if it weren't Cillian, no matter how in love or obsessed you were with that person, no man could ever be your daddy the way Cillian is. There was something fundamentally twisted inside of you that you didn't realize or immediately recognize the fact that this cock wasn't uncut and was a different shape. But anyway... on with the story...
"Aw... daddy?" He cooed mockingly. "You need your daddy?" Jackson cackled, gripping your hips in a painfully hard way, enough to leave hand-shaped bruises. "That's right, I'll cum in you... you can make me a daddy..." He smirked. "You're gonna take all that cum I give you and make us a fuckin' baby."
"Fuck... whatever you want..." You sighed, still delirious on pleasure. "Please... just want you to cum in me... please..."
Jackson chuffed cheekily and continued using you like some sort of cum-dump. "You're gonna do good in being full of my cum... I think you'll be able to handle it."
You nodded helplessly; your ass and your hips were throbbing with the way he was holding you. A never-ending give-and-take pushing you over the edge over and over again. It was a miracle when he finally came, groaning and moaning.
"Fuck, take it, milk my fucking cock," Jackson moaned loudly, throwing his head back and his hair splayed out on his face. His cum was thick and strong, hitting you like some sort of shotgun. You moaned with each spurt, gasping for air with how much arousal you were spilling from your used cunt.
"Oh... fuck..." You whispered, biting into your arm. "So good... so good... daddy..."
He groaned as he pulled out of you and pushed you down onto the bed carelessly, not even bothering to watch how his load slowly leaked from your pussy or even to watch you finger it back in cherishingly.
"Wh-Where are you going, Cillian?" You asked softly, looking back up to meet him in the eyes. A chill went down your spine at the sight of his slightly longer hair and lighter-colored roots; he stared at you with the face of a thirty-year-old man, not a forty-year-old one. You were so confused and still so out of it.
Jackson just laughed and pulled his pants back on, grabbing his things before waving goodbye as he walked out of the room. What the fuck just happened? Cillian was doing a convincing job at how he was playing this Jackson character. You wondered how long he would be gone for. You needed comforting. You tucked yourself into bed with shaky legs and tears because Cillian wasn't there. You really needed him to hold you and to hear his voice.
Eventually, after about a dozen tears were shed, the door cracked open, and Cillian came with two small plates of cake for you to eat. "Oh baby, was I gone that long?" Cillian whispered, setting the plates down neatly on the bedside table. "I'm so sorry, my sweet girl," He whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed and kissing you on the forehead. He seemed... so... not sweaty... and different. You stayed quiet and just nodded sadly as he pulled away and quickly got changed.
He crawled into bed with you, pulling the covers up, and quickly wrapped you up in his arms. "Daddy..." You whispered.
"Mmm?" He hummed while brushing your hair with his fingers.
"You were really rough with me... just then..."
"What?" He asked with a confused tone. "What do you mean? I'm so sorry... did I sit on your hand or something?"
"N-No... I'm talking about when... you were just in here... doing Jackson..."
"What do you mean?" He sat you up now. You two were sitting in each other's arms and staring at each other. His eyebrows were knitted as if he didn't recall what just happened. "I did pretend to be Jackson... on the plane? Yes?" He nodded, trying to see where you were going with this.
"No... I'm not talkin' bout the plane, silly..." You shook your head, laughing softly. "Just now... in the room... when you... you know... from behind..." You bit your lip, looking down at the sheets that were covering your bare legs entangled with Cillian's.
"I haven't been in here for..." Cillian hummed while checking his watch for the time. "Twenty minutes or so?" He looked back up at you, blue eyes flashing even more confusion. "Did you fall asleep and have a wet dream about daddy?" Cillian teased, leaning in and nuzzling your cheek while giggling.
"N-No! It was real... what do you mean?" You asked, now slightly offended that Cillian was trying to trick you. But part of you was putting the pieces together in your head, even if they didn't make sense. "Cillian... I've still got your cum... dripping out of me..."
"That must've been from earlier," Cillian sighed as he laid you back down, still in a laughing fit. "You're so cute... baby... can't believe you dream about me..." Cillian laughed, not noticing your silence. He looked up at the ceiling with a big grin on his face while you just pressed your face to his chest in hopes of it calming you down. Your eyebrows were furrowed deeply, and your mouth held a heavy frown. "Do you dream about me often?"
"Yes... but this wasn't a dream... Cillian... why are you trying to make that up? I'm being serious..."
"Love, I haven't been in here this whole time..." Cillian said a bit more seriously. He ran his thumb along your cheek lovingly. "You must've just fallen asleep... and had a little sexy dream about 'ye old Jackson Rippner."
"Yeah..."
"I know how sleepy you can get," Cillian whispered before pecking you softly. He talked against your lips, and for a brief moment, as if a screen were flashing, you saw Neil Lewis talking to you hotly against your lips, his breath and yours connected. He had you pinned on the couch. It was straight out of that scene with Violet and Neil on his couch. But as quickly as it came, it left. "We did travel quite a lot."
"Yeah..." You whispered, still taken aback by your vision. "Erm... let's just go to sleep... Cillian... I'm really tired..."
"Okay... yer not upset by me are ya?" He asked softly as you laid down and got into your usual spooning position. You faced away from him with that look on your face.
"No, baby, I'm just tired..." You whispered with red eyes. "Please just hold me... I love you so much..."
"I love you too, darling..." Cillian hummed, kissing along your shoulders. "Goodnight, my love, sweet dreams."
"Goodnight..." You murmured back absentmindedly.
Eventually, Cillian was snoring softly behind you, and though you felt sleepy, you just lay there and stared at the glowing clock face. You truly felt like you were going crazy. Why would Cillian lie to you and say that that was just a dream? You glanced down at your hips, which now held faint purple bruise-like indents from where Cillian had held you so hard. That did happen, right? You didn't dream that. Your dreams are never that vivid... or realistic.
Or maybe you were that tired? You have been traveling a lot. It was literally impossible for a movie character to come to life and fuck you. Right? You're just tired and confused, that's all. It was a dream. You convinced yourself.
Just a dream.
Just a...
Harmless...
Little...
Dream...
You repeated in your head as you let yourself fall asleep.
Was it?
-
EHEHEHEH ENJOY <3 I CAN'T WAIT TO RELEASE THE THIRD PART YAYAYAAYAYY!!!
(there will be a part 3 and it'll be the last part)
#cillian murphy#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy x reader#cillian x reader#cillian x fem!reader#cillian murphy fanfic#peaky blinders imagine#thomas shelby#tommy shelby#peaky blinders#neil lewis#neil lewis smut#neil lewis x reader#watching the detectives#jackson rippner#red eye#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner smut
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Naughty Little Thief
Dark!Jackson Rippner x Theif!Reader
Word Count: +5,416
Warning(s): +18, Non con, Theft, Stalking, Manhandling, Forced Oral (m receiving), Forced Stripping, Forced grinding, Unwanted orgasm, Classism, Verbal abuse, Partial loss of virginity, Rimming (f receiving), Public sex, Humiliation.
Author's Note(s): I'm bored at work and wanted to kill some time before studying. Here's more Cillian content.
It's the holiday season, and you end up pickpocketing the wrong person. He makes sure you'll regret ever crossing paths with him.
You felt bad for what you were about to do. But he didn't seem like he was financially struggling. So of course, you decided to pickpocket the stranger. Deep down you hated it, but there was no other choice. It was either this or going hungry tonight. At the end of the day it didn't matter, money was money. That was the mindset that's kept you alive for so long. You spot the chosen victim, he's a businessman, seemingly in his thirties, wearing an expensive tailored suit. Jackpot.
You wind your way through the crowd of shoppers, scurrying towards the unsuspecting man. You're right beside him, giving a light pinch to his left side. As soon as he turns to find the source, you quickly reach into his right pocket and pull out his wallet, scurrying into the crowd to disappear. That was almost too easy. You could tell by the texture alone that it was expensive. You turn it around and read the embroidery on the flap, 'J. Rippner'. A man who has good taste.
But before you could open it, someone grips the back of your neck. A large leather hand digs into your skin. You cry out, dropping the wallet as both of your hands reach for the stranger's. He turns you to face him. It's Rippner, and he's pissed, "Where the hell do you think you're going? Hm?"
"I...I.." you were at a loss of words. He drags you by the arm into the nearest alleyway. You look around for someone, anyone who would see what was happening and stop him. No one, of course. Who would help a thief like you? He slams you hard against a brick wall, your head throbbing in pain from the impact. It takes you a while to catch your breath as all the air had escapes your lungs. He uses his body to trap yours between the cold stone, caging you with him.
He growls, "You wanna steal from me you thieving little bitch?!", he's fuming, "I should drag your ass straight to the police station," he hisses, his features twisting with anger. You could tell by those cold, piercing eyes that he was not an easily forgiving man. Yet still, you tried to persuade him, "W-wait! Please! I'll do anything! I-I swear!"
Jackson pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering up at down your quivering form. He's thinking of something that would satisfy his growing hunger, "Show me your tits," for a moment, you couldn't believe what he had just said, brows furrowing in confusion, "I-I'm sorry?" you look at him as if he'd grown two heads. He leans in, now grumbling, "Show me those tits, and I'll decide if you're worth letting go,"
His hands grip the front of your jacket as he unzips it. He rips open the buttons off your blouse, ignoring your protests. Finally reaching a lacy bralette hidden under all those layers. He whistles, "Well I'll be damned, you weren't expecting anyone, were you?" he mocks. Your fingers dig into his arms, but it was futile. You bare your teeth at the man holding you hostage, "Go to hell you perv!" that remark only worsens your situation. He drags the fabric down, revealing both your breasts to the winter air.
You gasp, trying your best to cover them. A leather gloves reaches to twist one of your buds. His voice is stern, "I'm sorry, what was that?" pulling harshly at the sensitive nub. You yelp from his touch, retreating in hopes that he would halt his actions. You were wrong, instead that bratty tone from earlier, landed you a harsh slap on the chest. His gloves didn't ease the impact. He delivers strike after strike against your bare flesh. Until both buds began to peak on their own.
He fondles them in his hands, eyeing his work, "Nice tits..." he gives both of them a squeeze, pulling them towards him, "Very responsive..." his deep voice now a purr. All you could do was glare back at him with tearful eyes, trying your best not to cry. You hadn't expected a complete stranger to be so cruel. You, a literal thief.
Jackson dips a finger into your mouth. When you try to bite down, he delivers a light tap on your jaw. Holding the back of your head with an iron grip as he points in your face, "Don't even think about it, I'm not joking I'll drag your sorry ass bare naked down the streets," he threatens. His hands reach around your waist. He yanks your pants down to your ankles. Exposing your bottom half to him.
He takes a look at the panties you were wearing. Staring back at the teddy bear print and smirks, "How adorable..." his fingers slide in between your legs, caressing the now slick folds though the fabric. You turned your head to the side to see if any onlookers would pass by. He notices and angles his body to cover your form. He whispers in your ear, "Shh...I just need you to help me, and I'll help you, then we're even," it sure as hell didn't feel like it.
He reaches around the waist of your panties, slowly sliding off your underwear. He groans at the sight of it, licking his gloved digits before sliding them up and down your slit. You whine from the light, sensual touches. He reaches for your opening, collecting any wetness. His breathing increases, as does yours. He captures your bud in his hand, teasing it until you almost lost footing. You grip his shoulder for balance. He chuckles, "Oh you like that, don't you?" he teases. That earns him a harsh slap.
You were done being his little plaything. No more, you weren't going to whore yourself out to anyone. Especially not to some trust-fund baby. His head whips the other way, strands of his hair now dangling against his forehead. His cheek twitches, as if there were a battle going on inside him, "Oh, you've fucked up now..." both his hands are around your neck, squeezing it as hard as he could. You try fighting back, fingers digging into his wrists.
But it was futile, there was no way of stopping him. When your vision begins to blur and grip starts to weaken, he lets go. You cough hysterically, trying your best to breathe again. He waits until you're done with the dramatics. He grips your chin, eyes boring into your own, "That, was a warning," he pushes both your shoulders down until you're on your knees, "This, is your punishment," slotting his foot in between both legs.
He forces you to sit on his leather shoe, tilting your head to look him in the eyes, "Get yourself off," he commands. By now, you know not to disobey his orders. You try testing the waters, the cold leather felt uncomfortable against your bare mound. It was almost unbearable. It takes a while before you collect any slickness. Your ears getting warmer despite the weather.
Rippner chuckles, he retrieves his foot before you've had a chance to finish. He examines his now wet shoe. He sneers, "Really? You're seriously getting off on me using you like this?" a cruel grin plays on his face. He presses his shoe against your bare pussy, he mushes it against the opening, "Of course you'd like that...you're nothing but filth..." his cruel words made you blink back tears. They feel hot gliding down your cheeks. It almost makes him feel bad for doing all of this to you. But then again, you did just try to rob him.
He sighs, "We've got to do something about that mouth of yours," he suddenly unzips his pants, pulling out his half-hard cock. Your eyes bulge at the sight of it, pressing your lips shut in protest. He held his girth in one hand and your hair in the other. Jackson glides his shaft across your face, his leaking tip smears precum on your cheek. He mockingly taps his cock against your lips. His voice is raspy, "Does this make you squirm?" he knew exactly what he was doing to you with those words.
He pinches the bridge of your nose to cut off any air supply, forcing your mouth to open. He doesn't waste any time shoving his member deep inside. His tip now touching the back of your throat. It makes your eyes water. The corners of your lips rip from the stretch of his girth alone. How it could fit, you hadn't a clue. Both his hands grip the sides of your head, as he begins to buck his hips. He groans, "Oh fuck...you feel fucking amazing..." moaning with each thrust.
He stops himself from going any further. He wants to cum inside, but not in your mouth. No, he'll save it for some other time. He pulls you away from his cock and you're an absolute mess. Spit and tears everywhere. He lifts you by the shoulders, pressing you against the brick wall, again. He aims his tip against your cunt. It takes you a moment to process what was happening. Then in a split moment both of your arms shoot out, "N-no! Not there!" You cried, "Anywhere but there!" your voice starts to break.
Even after losing everything, you still didn't want your first time to be with a complete stranger. He could do whatever he wants, just not that. His long fingers wrap around your neck, adding a bit of pressure as he whispers in your ear, "Oh? And why is that?" genuinely curious. Your answer is faint, almost silent. He didn't quite catch what was said, "I'm sorry, what was that?" he held your jaw in place so he could look at you in the face. There was no way, not at your age. Did he hear you correctly?
You were starting to get pissed off, "I said I never fucked before, asshole!" that had you receive a harsh slap on the ass, "Ow! Ow okay! I'm sorry, just stop already!" that explains a lot. How you managed to leave his gloves and shoe soaking wet. As much as Rippner wants to pump a load into that sweet pussy, he decides to save it for later. Instead, he flips you over, your bare chest now against concrete.
Jackson bites his lips. He can't believe he's getting on his knees for someone like you. He parts both your cheeks, spitting at your rim to get it nice and wet. He flattens his tongue, lapping it against the tight ring before thrusting it in. Your knees began to buckle, you use the wall for support. Pressing your face against the brick. He bobs his head to a rhythm, and you can't stop moaning. His tongue reaching deep inside the muscle. His free hand reaches to rub at your clit, while the other pumps his cock.
After a while he stands up, aiming his now leaking tip against the rim, "This is going to hurt, a lot," he starts to enter, pushing inch by inch. You squeal at the stretch. A gloved hand muffles your cries. He began to give short, small thrusts. He grunts from how tight you were. Almost climaxing from the squeeze you gave. He quickens his pace, wrapping his other arm around your waist for better leverage. From there he went on autopilot, ignoring your pleas to slow down. He simply couldn't, he doesn't want to.
Finally, he releases a load deep inside. You felt his hot spunk coating your insides. Your head felt heavy after already reaching your own orgasm. His head hung over your shoulder. His breathe felt warm, "I've been eyeing you for a while, little mouse," It's true, he's been watching you for some time. You had first caught his eye when his chauffer was stuck in traffic. He watched as you went into action. It was remarkable, that talent of yours.
He's been planning this for some time. Today he wanted to see you up close. He had to know more about you. Even asking his ride to drop him off a few blocks. Jackson purposely took this route knowing that he'd get robbed. He needed an excuse to talk to you, his little specimen of interest. He knew the exactly how you would steal from your victims. Although he couldn't feel the hand reaching into his pocket, it was pinch you gave to his side that indicated him the wallet had already been stolen. That was his sign to take over the situation.
His arms are still wrapped around your upper body, hands now playing with your tits, "I'm Jackson by the way, Jackson Rippner," he tells you while still buried deep inside, "You've been targeting this street for a while now, you live around here?" no answer. You downright refused to entertain him any longer. He gasps, "Oh...that's right I completely forgot..." he grips your hips, slowly pulling out his member. He hisses from the feeling. It's almost too good to stop.
He retrieves a napkin from his coat pocket and hands it to you. When you refuse to take it, he isn't mad. Although you were testing his patience. He helps you get changed, satisfied that you kept his load in. Your panties were probably soaked by now. Once the both of you were decent, he asks you again. Yet still, no answer. For that he lands another slap on the same spot. You yelp from the impact, "Here! I live here!"
"I know that, but where? This is a shopping district, there aren't any homes in this area, so, answer my question: Where do you live?"
You look out the alleyway to a place across the street. He pulls you in, with an arm now wrapped around your waist. From a distance it seemed as if the two of you were lovers. You guide him to where you've been living in the past few months. Right across the street in a small, worn-out vehicle. Jackson raises a brow, "You live...in a car?" he sounds genuinely surprised.
It's the dead of winter. Not exactly the perfect time to be stuck out on the streets. But it was all you had. You turn around to face him, "Yeah well, some of us don't have daddy's money to get us by..." you scoff. He likes that answer. Good, you wouldn't have anyone to miss you. He grins from ear to ear, tilting his head, "If that's the case, you're coming with me," He drags you to a mysterious black car with tinted windows. Your feet drag against the pavement. You' we're too exhausted to fight back.
It felt uncomfortable trying to find a sitting position. Jackson hops in right after, sitting unbearably close to you. He held you close, like a lover would. He sighs with adoration, "You don't have to worry about your things because I'm keeping you," he taps the tip of your nose, "But no more stealing? Got it?" he'd rather not draw any negative attention your way. Jackson then hums a holiday tune, which one you didn't care. All you could think of was how much you regretted ever stealing from him. He held you close to him, stroking your hair before giving a chaste kiss, "Merry Christmas to me, eh?"
#jackson rippner#red eye#dark!jackson rippner#dark!jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner x reader#reader#reader insert#dark fic#dark fanfic#dark smut#dark fanfiction#dark!fanfic#dark!fanfiction#my work#dark!fic#fem!reader#my works#my fics#one shot#afab!reader#fab!reader#cillian murphy character
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Keith keeps popping up in unexpected places.
He appears in the mirror as the scar on Lance's upper lip, acquired the time Keith shoved him down behind a barricade and the butt of his own rifle clocked him in the face. The move had saved Lance's ass, but it still hadn't stopped him from chewing Keith's ear off post-battle for “damaging one of the team's greatest assets.” What did stop him mid-rant, words grinding to a halt on his tongue, was the annoyed huff of, “Don't worry, you're still pretty.” For, like, half a second anyway, before Lance’s brain caught up and he realized Keith was being sarcastic and was definitely insulting him. Lance's hellraising started up with renewed vigor.
Keith appears in the boots that peek up at Lance from the squeaky cabinet of his wardrobe, left behind because Keith was too concerned about waking him the morning he headed out to pick up the Blade member that would eventually kill him.
He lingers in the seventh plate that sits empty at the set dinner table, the one placed there out of habit, then left there as they ate because getting up to put it away felt wrong.
He's in the long dark hairs Lance rolls over in the morning to find stuck to the bedsheets.
He's in the scuff marks on the training deck floor and the sweat that drips down Lance's temple as he increases the bot's fighting difficulty.
He's in the face of the Red Lion - the ship that solidified Keith's place on the team, the place it ended, the spot Lance has to fill.
And when Lance finally makes his way to Red’s cockpit out of his own volition, for Red’s sake, closing his eyes and reaching out to her to offer support in their mutual grief, he finds Keith, again, in the familiarity of the mind link. As Lance’s bond tugs Red’s consciousness to him, he feels her ghost over him. He lets out a shuddering breath. The connection allows the lions and their pilots to communicate and understand one another while also granting them the ability to sense their teammates when they’re bonded in their respective cockpits. It’s welcome - the shared connections are comforting during long flights and necessary in battle. Lance dreams of it when he’s asleep, launches himself from his covers when he feels Keith’s energy flow over him and twine with his, wonders why he never felt the connection break when a blade was dragged across his throat.
Then, Lance’s lungs constrict, freezing the breath halfway into his chest, and his fingers curl tighter around Red’s control arms. A phantom connection whispers along the hairs at the nape of his neck, a specific hum of energy he never anticipated feeling brush against his own ever again.
Blue eyes snap open to take in familiar grey ones staring back, heart seizing at the sight of a mouth set in that stubborn, concentrated frown that says less about its wearer’s emotional state and everything about the intensity of his focus. Slowly, the frown softens, and then turns up gently at the corners.
Keith sighs and leans back against the viewing monitors. “Hey.”
Dead Keith/Red Paladin Lance AU (Part 3/?)
So much of this story is not going to be told linearly and is mostly just a bunch of scenes that are fun for me, but this part felt necessary to share before I start bouncing around.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
You can now read this on AO3 as:
Empty Spaces You Left Behind
#klance#keith kogane#lance mcclain#voltron legendary defender#voltron#vld#fanart#fanfic#red paladin lance#dead keith red paladin lance au#major character death#closing my eyes and hitting post
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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ All Work, No Play ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Moodboard inspired by ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
@slut4thebroken
so vile I loved it, I just had to make a moodboard for it <3
#lana del rey ultraviolence#ultraviolence#cillian murphy fanfiction#cillian murphy smut#jackson rippner imagine#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner#jackson rippner moodboard#cillain murphy moodboard#red eye moodboard#red eye smut#cillian murphy fic#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian murphy#lana del rey#lana del rey vibes#lana del ray#lana del ray aka lizzy grant#lana#lana aesthetic#red eye movie#red eye 2005#red eye#spotify#lilies valley <3#lily <3#lily of the valley#lilies moodboards#moodboard
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sunlight and riverwater - a crooked touch
nsfw version in the server
happy valentine's day everyone!
#eyes_of_the_lamb#act!tav#act!astarion#astarion ancunin#a crooked touch#ao3#fanfic fanart#half elf#fluff#my art#kiss#red eyes#bg3#baldur's gate 3#tav baldursgate#tav demond#tavstarion#happy valentine's day
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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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Past Mistakes Catching Up
pairing: Jackson Rippner x Reader
Summary: You can’t escape him, even if you tried.
Genre: Darkfic
Warnings: Murder threats
Word count: 1.5k
Note: I was troubled with exams for the past two weeks and I realised I was neglecting writing stuff so I decided to write this. (I still have 3 more exams to go through)
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
Breathe in, breathe out.
That was all you could focus on. Don't look at him. You looked out the window, feeling his deadly gaze at the back of your head. Go away.
Breathe in.
“You know, if you don’t want to be cold out on the floor I suggest you start picking up the phone and making this stupid call.” There it is. The man you avoided for the past 7 years, telling you what to do once again. He liked to think he owned you, what a narcissist. Every time you had someone special in your life, he would threaten to kill them and make you suffer till someone realises you were missing. He insisted on you breaking off the relationships via phone call, he thought you would try running away if it was face-to-face, and you totally would. I want this to end.
Breathe out.
With trembling hands, you picked up the phone he was handing out so persistently and dialed your significant other's number. Not everything is sunshines and rainbows as they display in the media.
“There, I did what you want. Now please, please I’m practically begging you, leave me alone Jackson.” You cried, that was all you could do in this situation anyway. He kissed your cheek slowly, making you nauseous. “You’re all mine, baby. I won’t let anyone else get near you.” He cupped your cheek sweetly —to him, it was a sweet gesture but you were terrified for your life— what a nightmare. He would never leave you out of his sight. You were aware of how bad of a person he was. The harsh reality, I suppose.
Breathe in, breathe out.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
#cillian murphy#cillian murphy imagine#cillian fic#cillian x reader#jackson rippner x reader#red eyes#jackson rippner#cillian x y/n#cillian fanfic#dark fic#fem!reader#gender neautral reader#male reader
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Bro I’m cooking 🧑🍳
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Annnd its finished! a comic for @strawbubbysugar 's fic So(u)l! I love this fic so much!! aaa! ..this went through so many changes these past few days I was working on it but I'm happy with how it came out!!
#fnaf#five nights at freddys#fnaf comic#fnaf fanfic#so(u)l#moon#moondrop#moon fnaf#fnafmoon#daycare attenent#daycare attandant#moon x y/n#moon x y/ngineer#y/ngineer#au#daycare attendant x y/n#daycare attendant x y/ngineer#soulmate au#also little detail bc i doubt anyone would notice their eyes in the last panel have blue yellow and red highlights#teehee#peiro art#five nights at freddys security breach#fnaf sb#security breach#i suck at comics but i certainly tried
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The Definition of Valor, part 1 of the To Live with Honor and Bravery series
Part 2, AO3
When Tim had been attacked by Widower, he’d opened with a slash at Tim’s eyes. Tim had dodged, but not quick enough, and the protective lenses had shattered. Tim had attempted to fight through the sudden pain and fucked vision regardless.
Then he’d gotten stabbed in the spleen, which was just shit.
He had only barely managed to drive himself and Pru back to the hotel, his sight full of black spots and nausea-inducing fragmented vision. But he’d done it.
And then he’d woken up to an all-encompassing blanket of nothing .
He could hear some sort of liquid bubbling and sloshing, people murmuring in League dialect, and could feel the bandages wrapped around his face.
Wait.
League dialect.
Tim was terrified, but refused to allow it to show.
Facts. He needed to take his surroundings into account, he needed to gather what information he could before he did anything .
He was laying on a metal surface, but it didn’t feel like a table. Probably a surgical bed.
He was not restrained. Their mistake, King Snake had seen to it that he would always be able to fight regardless of whether or not he could see the enemy.
His face was bandaged, so the Lazarus pit hadn’t been involved. Yet. Tim was under no illusions, if Ra’s thought it was required to make sure his new toy could function, he would gladly toss Tim in the Pit.
Unless this was some twisted new way to exercise control.
Fuck. Fuck . How was he supposed to do anything like this? Casework, Wayne Industries work, patrol, grappling from one building to the next-!
Oh God, grappling .
Would he ever be able to fly again?
He forced his hands into fists to hide their shaking as he lurched up and off of the bed he was laying on, introducing the first person to touch him to the dirt. Then the next, and the next, and the one after that-soon he was standing on uneven ground, panting and surrounded by unconscious assassins as he desperately listened for any other enemies in the room.
The assassins had done him a favor; they’d provided a fight for Tim to ground himself with.
“Little Detective, are you quite done?”
Chills traveled down Tim’s back as he turned to face the approximation of where Ra’s was.
“What did you do to me?” What was supposed to come out as rough and demanding, embarrassingly enough, only managed to come out as a small and broken whisper.
He heard Ra’s take a step closer.
Tim took a step back.
Ra’s chuckled.
“My doctors had just finished removing the debris from your eyes, when I had a thought.”
Ra’s kept walking closer.
Tim kept backing away.
And then Tim could not back away anymore, courtesy of the wall behind him.
“You get distracted, Little Detective, by anything and everything around you; so why not do you a favor?”
No. No , this sick fuck had deliberately -!
A hand gripped his chin and forced his head to tilt up.
“A few drops of perfectly diluted acid was all it took.”
Tim was gonna be sick. He needed to take off the stupid bandages, needed to get away from the creepy old guy fondling his face, needed…
He needed Dick. He needed Bruce.
Fuck, he’d even take Jason .
“The League will be your eyes, Timothy; you don’t need to worry about a thing. Just like blinders on a horse, no? Now you won’t be distracted.”
But Ra’s was no fool; Tim knew that wherever he was had a high chance of being soundproofed, completely isolated, and nearly inescapable.
“I will give you the tools you need to get started, Little Detective, but I expect you to get on your feet and back to searching for the Council of Spiders as promised. You have two weeks.”
The hand released his chin, and Ra’s footsteps stalked away.
Tim sank down and put his head between his knees.
He just needed to hold on long enough to get out of the compound, and then he could call for help.
~~~~~~
He had been given the room Tam was in, so that he would ‘adjust’ better.
So Tam was there when the blindfold came off.
Tim couldn’t see her, but that didn’t surprise him.
Ra’s was many things, all of them bad; but when he was trying to prove a point, he rarely lied.
Tim couldn’t bring himself to do anything beyond stare at where he knew he should have been seeing his hands.
Tam cried for both of them.
Tim was too busy planning to give his emotions more than a passing glance.
~~~~~~
The first thing Ra’s insisted on him learning had been technology.
Tim had already proven that he could still fight, so most of his lessons had been on how to utilize a screen he couldn’t see.
Tim found the current technology for the blind to be infuriatingly lacking, and was in the process of utilizing a text to speech program to create his own code to base assistance apps off of. It was excruciatingly slow going, and Tam had to review literally every little thing he did for typoes, but he created the bare bones.
From there, he’d managed to get his hands on some keyboard braille stickers, and partnered with the voice command program he’d created?
The rest was cakewalk.
~~~~~~
By the end of the week, he knew he’d grown complacent .
He knew where things were in the compound, and felt a sense of ease and familiarity that he did not want.
He was…becoming comfortable.
That was dangerous.
It meant that Ra’s demented plan was working .
Fine.
Tim just had to make sure that by the time he left, there would be nothing to return to.
~~~~~~
Ra’s had made a huge mistake, although it would be some time before Tim let him know it..
He had given Tim access to the armory.
“To make certain that your…outfit is better suited to your new outlook on life,” the dick had said before striding out on almost silent footsteps.
Tim contained himself. Just barely, but he did it.
Ra’s would get his.
Tim would make sure of that.
With the assassins ordered to assist him, Tim managed to create a type of sensory sonar in his cowl.
Added a program to his comm that would automatically hack the cameras around him and alert him in a specialized shorthand of how many people were around him, where they were in relation to him, and what they looked like.
Altered his grappling gun so that it sought out the best place to aim for by itself.
The lenses in his mask were utilized to discern the best throwing angle for projectiles, and provide that feedback to his comm. Otherwise, his comm would use available cameras in the area to direct his aim.
Restructured where his cape attached to his suit, so that it could better function as an emergency parachute should he need it and not strangle him.
The vocal commands required to navigate his tech were shortened to specific clicks and whistles.
Then the assassins were adequately distracted by arguing over the schematics that he and Tam had worked on the night before, he discreetly rearranged the trackers so that they would be easier to remove when the time came.
And if the schematics the assassins had pulled up on their screens also happened to have a tiny little program working in the background?
Well.
Ra’s had given Tim such a gift , and it would only be polite to leave one just as good in turn.
~~~~~~
Tim was three days away from being sent off to face down and finish off the Council of Spiders, and he had gotten into the rhythm of his new fighting style.
The comm in one ear, the cowl alerting him to proximity threats, the grapple seeking out safe areas to aim for-it was becoming as natural as breathing.
So of course, in the middle of a sparring session with one of his ‘helpers’, Ra’s threw out an EMP.
The complete lack of feedback was so disorienting that Tim not only staggered, but stood there without defending himself in a bewildered daze. Well, stood there right up until he got laid out on the ground.
“You must get better, Little Detective,” Ra’s chided from his corner of the room, “You cannot be anything less than perfect .”
The way Ra’s tone changed at the last word gave Tim the chills.
Every single ‘stranger danger’ lecture he’d had in school, every single ‘how to spot a child predator’ lecture he’d gotten from Bruce; they were all flooding his mind.
He didn’t want to know what Ra’s definition of ‘perfect’ was for Tim.
He could not stick around to find out.
But it wasn’t time to leave just yet.
Tim hauled himself up, got into position, and got to work.
~~~~~~
Tim and Tam slept in shifts.
She didn’t like how Ra’s looked at Tim.
She said he looked hungry, that he wore the exact same expression that made her grab her friends and leave bars.
Since they couldn’t leave, she instead suggested the shifts.
He knew that she wouldn’t be given the time to alert him if anything went wrong, but it made her feel better. It made her feel like she was doing something instead of just…waiting.
He understood that.
It was easier to fall asleep with her hand combing through his hair, anyways.
~~~~~~
Tim couldn’t see the explosions, but he could hear them.
He was also cursing himself for not recording them.
Now he had nowhere to turn for comfort that would be associated with Ra’s Al Ghul, and he had to move on and keep moving.
Perfect.
Ra’s would never have him.
~~~~~~
Ra’s had almost gotten him, but Tim had managed to win again.
His prize?
Getting kicked out of a window.
~~~~~~
Tim woke up to the hollow sound of a room made of stone, the quiet steps of another person, and the hum of electrical equipment.
He shifted his head slightly, and the flesh colored comm in his ear started chattering away about his surroundings.
He listened for a few seconds before hauling himself into a sitting position.
Alfred was on the other side of the bunker, the bunker was empty save for the two of them, and the butler moved with the assured air of someone who had no reason to rush.
Then Alfred turned and made his way to Tim, apparently holding a box of some sort.
Alfred stopped a foot away from where Tim sat on the bed.
Then he stepped forward and gently cradled Tim’s face.
Unlike Ra’s, Tim leaned into the touch.
“Oh, Master Tim,” Alfred sighed, brushing his hair out of his face, “What have they done to you, my boy?”
Tim tried to smile.
Given the hug he was wrapped in, he felt it was safe to say he’d failed.
He gave as good as he got, and Alfred was the one to step back from the hug after a good four minutes of it.
“I assume you do not want Master Dick to know?”
Tim shook his head, desperately scrubbing at his face to get rid of all evidence of tears.
He wasn’t ready. The time wasn’t right. Dick would overreact and bench him. He’d be seen as less.
A small box was gently pressed into his hand, interrupting his thoughts.
“Then put these on, dear boy; they will hide the worst of the damage, provided you do not give anyone enough time to realize they are contacts.”
Tim only barely got them in by the time Dick came down to the Bunker, and managed to bullshit his way through the conversation well enough to leave as soon as he could.
~~~~~~
Tim would never get used to contacts, but it was the best way to prevent cursory glances from family and friends realizing that he wasn’t, ah…well. To prevent them from finding out by accident.
No, he would tell who he wanted in the order he desired.
And he definitely wasn’t speeding up that schedule due to his hatred of the little eyeball torture devices.
“Call Kon,” he ordered, leaning back in his chair in the Nest.
When Kon had told him he was alive, Tim had been able to hide his eyes with the cowl and all his gadgets.
When Tim had hugged Kon after he allowed himself to process that Kon was alive, the cowl and all his gadgets had again kept his secret.
But things had calmed down, and Tim was ready.
“Tim? What’s up?”
Oh. This was going to be harder than he’d thought.
The nerves he’d managed to avoid up to that point started making themselves known, a writhing pit of anxiety just under his ribs.
Tim knew he was strong, Tim knew that he’d overcome nearly impossible odds, and he knew that if there was one word that would never apply to him, it was weak .
“Tim? You okay? Your pulse just skyrocketed, man.”
But what if Kon thought he was?
Logically Tim knew he’d just have to kick his ass to clear the air, but mentally?
Mentally Tim was waking up in an assassin compound again, trying not to vomit as an older man far too interested in him to be safe violated his personal autonomy. The same older man who had taken away something as precious as his sight in the name of control, and then called it a favor .
Tim took a deep breath. Then another.
Maybe one more for good measure.
“Tim?”
This wasn’t working.
“Kon, can. Can you come over?”
The line disconnected.
Tim hid his face in his hands and drew his knees to his chest, just as Kon let himself into the Nest with his own personal access codes Tim had granted him.
“Tim, buddy, you good?”
A hand carefully rested itself on Tim’s shoulder, and he felt Kon lean back so that he was leaning on the desk.
“What.” Tim stopped, swallowing.
Kon waited.
Tim took a shaking breath.
“Is there anything that could happen to me that would make you think I’m weak?” Tim had tried to sound controlled, really, he had.
But the words jumbled together, quiet and afraid.
Kon stiffened, the hand on Tim’s shoulder tightening.
“Who do I have to kill?” Kon whispered, his thumb moving in a comforting circular motion.
Tim snorted.
“Not joking, Rob. Did someone…just. Who hurt you?” Kon stepped away from the desk and with very, very controlled movements and a tension Tim could feel through the hand still trying to comfort him, leaned down so that he was shorter than Tim.
“Do you need a doctor? Are you bleeding? Do you need me to stop touching you?”
Tim shook his head no to it all.
“It’s in the past, Kon. It happened…it happened before you came back. I just need you to know I’m used to it now. I just. I.”
Tim took a deep breath and pulled his hands away from his face, turning so that he was facing where Kon was. Like ripping off a bandaid, really.
Kon stopped breathing.
Tim knew that he was going over every time he’d seen Tim, narrowing down who he had been with or around during the time frame he’d provided.
When he started breathing again, it was odd and strangled.
“ Ra’s ,” Kon snarled, starting to stand up.
Tim’s hands shot out and grabbed Kon’s arm.
And even though he could have easily just stepped away, the Super stilled.
“You’re the first person I’ve told,” Tim blurted out, trying to explain why Kon couldn’t leave yet, “Everyone who knows found out against my wishes, but you; you’re the first person I wanted to tell.”
‘ I need you here more than I need you hunting down an immortal assassin ’, though unsaid, hung clearly in the air.
Kon took some deep, measured breaths of his own, and then leaned over Tim to pick him up.
Tim barely prevented himself from kicking out and ruining his precious set up, instead putting Kon in a chokehold that would have dropped any human.
Then they were on Tim’s couch, and Kon was putting on a movie, and in bits and pieces over the night, Tim explained what had happened to him, bracketed on both sides by Kon’s legs as his best friend clung to him like he was going to vanish.
They fell asleep like that, tangled together and safe .
~~~~~~
Kon stared at the wall over Tim’s head, feeling his eyes heating up as he desperately tried not to melt a hole in Tim’s headquarters.
Ra’s Al Ghul.
Ra’s Al Ghul .
Ra’s Al Ghul .
The name kept bouncing around his head, taunting him.
He tightened his grip on Tim, eliciting a tired groan before the shorter teen readjusted and settled down again.
Fuck, he’d deliberately blinded Tim. Tried to force Tim to rely on him so much that he’d willingly join the League. He’d implied that his intentions with Tim were so bad that the civilian he’d been trapped with had offered to sleep in shifts.
That.
Kon.
Kon was going to kill him.
Kon was going to rip him to shreds .
The Red Hood situation had been messed up, but Rob had come back and assured them it had been a misunderstanding.
So Kon had left it alone.
He’d kept an eye on Hood, of course, and was always prepared to take the man out if he ever stepped out of line again, but ultimately he steered clear.
Because Tim had asked. Because Tim had pulled Kon aside and done everything just shy of begging him not to get involved. It was a Gotham issue, it was a family issue, it was a Bat issue, they just needed time, Tim didn’t care about Hood anyways-
So he’d acquiesced.
But Ra’s Al Ghul was different.
He wasn’t a Gotham problem, he was a worldwide one. That meant he was fair game.
The old fuck couldn’t revive if there weren’t any Lazarus Pits.
Kon started trying to untangle himself from Tim, shushing him as his best friend protested in his sleep.
“It’s okay Tim, I’m just gonna go make sure he can’t hurt you again,” Kon whispered, only to be met with Tim somehow managing to shove both his arms up Kon’s shirt in his sleep.
Four more minutes of maneuvering himself, and he was finally freed from Tim’s grip and rising above Gotham. He stretched his hands before curling them into fists; it was time to make sure that asshole never, ever hurt Tim again.
There was a soft puff of air, and Kon stilled.
The Nest, like anything made by the Bats, was soundproofed even against Supers.
But Kon had been so focused on getting to Tim that he’d forgotten to close one of the doors that led to the outside all the way. Just one door, one small crack that sound could leak out of.
“I have to do this, Clark,” Kon whispered, refusing to look at his progenitor.
“No you don’t, Conner,” Kal said, reaching forward and placing a restraining hand on Kon’s arm, “You want to do this, because you know you can do this. But you weren’t the one that was wronged; it was Tim, and Tim wants you here .”
Kon finally turned to look at the older man.
Their relationship was a rocky one, and Kal was not quite what Kon would consider a father figure.
But he knew that Kal was right, and it sucked.
Just as he opened his mouth to put up a token argument, though, something whistled in the air and cut through his jacket.
Stunned, both Kon and Kal looked down to see a very unimpressed Red Robin right below them, flipping another birdarang, but this one had an eerie green glow.
“I know you both can hear me,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “But if you think I’m going to let you steal my revenge from me Kon, you’re delusional.”
Kal started to float a little higher, but Kon’s hand shot out and forced him to stay in place.
Red Robin looked like he was gearing himself up for a rant, and if Kon had to sit through it, so did Kal.
But as Kon floated down to Tim’s level, he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.
Rob still needed to sleep, and Kon would have to trap him on the couch to see it done, but he looked far more alive than he had not even ten minutes ago.
Kal was right; Tim was more important than some old piece of shit in Iraq.
Just. If Kon was ever in the same area the fucker was, there would perhaps be a new red stain on the pavement.
~~~~~~
Life went on.
While Bruce got used to being Batman again, and Dick slowly migrated back to Nightwing, Red Robin spent his nights perfecting his new fighting style, and his days quietly transitioning Wayne industries to be more user-friendly for himself.
None of his rogues noticed, or if they did, they didn’t care.
His fellow Bats definitely didn’t notice, or else he'd have his arms full of a seething, worried Nightwing.
Jason could go fuck himself.
Clark kept his mouth shut.
Tim made sure Clark kept his mouth shut.
And Kon, Bart, and Cassie had mandatory hang outs once a week.
Tim was genuinely starting to get better, he felt, one or two nightmares notwithstanding.
Perhaps…nah.
The Bats were their own special brand of crazy; he wouldn’t make a move until he was certain that Bruce wouldn’t overreact and bench him.
~~~~~~
When Bruce came back, he hadn’t been expecting a lot of things.
He hadn’t been expecting a new Robin, he hadn’t been expecting Clark to clam up at the mention of Tim, he hadn’t expected Dick to privately confide that he would never be Batman again, and he hadn’t expected to only ever see Tim in passing during patrol.
The boy was even going out of his way to avoid the Batcave, and kept communication to a minimum. Something was going on, and Tim was going above and beyond to keep everybody in the dark.
So Bruce did what Bruce did best.
He investigated.
Tim’s fighting style had changed.
He was relying more on sound than sight. He appeared to have installed some sort of tech that alerted him to enemies coming up behind him.
He took a few seconds longer to survey crime scenes, head cocked like he was listening to something.
He rarely looked at what he was observing, but instead tilted his head to the side.
His grapple gun appeared altered, with extra tech in it. It now made strange clicking sounds when it was lined up perfectly with an outcropping.
His suit had been altered so that his cape functioned more like a wingsuit or parachute, apparently in an effort to slow or control a fall.
His precious car only ever went on autopilot, with Tim in the driver's seat leaning back and obviously listening to something.
The mask hid it, but when Tim spoke to one of them directly during patrol, his gaze was always a little off-center.
There was a gap where literally no one knew where the boy had been while Bruce had been in the Time Stream.
Bruce compiled what he’d found, and retreated to the Batcave.
Fact; Tim was no longer using his eyes. High likelihood that this was because he either no longer had them, or they no longer functioned adequately.
Fact; something had happened while Bruce was away to make Tim have a grudge against Dick and Damian, and no one was telling him what it was. However, there was a high chance that his grudge was preventing the sharing of this vital information.
Fact; Tim had altered his tech to accommodate this, which meant it was more than likely permanent.
Fact; Tim was still just as formidable as he had been prior to whatever had happened.
Fact; Tim was unwilling to come clean about it to the family.
Fact; Bruce knew Tim, and knew that the second that information became relevant Tim would tell them.
Fact; Tim was not a liability in his current state. Bruce would not have to convince him of this, as Tim was clearly aware.
Bruce would have to initiate conversation about accommodations in the Batcave to ensure Tim could function just as well as he did in his Nest.
Bruce busied himself doing research on accessibility tech for the blind, and started making notes on how to improve the Batcave. He also started making notes on how to improve certain already existing accessibility products, and potential ways to work with Tim regarding Wayne Industries PR team and his sudden onset of blindness.
If they spun it right, it could potentially raise their stocks as well as open the door to many new charities. Tim had probably already thought of that, so it was a matter of needing to ask him what list he’d already created…
While he was planning that, he extended an invitation to Tim outlining what he wished to discuss. He also mentioned that if his third Robin came early enough, he’d be able to attend brunch.
He’d also included a more personal request at the end of the email.
‘ If you are ready and willing, I believe it is time that the family knows. Otherwise, a simple email response will do .’
~~~~~~
So Bruce had solved it himself and definitely was not going to bench him.
Tim sat at the table, listening to the chaos of brunch.
His eyes itched from his contacts, he had a growing migraine from the unfamiliarity of the environment, he kept grabbing the wrong fucking utensil because it was in the wrong goddamn place, and because everything was so close together he couldn’t pick out what was where by scent.
Cass leaned her leg against his, an invisible sign of support he was eternally grateful for. She’d been the one to find out first, on the highrises of Hong Kong.
But she’d never treated him as less, just rolled with it, proceeded per their plan, and reminded him that she was always open for a spar.
Cass was the best, and he would owe her forever.
The others though, Tim knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that they would overreact.
He was contemplating just…not telling them. Bruce knew, which meant Batman knew, which meant in between the time of receiving the invitation and arriving, the man already had contingencies made.
Also, fuck them.
Damian kept trying to poison him, but either becoming blind had granted him mystical levels of scent or the kid didn’t realize the poisons he was choosing had a strong smell.
Dick kept touching him, and it was throwing him off; he had been reaching for where he was fairly certain the bacon was when the eldest had knocked his shoulder, shifting his trajectory and ending with his hand on the pancake stack.
Cass had laughed quietly at that, the traitor.
But Tim had found that the easiest way to dodge a poisoned morsel was to ask Dick to pass him whatever object he needed. Dick, overcompensating for his stint at Batman, never said no and didn’t ask questions.
It was around the fifteenth time he’d asked Dick to pass him something when Damian finally snapped.
“Drake, the syrup is right there; are you really so incompetent that you cannot reach out and grab it?”
“Wasn’t aware that you thought of blind people as incompetent, Damian,” slipped out before Tim could stop himself.
Table noise stopped, with the exception of the head of the table where Bruce sat. He just kept eating like nothing was wrong.
Fuck it.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
“But it’s nice to know where you stand in regards to the handicapped community,” Tim finished, looking over at approximately where he estimated Damian’s head was.
“Drake, I am embarrassed for you. Pretending to be blind isn’t going to grant you the pity you so crave.”
Oh that fucker . Fine. Fine , if that was how Damian wanted to play, then Tim would oblige.
He would make the newest Robin feel like such a fucking asshole.
Tim had not gone through the shit he had for some fucking pity .
Tim held out his hands in a ‘time-out’ symbol, before tipping his head back and removing the stupid contacts.
With them out, his eyes finally stopped itching.
Truly, a blessing.
Oh yeah, also the horrified silence as he leveled his foggy, milky white-blue eyes at where he’d heard Damian speak. That was a blessing too.
A blessing that did not last for long.
“Yes, Damian. How dare I exist in your presence as anything less than perfect.”
The table erupted with noise.
~~~~~~
After, Tim sat across from Bruce and talked in through uploading his personal programs into the Batcomputer.
Bruce had requested a debrief, but given Tim the option of just filing it electronically as opposed to face-to-face.
Tim appreciated the gesture, but went ahead and did it verbally. He could hear the others lingering in the shadows, trying to be inconspicuous but failing drastically. It would be easier to say it once and be done with it.
So he did.
Around the point of Ra’s dropping the EMP, though, he paused.
“B, grab Dick he’s trying to sneak out for murder.”
He heard a brief struggle, inevitably ending with Dick swearing under his breath as Cass, according to his comm, sat on him.
Bruce had not moved from his place in front of Tim.
Tim leveled an unimpressed look at Bruce.
“Is it really murder if the victim routinely comes back from the dead?” Bruce asked, voice flat.
Oh.
Okay.
That was…a fair point. But.
“Because you seriously contemplated that, you can no longer give me shit for Boomerang.”
“Hn.”
A large, calloused hand gently wrapped around his own and squeezed lightly.
Tim read the apology in the action, and squeezed back.
Neither let go as Tim finished his report.
The cave fell into silence.
“You have done beyond admirably, Tim,” Bruce said quietly, his grip tightening, “And I am proud of all you’ve achieved.”
Holy shit, actual emotions from Bruce.
Tim tried to play it cool, but he could feel his ears heating up.
“I mean, thanks, it’s like. Do or do not, so like. I just. Did.” Oh yes, Drake, very cool. That was definitely a sentence, with words and everything!
He didn’t need the comm to tell him that Bruce was smirking.
He could feel it in the air.
“Thank you for telling us, now we can function better when we have to team up,” was Bruce’s diplomatic response.
Tim nodded, before clearing his throat awkwardly.
Bruce’s grip loosened up, but the man didn’t let go.
“Now, regarding Wayne Industries. You mentioned that you’ve already put together a plan with Tam?”
Oh good a way out of talking about emotions and other gross stuff.
~~~~~~
“Hey baby bird, how’s it going?”
Tim was jostled from his morning civvie walk to the coffee shop by Dick throwing an arm around his shoulders.
Tim shrugged and rolled with it.
“Boutta get coffee and donuts. What’re you doing in Gotham? I thought you had work.”
Dick knocked his head against Tim’s and steered them towards the shop in question.
“I’m on administrative leave for lack of schedule adherence. How about I buy you that coffee?”
Tim smelled ‘overcompensation’ in the air, and smiled beatifically.
“Well, if you insist.”
~~~~~~
“Hey baby bird, how’s your caseload lookin?”
Tim paused the auditory feedback of the report he had pulled up on his screens and faced Dick.
The man had been almost smothering. On patrol, Nightwing was always right there. Off patrol, Dick was always right there.
Like, sure, Tim got away with shoving Nightwing at villains he didn’t want to deal with, and having his breakfast paid for was always nice.
But he could tell Dick was doing to make up for something he’d had no control over, and it was beginning to grate on Tim’s nerves.
It would be touching it if it wasn't so annoying.
Maybe some busywork would do him some good.
“I’ve got about forty-five cases ongoing right now. Want to-”
“Tim, forty-five ? Are you serious ? Give me like, half of those!”
Tim did not have forty-five cases. He only had twenty, and only three of those were marked high priority.
Tim gladly handed over all of his cases except those three over to Dick.
After all, the man had insisted.
Who was Tim to refuse such a generous offer?
~~~~~~
Jason was getting tired of the replacement's bullshit.
Everyone knew, Crime Alley was his .
Maybe a shot in the leg would help cement that tidbit of trivia.
He landed behind the kid and strode over.
“Look, replacement, I’m flattered that you keep trailing after me like a little fanboy stalker, but-"
“You’re right, Red Hood. Boy, do I sure wish I could just replace my eyes with eyeballs that work.”
What the actual fuck.
Why was he talking so loud?
What was he even talking about?
Wait.
“The fuck you mean, your eyes don’t work?”
“I’m blind, dumbass.”
Okay, that last part was said a lot quieter. He was definitely trying to draw attention with the first-
Jason found himself flying in the air, and that was not something he had been attempting to do.
By the time he’d collected himself off of the roof, it was to being stared down by a furious Nightwing.
“Seriously? Seriously . You’re giving him shit for his condition ?”
Behind him, the pretender fucking smirked .
…
He was gonna kill him. He was gonna fucking kill him.
~~~~~~
Damian approached Drake, allowing his strides to announce his presence.
Drake did not even turn around.
Damian cleared his throat.
Drake sighed.
“What do you want, demon-”
“Unlike Grayson, I will not be fooled,” Damian stated drily, holding himself straight with perfect posture, “Being blind has not deterred you from being an accomplished combatant in the least. If anything, it has afforded you the opportunity to prove yourself to Father. I demand a duel, so that Father may know who is superior once and for all.”
Drake’s sightless, pale eyes somehow found his gaze and held it.
“So what happened?”
Damian stiffened.
“I do not know what you-”
“No no, something happened. Normally you’d just try to stab me and be done with it, but now you want a duel . What. Happened.”
Damian felt himself flush, and tried to order his body to cease its mutiny against him.
It did not work.
Drake’s smile grew wider, and he knew that one of his specialized programs had pointed it out to him.
“Father is…most vocal. About how much you’ve accomplished. All the time.”
Confessing that felt like removing needles from his throat, but Damian refused to break eye contact.
Drake’s smile softened.
Disgusting.
“Alright, we’ll duel. But it has to be on even ground, so neither of us has an advantage. No tech for me, no sight for you, unfamiliar footing.”
Damian nodded, trusting Drake’s technology to translate the gesture.
“Lowest part of the caves, two hours. I’d start preparing if you want to prove yourself to Bruce so badly, little demon.”
Damian scoffed, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.
“You as well, Pretender.”
~~~~~~
“Hey Alfred, can you do me a solid?” Tim asked from the armchair he was slouched in, fingers idly gliding over the words on the page.
Alfred walked closer, delicately setting down a cup of coffee on the table next to him.
“Whatever can I do for you, Master Tim?”
Tim held out a fist, and dropped what was inside it into Alfred’s waiting hand.
It was a small rock. Not quite a pebble, but like, a level above that.
“In about an hour, can you drop that over the railing on the side closest to the Batcomputer?”
“Of course, sir,” Alfred agreed, sounding bemused.
~~~~~~
Alfred walked at a steady pace towards the railing that Master Tim had specified, checked his watch, and dropped the small rock.
Then, job done, he turned and went back to his regular duties.
~~~~~~
Damian refused to allow the pitch blackness of the cave deter him.
He stood, waiting for Drake to make his move.
The cave was distorting the sounds that Damian could hear, and he could not tell if he was hearing his own breathing or Drakes.
He-
There!
Drake had fumbled, and announced his position!
Without a sound, Damian darted forward and began the hunt.
~~~~~~
Tim sat at the table and lost himself in Dinner.
It was rare, but both Bruce and Dick had a case that overlapped with one of his own, so all three were working it together.
As it was mostly semantics and number crunching, Alfred hadn’t stopped them from discussing it at the table.
Everything was going well.
A peaceful, uninterrupted dinner.
“Hey, has anyone seen Damian?” Dick asked, sounding a touch worried.
Tim shrugged.
“Told me he was ‘going to train’ to prove his worthiness, or something. Which, by the way, Bruce, do you really talk about me on patrol?”
“I…I perhaps use you as someone that Damian should look up to.”
Bruce sounded hesitant, and Tim’s comm helpfully supplied that his ears had changed color, indicating embarrassment.
“I talk about you too, but only to your titans; same reason,” Dick confessed, with no shame in his voice at all, “They all agree with me.”
“Your efforts to escape a dangerous situation, when everything was stacked against you, and then refused to do nothing less than thrive, are something worthy of praise,” Bruce said quietly, an absolute finality in his voice, “And though I wish you would tell the other heroes about what you went through, I admit it’s just selfishness. I. I would very much like to brag to them.”
Tim felt his own ears turn red, and the table fell to silence.
“...Maybe,” Tim muttered, thinking about it.
~~~~~~
They were lounging in the library, listening to an audio drama podcast, when Damian stomped in.
Tim tilted his head from where it was resting on the armrest.
“Sounds like someone finally realized I wasn’t there.”
“You! You coward, you tricked me!” Damian shouted, and Tim knew without the Comms input that the kid was waving a sword at him.
“Dami, you tried to fight Tim ? You can’t-”
“Cease your coddling Grayson, Drake is more than capable of fighting his own battles and you demean him as well as yourself when you pretend otherwise.”
“Thanks, demon brat.”
“I will hear no thanks from the likes of a treacherous-”
“Boys,” Bruce cut in, papers rustling as he set his work down, “What happened?”
“Drake dishonored himself! He agreed to a duel and did not show up! I spent hours in the cave system trying to find my way back!”
“Tim, did you trick Damian?” Bruce was starting to sound like a tired dad.
“I mean, I thought it would be fairly obvious you were alone down there in my defense. I had no idea you would go further into the cave system.”
Tim heard Damian’s clothes move, and his comm gave him two quick A flat notes.
Tim dodged the batarangs the second they got thrown at his head.
~~~~~~
“Pretender, you have got to stay away from-”
“You’re right Jason, I do pretend that I can see, every day. But I’m forgetting what that was like.”
“God damn it, you know that’s not what I meant !”
~~~~~~
“Alright Tim,” Barbara started, wheeling alongside him, “I just need you to keep an eye out for Rosetti.”
It was a beautiful day, by Gotham standards, and she and Tim were in their civvies.
It was a pity, she really would have enjoyed a good stroll in the park. Perhaps a stop by that one sandwich shop, too.
But she was stuck looking for a small time smuggler with ties bigger than he knew what to do with.
Tim let out a small gasp.
“I see him!”
“Where?” Barbara asked, looked around discreetly before pausing and looking at Tim.
Tim turned towards her and waved a hand in front of his face.
They stood in silence, as Barbara glared at him and he let her.
“You’re hilarious.”
“I try.”
~~~~~~
Dick welcomed himself into Tim’s penthouse, intent on making the best of another day with the brother he’d pushed away.
Because unlike Jason, Tim had come back! And he hadn’t ostracized himself or brought about grievous bodily harm to another family member!
All Dick had to do was make sure he didn’t want to leave again; easy!
“Hey baby bird-”
“Fight me.”
Dick froze, dumbfounded.
“Uh, what?”
“ Fight . Me . I’m getting tired of this weird pity thing you’ve got going on.”
Dick reared back, the words as effective as if Tim had slapped him.
“I don’t-Tim, this isn’t-”
There was a flash of movement, and a literal kitchen knife was embedded to the hilt in the wall a foot away from his head.
Oh shit.
Tim was serious.
That was the only thought he had time for before his little brother was there , and then it was a matter of winning the surprise spar.
Which he did, of course, but it was…
Well.
That had been a hell of a spar, and Dick was going to use Tim as role model material way more often when talking to younger heroes.
He had managed to get Dick to the ground four times before Dick had finally managed to wrestle Tim into a hold he couldn’t wriggle out of.
“That was really good, Tim! Have you been practicing?”
“Damn it Dick, take me seriously!”
Dick smiled sadly, risking a headbutt as he leaned his head forward and gently leaned his forehead against the back of Tim’s head.
“I am, Tim. I’m not doing all of this because I think you’re less capable now, though.”
Tim stilled, panting slightly as he started to settle down.
“Then why are you smothering me?”
“Because I’m happy you’re back, you dork.”
“...Oh.”
Dick snorted, releasing his hold.
“Yeah, oh .”
“...Can you get the knife out of where I threw it? I was making steak and potatoes.”
Dick chanced a glance at the kitchen counter, and felt his smile growing as he noted enough for two people.
~~~~~~
“Fucking-! Imposter, I swear to God, get the fuck out of my turf!”
“Yeah, a lot of days I do feel like an imposter, living amongst people who can-”
“Shut the fuck up and go home, dumbass!”
“ Alright fine, here’s information on a human trafficker I found, geez.”
~~~~~~
“Ah, Tim. Good, hold this while I tune up the Bentley-”
There was a clatter as the wrench he’d tossed at Tim fell to the ground.
Bruce stared at the wrench.
Then Bruce stared at his blind son, in a safe environment where he hadn’t been expecting to need to use his reflexes, to whom he had just tossed it without any warning.
Tim’s wide, pale eyes gazed in his direction in disbelief.
“We will not speak of this,” Bruce tried.
Tim raised an eyebrow.
Bruce folded.
“We will not speak of this, and I will see if I can-”
“And you will attend the Wayne Industries gala in my stead.”
Bruce felt himself flinch.
“...I am busy that-”
“-And you will be a well-behaved version of Brucie.”
Bruce said nothing.
“I will tell Jason.”
Damn it.
~~~~~~
The board of directors were…confused.
There had been a shift in the products the R&D teams had been told to focus on.
They were to research and develop new tools for any member of the handicap community.
Specifically, there was a focus on assistance for the visually impaired.
Then Timothy Drake-Wayne walked in, for the first time he’d actually been to the office in almost a year.
And…yeah, the new focus suddenly made much more sense.
Their CEO had a cane, had clear and obvious eye damage, and was listening to the docket being read to him by Tam.
They discreetly eyed each other.
This…could be useful.
After all, their young, new CEO had been crippled in the worst way.
He could no longer read their body language.
This would be easy.
~~~~~~
It was not easy, and their new CEO was the devil.
It was a sentiment taken literally by half of them.
~~~~~~
Superman and Wonder Woman were making a proposal regarding teamwork in the Tower meeting room, and Batman was the one pitching the idea.
He’d walked up, taken front and center, and began to explain the pros and cons of the suggestion.
Then his phone had dinged.
His civilian phone.
The rest of the League watched in shock as the Big Bad Bat tugged the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen.
And then.
And then he smiled .
It was a little thing, but on Batman? It was the equivalent of a blinding, wide smile usually only found on Captain Marvel’s face.
“Uh, Batman?” Green Arrow asked, cautious.
Batman put away the phone and the smile vanished.
“Yes, Green Arrow?”
“Is uh…are you possessed?”
Batman frowned.
“That is the improper procedure to discern whether or not possession has taken place, and you know it.”
“Okay yeah, you’re fine. Just uh. You never pull out your civilian phone? Got kinda concerned.”
Batman’s shoulders stiffened, and his hand went to the phone again.
“I am just…very proud. Of my son.”
While everyone wondered just what the fuck had happened, Superman almost seemed to explode from pent up energy.
“I know, right? He had… that happen to him, and he just-and then! And then !”
Batman nodded along, as though the Super was making perfect sense.
“I doubt I would have been as tenacious in his situation,” the Bat admitted.
Holy crap Batman admitting he wouldn’t have been as good at something as someone else?
“And he’s still-!” Superman broke off, looking around the room and gesturing helplessly.
Batman nodded again, completely understanding.
The rest of the League was just confused.
“If you would like, I have some of his prototypes in the Cave to…show you. If you want.”
Green Arrow reared back as though slapped.
An express invitation to the Cave? What the hell had happened?
“Yes!” Superman sounded ecstatic, and Batman turned back to the presentation.
Green Arrow snuck out his phone and shot a text off to Roy.
If anyone knew what was happening with the Bats, it would be his son, if only from listening to Red Hood’s bitching.
~~~~~~
He looked at Roy’s response after the meeting, and froze in place.
‘ Red Robin is blind, dunno how, but he’s been using it to drive Hood up a wall. Redesigned all of his tech to accommodate it, still scary efficient. Ttyl. ’
Shit.
Even without the knowledge of how it had happened, yeah. Yeah, Oliver could see it.
Insurmountable odds, an event that would make almost anyone retire from the field, and Red Robin adapted to it and continued on.
He’d be proud too.
…
If he hurried, he’d probably be able to catch Bats and see that tech he’d been talking about.
~~~~~~
Spoiler dropped down from the rafters and knocked out the man below her.
Of all the ways to reunite with Tim, she really hadn’t thought it would be rescuing him from a kidnapping.
It had been super unfortunate; done in broad daylight, with tons of witnesses, and locking Tim in his civilian persona for the duration of it.
She definitely wasn't nervous. Totally. This was just going to be the first time she’d spoken to him like, for real for real since she’d come back and surprised everybody with her not-deadness.
But it was cool.
She’d just saunter in, and save the day, and Tim would definitely forgive her or she’d bring up how nasty he’d been about the pregnancy thing.
It was flawless and she wasn’t relying on emotional manipulation to dodge the ramifications of her actions.
She was just.
Okay.
Okay, maybe she was relying on manipulation like, a little bit.
But Tim did that all the time!
Oh hey that was a weird door.
Steph tried to gently nudge it open.
It was locked.
Steph tried the same approach, but with less gentle and more ‘kick the door down’.
It was unlocked.
Tim’s head jerked up from where he was tied to the chair, eyes wide-
Eyes.
What…was…
They were fogged over, milky, unseeing.
Steph didn’t remember walking forward, just kneeling in front of Tim and gently tracing under his eyes with her thumbs.
Three hours.
He’d been with his kidnappers for only three hours.
And they’d…
“Hey,” she whispered, leaning forward and wrapping him in a hug, “I’m gonna untie you, but I need to finish up.”
Fuck Bruce’s rules.
She was gonna-
“They didn’t do this,” Tim whispered back, resting his head in the crook of her neck, “This was from almost a year ago. Don’t kill them.”
Hmm. There wasn’t really a point in going after them if they hadn’t done this to Tim.
“Alright. Then who did ?”
She’d just hunt down the ones that had .
~~~~~~
Barbara made sure that her coffee table was in the correct set up, that there was nothing on the floor, and settled in with her coffee.
It was time.
Cass was there first, because of course she was.
Tim was next, and set down across from Cass.
All three of them were present.
It was time to begin.
Barbara decided to go first.
“Bruce tried to keep me from a mission because it would require investigating certain areas in person. Pretty sure he subconsciously thinks I’m anchored to the Clocktower.”
Tim and Cass nodded.
“Jason tried to stop me. Said it would be better if he got information. Thinks I can’t talk, still.”
Barbara and Tim nodded.
“Dick almost blew my cover because he tried to carry me while grappling. He thought I wouldn’t be able to do it.”
Cass and Barbara let out sympathetic sounds.
The meeting of microaggressions continued, as it did every 15th, as the trio brainstormed how to beat the incompetence out of their non-disabled partners.
Negotiations fell through, as they always did, when the two options were ‘educate them with a five hour long powerpoint’ or ‘beat them into the dirt every time they do it’.
“Both,” Cass said unhelpfully.
“Tim you’re more than capable, just grab Cass and beat them until they learn,” Barbara tried to order Tim.
“That won’t work if they don’t know how not to do it in the first place!” Tim argued.
The meeting ended in the early morning hours of the next day, and no consensus had been reached.
~~~~~~
Sometimes, Tim forgot.
He would wake up, and have a brief moment of panic at the nothing in front of him, and then remember.
Those days were bad.
Those days, he deliberately got whoever was nearest to be near him and just…be there. So he knew he wasn’t alone.
Dick was off planet. Bruce and Damian were neck deep in an investigation Tim refused to pull them away from. Barbara was having a family date with the commissioner. Steph was having a girls day with her mom. Duke was working on a case he refused to ask for help on, and Tim wasn’t going to pull him away from that.
Kon was off planet, Bart was at a family event, Cassie was at some sort of training camp, Raven was off planet with Dick as was Garfield and Garth, although he didn’t know them as well as his own team.
Only one option.
“The fuck do you want, and why are you calling me?”
Tim swallowed.
“Do you ever dream of the coffin?”
The line went silent.
“Replacement, I need an explanation before I go over there to put you in your own grave to crawl out of.”
“I. I forgot that I was.” Tim took a shuddering breath, “I had a bad dream. There’s no one else.”
The line, again, went silent. Then it was full of rustling sounds.
“You at the penthouse you think I don’t know about?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m making waffles, we’re eating them, and then I’m gonna read and not talk to you, and you’re not gonna talk to me.”
“Sounds good.”
He didn’t necessarily like Jason. It was hard to like someone who had broken his bones and slit his throat.
But he knew Jason had calmed down from his earlier days, and that if anyone would understand the need to just have someone else in the same room, it would be him.
They didn’t need to get along to understand each other.
~~~~~~
Jason ended up reading outloud, voice quiet and soothing as Tim curled up in the corner of the couch.
~~~~~~
Duke was in a little trouble.
Correction, Duke was in a lot of trouble.
Red Robin was in front of him, in the Batcave, and was in the process of taking off his mask.
Duke had just been invited to the Batfamily, he was still learning who was who, and what he remembered of Red Robin was scary.
When he’d been an unofficial Robin, and actual Robin had tried to fight them all, Red Robin had, quite frankly, terrified Duke.
It was like the man was omnipotent; he didn’t need to be looking at someone to know exactly where they were and what they were doing. He’d handled himself in a fight with grace, and afterwards had siphoned through the information he’d needed at an alarming speed.
So Duke knew that Red Robin knew he was there, and was choosing to show him what was under the mask.
Was this what Lira felt like, when she watched those K-pop groups? Duke wasn’t ready .
The mask came off.
Red Robin turned around.
…
That was Tim goddamn Drake-Wayne, the CEO of Wayne Industries and driving force behind their recent accessibility tech.
Holy shit.
“Can I have your autograph?”
Fuck, he hadn’t meant to say that! It’d just slipped out!
Now Tim was laughing at him, and Duke deserved it because he was an idiot.
“Sure, but let’s wash up and go eat first,” Tim agreed, turning and leading the way to the showers.
But Duke’s mouth just did not know when to shut the fuck up.
“So like, if you’re blind, and I control light, I think we should partner up for one or two missions,” Tim paused in his beeline for the locker room, and tilted his head in Duke's direction. Duke, predictably, panic rambled.
“I mean; I can use light bright enough to stun people and it won’t affect you, or I can make it pitch black, and it still won’t affect you, so it’d…be…perfect…I’m sorry I’ll stop.”
“Huh,” Tim said, shrugging and starting his walk again, “Actually yeah, that would be a good team up. Let me know if you need help.”
Duke allowed himself to do a tiny fist pump of victory.
Possible future team up! Yes!
~~~~~~
Lex hated charities.
Not because of the charity aspect, but because of the people aspect.
His only saving grace had been Timothy Drake-Wayne, recently.
“Ah, Mr. Drake-Wayne, how lovely to see you here.”
Timothy tilted his head to the side, and smiled brightly as he turned to face Lex.
Lex expertly dodged the cane that had just tried to swipe his legs out from under him.
“Mr. Luthor! I made it by just a hair, honestly. Traffic always gets insane around this time.”
Lex felt his smile turn feral.
“I agree, the cars lining up all the way back to Gotham are truly a sight to behold.”
“Ah, Mr. Luthor, everyone knows it’s only a car from a real Gothamite if the tires are bald from outrunning the Joker.”
Timothy’s smile had turned feral as well.
The people around them were shifting uncomfortably and edging away.
Good.
“Speaking of; the Joker might as well have designed this event, for how garish the decorations are. Truly, it is a blessing you cannot see it.”
“But Mr. Luthor, the open air concept is something I can get behind. It is a bit of a relief to feel the wind in my hair in the midst of such a crowded venue.”
They both took a sip of their respective drinks.
Indeed, their verbal spar was far more entertaining than the people around them.
~~~~~~
Tim whined, flailing his hand around until Bart gently placed an offering of crackers in it.
“But I don’t want crackers,” Tim sighed, eating the crackers.
“Sorry man, blame your immune system; that’s the only thing that’s staying down.”
Tim followed the suggestion, and blamed his shitty immune system.
“Is there a way to just…take a pill and grow a new spleen? Like in Star Trek?” Tim asked, demanding another offering of crackers with his grabby hands.
“Sorry dude, that never actually took off. The future kinda sucked.”
Tim allowed Cassie to hoist him into a sitting position and place the horsepill antibiotics in his hand.
“Come on, birdbrain, time to do some selfcare healthcare.”
Tim leaned away from Cassie and into Kon, silently begging his to save him from Cassie’s evil ways.
Kon laughed at him, the jerk.
“C’mon, Tim, take the pills.”
Tim cursed his lack of spleen.
~~~~~~
Bruce was on his best Brucie behavior at another gala, per his agreement with Tim.
“It’s just such a shame, such a shame,” Miss Lutz said for the fifteenth time, “such a bright young boy, and he had his future just stripped from him!”
“Indeed, he’ll be lucky if the board lets him stay on past this quarter,” Mr. Stephanz agreed, nodding vigorously, “Pity positions can’t compete in the real world of business, after all.”
Bruce frowned.
Bruce tuned his ears to focus on the people behind him.
All of it was variations about how unfortunate Tim was, how he was lucky the board let him keep his position, how his life was ruined , how he would never be able to excel in life or get married or any other number of inane things that didn’t matter.
Bruce tapped the champagne glass in his hand.
Tim had told him to be on his best Brucie behavior.
But Brucie did not behave.
The glass was promptly dumped on Miss Lutz, and the hand not holding it made a fist that landed squarely in Mr. Stephanz face.
Yes, this was perfectly in line with Brucie.
~~~~~~
Alfred drove in stony silence.
Bruce stared out the passenger window, avoiding the silence.
“I do hope,” the butler started, knuckles white on the wheel, “that you had a very good reason for making me pay bail to get The Bruce Wayne out of jail for assault .”
Bruce cleared his throat.
“Gotham High Society appears to be under the impression that Tim is incompetent. I just behaved as Brucie would.”
The silence returned.
“Then you will be pleased to know that on top of breaking Mr. Stephanz nose, you broke his jaw. He will need reconstructive surgery.”
Alfred was right. Bruce was pleased to know that.
~~~~~~
The alien invasion was a pain, especially when they resorted to EMPs to take out the hero’s tech.
Red Robin found himself supported by Green Arrow, who had immediately ditched his high ground to assist.
“How long does your tech need to reboot?” The older man asked, bow string snapping as he took out the snipers Red Robin couldn’t dodge.
“It’ll need about fifteen minutes for basic function, and I’m going to have to replace a few things to get the rest going,” Red Robin replied, laying into the aliens that got too close like an elderly woman beating dirt out of a rug.
“Need a pair of eyes while you wait?”
“Only the best.”
~~~~~~
Damian faced down his grandfather’s minions, back straight and no fear in his eyes.
Drake had faced them down with far less of an advantage, and he had won.
So Damian would win too.
There was no other option.
~~~~~~
When Tim had woken up to a vast canvas of blank nothing, he had thought that his world was over.
But as Tim donned his new hero moniker, he felt like his life was just getting started.
Rook walked into the streets of Gotham, head held high and cape flaring dramatically behind him, just the way he liked it.
#tim drake#blind tim au#fanfic#eye trauma tw#creepy ra's al ghul#batman#red robin#tim chooses a new moniker by the end#this was a monster#one shot#to live with honor and bravery series
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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!
MASTERLIST • REQUEST
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#jackson rippner#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner x you#jackson rippner smut#jackson rippner imagines#jackson rippner fanfic#jackson rippner fic#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy x you#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian murphy#jack rippner#red eye 2005#s: coldfire
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Your Dog || Jackson Rippner x Reader
smutty blurb enjoy <3
warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (m receiving), Facefucking, Semi-Pet Play but like not fully???, Leashes/collars, slapping, degradation, Jackson is mean in this (when isn't he though), pet names, use of the title 'Master', ADULT CONTENT!!! 18+ MINORS DNI!!!
smut under the cut <3
"Good puppy... that's it... good fuckin' puppy..." Jackson groaned, tugging on your leash even harder as he fucked your throat. Drool ran out from your parted lips, which were painfully stretched around his thick cock. He was fucking your face relentlessly with no consideration for if you could breathe or not. The back of your throat was sore and your jaw ached but you tried your best to take it. Just like the drool and bile that came up your throat, tears were wetting your face as they streamed endlessly from your eyes.
"Oh... don't look at me like that, puppy... I know you like being used like this." He had a triumphant grin on his face, smug with pleasure and power. "Your tears only make me even more hard."
You couldn't respond. How could you with his dick shoved down your throat? His hips stuttered and with each buck of his pelvis, his balls slapped your chin. Frankly, it was embarrassing. Your eyes fluttered shut at the stinging in your eyes but were quickly met with the palm of his hand hitting your face.
"Keep your eyes open bitch," Jackson hissed, slapping you with the back of his hand again as your eyes shoot open. He smirked, pleased as he bucked his hips into your mouth again. "Want you to look me in the eyes when I cum down your throat."
You could tell he was going to cum soon by the way his stomach tightened and his chest heaved, continuing to rock in and out of your mouth.
"Fuck... fuuuckk...." Jackson's voice was whiny, sounding like a real porn star as he bounced your head in between his spread legs. Slut. "Gonna cum... gonna fuckin' cum... take it for me... please puppy... please... oh fuck..." His dominant grasp on the world was quickly slipping from his fingertips as his cock twitched and his back arched. Cum shot down your throat and leaked from your lips. Choking on the thick substance and the lack of air. Jackson was pathetic when he came, so utterly pathetic. He whined like a bitch.
You coughed as he finally let go of the back of your head but kept a tight hold of your leash, tugging on it to remind you of your place.
"Swallow it," Jackson huffed, slumping back into his seat. His thighs were still spread open like the whore he was, cum dribbling down his cock and stickying his thighs and in between. You swallow, though residues of it are still dripping from your tongue and lips, like hot wax on a burning candle. "Good girl," He cooed, thumb swiping at your lips before prodding itself into your mouth. Jackson watched, a satisfied hum rumbling from his rising chest, as you sucked it clean. "Think you can lick me clean? Like a little kitty cat? Go on... use that tongue of yours... lick it clean, bitch."
"I..." You bit your lip, eyes still watery as you lean forward. There was no point in denying him. So timidly you kitten-licked his cock, face flushed scarlet as if you were a prude, as if you hadn't done this a million times before... though this was the first time with a collar and a leash around your throat.
"What? Don't like the taste?" He asked with a scoff, fingers scratching at his stubbly chin, his thighs shaking softly. "C'mon... put your back into it, I work so hard day and night for you and when I come home... this is what you give me? Can't even keep your master pleased, can you? You're a bad dog..." He growled, voice low and warning. And you bowed your head in shame at the words he spoke.
"Y-Yes master..." You swallowed, poking your tongue out and licking along his thighs, sucking up the last droplets of his jizz.
He snickered, clearly amused as he twisted the rope of your leash around his pointer and pulled your face into his taint. "You missed a spot," Jackson mused, chuckling to himself. "Go on, dirty mut... do your job."
This was so humiliating. You squeezed your eyes shut, black spots dancing underneath your eyelids as you breathed in the smell and licked a stripe up from his taint to his balls, popping one into your mouth to keep him happy.
"Oh, pup..." Jackson pulled on your leash, collar digging into your neck and cutting off your air supply as you sucked. "Thatta girl... that's right... you know your fuckin' place."
He pulled you off of him, kicking you down onto your haunches. He stood up, albeit a little shakily, and smiled down at you- a proud gleam in those sea-stricken eyes.
"Now, does my little puppy want a treat?" He asked, tone condescendingly sweet. "Say 'please master'."
"Please... Master...."
Another pull on your leash, reminding you that you'd be nothing more than his pet for the night.
-
SORRY, THIS WAS SO SHORT!!! I hope you enjoyed <333 I love you all....
#jackson rippner#red eye#jackson rippner x reader#jackson rippner smut#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy fanfic#jackson rippner x you#jackson rippner fanfic#cillian x reader#cillian x fem!reader
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