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too-much-tma-stuff · 2 months

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Finally Getting Help (prt 6)

Masterpost

The Wayne family gathered in the family room once Alfred was done setting up the projector, somehow there was also a plate of cookies and a couple pots of tea on the coffee table. How he’d found the time they didn’t know, he always seemed to be doing just a little more than should be possible but they didn’t question it.

Jazz seemed nervous as she plugged in her USB and accessed the power point on Ghosts and Liminality. The tidal page had a picture of Danny in his Phantom form standing with a group of others, a boy with gray skin and blond hair, a girl with green hair and skin, and a goth with purple eyes and a dark skinned boy who looked around Danny’s age, and Jazz with the title “Ghosts and Liminals!”

The next slide had simple text: “What are they and How are they made?”

With each slide she read the text on the screen allowed and then added any context or anecdotes she thought of, or had prepared.

(Next slide)

Ghosts:

Made of ectoplasmic energy and obsession

Made either:

when someone dies with strong enough desires

An idea gains enough traction to take on a life of its own

Immutable concepts and gods

Must be allowed to indulge in obsessions or they will cease to exist

All have basic abilities such as flight, intangibility, invisibility, and minor shape shifting

On top of basic abilities most will have additional powers based on their obsessions

Immortal unless killed

Love to fight

Liminals

Made when a human is exposed to high levels of ectoplasm for prolonged periods of time

Have some ghostly traits

Ghostly traits vary person to person

Less susceptible to human illness and injury

“The ghosts on the picture are Kitty and Johnny, we’ve had problems with them but would consider them friends now. They’re the ghosts of two humans who died, but there are others, Vortext for instance is the ghost of Storms. Those ghosts who come from ideas are called ‘neverborns’. There seem to be almost an infinite number of ghosts, however not all of them are interested in having anything to do with us so we tend to get the same faces showing up a lot in Amity.

“I don’t know how many liminals there are. I thought they might be new with my parents' research but as I look into it more I think there are more natural sources of ectoplasm then my parents thought.” Jazz explained before going to transition to the next slide.

“I have a question-” Bruce started before Jazz hushed him.

“Wait till the end please! I might answer it without you having to ask,” She scolded, and he felt very much like a schoolboy again as his children snickered.

(Next slide including a image of the glowing green viles in the Fenton’s lab and a glowing green crystal)

Ghost biology

Ghosts do not have any recognizable organs or bones

The only solid part of their being is their Core which is the source of their ectoplasm

Any injury to a ghosts form not done directly to their core is considered minor and will heal

A healthy ghost is fully capable of mending any damage including removed limbs in a matter of hours or days depending on extent of the injury

All injuries not including the Core are considered minor

Ghosts are considered young for at least the first hundred years of their existence and are often not considered adults until nearly 500

A caveat to this is ghosts are heavily driven by emotion and will often be the age they feel they are allowing ghosts to mature much more quickly, or more slowly

When this is the case ghosts are treated as the age they present and behave

Ghosts reproduce by shaping ectoplasm and Wanting a child badly enough

“Believe me it was incredibly scary the first time I saw Danny in his ghost form have something go right through his stomach. It took him a long time to convince me it wasn’t a big deal and it barely hurt. He does have to make sure he repairs the damage Before turning human again though or the damage can transfer over and I don’t need to tell you a hole in the gut is a lot more serious for humans!

“If I’m honest I only know ghosts that have stayed younger then they really are, for instance Youngblood who’s a few hundred years old and could be well on his way to adulthood if he wanted but has remained a child. I assume it can go the other way though, if a ghost is very mature for their age.”

Ectoplasm

Ectoplasm is the energy that makes up all ghosts and the Ghost Zone itself. All ghosts can feed on the ectoplasm around them as well as produce their own by indulging in obsessions. The ghosts Cores produce the ectoplasm like a brain produces neurochemicals when exposed to the right stimulation.

Ectoplasm is a powerful source of energy but unstable. When it is stabilized into an ecto-crystal it is more stable and can be used as a power source safely by ghosts and liminals.

“Most ectoplasm is green like you see in the pictures. But it isn’t the only colour, some other ghosts produce different colours and it is highly tied to what emotion drives them. When it’s pure it usually smells like petracore but it can get pretty foul.”

(next slide)

What are Obsessions

Every ghost has one or more obsessions

They can be very literal things such as boxes, or ideas and emotions such as Love

In rarer cases they may have dual obsessions

Unlike for humans obsessions are very healthy for ghosts

Ghosts need to indulge their obsessions

Sometimes the way ghosts indulge their obsessions might seem evil, however it is almost always just amoral

Obsessions shape every part of a ghost from their powers to thier physical appearance, to befriend a ghost you Must understand and aid their obsession

In very extreme circumstances a ghosts obsession may shift, sometimes this is healthy, more often it is a result of extreme trauma

“With my interest in psychology this was sort of hard for me to accept. From the outside the way ghosts obsess seems really unhealthy but it’s what gives them life. When not allowed to indulge in their obsessions ghosts will dysregulate and go to extreme lengths to try and get their obsession, if that doesn’t work they either go dormant if their core is still healthy enough or they will melt.

“Ghosts change their obsessions very rarely, I’ve heard of it happening as they heal. For instance once a ghost has gotten revenge for themselves, if that was their obsession, their obsession might shift to avenging other people, or even protecting them so they don’t need to be avenged.”

(Next Slide)

Ghost Culture

The Ghosts have a monarchy

The title of the Ghost King is not hereditary but passed through trial by combat

Under the monarch is a council of being known as Observants, and powerful and old ghosts called Ancients

Ghosts respect strength and value power and cunning in combat a lot

Ghosts bond with each other through combat and play fight with family and friends often

“I have down that the ghosts are a monarchy, and technically that is true but the current Ghost King was a tyrant who was locked away thousands of years ago. I’m sure as soon as someone shows up who’s powerful enough to beat him his court will be happy to pick up where they left off with a better King, or queen, though I don’t think the title has to change based on gender.

“I really can’t stress enough how violent ghosts are! Because nothing short of having their cores shattered can kill them, play fighting for them can look Very Much like a murder attempt to a human. A lot of the issues we’ve had with ghosts have come from them just not understanding quite how fragile humans, and for most of them they feel really bad once they know they actually Hurt someone by shooting them. It’s really best for everyone when they’re kept separate and Ghosts can happily tear each other apart in peace.”

Liminals

The result of long term low level exposure to ectoplasm, sudden high doses are almost always deadly

Liminals Can have almost every trait a ghost can, usually having a combination of a few

Commonalities between liminals include

Minor cosmetic changes such as: glowing eyes, pointed ears, and/or sharp teeth

Increased stamina, strength, and aggression

Increased obsessive behaviour

Liminals sometimes develop powers shaped by the strength and type of obsession

“Most of the people Danny and I know are liminals. I don’t want to talk about them in case they don’t want to be outed so I’ll talk about myself and my parents. We all had prolonged exposure after all. My ears are pointed,” She said brushing her hair back so they could see them, “And Danny is a little more then liminal but even in human form he has fangs.

“My parents didn’t realize it but they could to the point they could subsist on their obsession without needing to eat or sleep as often as a regular human would. About a year ago I started developing the ability to tap into and feel other peoples emotions, I can feed on them a little too but I try not to because the Worst ghost we met did that and I don’t want to be anything like her.”

(Next Slide)

In conclusion

Ghosts are not evil even though sometimes their actions are hard to understand

Never get between ghosts when they’re fighting each other but it’s usually safe to yell at them to remind them not to break anything

Never get between a ghost and their obsession

Don’t drink ectoplasm unless you know you’re already liminal

“I have a feeling the section about liminals will be familiar to a bunch of you. I know Damian is liminal though I don’t know how he was exposed to ectoplasm and some of you,” Her eyes skirted across Tim and Bruce. “Are toeing the line. You’ll probably notice Damian and Danny getting really close, and they might get in some really vicious looking fights. I promise Danny is playing at least.”

The family was left silent for a moment, Bruce knew he was thinking about Jason. Who had died, been exposed to.. What certainly seemed to be something like Lazarus water and come back, obsessive, aggressive, and emotional. He wished he’d had this powerpoint a long time ago. It helped understand Damian too but mostly he was thinking about Jason. He needed to reach out again, maybe meeting Danny would be good for Jason?

“So uhhh, ya, that’s the end of the powerpoint?” Jazz said, shifting from foot to foot in the awkward silence. “Any questions?”

#danny phantom #fanfiction #dc x dp #jasmine fenton #bruce wayne #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #liminal #tim drake #jason todd #trans!danny #the batfamily #danny is pregnant au #finally getting help au #vlad is a creep #dc stands for disregard cannon

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finecole · 4 months

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Counterweight

Summary: “One night, he tells you that these last six months of happy memories are the counterweight to two hundred years of misery.”

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x gn!Tav Reader

Word count: 700

Warnings: mention of sex (18+), FLUFF, 1d20 psychic damage to my emotional well-being

---

“Well, as you know, I am an avid admirer of the freedom of nature’s gifts’’ Astarion taunts, laying next to you, chest puffed up and voice rumbling as he shoots you a smirk.

A grin spreads on your face, and you swat teasingly at his chest, “oh stop it - will you let it go?”

You both laugh as you share a look, letting the laughter wane into a shared smile.

You roll over onto his chest, reaching out a hand to tuck back a stray silver curl. Your hand traces his cheek as it retreats, thumb tracing his cheekbone. The warmth that had gathered in his face a mere moment ago as he came undone, panting in the crook of your neck, had started to give in to his usual icy coldness again. As your hand reaches his chin, he captures it swiftly before its escape, placing soft kisses along your knuckles.

You nuzzle into his chest, closing your eyes, basking in his tender caress.

The two of you had spent many afternoons laying around like this on a bedroll or bed, whatever option would present itself on the road; limbs entangled and lips peppering kisses as you caught your breaths, or Astarion, head resting against the headboard with you curled up to his side, reading out passages from some trashy Drizzt Do’Urden novel you had found in the shops.

You would be quite content, you think, to spend many more afternoons like this.

“My love,” he whispers, tilting his head to the side, sharing the most tender of looks as you meet his gaze. He places your hand that he had been kissing on his chest, where his heart would be, and cups your cheek with the other. He mirrors your own affections, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“Hm?’’ a soft smile tugs at your lips, as you consider how the piercing rubies that were his eyes could melt into something so soft and gentle when he was with you.

He covers your hand that still lays on his chest with his own, giving it a squeeze. “These last six months with you,” he says softly, carefully selecting his words. “These six months that we have shared, have been the counterweight to two hundred years of misery.”

A silence passes.

“Astarion…” your voice is barely a whisper, as the gravity of his words settles in. How all the words, laughter and touches you had shared, the pushing and pulling of figuring out how to be together, how the cumulation of it all could make up for the unimaginable pain that he had had to suffer. You think that right then and there, you could simply melt into his very being, wanting to envelop him whole.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you fear that you could never gather the right words and arrange them in a way that would express how much love for him burned within you at this very moment - not in the way he had just done. So, instead, you pull yourself up to his face, bury a hand in his hair at the back of his neck, and kiss him. Once, twice, until you lose count. A kiss for every word you could not find, some soft and gentle and others desperate between furtive glances through half-lidded eyes. His hands travel across your back and waist, and for a moment you feel like you don't know where the boundaries of your beings lie.

You pull back at last, though you do not go far, your noses still touching.

“Do you remember my promise?”, you whisper.

He smiles and nods, “you will kiss me under the sun again.”

His hand returns to cup your cheek, swiping away the tear that had threatened to spill before.

You lean into his touch, making a pledge with a smile, “I’ll fight the gods for that if I have to, you know.”

You know he does not lie when he speaks, “I’ll be right there with you, my love.”

---

Note: I've just had this in my head ever since the epilogue launched because OH MY GOD i do not even have the words Tav is quite literally just me in this because what do you say to that??? Its just such a poignant declaration; for Tav to represent so much love and joy to him i just esahjfajksdhjfkah. I haven't written anything in years but here I am, the elf has drawn me out of my slumber. It's also 5 am so apologies for mistakes I may or may not correct them

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fluff #astarion angst #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #spawn astarion #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic

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starsforselene · 3 months

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Pairing: Bang Chan x afab reader

Rating: explicit MDNI

Contains: fingering (f receiving) oral (f receiving) chatty Chan, masturbation (f) hot roommate walking in on you

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your roommate, Chan so long he’s part of your weekly self love sessions. However, this particular Sunday night, Chan comes home early and overhears you.

Note: it’s just a little self indulgent pointless smut.

—/

“God damn it,” you mutter between clenched teeth as your head hits your pillow.

You fling the now lifeless vibrator across your room where it lands in your dirty clothes pile; with a sigh you stare at the ceiling, the dull ache between your thighs almost mocking you. It’s Sunday night and normally the only time your roommate, Chan, is gone long enough for you to get some alone time in since he’s got his weekly boy’s night at his best friend’s place. As luck would have it you forgot to charge the damn thing after your last session.

Now, you’re laying in bed, half cocked and out of fun options. You could either suck it up and get ready for bed, or handle things…manually. The thought of facing Monday morning unsatisfied is not ideal so you figure it’s better to take care of things the old school way. Closing your eyes, your hand roams down your stomach towards your center, slipping between your folds to gather the slick that had collected from your earlier ministrations, swirling them around your still-swollen clit. You let out a low moan as pleasure starts to build back up, steady and warm in your core.

It’s not long before images start flooding your mind: long, strong hands roaming over your body; soft lips kissing their way through all of your sensitive spots. You gasp as pleasure thrums through your body; visions of dark hair tickling your thighs as a sly smile peeks up from between your legs. A low moan slips from between your lips along with a muttered name as your fingers circle your clit faster desperately wishing it was his mouth, his hands bringing you closer to edge.

“Fuck, Chan,” you whimper, fingers working your bundle of nerves as you picture his tongue there instead.

Your breath quickens as your release approaches, legs buzzing with pleasure that zig zags its way up to your belly where it coils tight. Chan floods your mind: his long fingers inside you, pumping in and out as his lips suck on your clit—things he’s never actually done but you’ve thought of more than you can count. Your hips buck as you approach your high, sheets slipping off into a heap at the foot of the bed.

“Hey, did you remember to put the stuff—Shit!” Chan closes the door as quickly as he opened it.

“Oh my God! Why didn’t you knock! Jesus, fuck—Chan! What the hell!” You shout as you scramble to cover yourself despite the damage being done. Your heart is thundering in your chest, hands shaking as you wrap the sheets around yourself.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t—I just thought that—“ Chan says from the other side of the door, voice filled with panic.

”You thought, what exactly? That you’d barge into my room?!” you shout back as you get up and walk across the room, opening the door to find him standing there, his back to you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d be, uh, busy. I wasn’t sure if you had put the clothes in the dryer or if you needed me to do it.”

“You could’ve just looked in the washer? Why are you even home? I thought tonight was boys night?” you ask the back of his head.

“Oh, I didn’t think of that. Boys night was cut short, Han has an early meeting tomorrow. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…anything.”

“Turn around, Chan, I’m covered,” you huff as you lean against the doorway.

He obliges, face and ears red as he looks you directly in the eyes as if he’s willing the rest of you to not exist.

“Did you see anything?”

He swallows hard and you know right away that whatever comes out of his mouth is going to be a lie.

”I didn’t, I promise. I was in and out so fast I didn’t really see much.”

“Much or anything?”

“I didn’t see a lot…I promise. It was more what I—nothing.”

“Chan,” you say as he’s looking at the floorboards like they’re fascinating works of art. “It was more than what?”

“What I heard,” he admits, glancing up at you. “Or what I thought I heard! Maybe I misheard you or I made it up or something. Listen, I’m sorry. I’ll just go and we can forget this happened.”

He makes to leave but doesn’t, like he’s got something else to say. Your heart is hammering in your chest along with a thousand thoughts running through your mind.

“Just tell me. I don’t feel like tip toeing around this for days. It’s embarrassing enough you walked in on me masturbating. I don’t want a repeat of the time I caught you in the same position last year. We skirted around each other for weeks, it was beyond tedious.” The memory of that night fueled many Sunday sessions for you but he doesn’t need to know that.

Chan sighs in defeat and runs a hand through his hair as he glances up at you.

”I heard you moaning my name before I came in. At least I thought I did,” he says in a rush.

Your stomach drops down to your feet, heat rushing up your neck and into your face. Curiosity gets the better of you and you find yourself looking at Chan to gauge his reaction. He doesn’t look utterly disgusted, which takes you by surprise. Instead, he meets your gaze with his own, eyes darker than they were a minute ago, the connection sending heat through you. Your breath catches in your throat as you slowly realize that Chan looks the opposite of disgusted.

“Oh. Umm, well…”

“So did you?” he asks, eyes on yours still, slowly peeling away your resolve.

”I might…have…”

The air shifts between you like your admittance has opened a door that barely had hinges to begin with. Chan’s eyes alight with something you can’t quite place but it makes your core throb all the same.

“Why?”

The question catches you off guard and you straighten out of your haze.

“Why what?”

“Why were you moaning my name while you were touching yourself?” he asks as if he’s asking whether you want to make dinner or have take out.

You stare at him, unsure whether he actually wants an answer. He’s watching your face, almost like he wants to make sure he isn’t crossing any lines but also like he’s wanting to see if those lines can be erased instead. Your crush on your roommate is something you barely even acknowledge to yourself but right now, with the way he’s looking at you, it’s hard to think about much else other than your go-to fantasies of him and how they might become reality.

“I-uh-I- was thinking of you,” you say and immediately regret. Shit, why did you just—

“Do you think of me a lot when you do that?”

“Chan, I-“

”I think of you. I think of you a lot, actually,” he says quietly.

Your eyes meet again and that heat flares. You suck in a breath and sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. He looks less embarrassed than earlier, that line fully crossed now. He walks into the room and sits beside you, the heat from his body permeating through you.

“You…think of me?” you mutter as you fidget with the edge of the sheet, incredibly aware of how naked you are underneath.

Chan takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.

“Yeah, I do. Have for a while.”

A thrill runs down your spine, that familiar heat pulsating in your center. Chan thinks of you when he’s—you take a breath to push the thoughts away.

“I like that you think of me like that,” he adds softly.

You look back up at him and find molten fire in his eyes. It matches the fire burning inside you.

”What do you think of when you think of me?” The words escape you before you can even think of stopping yourself.

Chan smirks, like he knows he’s got you, turning to face you as his hand reaches up to cup your cheek. Your pulse quickens along with your breathing but you immediately want more. His thumb grazes your cheek, he leans in but stops short, as if waiting for you. All thoughts of hesitation leave you, a quick nod is all it takes before he’s bridging the gap between you. His lips are soft, tentative—at least until you kiss him back.

The moment the switch flips is almost tangible. Every glance, every accidental touch, every single time you thought of Chan in ways that you shouldn’t culminate in this moment where his lips are on yours and all you can think is more. You deepen the kiss with a moan, dizzy with this new feeling of having Chan’s lips on yours. His tongue explores your willing mouth, his hands moving down your arms and grabbing around your waist to pull you closer. You groan, his touch igniting small fires in its wake that burn brighter the more he touches you. His lips leave yours with no warning, breaking the kiss; it’s a bucket of ice water over you.

”Do you really wanna know what I think about?” he asks between panted breaths.

God, yes, you almost say but hesitate. You squeeze your thighs together to find reprieve for the ache that robs you of self control. His eyes never leave yours, pupils blown wide as he waits for your answer. The nagging curiosity wins over any doubt that might try and dissuade you; you need to know.

“Yeah, I do,” you whisper.

“Can I show you?”

You’re nodding before you can stop to think about it; all you know is that now that he’s touched you there’s no going back. Chan leans in, electricity sparking between your bodies the closer he gets, and he kisses you softly. His lips move slowly down your cheek, featherlight kisses that travel down your jaw towards your ear where he hovers, breath fanning over the soft shell of your ear.

“Lay back on the bed for me. Make sure you take that sheet off.”

Arousal rushes out of you at his words, a small whimper is your only response as you stand up and gingerly remove the sheet from around your body, exposing yourself to his hungry eyes. He takes in your naked form greedily, tongue darting out to wet his plush lips, an obvious bulge in his pants that makes you clench around nothing as you settle on the bed for him.

Chan stands at the end of the bed and looks at you, at first it’s full of desire but something clouds it. Your furrow your brow, panic rising in your chest. Maybe he’s changed his mind? Maybe it got weird? You know it should feel weird to you but it doesn’t, you’ve had feelings for Chan for far too long but maybe he doesn’t feel the same way? You reach for a blanket to cover up when he sighs.

”Are you having second thoughts? We can stop, you know. I understand if it’s weird,” he says.

Your chest feels light again, at least you’re on the same page—kind of.

”I’m not! I was worried you were having second thoughts—that maybe you didn’t like me like this and just got caught up or something.”

Chan chuckles and kneels on the bed between your legs, running his hands up your legs and settling them on your thighs, making you shiver. He licks his lips as his eyes roam down your body and settle on your face.

“I promise you that I’ve been fantasizing about this for far too long to have second thoughts,” he drawls with a half smile. He lifts your leg and slowly kisses his way up to your knee while his other hand spreads your leg to open you up for him. His eyes are obsidian, his want for you almost palpable. “Watch me baby, hmm?”

A pathetic whimper is all the response you can provide, body covered in goosebumps of anticipation as you watch Chan lower himself between your legs. He takes his time; kissing and caressing your thighs, slowly coming closer to the pulsating heat at your center. He bites and sucks the sensitive skin at the apex of your thighs and you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets when he quickly licks the pain away.

You feel the smirk against your skin as you hear his deep chuckle, it’s enough to make you dizzy with need. You’re about to beg for relief when he licks a broad stripe from your entrance up to your clit, moaning when he finally tastes you.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry out, shuddering as pleasure rocks through you, hands gripping his hair to keep yourself grounded.

Chan groans against you, tongue circling your clit just enough to make your hips buck up against his face; a silent, desperate plea for more. He doesn’t seem to take, taking his time licking and tasting every last bit of you, making his way back towards your entrance to dive his tongue inside enough to prolong the sweet torture only to stop and taste his way back up towards your throbbing clit. He licks and sucks on your clit until you’re a whiny, quivering mess; every nerve in your body buzzing with pleasure and desire.

“Chan,” you whimper between panted breaths as you lift your head to look at him.

You’re not sure what it is you’re asking for at this point but his dark eyes look up at you with molten desire in them as he smirks.

“I got you,” he purrs as he slowly inserts two fingers into your heat.

The deliciously slow stretch takes your breath away, your head falls back against the pillow as pleasure warms its way through your veins. How he knew what you needed before you did adds to the building tightness in your belly. He hums in approval as his fingers press against the sensitive spot inside you that makes you gasp and clench around his fingers, taking his time stroking it. You writhe on the mattress, Chan’s name falling from your lips with each pump of his fingers in and out of you, stars exploding behind your eyes with every drag of his fingers against your walls.

The heat builds in your belly, coiling tighter and tighter, making your toes curl and your eyes squeeze shut. Chan’s soft voice brings you even closer to the edge with each half moaned encouragement like he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. He presses his thumb against your bundle of nerves and the room spins, pleasure radiating through you and tears spring to your eyes; it’s too much but not enough.

“P-please, Chan,” you plead, voice barely a whisper, body wound tight.

He groans in response, fingers working you faster as his thumb flicks your clit. It doesn’t take much until the coil inside you breaks and you’re lost to the overwhelming release that crashes over you. Chan moans along with you, sending shocks of pleasure through you as he coaxes you through your high.

“Mmm, that’s my girl,” he chuckles darkly as he kisses your inner thigh.

A shiver runs down your spine as you start coming down, everything covered in a sweet haze that envelops you.

“That was…really something,” you breathe, covering your face with your hands.

“Better than what I imagined,” he responds as he kisses his way up your body until he’s settled between your legs.

He caresses your sensitive skin while placing soft kisses over your cheeks and eyelids, sweet nothings about how long he’s wanted you peppered in between.

“What now?” you whisper, a beat of uncertainty panging in your chest.

“We can figure that out in the morning. I’m tired,” Chan replies gruffly.

You giggle and roll your eyes, a smile settling on your lips. You’d argue but you’re tired and satisfied and his arms are way too inviting; you’re not too concerned with whatever comes next.

Knowing him, it’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

#Bang Chan imagine #Bang Chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #skz smut #skz imagines #fic

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queenshelby · 4 months

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An Illicit Affair

Part Seven: The Hotel Encounter

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

Wednesday came around quicker than you thought, eight o'clock rolled around, and you found yourself standing outside the Westin Hotel lobby like a lost puppy. The hotel's grandeur and sophistication overwhelmed you, and you couldn't help but compare its opulence to the dimly lit jazz club where you first laid eyes on Cillian.

You squared your shoulders, trying to summon some confidence. Taking a deep breath, you crossed the threshold into the marble-floored lobby. The scent of expensive perfume and designer cologne hung heavily in the air, and you could hear soft classical music playing somewhere in the background.

The sound of hushed conversations and the occasional click of heels on marble floors filled the space. You scanned the crowd, searching for Cillian. When you caught sight of him, your heart skipped a beat.

"Hey," Cillian greeted, his voice low and smooth, sending shivers down your spine. "You made it," he added, gesturing towards a secluded table tucked away in the corner. "Shall we sit?" he asked, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

The familiar warmth spread through your chest, and your palms grew slick with perspiration. Leading you to the table, Cillian pulled out a chair for you. Once seated, you could feel his gaze boring into you, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your heart thumped erratically, and your mind raced with a jumble of memories and desires. .

"So," you said, shifting in your seat after sitting down at the quiet table in the corner, "How is Max doing? He is back at home now, isn't he?"

Cillian's eyes held a faraway look, his lips quirking upward ever so slightly. "He is and he is doing well, considering the circumstances," he said, taking a sip of his drink. "He has lost his license, and his car insurance won't cover the damages to the car, but he's alive, thank God."

"I know. I am glad," you spoke nervously before you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the inevitable question.

"So, what did you want to discuss with me?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady and, immediately, guilt began to form in Cillian's mind.

"To tell you the truth, I don't really know. After seeing you again at the hospital, I..." Cillian began to trail off, stammering nervously. "I just wanted to see you," Cillian confessed, his voice barely audible. "So that I could apologize and explain myself, to tell you that what happened between us was...," he added before trailing off again.

He looked down for a moment and then continued, his voice wavering slightly. "I really fucked up Y/N, but I cannot stop thinking about you," he told you before he wiped his brow with his sleeve, looking genuinely concerned. "I know that what happened between us was a mistake. It was fucking wrong because I cheated on my wife with you, but I just can't seem to shake you off my mind," Cillian admitted, his gaze locked on you, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Cillian, I--" you started, your voice catching in your throat. "We both know it was wrong," you managed to say, your heart pounding hard enough to rattle your ribcage. "And I don't know what to say other than that I am sorry for putting you into this situation. I should not have pursued you," you added, wringing your hands nervously, thinking about the fact that he was married and that you used to date his son. This was all so complicated, so messed up, and whilst you craved him, you knew that this wouldn't lead to anything prosperous.

"Y/N, you didn't put me into this situation," Cillian countered, taking a deep breath. "I did this myself and, if I remember correctly, I was the one who pursued you, not the other way around," he confessed before he darted his eyes downwards for a brief moment, looking ashamed. "I should not have done it," he mumbled, shaking his head, "but I cannot help but wonder what it would be like if we got to spend some more time together," he then gazed at you intently, his expression serious and determined.

"Cillian," you whispered, shaking your head. "This is insane," you told him before you tried to stand up from your seat only to be halted by Cillian laying his arm across the back of your chair.

"Please, just listen to me," he implored you, his voice hoarse and strained from desperation. "I realize that we shouldn't be having this conversation, but I simply cannot help it. Every time I think about you, I want more. It's like a fucking addiction," Cillian confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We can't do this," you reminded him, averting your gaze, afraid of the depths of desire reflected in his eyes. "You're married," you pointed out bluntly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "And I dated your son," you added, the guilt gnawing at your gut.

"I know," Cillian groaned, his frustration evident in each tortured syllable. "But tell me that you don't want this too," he urged, causing you to pause, your heart racing madly in your chest.

Torn between reason and desire, you studied Cillian's handsome face, tracing the lines of his chiseled features with your gaze. His eyes were pleading, beseeching you to give in to the forbidden attraction that simmered between you just as the waiter came by, finally wanting to take your order.

"What can I get you?" the young man asked, flashing a dazzling smile at you both. You and Cillian exchanged awkward glances before you quickly looked away, focusing on the menu instead.

"A bottle of Bordeaux, but can we have it brought up to the room please?" you nervously said to the waiter before Cillian could respond to his question and your request left him baffled.

"Of course. What is your room number, ma'am," the waiter asked politely, glancing between you and Cillian curiously.

"It's 309," Cillian answered, his voice low and gruff as you stood up and reached for your bag with fidgeting hands.

"What are you doing?" Cillian asked, his voice husky as he watched you stand up.

"Going to your room," you answered him matter-of-factly. You felt nervous, the excitement coursing through your veins like a drug. "Isn't that what you wanted?" you whispered, turning to face Cillian. The air between you vibrated with pent-up energy, like a storm brewing under the calm surface of a lake. You could practically feel the electric charge between you, and it pushed you forward.

Cillian nodded nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat like a tiny pulse. "Yes," he whispered, and you couldn't help but blush.

"Good, then lets go before my conscience kicks in and guilt gets the better of me," you mumbled before Cillian stood up as well and followed you toward the elevators.

Once the elevator doors closed, Cillian let out a sigh of relief, and you pressed the button for the third floor.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair away from your face.

His touch was warm and gentle, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

You searched his gaze, finding comfort in the vulnerability etched into his expressive eyes. "Yes," you replied, your voice soft and certain, before you allowed your fingertips to graze his cheek affectionately.

"I am sure about this," you assured him, your eyes never straying from his mesmerizing gaze before, eventually, the elevator doors slid open with a soft whir, and you stepped out onto the third floor with Cillian hot on your heels.

You adjusted your dress nervously, smoothing down the fabric and glancing around the hall, making sure no one was watching you two. The dim lighting masked your expressions as you moved towards the indicated room number, your heart beating like a war drum in your chest.

Cillian pulled his key card from his jeans pocket, swiping it along the slot and hearing the soft mechanical click signaling the door had unlocked. He turned the handle delicately, leading you both inside the darkened room.

"Let me turn on the lights," he suggested, fumbling around the wall switch before the soft glow flooded the room, bathing you both in a comforting warmth.

Your nerves skyrocketed as you saw the plush king-sized bed situated right in front of you, and your heart fluttered in anticipation.

Cillian guided you gently towards the center of the room, his grip tightening around your hand subtly as if urging you closer. Your skin prickled from the tension between you both, creating a magnetic pull that neither of you could ignore. You peered up at him, finding solace in his blue eyes which mirrored the uncertainty that danced within your own and, not long after that, your lips finally collided.

The kiss was passionate yet gentle, a dance of tongues and teeth, your bodies pressing closer and closer, almost losing balance.

Despite the lingering guilt clouding your mind, the thrill of his presence ignited a fire within you—a flame that refused to be extinguished.

Cillian's hands roamed over your body, exploring curves and valleys, moving to unbutton your dress with trembling fingers. You could sense the urgency in his movements, the raw desire simmering just below the surface.

With trembling hands, Cillian untied the string holding your dress together, exposing your black lace bra and panties, leaving nothing to the imagination. Your breath hitched as you watched him gaze hungrily at your exposed flesh, his eyes dark with lust.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion before he pressed his lips against your neck, kissing and sucking gently, leaving red marks that stung pleasantly. You moaned softly, arching your back as his hands moved lower, cupping your ass and pulling you closer as, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Room Service," a male voice called out from beyond the entrance, causing Cillian to freeze mid-kiss.

"Ignore it," you muttered, clutching Cillian tightly, unwilling to break the spell that had enveloped you both.

"I can't," Cillian replied, releasing you gently before walking towards the door with his face covered in your lipstick. "It was you who ordered the wine," he then chuckled before he opened the door just a crack, whispering something quietly to the room service attendant waiting on the other side. There was a brief exchange of words before the sound of heavy footsteps fading away echoed through the room.

"Thank you," Cillian murmured, closing the door firmly behind him and placing the bottle of Bordeaux you had ordered minutes earlier on the desk besides the door.

He turned to face you, a crooked grin playing on his lips when he saw that you had taken off your bra and were waiting for him on top of the bed.

"Looks like I am not the only one in a hurry," he joked before pulling his t-shirt over his head, revealing his lean torso. His chest was covered in freckles and featured a small patch of chest-hair, both of which was something you considered particularly attractive.

He then went to unbuckle his belt, slowly sliding his pants down, revealing his CK briefs, already straining against his growing erection.

"I can't wait to feel you inside me again," you whispered as desire pooled inside of you like molten lava threatening to erupt, consuming every rational thought.

Cillian smiled seductively, stepping out of his clothing completely, leaving him naked and gloriously erect before you.

You swallowed dryly, your mouth feeling parched as you admired his sculpted physique. He was perfection embodied, and your heart pounded wildly in your chest as you ran your eyes all over his gorgeous form.

"You are so hard already," you purred, reaching out to touch the throbbing bulge nestled snugly between his legs.

Cillian groaned, his breathing labored as he grabbed your wrist, stopping you from proceeding.

"Not yet," he growled, his voice laced with raw lust.

"I want to taste you first," he added, stepping closer to the bed with a predatory glint in his eye. "Making you cum with my mouth is what I have been dreaming about every fucking night," he then told you and you bit your lip, feeling an unfamiliar wave of excitement wash over you.

"Really?" you mused, your voice dripping with feigned innocence. "Because I was thinking that maybe it would be more fun if I get to taste you again first," you teased, a mischievous spark dancing in your eyes.

"Oh, I'm definitely going to enjoy that," Cillian groaned, his cock twitching eagerly in response as he prowled towards the bed like a predator zeroing in on its prey. "But ladies first," he asserted before pinning you down beneath him. "I want to hear you come undone," he asserted and you did not dare to argue.

"Alright, if you insist," you moaned as Cillian skillfully removed your panties with a single tug, leaving you bare and vulnerable.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your inner thigh softly causing a pleasant shiver to run down your spine. He traced kisses down your leg, slowly working his way towards your core.

"You smell so fucking good," he commented before he took a moment to appreciate your wetness visibly staining the sheets underneath you.

"You're soaked," he noted appreciatively, and your heart raced at the sheer pleasure he derived from your arousal.

Cillian kissed and caressed your inner thighs, his hot breath teasing your sensitive skin.

"Fuck," you whimpered, squirming beneath him as he lowered his head, his lips hovering inches above your quivering mound. You could feel his warm breath on your moist flesh, raising goosebumps on your skin.

Your breath quickened, a wave of anticipation washing over you like a tidal surge.

"Tell me how much you want it," he commanded, leaning forward, his eyes smoldering with passion.

"I want it so much!" you cried out, bucking your hips in anticipation. Cillian's eyes gleamed with triumph as he parted your folds gently, revealing your swollen clit, pulsating with need. He licked his lips, savoring the sweet aroma emanating from your sex.

"Please!" you then begged, your voice cracking with desperation. "Just touch me, taste me, make me cum!"

Cillian grinned wickedly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation before lowering his lips ever so slightly.

You moaned loudly, thrashing your head from side to side, desperate for release. Your pussy throbbed, yearning for attention, and you arched your back, offering up your slick slit to Cillian who, finally obliged.

His tongue darted out, flicking your engorged nub lightly before diving in, delving deeper into your wet depths. You moaned loudly, grinding your hips into his face eagerly as he explored your folds with fervent abandon.

"Fuck yes," you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls of the luxurious bedroom. "That feels so good!" you moaned before running your hands through his hair.

"So fucking good," you whispered, panting heavily as Cillian continued to lap at your slick folds with a feverish hunger. His tongue swirled around your clit, teasing you mercilessly before plunging back inside your dripping pussy. Your entire body convulsed with pleasure, and you bucked wildly beneath him, desperately seeking release.

"Oh god, I'm going to cum!" you screamed, your voice hoarse with ecstasy. Cillian's ears perked up at your cry, and he began to lick faster, harder, his tongue stabbing into your wet hole relentlessly.

You clawed at the sheets, screaming obscenities, begging for the pressure to continue.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, yes!" you hollered, as the waves of pleasure built inside you, threatening to break any second now.

Cillian latched onto your clit, sucking it hard between his lips, making you scream louder.

You grabbed fistfuls of the silken duvet, nails digging into the material as intense spasms rocked your core.

"Cillian, fuck!" you screamed, the words escaping in ragged gasps.

Cillian groaned, lapping up your juices greedily, reveling in your cries, his cock throbbing painfully against his briefs. He loved seeing you lose control, watching your body surrender to the overwhelming sensations sweeping through you as, finally, your orgasm hit you.

You shook violently, clinging onto reality as everything around you faded, leaving only the sensation of euphoria, a blissful void that swept you higher and higher until you exploded.

Cillian released your clit, swallowing your juices with relish, enjoying the taste of your desire. He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes burning with satisfaction.

"That was quick," he remarked, a smirk curling his lips. "I didn't expect you to cum so fast," he admitted and, seeing that you were much younger and inexperienced than him, this was a huge turn on for you both.

You exhaled sharply, still reeling from the explosive climax you had just experienced.

"Well, you clearly got some skills in that department, Mr Murphy," you teased, playfully running your fingers through his sweaty hair.

Cillian chuckled, his eyes shining with pride. "So I've been told," he mused, stroking your damp thigh tenderly before you pushed him beneath you as, slowly, but surely, you came down from your high.

"I suppose it is my turn to pleasure you now sir," you declared, crawling towards him with a sultry smile on your face before reaching for the hem of his briefs. "And I want to suck you so good that you beg me for mercy," you whispered softly into his ear, your hot breath tickling his neck.

Cillian groaned, gripping the edge of the mattress as you slowly pulled down his underwear, revealing his impressive, fully erect length.

"Oh god Cills," you cooed, reaching out to stroke him gently. "You are so hard for me, and dripping already," you moaned with approval as Cillian's eyes widened with anticipation, his cock twitching eagerly in your grasp.

"Please," he whispered weakly, his voice cracking with desire.

"Please what?" you asked coyly, stroking Cillian's cock gently with your thumb.

The head of his shaft was shiny with pre-cum, reflecting the light in the dimly lit room. "Tell me what you want, Cillian," you added, biting your lip suggestively.

Cillian swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. "I want you to take me into your mouth," he uttered, his voice breaking. "Please," he then begged again and you smiled, nodding your head slowly.

"I'm going to enjoy this," you said, licking your lips hungrily before leaning down to lick the pre-cum of his slit.

The taste of him made your head spin, and you moaned softly, slurping his tip gently. "God, you taste so good," you whispered, squeezing his balls gently, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Cillian before you used your mouth to fully engulf him.

Swallowing him whole, you sucked him hard, moaning around his cock as you worked your tongue around his head, swirling it in circles.

"Oh fuck," Cillian groaned, thrusting upwards into your mouth, desperate for more.

Your mouth bobbed up and down, the saliva lubricating your movements and making sloppy sounds that filled the quiet room.

"Y/N," Cillian whimpered, grabbing at your hair, his fingers tangling in your locks. "Slow down," he pleaded, his voice strained and broken.

He reached for your hair, attempting to guide your rhythm. Yet, you remained stubborn, continuing to suck him hard, knowing full well that he would soon lose control.

You heard him moan, felt his cock pulsing, and smelled the scent of his arousal, all signs that he was close to the edge.

"Y/N," Cillian gasped, his voice hoarse and desperate. "I'm close," he groaned, and you didn't answer him - you didn't even look up, instead choosing to increase the suction and speed, eager to drain him completely.

The sound of his cock pumping in and out of your mouth became deafening, like a heartbeat filling the room. He was close now, his cock swelling in your mouth, and he started to thrust into you harder until, abruptly, he stopped.

"Stop," he breathed out, sounding surprised and relieved. "I can't take anymore of this," he gasped after ten minutes of your onslaught before you reluctantly released him, licking your lips, tasting the saltiness of his precum mixed with your saliva.

"The first time I cum tonight needs to be inside you. I am begging you," he panted, pulling you closer, your breasts mashed against his chest. You could hear his heart pounding furiously in his chest, matching yours.

"You are begging me, huh?" you teased, nibbling on his earlobe softly. "I love it when you beg," you whispered, licking his neck sensually. "Especially coming from you, this is such a turn on," you told him just before Cillian groaned deeply, his muscles stiffening beneath you.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," he grunted, his erection throbbing against your belly. "But yes, I'm begging you, Y/N. Please, let me cum inside you," he rasped, his voice husky with longing.

"Why do you want to cum inside me?" you asked Cillian, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Because it is so fucking intimate," Cillian sighed, his voice rough and raw with desire. "Feeling you contract around me, as I spill myself deep inside you," he admitted, his tone earnest and sincere.

"Also, it is somewhat taboo," he whispered, his breath fanning across your neck as he held you tight. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready to explode. "Which is exactly why I want it," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

"Me too," you agreed, your voice soft and sultry. "I want to feel you fill me up with your cum," you confessed, your words slipping past your lips like silk. "And then, when I go to my lectures tomorrow, I want to feel it leaking out of me little by little, reminding me of our encounter each time I walk," you teased, causing Cillian to groan loudly.

"Don't say it like that or I won't last much longer," he chuckled, squeezing your hips tighter as you kissed him passionately while, at the same time, climbing atop of him and aligning his hardness with your wetness.

"Okay, no talking then," you giggled, sitting on his lap and positioning yourself over his member. "Just moaning," you teased, taking a deep breath and lowering yourself on him inch by excruciating inch.

"Shit," Cillian gasped, throwing his head back and grabbing onto the pillows as you impaled yourself on his cock, feeling the head of his penis stretch you wide open before sliding inside, deeper and deeper.

"Oh god," you moaned, rocking your hips slowly as you sank down further, taking his entire length inside you.

"You feel so good," Cillian groaned, reaching up to massage your breasts gently, his thumbs circling your nipples. "So fucking tight," he added, his voice husky with lust as you started to ride him.

You both knew that you wouldn't last long; the atmosphere in the room was thick with anticipation, and your bodies ached for one another.

As you moved on top of him, your pelvis grinding against his, the friction was enough to send you both spiraling into oblivion.

"Harder," Cillian urged, reaching down to squeeze your ass cheeks, encouraging you to bounce on him.

You did as instructed, moving with reckless abandon, lost in the heat of the moment.

Each thrust sent shockwaves coursing through your body, intensifying the feelings building inside you. Cillian's hands gripped your hips tightly, urging you on, helping you reach new heights of pleasure.

"Fuck, you are so tight around my cock," he groaned, his voice hoarse with lust as you rode him and those words struck a chord deep within you, setting your blood ablaze. You moaned loudly, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you moved on top of him with renewed vigor.

Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, and you bit your lip, trying to contain the screams building in your throat.

"So good," Cillian encouraged, his hands roaming all over your body, tracing patterns on your skin. "So fucking good," he groaned, his voice low and guttural.

You threw your head back, letting out a primal scream as you slammed yourself down on him, harder and faster than ever before until Cillian felt the need to slow things down.

Abruptly, he maneuvered you beneath him, taking control as he moved into a missionary position.

With each deliberate entry, he gazed into your eyes, a mixture of lust and admiration evident in his expression. His gaze was steady, unwavering, like a man drowning in the ocean of your passion.

"How does it feel?" he asked "Does it feel good?" he questioned and you nodded, unable to speak.

The words caught in your throat, choking you in their intensity.

You wanted to tell him how wonderful it felt, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, you simply nodded, eyes locked on his face.

Cillian watched you intently, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a sly grin. "Good," he said, his voice husky with lust.

He slid his hands under your thighs, guiding them to rest on his shoulders. "Lift up," he instructed, his voice firm but gentle. You obeyed without hesitation, your heart pounding in your chest.

The room seemed to shrink around you, trapping your thoughts in a suffocating loop of lust and anticipation. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, and you couldn't help but let out a low moan of approval.

"Yes," Cillian hissed, his eyes locked on yours. "Like that."

He pumped into you steadily, his grip tightening around your hips. With each powerful thrust, he pushed himself deeper inside you, driving you closer to the brink.

"I'm close," you managed to utter through clenched teeth as he thrusted into you with slow but steady thrusts.

Your body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release.

"I know," Cillian responded, his voice hushed yet intense. "Let go for me. Give in," he coaxed, his tone soothing yet commanding.

And with those words, the dam broke. Your orgasm washed over you like a wave, crashing into you with such force that it left you gasping for air. You cried out, your voice echoing in the silent room, as your body convulsed around Cillian's cock.

The intensity of your orgasm overwhelmed you, stealing your breath and clouding your vision.

"I'm going to cum," Cillian gasped, his voice strained and desperate. "Can you feel it?" he asked, his gaze never wavering from yours.

You nodded, biting your lip to stop the screams from escaping. The feeling of him throbbing inside you was indescribable and, just like that, with a low groan, he came undone.

"Fuck," he cursed, his eyes shut fiercely as he emptied himself inside you, his cock pulsing with each release.

His entire body shuddered, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as he struggled to catch his breath.

You could feel his warmth seeping into you, his essence mixing with your own. His weight pressed down on you, cocooning you between the soft sheets.

Your heart thumped madly, the echoes blending together, creating a symphony of chaos within your chest. You stared back at him, your gaze transfixed upon his beautiful face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the concern in his voice palpable.

"Yeah," you replied, the word scarcely audible to even your own ears. "I'm fine. Just...amazing," you added, your voice shaking.

He looked at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Good," he then said, his voice hushed yet intense. "Although, don't think that we are done here yet," he told you while easing himself out of you gently, causing you to moan once more.

"So, you want me to stay the night then?" you asked Cillian, breaking the tranquil silence enveloping the entire room.

His eyes locked onto yours, a smoldering ember flickering in their depths, before nodding slowly.

"Only if you want to," he replied, his voice laced with uncertainty despite conveying an offer you knew he really wanted you to accept.

"I would love to," you responded nonchalantly, giving him a peck on the cheek before sitting up carefully, maneuvering away from the mess beneath you and it was in that moment that Cillian's cellphone rang.

The ringtone echoed through the room, jarring him from your afterglow as he reached for his phone lying on the bedside table.

Seeing the name "Danielle" come up on the screen, you knew that this was his wife calling him and, immediately, he paused, looking at you with pleading eyes for a few seconds before answering the call.

"Hey," he spoke calmly into the receiver, his voice betraying none of the events that had transpired earlier between you. "What's up?" he wanted to know and, much to your surprise, she appeared angry and, even though she wasn't on speaker, you could hear the entire conversation between them simply due to the loudness of her voice.

"How dare you treat your son like that, Cillian!" Danielle screeched into the phone, her voice trembling with anger.

"Treat him like what? What the fuck are you talking about?" Cillian asked calmly, the confusion apparent in his voice.

"Max just told me that you wouldn't get him a lawyer, nor would you be paying to get his car fixed," Danielle spat out, her voice cold and unforgiving. "You basically disowned him because of that accident and, if you ask me, that's not fair, Cillian!" she shouted.

Cillian sighed into the phone, his shoulders dropping slightly as he tried to calm himself down.

"Look, Danny," he began hesitantly, trying to explain his side of the situation. "Max knows what he did. He fucked up and he will have to deal with the consequences of his mistake," he insisted firmly. "He is an adult and can take responsibility for his actions," Cillian argued defensively.

"So, you're actually sticking to this bullshit line?" Danielle snapped back incredulously. "He's your son, Cillian. It's your duty to support him through tough times like these," she stated bluntly.

"I know that he is my son," Cillian sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. "And as his father it is my responsibility to ensure that he grows up to be a decent human being, which won't happen by spoiling him and fixing his mistakes," he explained patiently.

Danielle snorted derisively, her voice laced with sarcasm. "And what makes you think that you're doing a good job at that?" she challenged him. "You are never fucking home. You much rather hang out with your females co-stars than your family," Danielle accused him harshly.

"Here we go again," Cillian muttered irritably under his breath, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"We've talked about this countless times," he reasoned calmly. "My work requires me to spend long hours on set and travel to promote the films," he reminded her. "And I don't choose to socialize with the actresses I work with," he added pointedly.

"You sure act like it sometimes," Danielle retorted sharply. "Remember the last scandal surrounding you and Florence Pugh?" she reminded him. "It was plastered all over the media and gossip magazines," Danielle hissed, referring to the infamous red carpet event where Cillian was rumored to have left with Florence following some flirtatious banter.

"For the millionth time, I did not cheat on you with Florence Pugh," Cillian insisted, his temper flaring up. "She is my colleague. We were merely having a chat and people jumped to conclusions," he clarified vehemently. "Now, I am going to hang up the phone and we will discuss this later," he decided, feeling tired arguing with Danielle over something that wasn't true.

"Suit yourself," Danielle shot back coldly, slamming the phone down, cutting off Cillian mid-sentence.

The abrupt end to the conversation left Cillian feeling defeated and frustrated but, most importantly, confused about how to react towards Danielle.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to you quietly, his voice heavy with guilt.

"It's fine. I should probably go," you said, standing up from the bed and beginning to gather your clothes strewn across the floor. You were trying to process the sudden shift in mood, and the tension created by listening to Cillian's heated discussion with his wife.

"No, wait," Cillian said, reaching out to touch your arm. "I would like you to stay," he admitted, his eyes pleading.

You hesitated, glancing at the phone still resting on the bedside table. "Are you sure about that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yes, I am sure," Cillian responded quietly and you studied him closely, trying to gauge whether he truly wanted you to stay or if he was simply being polite.

After a moment of contemplation, you shrugged nonchalantly. "Alright," you agreed, tossing your dress back onto the chair.

"But I hope you know what you are getting yourself into," you warned Cillian, walking back over to the bed and sitting down beside him, wearing only your panties.

"I do," Cillian assured you, his eyes shining with resolve. "And I want you to know that you won't regret staying," he promised, his voice soft and warm.

You arched an eyebrow in amusement, noticing the change in his demeanor compared to moments ago. "So, what's the plan then?" you asked, curious to see how he would handle the situation.

"Well, we could start by ordering room service," Cillian suggested, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "I am starving," he admitted, his stomach growling in agreement.

"That sounds perfect," you responded enthusiastically, picking up the menu card on the bedside table.

Cillian picked up the phone and dialed room service, requesting a cheese platter, fruit bowl, and some other snacks. Once he hung up the phone, he turned back to you and smiled.

"They said it would be about 45 minutes," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Would you like to have a bath?" he asked, eyeing you seductively.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the bathroom door before smiling back at him. "Together?" you asked, causing him to nod.

"Yes," you agreed, slipping off your panties and leaving them on the floor. Cillian followed suit, leaving his boxers discarded on the ground.

Entering the bathroom together, you marveled at the size of the tub. It could easily fit two people comfortably and you lost no time in turning on the faucet and adding bubbles for a relaxing soak.

Climbing into the water first, you gestured for Cillian to join you. The water was warm and inviting, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. You watched as Cillian stepped in behind you, his knees brushing against your legs.

He reached for a bottle of bath oil and poured a generous amount into the water, creating a delightful aroma that filled the air.

"God I wish I had a tub like this," you mused aloud, enjoying the sensation of floating effortlessly in the water.

"Well, maybe someday," Cillian replied, running his hands along your arm, his fingertips grazing your skin lightly.

"Maybe," you agreed, smiling wistfully. "For now I have to make do with a dorm room and group shower facilities," you chuckled, playfully splashing the water at Cillian.

He laughed and splashed you back before pulling you in for a kiss. It was a brief reprieve from the heaviness of the conversation he had shared with his wife earlier - and, somehow, it made everything else seem easier to bear.

You and Cillian spent a comfortable thirty minutes in the bathtub, chatting about music, dreams, and aspirations. You shared stories from your life on campus and how you navigated yourself through medical school while Cillian interjected with comments and questions, one which caught you off guard.

"If you don't mind me asking," he began hesitantly, "why did you break up with Max?" he asked, bringing up a subject you hadn't expected. You took a deep breath in, considering your response. "I mean, you were together for a while," he prodded gently, not wanting to upset you.

"I...," you stammered, staring down at the water, feeling the awkwardness creeping up on you.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have asked. You don't need to answer that," Cillian quickly countered sympathetically, his fingers tracing circles on your shoulder.

"We were at and still are at different stages of our lives," you explained thoughtfully, avoiding his gaze. "So, our paths simply diverged I suppose and this led me to break up with him," you told Cillian, watching his reaction.

"I understand," he nodded, appearing thoughtful. "Sometimes life takes us on different roads, regardless of how much we may wish otherwise," he offered reassuringly and you couldn't help but state the obvious.

"On a road where I am sleeping with my ex-boyfriend's father?" you joked, half-seriously and half-nervous. Cillian chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the edges with amusement. "I guess so," he replied, reaching out to trace a line down your arm. "Who would've thought, eh?" he then murmured as he was feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips.

"Not me, definitely not me," you confessed, allowing a nervous laugh to escape before you asked Cillian an equally important question.

"I am curious though," you began cautiously, "Do you still love your wife?"

You swallowed hard, knowing that this was a sensitive topic and that his response might lead to an unexpected turn of events.

"No," he answered swiftly. "And if I would, then you wouldn't be here right now," Cillian answered with a subtle hint of sadness in his voice. "Our relationship has been complicated for a long time," he revealed honestly, reaching out to stroke your damp hair affectionately. "There have been arguments, misunderstandings, and many sleepless nights spent fighting to maintain our connection," he continued. "I suppose, somewhere along the way, we stopped loving each other," he concluded, his voice cracking slightly.

"Then why don't you divorce her? I mean, Max is an adult now and he would understand, right?" you ventured tentatively, still unsure of how Cillian would respond to your query.

"Because I haven't found the courage to do so," Cillian confessed frankly, his voice quivering slightly. "I always thought that, maybe, what is broken can be mended," he added sadly, running a hand through his wet hair. "But what we have become..." he trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Her jealousy caused most of our problems over time and, for the past ten years, she continuously accused me of cheating on her," Cillian sighed deeply, sinking further into the water.

"But you didn't?" you pressed, your curiosity piqued, and Cillian shook his head slowly.

"Not once," he insisted adamantly. "At least not until now," he corrected himself, his gaze lingering on you. "And you know what the worst part of this is?" he asked rhetorically, his voice trailing off. "I don't even feel that guilty now, for being with you," he confessed, leaning closer. "It feels wrong, yet so damn right," he murmured, pressing his lips against your neck.

You pulled him closer, feeling the electricity between you surge through your veins. "You're not alone there," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. "Like I said earlier, I never thought I'd be in this situation with my ex-boyfriend's dad," you admitted, a hint of laughter in your voice.

Cillian smiled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "I guess we're both pretty messed up, huh?" he teased, reaching out to pull you closer. Without hesitation, you nestled your head against his chest, savoring the warmth of his embrace just as there was yet another knock on the door.

"Room service," announced a voice from outside, and Cillian reluctantly released you, wrapping a towel around his waist before stepping out of the tub to answer the door.

As soon as he returned, tray in hand, you wasted no time in grabbing a slice of cheese and nibbling on it.

"This is delicious," you then remarked appreciatively before climbing back on to the bed with a fluffy towel wrapped around your body.

"I'm glad you approve," Cillian grinned, offering you a piece of bread before suggesting for you to spend the next few days with him, right here at the hotel.

You considered his offer, the idea appealing to you.

"Well, I have lectures in the morning and then I was meant to go to the movies with my friends, so...," you started to say but Cillian cut you off.

"What movie are you going to see?" Cillian asked casually, taking a bite of the apple he held in his hand. You bit into your cracker, chewing thoughtfully before responding.

"Oppenheimer," you admitted while blushing slightly and your answer caused Cillian to furrow his eyebrows.

"That movie is totally overrated, you know," he then teased with a mischievous grin, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Well, I guess I was really just going to see it because of that hot guy who happens to play that dude who built that bomb back during the war and...," you began to joke just as Cillian started to tackle you in the most seductive way possible, pinning you beneath him playfully.

"Uh, I see," he laughed, placing a playful kiss on your neck which, immediately, elicited a moan from you. "So, you are only interested in seeing the movie because I am in it...," he taunted, his voice husky and intoxicating.

"No," you giggled, swatting Cillian playfully. "I mean, it was a selling point, but it wasn't the only reason I wanted to see it," you explained, causing Cillian to chuckle.

"Relax, I'm only teasing," he assured you, his eyes gleaming mischievously before he kissed your neck tenderly.

"So, you really want me to stay?" you checked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, incredibly so," Cillian replied sincerely, stroking your cheek softly.

"You're sure that you won't regret it?" you questioned, hesitant despite the electric chemistry between you.

"Absolutely not," Cillian confirmed, his voice thick with desire, and there was a vulnerability to his plea that struck a chord deep within you. You couldn't shake the feeling that this was precisely where you belonged—with Cillian, entangled in this forbidden web of passion and intrigue.

"Okay," you thus conceded softly, a slow smile spreading across your face. "I'll stay," you whispered, your breath fanning out against Cillian's bare chest before you picked up your phone and texted your best friend and roommate Lucy, telling her that you wouldn't be back until Friday.

To be continued...

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy fanfic

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saintsenara · 4 months

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What is your rationale for disagreeing with the fanon that the horcruxes affected Voldemort's sanity?

that it's literally canon that they don't!

i obviously don't have an actual problem with people using the idea that the horcruxes affect voldemort's sanity as a trope, if that's what works for their story, but what irks me is that this idea is often repeated by voldemort enjoyers as canon fact, when the impact of horcruxes on cognitive function is spelled out clearly in half-blood prince:

Harry sat in thought for a moment, then asked, “So if all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort could be killed?” “Yes, I think so,” said Dumbledore. “Without his Horcruxes, Voldemort will be a mortal man with a maimed and diminished soul. Never forget, though, that while his soul may be damaged beyond repair, his brain and his magical powers remain intact. It will take uncommon skill and power to kill a wizard like Voldemort even without his Horcruxes.”

in half-blood prince - as in every book prior to deathly hallows - dumbledore functions as the "word of god" character, which is to say that the information he provides us - as long as it relates neither to harry nor himself - isn't up for interpretation, it's understood within the narrative as correct. we can also be sure that he's done his research on horcruxes, knows exactly how they work, and is speaking as an expert when it comes to their impact on the mind - and we can also note that slughorn [who also seems to know what he's talking about when it comes to horcruxes and their function] doesn't mention them causing any cognitive damage when discussing them with the teenage tom riddle.

but nobody has ever made as many horcruxes as voldemort! maybe one doesn't affect the mind, but seven certainly could.

except this doesn't align at all with how the series understands the relationship between the soul and the will.

one of the central themes of the harry potter series is the value of choice. all of its main characters have narrative arcs which hinge - in some way or other - on them making a choice, very often the choice between what is right and what is easy. ron chooses to leave and then chooses to come back; hermione chooses to stay. sirius chooses to take a stand against the life his family expect of him. snape chooses to repent of his sins and work forever to atone for them. harry chooses to walk into the forest and die. lily chooses to ignore voldemort's request for her to stand aside.

all of these choices are made of the character in question's own free will - and the same applies to everything voldemort does in the series. he chooses to kill and to keep killing of his own free will, with the full capacity to understand his actions, and he refuses, right until the very end, to show the slightest bit of remorse for what he's done - and it is this, in the narrative's view, which makes his behaviour so heinous and which causes his behaviour to have such an impact on the state of his soul.

if we assume that voldemort's grasp on rationality declines with the number of horcruxes he makes, we are also assuming that his capacity to understand the full wickedness of his actions also declines - but his motivation for killing myrtle to make a horcrux and his motivation for killing frank bryce to make a horcrux are exactly the same: he wants to, and he doesn't give a solitary fuck about the life he's just taken.

and this stands in contrast to something else we see in canon - the idea that killing does not automatically have an impact on the soul:

“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?” “You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” said Dumbledore.

this - the set-up to snape's mercy-killing of dumbledore - suggests that your soul is not harmed if you know without question that the death you cause is justified.

snape kills dumbledore of his own free will, but this suggestion also implies that it would be perfectly possible for the soul to remain unharmed if a killer was understood to be non compos mentis. that is, if someone lacked the capacity to understand their actions were not justified, then their soul would see them as "not guilty by reason of insanity" and not splinter.

voldemort's ability to make so many horcruxes in the first place, then, must depend on his capacity to understand exactly what he's doing - to know he could choose not to kill and then still do it anyway.

and we do actually see in canon that - while he's shown to be someone who kills with the slightest provocation in the films - the voldemort of the books is clinical and methodical in his violence:

“Nice costume, mister!” He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face: Then the child turned and ran away... Beneath the robe he fingered the handle of his wand... One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother... but unnecessary, quite unnecessary...

the canonical voldemort's known kill count is actually surprisingly low, and each of his victims is clearly selected with a rational [in the "does he have a disorder of thought?" sense, not in the "is this morally justifiable?" sense] motivation driving his decision to attack them - even if his actions are also affected by an emotional trigger [he does not, for example, kill his father or massacre the goblins who tell him that the cup was stolen for reasons which are irrational or delusional - incandescent fury or fear that your secret is out are not insanity].

voldemort kills and makes his horcruxes out of choice, and the series is clear that his capacity to understand that choice does not degrade across the course of his life.

ok, but you have to admit that he's definitely not... all there, personality wise...

sure. but i don't think this has anything to do with the horcruxes...

the idea that voldemort runs around shrieking and cackling to himself is an invention of the films. the canonical voldemort is shown to be lucid and thoughtful even in deathly hallows, he remains a formidable strategist right up until the end - and i think it's also worth noting that the films really gloss over just how successful his takeover of the government is - and his prodigious intellect and magical talent are acknowledged by the order throughout the series.

his more volatile personality traits - his fondness for monologuing, his rapid switching between being superficially charming and feral, his tendency to get lost in his own obsessions, his emotional brittleness - are all ones the eleven-year-old riddle is shown to possess, and i think it's much more interesting to explore the idea that they remain aspects of the person he once was which the adult voldemort cannot hide behind the mask he has constructed.

but - yes - its certainly true that the resurrected voldemort of order of the phoenix onwards is more paranoid, harder to soothe, crueller to his death eaters, more inflexible in his thinking and so on than he is implied to have been in the 1970s, and so i understand why many readers interpret this as evidence that his last two horcruxes [harry and nagini] - plus the arcane horror of his resurrection ritual - might have sent him round the bend.

but i think that the implication of canon is that this behaviour has much more mundane causes.

in october 1981, all the evidence we have is that voldemort is about to win. he is an unassailable terrorist kingpin with an army of highly-trained, highly loyal minions and - we can assume - widespread popular support.

and then only four of these supporters try to find him.

it's clear - as we can tell from the fact that barty crouch jr. is so shocked to discover that he didn't massacre the reassembled death eaters where they stood - that voldemort is livid that none of his "loyal" servants came to rescue him from the tree in albania his soul piece was hiding in, choosing instead to pretend they were under the imperius curse and that they'd never have been seen dead supporting him had they been in their right minds. it's also clear that he has no choice but to welcome these death eaters back to the fold once he's resurrected because he'd have no core supporters otherwise.

but it's also clear that he doesn't trust any of them one single bit once their commitment is proven to be so fragile - and that it is this, this evidence that he's just a human being with human feelings, rather than a creature of pure magic whose mind has been warped by that magic, which provides a much, much more interesting explanation for his increasing volatility as the war draws to its conclusion.

voldemort is at his most interesting - in my opinion - when his humanity [and his failure to outrun it] is foregrounded. this isn't incompatible with his creation of the horcruxes at all. but it is, i think, incompatible with the idea that they warp his mind.

#asks answered #asenora meta #tom riddle #lord voldemort

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