#jackson rippner fanfic

[red-riding-wood]

Coldfire - Pt. I

Pairing: Jackson Rippner x F! Reader

Fandom: Red Eye (2005)

Summary: As if catching his eye wasn't dangerous enough, you just had to tease him.

Warnings: SMUT. porn with plot but the plot is hush hush, non-con, teasing and a LOT of foreplay, semi-public sex, violence, near somnophilia, rough sex, humiliation, degredation, dirty talk, pet names, hair pulling, strangers, power imbalance, ("schoolgirl" university theme, but reader is of age)

WC: 6591

You’d smiled at him. That was all.

And now the man beside you was tapping you on your knee, firmly enough to let you know he wanted your attention. Badly.

Flopping your head to one shoulder, you looked up at him, startling blue eyes catching yours again as he smiled around white teeth. “May I help you?” your tone bordered playful and annoyed.

As if to address you more directly, the young man cocked his head slightly to mimic the motion of yours, smile fading as his eyes narrowed, roving across your features.

“I haven’t seen you around.” His voice was low, soft as silk. Were you not focused, you could’ve gotten lost in it. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

You tapped the end of your pen against your chin absently, looking him up and down. “I just enrolled a week ago,” you answered. “I haven’t seen you, either.”

“It’s my first time taking this class.”

Your eyes wandered to the empty desk in front of him, the space that only his shoes occupied on the floor. He’d dressed for the occasion, charcoal suit jacket and slacks pressed to perfection, silver dress shirt undone a button, but he’d brought no bag. Chestnut hair was swept to either side, settling perfectly over his ears, not a strand out of place, but he had no fucking bag.

A black watched poked from the cuff of his suit jacket.

1:07.

“You don’t say,” you murmured, and drew your gaze from his lazily, your pen lowering back to your page as you turned your focus back to the professor. This was important. You didn’t have time for distractions, even if they looked at you with big, blue eyes and smelled like sandalwood and…

Cinnamon, you realised, as your pen laid its haphazard strokes to the page.

Black ink streaked across the line as he tapped you again, this time on the stretch of bare flesh between your stockings and your skirt. Convenient, you thought. Goosebumps rose where his touch had been, and you sighed, clicking your pen as you turned to face him again, those frighteningly blue eyes boring into yours and his bottom lip nearly turning to a pout.

He was going to be a problem.

“Do you have a pen and paper I could borrow?” He asked, almost apologetic by the way his brows pressed together and his soft voice rose. Almost.

Tension eased from your body as you sighed, the breath having built in your lungs without you knowing, and you reached for your bag on the floor. Cold air kissed your skin where your shirt hiked up from your waist, your fingers rifling around for a loose page from your book and your spare pen. When you came back up, your cheeks were flushed and you had to brush a few strands of your hair from your lashes, but you still caught his eyes venturing lower than they should have for a split second.

“Usually, you bring stuff to take notes with,” you told him, an edge to your tone. As he reached for your spare pen, you pulled it back, a coy smile on your mouth. Something dark flashed in the bright of his eyes. “Often people bring a bag, or something. I’m assuming you forgot that…” you reached the pen out to run along the line of his hair, a strand coming undone and flopping over an unblinking lash. “… when you were doing yourself up all pretty.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, ever-so-slightly, but eyes of shattered ice seemed to latch to your soul, sinking hooks of steel into your chest. He blew a puff of air from his lips, the strand of chestnut hair settling messily over his forehead. You smirked as you handed the pen over, trying to ignore how warm his hand felt as it brushed yours. Repaying him in kind, your fingers brushed his thigh as you passed him the sheet of paper.

His gulp was audible, and you couldn’t help but be pleased with yourself. That would shut him up for a while.

You glanced up at the clock.

1:10.

“You’re one to talk, sweetheart.” That silk voice drifted to you again, and your grip tightened round your pen, the tip stilling on the page. “Bit of a short skirt for the schoolgirl look, don’t ya think?”

This time, when you looked, his gaze was shamelessly glued to the patch of skin above your stockings, and when those blue eyes met yours, you could tell you knew exactly what he was doing.

“Got the hots for the professor, or something?” he pried, biting his lip as he side-eyed you. Your brain went fuzzy at the motion, and you found you couldn’t stop staring at the way those lips parted, the bottom chapped slightly from the dry air and flushed pink from his teeth.

You straightened your spine, hiking your skirt up with an intent that surprised you. “It got you to look, didn’t it?” you almost purred, your teeth running along your lip to imagine, for only a moment, they were his.

It was a game now. He had you where he wanted you, and you knew it.

His watch read 1:11.

Attention sweeping back to the guest speaker, you tried to ignore the blue eyes that darted down to your thigh in the corner of your vision.

Focus, you told yourself, the world blurring at its edges as a heat began to build between your legs.

The guest speaker was drawing a diagram of an atom on the chalkboard. He was some hotshot physicist, recently employed by the military, lecturing at one of the top universities in the state. You were certain it was all very interesting, what he was saying. It was a shame you couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but the vexing stranger beside you.

Of all the days he could’ve picked to sit beside you.

“You want people to look, don’t you?” His voice wasn’t silk. It was poison. His tongue, a knife so sharp you wouldn’t know you’d cut yourself on it until it was too late.

1:13. Your eyes darted from the clock to the physicist, to the board, to the piece of chalk he gesticulated with. He was one of those well-dressed, prissy types who seemed to look down their nose at you when they talked. But you were sitting close enough to the front row that you noticed the faint lines of purple beneath tired eyes, the shadow of stubble growing in along a sharp jaw…

Fuck. Without realising, your thoughts had wandered back to the stranger, and you shot a look at him as if to blame him for all of this.

“Something wrong?” the stranger asked, brow furrowing in something akin to mockery. The bastard, he wasn’t even using the supplies you gave him, that he had asked you for. He was slouched back in his seat, pen tapping idly against a blank page. Why was he even here?

Your eyes darted to the lines of fatigue beneath his bright eyes, to the shadow of stubble along the jaw he shifted.

“You’re not taking notes,” you pointed out, before turning your attention back to the speaker, and then the clock.

1:17.

“Neither are you.”

Your pen stilled and your blood ran cold. Looking down at your paper, you realised it was utter nonsense; something about isotopes, scribbles, uranium, scribbles…

You decided to go back to tapping the pen against your chin.

1:18.

You watched the physicist’s lips move, but no sound seemed to come out. Your blood was starting to pound in your ears.

But the scoff of the stranger cut through the noise like a knife through butter. “How much did they pay him for this?” he said. “An IED won’t detonate without an oxidizing agent… potassium, chlorine, hydrogen peroxide, fuck’s sake, is this paranoia or laziness?”

It was as if he was talking about mundane, everyday things. His voice was so sweet, his words seemingly so benign that you almost didn’t register what he was saying. It was his frustration that caught you off-guard.

1:20.

“Hey, pal,” someone hissed behind you. “Some of us are trying to listen.” Their voice was so jarring in contrast to the stranger’s that you nearly jumped. You were too antsy. Sweat pricked at the back of your neck, stress creeping in to your joints.

Chewing at your pen, your head swivelled to the side. The chatty stranger was staring down the guy who’d shushed him, a familiar darkness flashing once more through his eyes. The darkness, it met you briefly, as he turned back around, taking notice of your attention. He fluffed his collar and smiled. The shards of ice in his eyes melted, jagged edges blurring.

Had you imagined it?

Probably, you thought, your head weighing heavy on your spine as you turned it to settle your gaze once more on the physicist. Hell, you were practically drooling around your pen; it felt wet against the swell of your lip. Murderous glares were apparently your thing.

1:22.

“You know…” A hot breath raked down your neck, and his silken words seemed to unravel in the space between you like a spool of thread, his lips softer than they looked as they brushed your ear. “ … I think you want to catch someone’s attention.”

You froze up, the strings of his breath sending shivers along your neck. Your jaw turned sore around your pen. You shifted in your seat, practically rubbing your thighs together to sate the itch between them.

1:23. Fuck it. You had work to do, but this man seemed intent on getting under your skin. Why not get under his?

“Oh, and that’s yours, is it?” you purred, not an inch between you as you met his gaze boldly. A freckled nose brushed yours, and bright eyes blackened from dilated pupils. His lip caught in his teeth again, and you had to look away to stop yourself from combusting. You thought you saw him smirk.

1:24.

“You sure are glancing at the clock a lot. Got somewhere to be?” he said, and you tensed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you muttered under your breath, tearing your eyes from the clock and regarding him with a tinge of suspicion, pen rapping lightly against your front teeth.

“Maybe I already know.” He leaned forward again with a sly grin. “You see, you’ve caught my interest.”

“Really,” you purred, biting your pen. He was forward; you would give him that. He thought he was winning this game, this game that only he knew the goal of. Whether you were more excited or infuriated, you couldn’t tell, but your blood burned hot beneath your flesh and your heart raced within your fluttering chest.

Mirroring his grin, you set the pen down, and fixed him with your gaze. “You see, maybe I do want to catch someone’s attention,” you spoke to him in a soft, slow tone. “Not the professor. His bodyguard, in the doorway.” Blue eyes bore into yours so intently, you swore he didn’t blink. “Maybe after the lecture I’m going to drop my notes on the way out. Bend down to pick them up, my skirt hiking up to reveal a pair of lace panties,” your fingers curled around the bottom of your skirt, revealing more of your flesh, his eyes darting down to take in your little show as his tongue caught gently in his teeth. Before he could catch a glimpse of what was underneath, you released the fabric, and it tumbled over your thigh. Blue eyes flashed dangerously as they returned to yours and his smile faded, chest heaving with quickening breath.

“Maybe I stand up too fast,” you said. “I stumble, backing into him. I spin on my heel and apologise and I look him up and down, all-innocent like.” You demonstrated your words, letting your gaze rake across the buttons along his shirt, the simple leather belt above his slacks. When you looked back up to meet his gaze, batting your lashes, it was as if the ice in his eyes had completely melted into pure, white-hot need. This only spurred you on, your heartbeat pounding between your legs as you brought your finger up to a lock of your hair. “Maybe I twirl my hair. We get to talking. We end up in the hallway, on the way to a storage room. Thing is, see…” With your other hand, your finger began to slowly trace up his thigh, making small circles. “… I can’t keep my hands to myself.” Darkness collided with blue fire as you grabbed at his thigh, nails digging in. He looked almost wild, ready to devour you, his perfect hair flopping a little over his eyes. “There are wet floor signs up. No one goes down there. So he grabs me by the hips and lifts me against the wall. Maybe you’ll walk by, catch a glimpse of my heels knocking together behind him. Maybe you’ll hear me whimper, my lips parted and eager.” His eyes darted to your mouth, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he leaned in ever-so-slightly, entranced. As if you were giving him ideas.

Cold washed over your face as you sprang up in your chair, your hand returning to your own lap as you looked at him triumphantly and said, “Or maybe I just dress like a slut because I really want to get an A.”

Yup, you definitely hadn’t imagined his murderous look. Because right now he was looking at you like he wanted to either rail you against the desk or choke you out cold. Maybe both. And if you weren’t careful, you were going to melt under that coldfire gaze.

A sigh escaped a pouted lip as you set your sights back on the rather disinteresting chalkboard. Above, the clock’s hand inched dangerously closed to half-past. 

This time, the scratch of his stubble brushed your earlobe and you shuddered beneath his panted breath. “Stop pretending like you care about the lecture. I know you just want to be fucked.”

Time, for one moment, seemed to freeze. Everything went still. People around you were packing up books, but no sound travelled past the deaf ring in your ears, punctuated only by the thud of your heart.

And then the clock’s hand reached 1:30. And the world slammed into you, the screech of chairs against flooring and the bustle of rowdy students seeming to split open your head, and streaks of red and blue and grey moved in front of you – binders, cardigans, hoodies, varsity jackets, all spilling through the aisles in one converging mass.

“I have to go,” you told the stranger, who stayed planted in his seat, staring up at you as you slung your bag over your shoulder and pressed your book to your chest. “You can keep the pen and paper.”

A puff of hot breath warmed the backs of your thighs as you purposely turned your back to him, skirt swishing in his face as you shimmied past.

Smoothing out your clothing, you released a shaky sigh, slipping into the mass of students as if swept up by a tide. The flurry of air sent a shiver down your sweat-dampened neck, and you tried not to focus on how the lace seemed to cling, already messy and wet and used, between your thighs.

As you passed the bodyguard in the doorway, your elbow caught in the crook of someone’s arm, and your notebook fell to the floor. Knees bending slightly, your fingers grasped for the metal bindings, your index snagging one of the rings. The world seemed to spin as you straightened, and when you backed up a pace or so, your ass hit something solid. Fingers ghosted over your hips, and your breath hitched in your chest.

“There you are, sweetheart,” a familiar, silken voice met your ears. Confused, you turned, and a hand settled in the groove of your waist, pulling you close.

“This one, she’s a little clumsy when she’s not on her meds,” the stranger told the bodyguard, and indignation passed across your features, but his fingers tightened around your waist, and his side felt sturdy against you. “Excuse us,” he said, and pushed you back into the flow of the crowd.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” you hissed at him, eyeing the bodyguard as you passed. He disappeared among the many bobbing heads.

“I have a special assignment for you.”

“Look, if you wanna give me your number, I – “

“Will do exactly as I say if you want to live,” he finished your words. “See, you’ve created a bit of a problem for me. It wasn’t meant to go like this.”

“Go like how?”

“You’ll see.”

His fingers were wrapped around the curves of your waist almost possessively, the heat of his palms burning through your thin shirt, guiding you through and from the crowd and into a hallway where the click of your heels punctured the silence and yellow, wet floor signs seemed to race past your vision. His stride was long, yet purposeful, with a contagious sense of urgency, as if he were on a mission, and you couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or excitement that seemed to stir in your belly. Gravity tugged you downward for one cruel second, adrenaline seizing you as your heel slipped from under you, but his body was there to catch you, firm against your spine, and his hand scooped beneath your skirt to grab a handful of skin and lace. You were righted with a startled huff, your ass dragging against a rather prominent outline in his slacks before you were shoved through the doorway.

“Sir, this is the women’s bathroom,” you sassed, as he manhandled you into the room that you hoped wasn’t as empty as it sounded. “I don’t think you’re allowed in here.” The last words left your lungs in a spool of thin air; you nearly went stumbling forward as he shoved you again, this time with the intent to put space between the two of you. Whirling on your heel, you saw him draw a lanyard from his pocket and you frowned.

“Oh, I don’t think anyone will mind,” the stranger said, turning the key in the lock of the door. You narrowed your eyes at him in confusion as a smile stretched across white teeth and bright eyes gleamed with equal parts annoyance and mischief.  

“Bit overdressed for a janitor, don’t you think?” You looked him up and down, your heart pounding against your ribs, with nothing but your words to arm you. You glanced at the stalls, all swung half-open.

Darkness flashed through bright eyes, and another lock of chestnut hair flopped over his forehead as he tilted his head down to glare at you, like a wolf would its prey. “Do I look…” He advanced, and you backed up instinctually, ass hitting the edge of the counter. “… like a fucking janitor to you?” His hot, minty breath raked across your face, your painted lashes fluttering, and his fingers snaked through your hair, gathering a handful in his palm and forcing you to look up at him. Fire raced along your scalp, and a sneer pulled over your teeth.

“Hey, the jumpsuits aren’t really my style, either… but if you don’t mind, I have somewhere to be…” The second you pushed yourself off the counter, his weight pinned you against it, the ceramic digging harshly into your spine. Your eyes darted to his watch.

1:35.

Damn him.

“I really think this is more important.” His voice dropped low and husky, caution laced into his growl of a tone, and something about the way you looked at him seemed to make him all the more feral.

You could barely contain your scream as you plunged your neck forward, white-hot pain stinging your scalp as your teeth snapped at his wrist and he pulled; your lips brushed flesh before your head was yanked back in a dizzying wave, and the fluorescent bulbs of the bathroom exploded like fireworks as your skull came crashing against the counter. The sounds of your struggle faded away into a harsh ringing; everything was too bright, too loud, the brilliant white of the fireworks flooding through the thick mass of hair that fell over your eyes. You shuddered, the fight leaving your body, and you were sinking, the world turning on its shaky axis.

A warmth brushed over the bare flesh of your thighs, the curve of your hip, blocking your fall and lifting you almost gently atop a hard, damp surface. Knives of white sliced your retinas as your head rolled back, and you groaned, squinting your eyes shut. It felt as if the knives were cleaving open your skull, smoldering with heat as if drawn from hot coals as your head met another hard, solid object.

A soft tutting filtered through the ringing of your ears, and distantly, a voice spoke to you, edged like the blades that split your skull, “Vicious little thing, aren’t you? Rabid bitch. Gonna have to put you down if you pull something like that again, sweetheart.”

What was he talking about? Why were you in so much pain? Why wasn’t the man reacting to the world rocking back and forth?

“Open your eyes…” The knives began to dull, their edges softening into silk spools. “Look at me, sweetheart… I want you to look at me.” You winced as light flooded your vision, a gentle hand sweeping the hair from your face and ghosting your parted lips before cupping your chin. “Look at me,” he repeated, firmer this time. It must have been important, so you peeled back your eyelids, weary.

The fireworks bled across your blurred vision, and pain tap-danced along your skull, your gut churning but the stranger’s hand steadying you. Navy and grey and white all undulated around the distinct figure of the man, black suit eclipsing the light. Your head was heavy, so heavy that you could’ve toppled, but he still held you firm, and each time you blinked, a new detail came into focus. His hair, dark, messed; his lips, parted, flushed pink.

His eyes, blue. So blue.

“That’s it… good girl.” Were it an object, you could’ve sunk into that voice, let it chase away your pain and soften the fall when gravity finally won you over. A soft whimper came shattered from your lips, suddenly dry. You snaked a tongue between them and felt the sting of your teeth as his hand lowered beneath the weight of your skull. Warmth danced along the flesh of your thighs, stretching your panties taut, a finger brushing the heat between them. Another whimper rose to your tongue, which watered as the spice of cinnamon and the creaminess of sandalwood collided with your senses. The fresh bite of mint, joining the mix as his breath pooled at the base of your neck.

“I think you want to stay awake for this, sweetheart.”

“Wha…” Your lips barely formed a sound as your eyes fluttered, and no sooner did you wonder why he wanted you awake did the thought disappear from your clouded mind, and a jolt travelled from the pool of heat between your legs to the very top of your skull, numbing the pain for a split second of bliss.

Shards of light danced across your vision, black lashes streaking across white, and oxygen raced to your skull as you gasped at the feel of a finger inside you.

“Can’t believe you’ve been wet all this time for me,” the man murmured into your ear, the ringing seeming to soften around his silk voice. “Turns out you were a slut after all.”

“Mm…” The sound came involuntary from your lips as his finger dragged against your velvety walls, curling against just the right bundle of nerves to send a warm tide of relief all the way up your body, your flesh buzzing and your eyes rolling back as the pain gave way to bliss.

“You’re liking this, aren’t you?” the stranger cooed, the cool trace of mint still on the hot breath that flushed your cheeks.

Your hips rolled forward as he wedged another finger inside, needy and pathetically desperate, but you didn’t care. You merely sought the friction of his hand, the release he granted you from the white-hot pain that was beginning to melt like butter into the background. You squirmed around him. His chuckle was warm, and encouraging; your jaw lolled open to uncage your heavy breath, and when he curled both fingers, your world erupted into tremors of euphoria and sweaty flashes of heat. Everything was fuzzy, your mind softening at its edges and your back arching as another jolt came racing through you. Your thighs clenched around him, and, by some cruel twist of fate, before you could tumble over the precipice of rapture, he withdrew his fingers and left you aching, empty, as you slumped over his shoulder, panties snapping back over your flesh.

With your lips parted against his neck, you could taste him, the creamy undertone of his aftershave and the spice of the cinnamon shampoo as his hair tickled your forehead. Even the scrape of the slightest trace of stubble along your nose was strangely comforting. The solidness of his chest, beneath your trembling form, keeping you from sinking to the cold ground.

“Wh-why did you stop?” you finally formed a coherent sentence, though your words came out in more of a whine than anything.

“Because…” The silk threads of his voice frayed as a growl reverberated through his chest, buzzing against your sternum, and sticky fingers, sweet with the scent of your juices, wrapped round your chin and forced your head back so you could look him in those blue, blue eyes. “… I had work to do, until you created a bit of a problem for me.”

Blinking hard, you tried to bring his features into focus, the sharp line of his cheekbones reminding you of the sharp slashes against a chalkboard. With his other hand, he took yours, your nails hooking along the metal buckle of his belt before brought to rest over the outline of his cock through his slacks. Instinctively, your fingers curled, as if seeking warmth, and you felt him twitch in your palm as his jaw clenched and his coldfire gaze devoured you, ice prickling at the back of your neck and molten lava seeping between your legs.

“This is the consequence of your actions…” He pressed your palm harder against the line of his cock, and your thighs shifted, aching for friction. Yearning to feel something more substantial inside you than his fingers. “Your fault… your problem… my slut… ” Now that you were awake enough to hold your own neck up, he released your chin to press his finger to your parted lips. You tasted yourself on him, but it does not repulse you; if anything, the addition to the delectable potion of sandalwood and cinnamon and mint only seems to spur your appetite, moistening your lips as saliva pooled on your tongue.

“Now you have to deal with this problem of yours.” His thumb stroked your cheek, his hips rutting gently into your hand. His lips flushed brighter after he caught them in his teeth, and your eyes traced the bow of them, mesmerised by the lurid colour in your world of black and white and navy.

“Now, I’d have liked to see you getting on your knees for me, would’ve liked to see these pretty lips around my cock, would’ve liked to see what that sharp tongue of yours could really do, but, I think it’s clear you’re a little too out of it for that, so…” He scrunched his face up in mock sympathy, and the slivers of ice in his eyes glinted like knives. “It looks like I’ll have to fuck you instead.”

I know you just want to be fucked, his voice seemed to echo in the empty chamber of your skull, and your brow furrowed despite your hips grinding feebly against the ceramic of the counter. Your heart thudded against your chest, seeming too quick for how slow everything else moved around you, and as he wedged his thumb past your lip, prodding at your teeth, your head flinched back and the blurry image of a clock materialised on the wall.

“Remember…” he said as your eyes focused on the object on the wall, wondering why it was so important to you. “… it didn’t have to be this way. If only you hadn’t resisted… if only you hadn’t been such a goddamn tease in the first place…”

Alarm shot like electricity up your arms, leaving goosebumps, but you couldn’t tell exactly where the hand of the clock was, or what it meant. Your head was still too fuzzy, your memory of how you even ended up here still just out of reach.

“Open your legs,” he ordered you.

“I have somewhere to be…” you mumbled. “Got something really impor –“

“No, you don’t,” he said, barbed wire weaving itself into the silk of his tone. A hand ran between the parting of your thighs, sending shivers along your flesh, causing your heart to pound faster in your core. His teeth grazed your neck as he growled in your ear, “Open. Your. Legs.”

Despite the soft moan he managed to pull from your diaphragm, you didn’t obey, and a huff of disgruntled breath stirred the wisps of hair from your neck as he forced your legs open with a sudden violence that got your heart hammering and your veins singing with fire. You attempted to slide off the counter, finding yourself unable to lift your own weight, and for one moment, you seemed to fall, with nothing beneath you but the harsh pull of gravity.

And then your face was nestled back in the crook of his neck, and those hands cradled your ass, and the hard line of his cock shifted the lips of your pussy apart ever-so-slightly.

“Shhh, it’s all right.” His tone smoothed into a hushed, gentle whisper, and the shift was so jarring that the clock and the urgency and the fuzzing memories of what had occurred before all faded away. “You don’t need to think about anything right now except me being inside you, about how good you’re gonna make me feel, babygirl.” He placed a kiss so soft to your shoulder that you couldn’t help but ease, his soothing voice lulling you into submission. “I’m gonna take care of everything… just so long as you let me do what I like to you… just so long as you know you’re mine… my good girl.” You could feel his lips pull into a smile against your flesh, a hint of darkness creeping into the melody of his tone. “You’re not going anywhere.”

All that existed now was him, and the distracting feel of his cock begging for entrance past your thin layers of clothing, and the heat that came in waves over your limbs as your heart beat too fast for your body. With your mind drawing blanks on your prior concerns and the scent and taste of him against your tongue so sweet, you found yourself giddy, a giggle chiming from your chest as you began to nip playfully at the soft flesh of his neck. Your hand came up to his throat, as if to have some kind of control over him as he did you in this moment, applying force as if to push him away, and beneath your palm was the rumblings of a warning growl.

“You’re not being a very good girl,” he remarked, and in another violent outburst, your spine was slammed against the corner of the counter, and pain shot from your tailbone all the way up to your skull, reminding you of the injury you’d sustained. Your gut churned again as his fingers dug into your sides, twisting you around until you caught a blurry glimpse of your reddened face in the mirror, mascara smeared across your cheek and your lips parted in a sinful gasp.

Bitter cold washed over your thighs as he pulled your skirt up, the sound of a buckle clanging through the slight ringing still in your ears. You barely had the time to process what was happening before feeling the sharp snap of your panties being torn from your thighs, the burn they left against your skin a welcome distraction from the pounding in your skull, and your thighs tucked together instinctively as cold nipped at the most sensitive part of you and his cock brushed teasingly against the line of your legs.

The stranger tutted in disproval and forced fingers between your thighs again, his other hand weaving itself through your hair and grinding your jaw against the cold ceramic of the counter. “No, no, sweetheart… don’t play those games with me,” he reminded you, and a hint of defiance coursed through you, ready to land on your tongue in the form of some venomous remark, when the words, breath and energy were ripped from your aching body and the desire that simmered beneath your surface was finally met.

Your scalp burned as he pulled you flush to his chest, sliding down on his cock, the thickness of him seeming to split you in two. Your eyes shuttered and you panted in exultation, knuckles chafing against the countertop as he began to fuck you, his own breath hissing against the sensitive groove of your neck as he adjusted to your tightness.

You whimpered from the bursts of euphoria that accompanied each thrust of his hips, some rolling over you like a heavy tide that left you trembling and weak, ready to unravel around him, others striking you quick as lightning and threatening to plunge you over your precipice. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hair so tight explored your body as if you were his property, slipping beneath your shirt and groping almost painfully at your breasts. The feel of his thumb brushing across a pert nipple made you arch your back, his cock pushing deeper inside you and causing your whole body to shudder.

“F-fuck – “ you hissed, your hand reaching around to grab at his hair, needing something to pull at, something to sink your nails into as pain blended with pleasure.

“That’s my good girl.” His hot breaths came panted against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin with each thrust. “That’s my good. Fucking. Girl.” Each word came out raspier, growled from the darkest recesses of his chest, and his hips bucked so violently into you, you remembered for a brief moment that he’d had the audacity to call you rabid.  

You could do nothing as he left himself sheathed inside you, warmth spilling along your inner thighs as he came, his teeth biting at your skin as your fingers tugged at his messed hair. Still grinding desperately against his length, you stirred a deep, resonating moan from him, and his breath shattered against your neck.

You hadn’t realised just how firm his weight had held you in place until he pulled away, gradually, his hands slipping from your hair and your stomach and twirling you in a daze back around to glimpse soft freckles and sharp cheekbones undulate in your vision. His cock, slicked with his your nectar, brushed your stomach, leaving residue that was warm at first and cruelly cold as he backed away.

“And now you have a mess to clean up,” he told you once he’d caught his breath, swiping a finger across the slit of your still-throbbing heat, gathering the unique elixir of sex and forcing it past your teeth. Your lips curled around his thick finger and you suckled, a moan catching in your throat at the sordid taste.

Roughing the same hand through your wild hair, he flashed a grin at you, and though your vision still swam, it couldn’t obscure the wicked glint in his eye. He looked you up and down, as your weak legs trembled beneath you and you shivered with the cold rush of your sweat and his cum on your thighs. You were sinking again, gravity slowly claiming you, your consciousness feeling as if it might slip into oblivion.

“Do you need me to take care of you, babygirl?” He almost taunted, though his words were woven soft as silk spools again. A hand grazed your thigh, and you shivered beneath his touch. “You need me to take care of you, don’t you, because you can barely stand after getting fucked so hard.”

You could only whimper in agreement as you sank to the floor, thighs still burning from chafing against the counter and darkness teasing the edges of your vision. He wasn’t there to catch you this time, instead busy buckling up his belt. “Fine, fine… I’ll take care of you, just as soon as I finish your job for you…”

Something heavy settled in your gut, and you blinked away the darkness, panic rising in your throat as you curled against the tile flooring. Looking up at him, you watched as he straightened his shirt, groomed his hair back to its meticulously tailored façade, felt spite tinge your tongue like bile as you watched the hand of the clock tick by a fraction.

“So incompetent…” he muttered, his gaze torn between you and his reflection now, trying desperately to smooth out his hair, to brush out the last wrinkles from his suit jacket. “It’s fine. I think I have a new assignment for you, anyway.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pain exploding behind your temples. “You wha… you… “

Swallowing against a dry throat, keeping yourself upright by the sheer force of your quivering arm and white knuckles against the tile, you watched as he made his way to the farthest stall. The panic wove itself round your lungs, stealing your breath and blackening your mind’s edges again. You flinched as you heard him rifle around in the toilet paper dispenser, the sound familiar to you – you’d done such a thing not even an hour or so prior – until he emerged with the reason why. The black metal of your Ruger was small yet menacing in his hand as he checked the magazine, and pain exploded in your skull as fragments of your mission came screaming back to you, the preparation you’d put into this particular assignment because you knew you were being tested by the higher-ups…

“Seriously, Y/N? You thought you’d be able to hide this up that short skirt?” He shook his head, tutting again as you wondered how he knew your name. Cocking the action caused you to flinch one more time, and asked, voice wavering,

“Who are you?”

“The name’s Rippner. Jackson Rippner.”

Your hand slipped from the tile, and came to your mouth in a silent gasp, the blackness overtaking you as you realised that not only had you failed your mission, but you’d just been fucked by your boss.

The world seemed to narrow and close like the end of an old film, until all you could make out was the silhouette of his cocked head, the flash of white teeth as his lips curled into a smile so dreadful that it would forever etch itself into your memory.

And that was all.

A.N. Please let me know if you would like a Part 2! Now excuse me while I go hide I've stayed up all night and am posting this on half-dead 7 am brain before I can regret it

PART II HERE

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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

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

#jackson rippner #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner x you #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner imagines #jackson rippner fanfic #jackson rippner fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy #jack rippner #red eye 2005 #s: coldfire

[cillianhead]

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

[liliesdiary]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Step Dad Jackson Rippner & His Good Girl ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

inspired by: 🎀

💌 @slut4thebroken 💌

your fic made me so wet <3

(older Jackson Rippner)

#jackson rippner imagine #jackson rippner fanfic #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner #jackson rippner moodboard #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillain murphy moodboard #cillian murphy fanfic #cilian murphy #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy #lily <3 #lily's moodboards #lily's moodboards <3 #step dad jackson rippner #step dad #his little girl #daddy's good girl #daddy’s babygirl #old enough to be my dad old enough to be my man #dady issues #daddy issues #spank me daddy #hes so babygirl #i love him #i want to be his little girl

[lis-likes-fics]

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.

Cillian Murphy taglist: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time​ @goblinjnr @kmc1989 @shelbyism @weepingwitchofthewest @cl-0-vr @thoticious @sinarainbows @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bernelflo @dragonslayersupremacy @alurafairy @pietroxreader @darkcastle167 @neonpurplestars89-blog Tag yourself here...

#jackson rippner #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner x reader smut #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner fanfic #jackson rippner fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #red eye 2005 #red eye 2005 fanfic #red eye 2005 fanficiton #fanfiction #fanfic #10 days of smutmas #dead dove do not eat

[floralcyanide]

hii welcome back 💗 can you do headcannons for obsessive stalker Jackson Rippner (go wild with this one) , thank youu 🌷

Jackson Rippner Headcanons

Jackson Rippner x Reader

masterlist

✺ it was innocent at first. he spotted you at the airport and quietly followed you all the way to your parked car. he asked for a ride to the front of the airport, to which you answered that you weren't a taxi cab, but did it anyway. he was handsome and seemed safe.

✺ what you didn't know was, your parking receipt had your full name on it from the credit card purchase. with that, he could easily find where resided. and he did once he got home.

✺ from then on, Jackson became utterly obsessed with you. he thought you were very attractive and had a wonderful personality- from the short period he was in the car with you. but he's learned so much about you just from watching you go in and out of your apartment. your MySpace also had a lot of valuable information on it.

✺ it was a common practice for Jackson to sit outside your apartment building in his basic, unassuming vehicle. sometimes you'd forget to close the blinds or have them up with the curtains open when you'd get undressed. so Jackson had a brilliant view of your body.

✺ Jackson wasn't normally the type to get off on seeing someone naked- he did get off on the fact you were naked and didn't know he could see you, though. so one day, he sneaks his hand into his pants. and after that, every time he'd come to "visit" you, he'd beat one off. it became a habit of sorts.

✺ the day you finally noticed him, six months had passed without issue for Jackson. but today, he fucked up. he could see you on your bed clearly through the window, and you were exploring yourself with your hands. it gave Jackson a very intense orgasm seeing you touch yourself; so intense that he fell asleep in the driver's seat.

✺ when he awoke, it was beginning to become daylight. he had slept all night. he realizes why he woke up very suddenly: there was someone knocking on the window. Jackson looks up, and it's you. he has to do a double-take before realizing his fly was still very much down.

✺ you start laughing at him, arms crossed as you shake your head. you had finally caught him red-handed. Jackson, very rudely but in an embarrassed fashion, asks why you're laughing. to which you answer, "now it's my turn to see you vulnerable." a haunted look crosses Jackson's face, how long had you known he was watching? he didn't even have to ask out loud before you say, "oh. I knew a month in. I know all my neighbors' cars and knew yours was no one of theirs. one night, I recognized you when some headlights flashed across your face."

✺ Jackson is shocked about you knowing and not caring that he'd been stalking you for months. a part of you knows it's wrong, but another part of you is flattered that someone would spend so much time watching everything you did. even more flattered at the fact Jackson was secretly too shy to ever say a word to your face and would rather be hunched in his car. it's even more attractive knowing what he was doing while hunched in the car.

✺ you invite him upstairs to shower and make him promise not to snoop while you are getting dressed for work. he honors your wishes and quickly showers as you're getting ready. before he dips, he leaves his number on your kitchen counter. he manages to sneak out before you're on your way to work. when you notice the number on the counter, you smile to yourself. hey, at least he didn't kill you, right?

✺ that night, Jackson isn't there for the first time in half a year, which makes you a little sad. but to your surprise, you come inside your apartment to flower pedals and candles everywhere. while Jackson was in your apartment that morning, he made a mold of your house key that hung from the hook by the front door. how romantic.

#jackson rippner #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner fanfiction #jackson rippner fanfic #jackson rippner fic #headcanon #headcanons #red eye #red eye 2005 #jackson rippner one shot #jackson rippner imagine #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy one shot #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic #floralcyanide writes

[fkmarrycill]

Touch Me, Tease Me Collection, Part 1

911 words

Smutty vibes 🔞

Yes, I named this after a 90s R&B song. 🤭🤭🤭 It's Jackson Rippner, getting a little spicy TLC from his dominatrix girlfriend. I plan to write more of them–I see it as a collection of one shots of them, a loving couple with unusual careers. I love the idea of our man Jackson being vulnerable in this way.

Thanks for reading! ❤️

At last, I felt the tension begin to leave his body, as my deep kiss made his self-control slowly melt away. My full lips, pressed against his full ones, nuzzling their softness, teasing before they gave way to my tongue cleaving his mouth open. He gasped as I grasped his face strongly. I explored the warm cavern of his mouth, dueled his tongue for supremacy and, triumphant, sucked gently on the acquiescing muscle. The groan that began deep in his throat wanted to escape and fill the room, but I continued to silence him, with one soul-scorching kiss after another.

I straddled him while he reclined on the curved sex chaise that was covered in red PVC, and I could feel him hardening rapidly underneath me. I chuckled into his mouth while I continued to kiss him. He was right where I wanted him: arms over his head, wrists in tied in soft rope, legs similarly bound. He was excited, eager to have his latest fantasy come to life. All I knew was that I'd have a wicked good time with him, same as always.

I knew when I first saw him that he was trouble, but not in the way he usually inflicted chaos on the world. Yes, he was a merciless assassin, but to me, he was trouble in the sense of his energy: powerful, mysterious, barely contained. Primal, like a tiger hunting its prey and biding its time.

I'd met him at a friend's party. He'd tried to woo me with a sweet, charming veneer at first, but he soon revealed his true self after I mentioned I'd heard of his work. I told him I was glad he'd stopped pretending with me, that someone with my unique skill set would never fall for his meet-cute gambit, because his presence alone spoke volumes about who he really was.

He wanted to be a client, but I never mixed business with pleasure. I told him that. Exactly like that. And then I whispered in his ear what I had in mind for us. The lust that crawled across his face, narrowing his eyes and turning his lips up into a grin, let me know he didn't mind one bit.

What I didn't tell him was that he made me a little uneasy when we first met, with those intense blue eyes set deep into the contours of his preternaturally beautiful face–his beauty being much more disarming than his resume to me. But now, we were inseparable: lovers living together, doing the things that all lovers do, but also terrorizing the world with our unique sets of skills.

He came home with a toy, one that I could use to drag him to that line between extreme pleasure and temporary insanity that he loved so well. It was a basic prop that could be obtained from any mildly titillating sex shop, but he'd never expressed interest in one before. He was always in control for his job, but lucky for both of us, he liked to play much, much harder than he worked, and he was open to trying anything once. I took today's request as a deeper level of trust that had developed between us, boyfriend and girlfriend, sub and mistress. I looked forward to the vulnerability he would share, only with me.

"Ready to start the scene?" I said, breaking the kiss.

"Yes,” he intoned.

“Same rules as usual, same safe word.”

“Make it good, Mistress," he said, looking up at me with his cold, seductive eyes and his usual smirk. His mouth was closed, but his flared nostrils and chest rising and falling let me know that he would've been gasping for breath if his pride wasn't so strong.

He was my lovely brat, easily the most beautiful man I'd ever laid my eyes on. I let him get away with much more talk than my clients when we were in a scene; partly because of our bond, but also because of that cold-blooded reputation. I liked to get as close to that line of danger and excitement as possible for myself, just as much as my clients and my lovers did, which is why my schedule was filled with the scariest of killers and thugs. But I always knew not to push so far that they wanted to break character–and break my bones.

I gave him one last kiss. We both smiled at each other, and while our eyes locked in a gaze of mutual admiration, my right hand grasped the gag on the side table.

Soon, everything was in place. I stifled a moan as I took a look at him: his mouth parted and his full lips comfortably cradling the red silicone ball, while the leather straps hugged his face and drew even more attention to his prominent cheekbones. The pale, naked skin of his body flushed as he waited for me to do my worst.

His wide, cyan eyes were starting to glaze over, occasionally hidden by the fan of his eyelashes every time he blinked. His dark hair had been perfectly styled, but now shaggy bangs almost covered those eyes, thanks to his arching and squirming. He'd come undone a bit already, yes, but he and I both knew it was only the beginning. I'd savor every scandalous thing I'd do along the way to give him release with an edge.

#jackson rippner #Jackson Rippner x oc #cillian murphy #red eye #fan fiction #fkmarrycill library #jackson rippner fanfic #Jackson Rippner fan fic

[mypoisonedvine]

"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

[your-nanas-house]

Tighter than usual

◇ Pairing: Stepdad!Jackson Rippner X stepdaughter!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, cheating, thigh fucking, p in v, Jackson, rough and dark

◇ Summary: Jackson searches satisfaction after a wet dream.

◇ Note: Came up with this idea yesterday and my lovely @mrkdvidal1989 helped me so much! Another amazing collaboration, enjoy!

Quietly opening the door, Jackson slipped inside without a sound. Whole house was dark, as his wife and Y/n were already sleeping. He was tired, hungry and completely drained. 

It wasn't surprising how late he was coming home, both his wife and step daughter knew how demanding his work was. 

Quietly making his way up the stairs after locking the door, he passed by Y/n’s room, glancing inside to see if everyone was okay.

The twenty year old was sleeping, as always at that time of the night, covered head to toe with her heavy, fluffy blanket, peacefully breathing. 

After seeing it, Jackson didn't wait any longer before heading straight to the bathroom for a quick shower, and less than fifteen minutes later he was finally in bed. The coziness and warmth overtaking him in seconds before he fell into a deep sleep.

”Fuck” Jackson murmured as he woke up covered with a thin layer of sweat, his whole body hot after the wet dream he had. A low groan leaving his lips as he reached under the blanket, feeling the rock hard erection that formed between his legs. 

Hard, hot and aching under the slightest touch, he knew that it wasn't an option to go to sleep with that. Huffing with how incredibly warm and aroused he felt, Jackson's hand wrapped around his thick member stroking it for a moment before he let go. The sensation of his own fingers wasn't enough in any way. 

Turning his head, he noticed the beautiful woman laying by his side, facing away. Her hair resting messily on the pillow as she slept rolled in a little ball. It's been so long since the last time they had sex, Jackson thought with sadness mixed with annoyance. 

Throb of his cock only deepening the despair, as he scooted closer. 

His big hand moves slowly on her body, his breath getting heavier as he stroked slowly her calf… feeling her soft skin while moving his calloused fingers up slowly, following the line of her bare, long leg.

His face moved closer to the back of her neck, allowing him to bury it in her hair.. taking a long sniff of her scent before groaning softly, getting more impatient with each second passing.

His hips moved involuntarily forward, making him find a bit of the friction he craved as his hands moved up the silky tank top she was wearing. So that he could stroke her bare hips before grabbing them.. his cock rubbing against the fabric of his boxers in an almost teasing way. He needed more… he deserved more, he thought as the frustration and anger started to grow in his body, making him quicken his movements. 

Pulling down his underwear freeing his cock from the boxers that grew too tight, too soon. 

Jackson's lips leaving wet kisses on her soft, smooth skin, his breath getting heavier and heavier at the thought of just taking what he wanted.. no, deserved. She smelled of.. a sweet, fruity scent that made his eyes roll in the back of his head, heart pounding in his chest at the burning list rushing through his veins. 

It was his wife’s duty to take care of his needs anyway so he could just slip it in her pussy while she kept sleeping, right? It's not like it would be the first time he did it. 

His bare chest kept moving up and down quickly, his chest hair tickling the woman’s back as his hips pressed harder against her round ass, making him groan softly breathless, his big hand flat against her tummy before he decided to pull carefully down the clothes that were covering her lower half.

His callous hand kneading his flesh of her butt, his breath caressing the shell of her ear 

“Fuck, honey” Jackson growled softly, smirking against the soft skin of her neck “Someone went to the gym, huh? This round ass of yours wasn’t that firm from what I remember” he praised softly, nibbling on her skin, getting more eager and horny. It was true, her body felt.. more firm. Sexier than the last time he had the opportunity to feel it well. 

It wasn't really surprising looking at how they just kept arguing all the time, the last time they slept together over six months ago. 

“Yeah..” he hummed, grinding his bare, leaking cock between her ass cheeks as he stretched to grab the lube from the bedside table. His bottom lip caged between his white teeth as he kept moving his hips. We don’t need a condom, do we, honey? He thought, glancing at the still sleeping woman, his chest pressed back against her back as he spreaded the lube on his cock, pumping it a couple of times before thrusting it between her clothed thighs. No, we don’t.. bet you won’t mind, he thought again as his eyes rolled back and his mouth dropped slightly. Remembering all the arguments she caused lately, acting ungrateful and rude towards her hardworking husband, Jackson bared his teeth involuntarily as anger filled his veins. 

He deserved to take her. Now and anytime.

His hips moved on their own as his hand kept her bare thighs together “Such a good, little slut” he murmured, increasing the speed after he checked that the woman was still asleep. 

His eyes narrowing softly as the thoughts kept spinning and occupying his mind, anger was now boiling in him as his hips increased the pace, making his skin slap against hers. His legs pressing her own down into the mattress, keeping her in place, angled the way he wished. 

That's the least she can do, he thought with arrogance, stay fucking put.

He couldn’t hold it any longer, the need to be inside of her completely overwhelming his senses. So completely lost in his pleasure he grabbed his cock, squeezing it in his fist lightly as his eyes fell shut for a moment, before moving her a bit. After making her change her position to allow him to press his thick cock at her entrance, Jackson's eyes widened feeling how wet she was in her sleep.

Someone had a wet dream too, huh? He thought with a grin. 

He didn't budge or planned to give her an easy time after waiting for several months. Mercilessly thrusting it completely at once, despite remembering how she always struggled to take him. 

His hips smacking her ass harshly “Nu, no spankies, daddy” a soft tired and breathless voice murmured, followed by a whine as his pubic bone kept slapping against her ass, his aching dick inside of the tight warm pussy, burying deeper and deeper with each stroke until finally, he nestled balls deep inside her for a moment, breathing deeply. Jackson didn't remember her being so.. tight. The sudden squeeze on his cock made him have to breathe a couple seconds to ensure he wouldn't cum right away.

“Daddy—” the voice repeated in a whine, squeezing him with her slick, hot walls as never before.

His incredibly bright eyes snapping open as soon as his brain registered whose voice it was, his hips continuing to thrusts in an animalistic pace. Fuck, he thought, stretching his body to go deeper inside of the warm cunt. His jaw dropping open in a silent groan when his hands grabbed his stepdaughter’s breasts from under her silky tank top.

“Fuck, baby.. shhh, everything is all right, go back to sleep.” he murmured, not stopping his assault at her cunt “Such a good girl, yes?” he praised, holding her closer as he increased the speed, listening to her soft moans and whimper.

Jackson wished he could stop, but the lack of pleasure for the last months made him go absolutely feral at the sensation of a tight pussy relentlessly squeezing him and sucking him right back in every time he'd pull back.

Y/n tried to look at him, turning her head to the side, but he didn't let her. Grabbing her jaw with his right hand, he squeezed it tightly keeping her head in place, panting right by her ear, his hot breath hitting the skin on her neck.

”Shouldn’t have come here dressed like that.” He hissed, hearing the whimpers pushing past her lips with each thrust. Jackson's hips had their own mind, picking up a fast rhythm, fucking her hard and without any intention of stopping despite knowing how wrong it was. 

“Where’s your mother?” he rasped out, groaning animalistically in the crook of her neck. It felt so.. forbidden for the both of them. 

Jackson couldn't help but let the little thought blossom in his mind, after getting neglected by his wife for so long. 

Revenge sounded pretty good to him, especially if it consisted in exploring and finding pleasure by using the young body that aroused him since the first time he saw her.

”She.. She..” Y/n attempted to respond, his fingers pressing on her neck a little too tightly to speak freely. ”She went to.. the club.” She managed to stutter out, followed by cries and loud moans as Jackson sped up, hitting her pussy harder than before as anger grew even more. 

“Of course, she went” he spat, clenching his jaw in annoyance and anger “Fucking whore” he insulted his wife, holding Y/n’s throat to keep her in position as his hips smacked against her red butt “But you are better, aren’t you?” He whispered, breathing deeply, inhaling her sweet scent again. 

Jackson leaned in closer, his wet lips grazing over her neck, a little above his hand. ”You’re not a whore like your mother, eh?” he breathed out, making her whine as his thick cock brushed her sweet spot “You’re a good girl, right, sweetheart?” His low voice praised her as Jackson's moves became more sloppy, more careless as he started feeling his climax getting closer and closer, tension in his lower stomach getting stronger with each thrust.

“Fuck, fuck—” he cursed, inhaling sharply… her scent getting him, making him feel surrounded and dizzy for a moment, till he suddenly felt a grip on his balls, her soft hand caressing them, causing him to finally shoot his load inside of her with a low groan.

“Fucking naughty thing” he rasped in her ear, making her giggle cutely that brought a small smile on his face. A smile that dropped as soon as her smaller hands moved his big one on her lower tummy “Will be a mommy now… mommy of your babies” she teased, holding back a smile as she felt his whole body tense, his hand gripping slightly the flesh of her tummy.

“W-what?” he murmured as thoughts ran inside of his head. 

Jackson was completely frozen as his brain started working again, no longer clouded with lust.

Y/n shut her eyes, feeling that he didn't soften inside her yet.. but rather twitched again. 

With a high pitched whine she started moving her hips while rubbing her clit, not wanting to be left without orgasm.

Jackson let out a choked breath, shocked with her previous statement as she kept moving, impaling herself on his still hard cock.

“Y/n..” He breathed out, holding her hips, but it didn't take long before she came, spasming and shaking for a couple minutes.

As soon as her orgasm subsided, Y/n breathed out with a giggle, turning back to face him. A mischievous smile on her face before he pecked his lips, turning back around.

“No worries, daddy, I'm on a pill.” 

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989

#jackson rippner x you #jackson rippner x y/n #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner #cillian murphy fic #cillian fic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fluff

[starwoed]

some Jonathan crane x fem!yn doodles for you all ..

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane fanart #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy fanart #jackson rippner #jackson rippner x reader #I’m getting tired of adding tags #art #yippeeee #sketch #he’s so babygirl #I love my wife Jonathan crane

[deceitfuldevout]

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

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Masterlist (Cillianmesoftlyyy)

Last updated: 3/16/24

As requested, here yah go my lovelies! Series are indented separately to keep them together. One-shot stories are listed in numbered format. Requested fics have a "⭐️"

Neil Lewis:

The Gumshoe is a Girl's Best Friend (fluff)

Horror Movies (smut) Horror Movies Pt 1 Horror Movies Pt2

As You Wish (smut) As You Wish Pt 1 As You Wish Pt 2 ⭐️

Tommy Shelby:

In Love, in War (smut): In Love, in War Pt 1 In Love, in War Pt 2 In Love, in War Pt 3 In Love, in War Pt 4 In Love, in War Pt 5

At the Cabaret (smut): At the Cabaret Pt 1 At the Cabaret Pt 2 At the Cabaret Pt 3 At the Cabaret Pt 4 At the Cabaret Pt 5

Cillian Murphy:

Under the Weather (fluff)

Method Acting (smut)

So New (fluff)

Like a Good Neighbor... (smut)

Cut the Shit-delusion, Sweetheart (fluff)

Nerves (smut) ⭐️

Dr. Jonathan Crane:

The Experiment (smut + my first work) The Experiment Pt 1 The Experiment Pt 2 The Experiment Pt 3

I Can Fix That... (smut) I Can Fix That Pt 1 I Can Fix That Pt 2 I Can Fix That Pt 3

Jonathan Breech:

The Ward (smut) The Ward Pt 1 The Ward Pt 2 The Ward Pt 3

Tom (The Party 2017):

Sweet Revenge (smut)

Agent Lenny Miller (Anna 2019):

How About It, Agent Miller? (smut)

#cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #fanfiction #cillian x reader #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders #cillian fluff #cillian fanfic #cillian x y/n #smut #neil lewis #watching the detectives #jackson rippner #on the edge 2001 #hot scarecrow #dr crane #johnathan crane #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic

[red-riding-wood]

Coldfire - Pt. II

Read Part I here!

Pairing: Jackson Rippner x F! Reader

Fandom: Red Eye (2005)

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

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

WC: 6511

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4:13.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” you groaned.

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

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

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

“On?”

“On how well you behave.”

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

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

Your head hurt too much for this childish nonsense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One thing at a time, sweetheart…”

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

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

“A hotel.”

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

“Where is the hotel?”

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

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

Coldfire.

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

Like you were one to talk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was that all? It hurt so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want me to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though, on second thought…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coldfire.

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

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

---

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

8:56.

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

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

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

But did you really want it to be easy?

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

He must’ve thought you were so pathetic.

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

8:59.

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

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

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

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

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

Thud, thud, thud, thud…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no fear in his gaze. Only darkness.

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

And without thinking, you screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you enjoyed your little games.  

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

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[cillianhead]

Give us thigh riding with Cill or Tommy, please 🙏🏻😮‍💨

Thank you nonny for this wonderful request <3

Lazy Sundays || Cillian Murphy x Reader

warnings: Smut, thigh riding, cursing, sort of exhibitionism (Cillian is on the phone while... reader rides his thigh), choking, Cillian being a little rough with reader, degradation, general adult content!!

18+ Minors DNI

The sun had barely risen when you woke up, and Cillian was nowhere to be found, which was unlike him so early in the morning. You frowned as you sat up, rubbing your sleepy eyes, and softly slipped out of bed to find your husband.

You found him at the bottom of the stairs, grumbling on the phone with someone. You assumed it was something work-related. You quietly padded down the stairs and sat down next to him with a gentle smile, still incredibly sleepy and wanting to go back to bed.

"Hey baby," He mouthed to you silently before grumbling something back to whoever was on the phone was. He wrapped an arm around him, pulling you into his side. You curled around his arm and nuzzled your face into his soft sleeve. "Thanks, Gary... bye, mate." Cillian muttered before hanging up the phone.

"Cillian..." You whispered with a pout. "Let's go back to bed... you promised a lazy Sunday today... and it's too early..." You winged.

"Sleepy girl," He chuckled breathily, leaning in and pecking you on the lips. You hummed happily at the little sliver of love he gave you. "Come on, darling... let's go back to bed." He extended a hand out to you as he stood up and you took it gratefully as you yawned dramatically.

Cillian gave you a gentle smack on your ass as you crawled into bed. "Why'd you do that?!" You whined.

"'Cause I can," He snickered, pulling the both of you under the covers and pulling you close to him, conveniently placing his thigh right in between your legs. "You're so beautiful." His voice was low and gravelly; he was still quite groggy from how early it was in the morning, and the low vibrations made you feel so fucking dizzy.

"Cillian..." You whispered as he slipped off his long sleeve shirt and ushered you to take yours off too.

"Morning sex?" Cillian asked as if you would say no. "Please, baby? Fuckin' had the nicest dream about you last night."

"Oh, yeah?" You grinned, the both of you fully topless and Cillian's thumbs rolling easy circles on your exposed nipples. "What happened in it-"

RING! RING!

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Cillian groaned, reluctantly pulling away from you slightly to reach over to his phone that lie on the bedside table. "It's from the same bloke... he's tryin' to arrange a time for an interview." You whined as he started to get out of bed.

"No... stay..." You clung onto him, digging your fingernails into his biceps. "I'll be good... I promise..." You gave him those eyes you knew he couldn't deny.

"Alright, just be quiet..." He said cautiously, laying back down as he brought the phone to his ear. "Hey, Gary... what's up? Somethin' wrong?"

As you zoned out of the conversation, scooting yourself slightly closer to Cillian, trying your best to seem as casual as possible. Cillian hummed as he discussed a time and place and chatted on the phone, not paying mind to the fact your thinly-clothed cunt was beginning to slowly grind itself on his thigh. Biting your lip, keeping in your whines as you looked up at Cillian, feeling incredibly flustered by how nice his thigh felt against your clit. You noticed the stubble that accumulated along his picture-perfect jaw and rolled your eyes into the back of your head as you found the perfect rhythm. He was so perfect; every part of him fit perfectly with you... or inside of you. No one else's thigh could get you off the way his do.

It took Cillian a few moments to realize what was happening, and by then, it was too late to stop you. He raised an eyebrow disapprovingly. You knew he couldn't say anything, which made you smirk. He could just push you off of him, and you'd stop, yet here you were, shuddering with pleasure as he flexed his thigh precisely to enhance the pleasure you were feeling. He kept talking nonchalantly, acting as if his hot wife wasn't fucking herself on his leg, acting as if he didn't have a raging boner that was begging to be touched. The man on the other end of the phone had not even the slightest clue that there was anyone else even in the room with Cillian.

"Sounds good," Cillian hummed. "Alright, yeah... see you then." And when he tossed his phone to the side (not before turning it completely off), he looked at you with a fire blazing in his eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" "I... don't know... what... you're talking about..." You said through tiny gasps.

"Yeah?" He quipped as he jolted his thigh right up into your pussy, causing you to let out a loud mewl. "Why the fuck is there a wet patch on me leg then? Hmmm?"

"Don't know... Cillian..."

He shook his head in disbelief before curling his fingers around your throat and pushing you down into the sheets until he was hovering above you, his hand still choking you firmly. "Such a spoilt whore," Cillian growled as he slipped your soaking panties down until you were entirely bare before him. "You couldn't even wait five minutes for me to get off the bloody phone."

"J-Just... I'm so horny..." You whined, voice high pitched, and your body writhed for any sort of touch as he held your thighs open. Your glistening hole was on display for him. It felt shameful and humiliating the way he was looking at you. Despite the fact he had seen you in every angle there was to be seen and had seen your vagina countless times, it still felt painfully vulnerable when he had you spread out like this. "Please..."

"I know," He soothed, running a finger down the smooth skin of your inner thighs. "You just can't help it..." He cooed, and you smiled at how sweet he was being. "Y'just so dumb and pathetic, aren't you? Can't think about anything except gettin' fucked when I'm around... know you can't help it, yer just a girl..." He whispered into your ear, and you were revelling in his words and gentleness until he placed a harsh and hard smack right on your poor clit.

"Fuck!" You cried, arching your back. "Why'd you do that?!"

"Don't pretend to be innocent, Y/N," Cillian muttered as he switched the position so you were straddled on top of his thigh. "Go on, ride my thigh." He demanded.

"But..." You slid your hands up his other thigh to where his cock fought with his trousers to be free. "I want you... inside of me..." "Too bad, eh?" Cillian smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yer not getting any help either, gonna have to do it all yourself... like a big girl." Cillian leaned back, a smug grin on his hauntingly beautiful face.

So slowly, feeling awfully embarrassed, you pressed your naked sex against his hairy thigh and began rocking yourself in slow motions. You closed your eyes, holding onto Cillian's waist for balance as you picked up the pace, moaning desperately for release.

"Look at the mess you're making," Cillian scolded with a 'tsk tsk', eyes fixed on the way you rubbed yourself on his thigh. "Gushin' all over me leg, you look so cute."

"Let me cum on your thigh..." You whined quietly, head hung low with shame as you felt your impending high coming closer and closer. "Please." "You're gonna cum already?" Cillian laughed condescendingly. "Go on then, give me a show."

You nodded and mumbled a sweet little 'thank you' before grounding your pussy even harder and faster into his sticky thigh until you found yourself trembling on top of him. His hands now reached out to you, guiding your hips along for you while you let yourself be swallowed whole by your orgasm. He knew you were too limp to do it yourself and even once you were done he kept rocking you back and forth with his hands, moving you like a puppet until you were begging for him to stop.

"Please... Cillian..." You cried, trying to raise your hips up to stop the torturous friction. "Please... it's too much." "Nuh-uh... want one more from ya... then I'll consider giving you my cock."

You squeezed your thighs tightly around his, clit aching from the sore friction and how overstimulating it was. Cillian was mesmerized by the way you looked, too busy watching the way his thigh grew wetter and wetter and the way your hips looked in his hands. It was the most beautiful sight to be seen... and with the added sound of your sweet moans of his name... he felt like he could cream his pants without even laying a hand on his cock.

"That's it, angel girl," He praised, bucking his thigh up into you harshly. "You look so pretty, so perfect, getting me all wet."

"Gonna cum... again..." You choked out, eyelids squeezed shut as you began convulsing.

"There we go, give it to me," He cooed, voice low and intoxicating. "Fuckin' hell," He could feel your cum leak out onto his thigh, it was almost a bit ridiculous how wet you got from him and how much of a mess you made. "Good girl... good girl... that's right."

You collapsed on top of him once he finally set you free. You panted, crawling up so your head was by his, and you kissed him gently. "Thank you... thank you... Cillian..." You whispered, all dazed and sleepy since it was still early in the morning.

"Not done with you yet," Cillian whispered, running his lips along your sensitive neck. "I think you've been good enough for a treat."

Your ears perked up at that and suddenly your eyes were no longer drooping. You sat up like an excited dog and looked at him with your head tilted. "What is it?"

"Gonna let you suck me cock," He grunted, slipping the band of his Calvin Klein briefs down until his hard cock laid flat on his stomach, oozing precum from his pinkish head. Your lips parted as you drooled at the sight and wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft. You were practically making heart eyes at it. "Don't act all shy on me now, love... go on... I know you know how to suck me off... now go on and do it, and I'll cum down your pretty throat."

-----

i listened to cry by cigarettes after sex on repeat while listening to this. i hope you enjoyed! it's short but i like it :-)

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #cillian murphy oneshot #cillian x y/n #cillian murphy fanfiction #jackson rippner #raymond leon #jonathan crane

[liliesdiary]

♡ Cillian Murphy Moodboards ♡

A little doll for this old man

♡ SCARECROW

Dr. Crane Locking His Doll Away

Nymphomania

Scarecrow Kidnaps His Baby Bat

Dr. Crane x Dr Harleen Quinzel

Dr Crane x Poison Ivy

Scarecrow x Cat Woman

The Throuple That Rules Arkham Asylum

Tear You Apart

♡ JACKSON RIPPNER

Jackson Rippner’s Partner

Tag, You're it

All Work, No Play

GoGo Dancer

Step Dad Jackson Rippner & His Good Girl

You're No Good For Me But I Want You

♡ PATRICIA KITTEN BRADEN

Kitten's Million Dollar Man

♡ CILLIAN MURPHY

Cillain Murphy's Doll

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy moodboard #jonathan crane x reader smut #jonathan crane moodboard #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow smut #scarecrow x harley quinn #scarecrow dc #scarecrow #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner fanfic #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner imagine #jackson rippner #jackson rippner moodboard

[rosiemarieyn]

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

[nyxvuxoa-writes]

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝙸𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜]

This is an updated WIP list as of 7/24. In case you are curious to if your request is in my drafts or not, you can always check here and see if something sounds similar or if you are tagged in your request progress.

[𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚂𝙴𝙳] I want to take some time to catch up on what I have. As soon as requests are open again, I will post that they are open and that my WIP list has been freed up. Please keep in mind, the wife and I are in the process of packing and moving into our new apartment, so hang in there with me while I balance things out.

This does not indicate the order that they will be done. I write with my flow, so one may flow better than the other one day. But they will all be done as soon as I can get them.

Aaron Taylor-Johnson Requests:

• Ray Marcus x Fem!Reader - Ravishment Anon Prompt Request, CNC, in drafts. • Ray Marcus x Fem!Reader - Backseat Anon Prompt Request, Car sex, in draft. • Tangerine x Fem!Reader - Title Pending Anon Continuation Request, Reader Learns More, In Drafts. • Yandere!Count Vronsky  x Fem!Reader - Title Pending Mutual Request, themes pending, smut, in drafts. • Ford Brody x Fem!Reader - Leather Black & Eyes of Blue Anon Request, Childhood Friend, Angst, Smut, in drafts, started. • Ben Leonard x Fem!Reader - Title Pending Anon Request, Hidden Feelings, Smut, in Drafts, Started. • Tarzan!Kraven x Fem!Reader - Title Pending Requested by @rvmanoffbarnes, in the wilds, smut possible, In drafts. • Kraven x Fem!Reader - Keep Your Enemies Closer Requested by @rachelcarroll1819 Avenger Reader, ties to spiderman, in drafts.

Jake Gyllenhaal Requests:

• Detective Loki x Fem!Reader - She's the Tear in My Heart Anon Requested, possessive Loki, relationship drama, in drafts.

Cillian Murphy Requests:

• Jackson Rippner x Fem!Reader - The way you Break Requested by @voxmortuus, Dark!Fic, Dead Dove, in drafts, started.

If you have questions about your draft or want to even just chat about it. Feel free to send me a message or an ask.

Normally Pinned - F.A.Q. - ATJ Masterlist - Multifandom Masterlist

#nyxvuxoa writes #fanfiction #dark fic #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #ray marcus x reader smut #ray marcus x you #cillian murphy x reader #jackson rippner x reader #aaron taylor johnson fanfic #aaron taylor johnson smut #aaron taylor johnson x reader #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal smut #work in progress