Cillian Murphy - One Shots

Cillian | Stepdad's Friend

Smut warming

You'd dragged yourself out of bed just after nine, half asleep and still warm under the sheets, stepping out in your thin lace nightgown you'd bought a while back. It was oft cream fabric, with straps that slipped down your shoulders, hem hitting just mid-thigh, with nothing underneath. You'd only meant to grab a mug of tea and a pastry from the kitchen then bolt straight back up to your room, no idea anyone else was in the house.

You rounded the corner into the living room and froze. Cillian, your stepfather's friend, stood by the bookshelf, tool belt slung low over his hips, sleeves rolled up to show forearms dusted with faint freckles, and holding a screwdriver. He looked up when he heard you, and his hand stilled. He gave you a slow, awkward wave, and a little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Morning. Didn't realise anyone was up yet."

Your face burned hot in embarrassment, you'd known him since around 2 years, he was always round the house with your stepdad, laughing over beer at dinner, clapping you on the shoulder when you brought home good grades from university. And for years now, you'd carried this stupid secret thing for him, something you'd never dared even breathe out loud.
"Hi," you mumbled, grabbing the edge of your nightgown like you could pull it down further. "I didn't know you were here already. My stepdad said you would fixing the kitchen cupboards later."
"He told me to come earlier, just to tighten a few hinges," he said, "You look like you're still half-asleep."
"Just came down for tea," you stammered, grabbing your mug from the counter. "I- I'll leave you to it. Sorry."

You practically ran back up the stairs, heart hammering so hard you could hear it in your ears. You'd just changed into an oversized hoodie and sweatpants when your stepdad knocked, leaning in the doorway with his keys in hand.
"Gotta head out, get more screws and wood for the shelves. The proper place's out past the next town, so I'll be gone two, maybe two and a half hours. Cillian's still downstairs, yeah? Don't mind him, he's good company."
"Alright," you said, and he nodded, heading off.

An hour later, you crept down again to grab your laptop charger. Cillian was sat on the sofa now, wiping his hands on a rag, and he patted the spot next to him.
"Come sit. Your dad's told me you're studying history at uni, right?"
You nodded, dropping down beside him, keeping a little space between you. "Yeah. Got this essay due in three days, driving me mental."
"Who's your lecturer?" he asked, a soft smile on his face.
"Professor Carlson"
"Funny that, back when I was your age I had one with the same name, old bastard loved giving impossible prompts."
"It's possible it's the same one, he's been at our uni for decades."
"Oh no way. I feel sorry for you lot."

Before you knew it, you'd pulled your laptop onto your knees, and he was leaning over you, pointing out sources, walking you through how to structure your arguments. His arm brushed yours every time he moved, and you could smell him, sawdust from the shelves he was fixing, pine soap, that familiar warm scent you'd remembered for years.

Then the sky slowly turned dark outside, and thunder cracked so loud the whole house shook. You flinched hard, shoulders hunching up to your ears. "Fuck-," Cillian huffed a quiet laugh at first, glancing over. "Easy, it's just-" then he stopped, seeing how tight your jaw was, how your hands were curled into fists on your knees. "Hey. You alright?"
"Always hated storms," you mumbled.

Another crash, louder this time, and you practically jumped. He shifted closer, looping an arm slow and easy around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his side. "There we go. Nothing's getting in here, I promise."

Thunder rolled again, close enough to rattle the windows, and you turned into him without thinking, pressing your face to his chest. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing soft over your skin. You looked up at him, heart thudding for a whole different reason now, and found him already looking down at you.

"Y/N," he murmured, voice rough. "Tell me if I'm wrong." You didn't say anything, you just leaned up, until your lips met his. It was slow at first, careful, like you were both scared. Then his hand tightened on your waist, yours tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, and he pulled you closer, kissing you deeper, like he couldn't get enough. You shifted, climbing onto his lap, and his hands ran slow up your sides, like he was learning every inch of you.

The kiss deepened with a desperate intensity. One of his large hands rested on your lower back, pulling you closer, while the other remained tangled in your hair. When he pulled back, his forehead came to rest against yours, both of you breathing as though you'd run a mile.

His blue eyes were dark. "God help me," he rasped. "I've wanted to do that since you walked down those stairs in that little nightgown." His grip on your waist tightened, thumbs tracing circles against your jumper. "You have no idea what you're doing to me. You're supposed to be off limits. You're-" he cut himself off with a frustrated curse when another crack of thunder hit.

Without warning he captured your lips again. His tongue tasted you hungrily while his hand, beneath your jumper moved lower, his fingers finding the waistband of your sweatpants. "You're so beautiful," he groaned into the kiss. "So fuckin beautiful."

His fingers hooked into your trousers, pulling them down further, to expose your hipbones. "Tell me you want this."
"Please," you murmured. And with that his hand slid down further, his palm cupping you through your panties. He pressed against you, rolling his hips against yours, earning him a whimper from you before swallowing the moan with another kiss as his fingers flexed against you.

"Please," you repeated against his lips. "Please, Cillian, fuck me."
"You're doing my brain in." He stood up abruptly, keeping you wrapped around his waist as he carried you towards the large armchair by the fireplace. He sank into it, setting you straddling his lap, spreading your thighs wide.

He yanked the jumper over your head in one motion, discarded on the floor, leaving your bare breasts exposed to him. His fingers hooked into the elastic of your underwear, dragging them down your legs with impatient tugs until they fell to the floor. "Fuck, you're so wet for me," his hips rolling to meet yours. "My sweet girl, waiting so patiently for me to take you."

His fingers found your clit, applying rhythmic pressure that made your vision blur. You moaned softly against his ear, as you undid his zipper and reached down, your fingers wrapped around his length, slipping it free from his boxers, and began to pump with urgent strokes. "Please...I can't wait anymore."

His head snapped back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut. "Fuck," you choked out, his hips jerking against yours. His eyes opened and landed on you. With one smooth motion, he guided himself to your slick entrance and thrust upward. The fullness of him stretching you made you cry out. He began to move with a relentless rhythm, each thrust deep, bottoming out against you. "Look at me. I want to see your eyes when I claim you," he commanded as he drove into you.

His hips snapped up with deliberate speed, his thrusts becoming faster. "You're mine. Say it while I fuck you."
"I-I'm yours," you moaned out.
"That's my girl." His hands left your hips, his large hands cupping your breasts, his thumbs swiping over your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until you sobbed his name, your body arching helplessly against his thrusts.

Cillian's movements became frantic, his pulsing cock hammering inside of you as he neared his own breaking point. "I'm close- fuck, Y/N," his voice broke as he felt his climax building. Just as pleasure reached its peak, he pulled out. The sudden loss of fullness, made you whimper in protest. His hips bucked forward one last time as he groaned your name and came hard, his body shuddering violently as his cum covered your stomach.

He collapsed forward against you, his forehead resting against yours. His hand clutched at you, holding you close as if afraid you'd leave.

After several long minutes, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His hair mussed and lips swollen from kissing, and eyes still dark with the aftershocks of your combined release. He pulled you close so you lay curled against him on the armchair, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. The thunderstorm was still loud outside, but you didn't mind it anymore. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, quiet.
"Your stepdad'll be back soon," he said, soft. "We can...talk more. Later, yeah?"
You nodded, pressing your face into his shoulder. "Yeah. Later."

A/N thank you so much for reading! I rlly hope you enjoyed the first part of this series. If you want a specific scene w Cillian or any of his characters, just leave a comment :)