oscarssimp
i was once so confused but now i found you
remy .19. any pronouns. unhealthy attachment to a middle-aged man.
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8- lucien & claire, anselm & birdie
Summary: You learn more about Anselm's past as the mysterious, Lucien. (~4.6k)
Contents: 🔥 18+ nsfw, gun violence/murder, dry humping, oral sex talk
a/n: thank you to the (❤️ not) anon who gave me the push I needed to finally write this. It will help if you've seen "Ticky Tacky," but if you know the general gist, then you should be just fine!
-----
“Don’t trouble yourself, my dear,” Anselm says as you move to exit the car behind him. “It’s only a small errand.”
A stop at a donut shop you’ve never heard of, a few towns away.
He hasn’t said what his business here is, but you know it certainly isn’t pastries.
You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you trying to hide something from me?”
Anselm stands outside of the car, but bends down to talk to you. “Yes.”
One of his eyebrows is slightly raised and you know he’d prefer if you dropped it. But that’s not really your style.
“And how’s that going for you?” You ask.
His beard twitches. “Not well, apparently.”
You hear the jingle of a bell behind Anselm and see a young guy walk out of the bakery toward the car.
“Lucien,” the man says. “I have your donuts and your knives.”
Anselm’s face is stone still.
“Lucien?” You ask.
Anselm takes off his glasses and tosses them aside on the seat.
He stands and turns. “Hey, how’s it going?” He hugs the man. “Thanks again.”
You’re struck dumb. You’ve never heard Anselm talk like this in all the time you’ve been together. So… American… so… accent-less.
You see the man hand off a black bakery box on top of a metal suitcase. He notices you in the car and waves. He has a baby face and a white apron smeared with dough and frosting.
“I’m Gabriel,” the man says. “You must be the new wife, and the new boss. Congratulations. Sorry I couldn’t come to the wedding. I’m real happy for you and Lucien, though. I thought he’d had sworn off love, but I guess that whole thing with your cheating ex was, what, 8 or 9 years ago now?”
“Yeah, more actually,” Anselm says, sans accent, scratching his beard.
You nod, shocked silent.
Gabriel smiles. “I was only 10 when we started working together. I still remember the first gun I ever acquired on your behalf. You’d never killed anyone before.”
Anselm nods. “I guess in hindsight everything worked out for the better. My Birdie here, she’s the greatest. Blows everyone else out of the water. Anyway, we have to get going. I’ll call if I need you.”
“What the hell?” You mutter to yourself.
Gabriel shakes Anselm’s hand in both of his. “Good to see you old friend. I could never thank you enough for giving me the shop to run arms out of.”
“Please, you were always a natural. And the donuts are even better with you in charge. Stop by the house sometime. We’ll talk,” Anselm says.
“Definitely, definitely. I haven’t seen this one, and you burned your old one down. I’ll bring you a grenade launcher as a belated wedding present.” Gabriel smiles, waves to you again. “You two have a great day.”
“See you around,” Anselm says.
He gets back in the car, setting aside the case of knives and flipping open the box of donuts to offer you one.
You hand him his glasses.
“I have four hundred questions,” you say.
“My dear-“
“Oh, your accent’s back,” you say, reaching in for a glazed donut. “Well, there’s one question answered.”
Anselm rests his yellow lenses back on his face. “It was all a long time ago. I was very different as a young man.”
You bite into the donut, momentarily distracted. “Holy shit this donut’s good. That guy’s been making donuts since he was 10?”
Anselm shakes his head, closing the box and setting it aside. “No, I gave him the bakery to run when he was 18. He was working for me long before then, though. He’s a very distant relative.”
“Of course he is.” You lick your fingers after inhaling the rest of the donut. “And this woman? Who was she?”
Anselm fights a smile, his beard shifting with glee. “Jealous?”
“Of someone dumb enough to cheat on you? No. Not jealous of a dead woman.”
The car starts moving. Anselm’s gaze flicks away from yours.
“She’s not exactly dead,” he says.
The rest of the donut tastes like sand in your mouth. There might be ringing in your ears. There’s no reason you can think of for him not to have shot her in the cheating, lying face. Except for one…
Anselm holds up a hand. “Birdie, please let me explain. There’s no reason for you to be upset.”
You huff, trying to act casual. “Why would I be upset that you didn’t kill someone? That would be stupid. I’m not. Upset or stupid. I’m not either of those things.” You realize you’re rambling and shut your mouth. You look out the window.
Anselm sets his hand on your leg and you move it out of his grasp.
He chuckles quietly. “I’ve never seen you jealous. It’s given me an erection like you wouldn’t believe.” He clears his throat. “No matter. Just listen.”
You fold your arms, stubbornly refusing to look at him.
Anselm rubs his hand over one of your shoulders. “I’ve never told you this, but for a time in my youth, I tried to ‘go straight,’ so to speak. I only owned legal businesses. Had no ties to organized crime. I spoke with an American accent to blend in more. And,” he hesitates, “I was going to ask a woman to marry me.”
You bite your bottom lip so hard it hurts. But it’s better than the pang you feel in your heart.
“Her name is Claire. From an old east-coast family. Shallow, selfish, but very much the kind of wife someone in my position should have,” Anselm says quietly.
You feel tears well up in your eyes. Snot’s going to start coming out of your nose any second, but you don’t want to sniffle and let Anselm know you’re crying.
Out of the corner of your eye you see Anselm offer you a handkerchief. You snatch it out of his hand.
“Oh, my love, I’m sorry,” he says. His brace squeaks as he scoots closer to you.
You blow your nose loudly and turn back toward him. “We don’t have secrets, Anselm. Not from each other. What the fuck?”
He looks upset with himself. “That part of my life is like a dream, or a movie. It doesn’t feel real most of the time. Except, for these.”
Anselm raises his hand to touch the scars on his face and ear, down his neck. The air catches in your throat, like your pounding heart is keeping you from breathing.
“You’ve never really asked,” Anselm says with a small smile. “The fact that it’s never mattered to you is something I treasure deeply. It was selfish of me to treasure that feeling over telling you the truth.
“Claire cheated on me. Said she was in Paris, but really, she’d only traveled across town to see Nikolai, my cousin and my best friend. They’d been carrying on behind my back for some time.”
Your hand automatically finds Anselm’s. “Fucking jerks.”
Anselm smiles. “I agree.” He squeezes your hand back. “Gabriel had been more of an assistant, but his father was in charge of the family armory here in the states. I asked him to procure me a gun so that I could kill Nikolai.”
“The first person you ever killed was your best friend?” Despite how hurt you are, you still feel a wave of emotion for Anselm. He doesn’t make friends easily. Then again, maybe this story is why. Also, why he considers his useless cousins so disposable.
“No, actually, I shot him, but he lived,” Anselm says. “Gabriel finished the job.”
You tilt your head, doing some quick math. “Wouldn’t he have been like, a child? Um…”
“Anyway,” Anselm continues, “Claire was, understandably upset that I’d attempted to kill her lover. She stormed off as if she had the moral high ground. It didn’t occur to me to kill her. Now, I wouldn’t hesitate. But at the time, I was more concerned with my failure.”
“Your failure? None of that was your fault.”
“It was, my dear,” Anselm say with a sad look. “I didn’t truly love her. I hated that life, hated abiding by the law.”
You put your arm around him, your anger forgotten. “You were doing what you thought was right.”
“Yes, but I created quite a mess for myself. So, I had to create an even bigger one to get out of it. I set Lucien Vogelweide’s life on fire. Nikolai's body, the house, all up in flames. And unfortunately, myself as well. I saw it as penance for not being true to who I was.
“When I got out of the hospital, Lucien had been declared dead. I decided to shut that part of my life away. Except for Gabriel. He's the only one who believes Lucien to be alive and thriving. Although, he's probably figured out the truth by now. But he was born discreet and logical. He can keep a secret, that one.”
You lean back in the seat. “Whenever I think you can’t possibly get any weirder.”
Anselm laughs. “I do test your limits. In every way. Am I forgiven, Birdie?”
You look at him suspiciously. “Give me a kiss and I’ll think about it.”
Anselm leans forward and gathers you in his arms, pressing his open mouth against yours hungrily. You hold onto the lapels of his jacket.
“You taste like a donut,” Anselm says. “You know, I’ve always thought the glaze to be rather like cum. Visually speaking.”
“Obviously.”
Anselm kisses you again.
You pull back after a few seconds. “Now all I can think about is you coming on my face.”
“I was thinking the reverse, but a moving vehicle is no place to 69.” Anselm kisses your neck. “And I don’t deserve your beautiful mouth on me after I’ve behaved so poorly.”
You pull him closer, and down over you as you lay back on the seat. Anselm’s brace squeaks as he bends his knee, using it as leverage to rock his hips against yours. He nips his teeth along your jaw, drags his beard along your skin.
You wrap your legs around his thighs, pushing against him, the cloth of your underwear and pants just enough friction to catch your clit. Anselm’s so hard it’s like rubbing yourself on solid rock.
“Let me,” Anselm tries to squeeze his hand between your bodies, but you pull him flush against you.
“No, stay like this,” you say, “harder.”
Anselm’s glasses drop slightly as he looks down at you. His gaze is intense, drinking in the way your lips part, the wrinkle in your brow, how your breath comes out in little pants.
He teases your nipple through your shirt. Twisting lightly as he cants his hips and you gasp, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you strain yourself toward him. The friction of his hard cock rubbing against you just right. The exact way you need to come.
You try to form words. Tell him not to stop. But it comes out a babbling mess. Anselm knows what you need, though, and keeps going. He buries his face in your neck and kisses you, shuddering.
“Fuck, fuck,” he says, mouthing at your neck, “I can’t- oh God, Birdie, you have to stop. If you rub your hot cunt on me a second longer, I- I-“
Anselm tenses. You keep your hips thrusting hard against his, moaning in his ear as you come down from your orgasm. You feel Anselm’s cock twitch, wetness that’s probably both of you, against your pants.
You squeeze your arms around him, encouraging him to lay his weight on you. It’s comforting for you, and for him. Your breathing syncs up, and you play your fingers through his curly hair.
“I haven’t done that since I was a teenager,” Anselm says.
“What? Dry hump in a car or come in your pants?”
“The car part. You know very well you’ve been the cause of many a ruined pair of pants.” He back away, kissing you quickly before retreating back to his side of the seat.
You smile, righting your clothes. “We should ask for a bulk discount at the dry cleaners. Or a punch card or something.”
You untuck your shirt, but it’s not long enough to cover the wet patch. Anselm doesn’t even bother. He lets his jacket fall open, the dark circle on his black pants on full display.
“A punch card?” He asks, face screwed up in confusion.
You reach out to smooth his curls back in place. “A customer loyalty card. Like, buy five gallons of milk get a tub of ice cream. Or, for you, it’s more like buy ten cases of ammo, get a pallet of bleach free.”
You rake your fingers through his beard.
“Thank you,” he says.
He holds your hands to keep you from fussing anymore. You know he feels your nervous energy, back again now that you remember what he’d told you about his past.
“I want you to know something very important,” Anselm says. He runs his thumb over your wedding ring. “I hadn’t thought about that woman for years, before you came into my life even. But her presence did linger. I thought I’d never marry. Probably never love anyone enough to share my life with them. Not many would accept me as I am. You were such a beautiful surprise. Continue to be so.”
“I love you, Anselm,” you say with a smile.
“I love you too,” he says, with great feeling.
He pulls you toward him so you can recline against his shoulder.
“Do you think I would’ve liked Lucien?” You ask.
“My dear Birdie, if you think you’re able to twirl me around your little finger, Lucien would have turned to dust in your presence. An absolute puppy on his hands and knees for a Goddess like yourself.”
You snuggle your hand under his jacket. “I’m glad our timing was right. Meeting now, I mean. I’ve never liked a push over. Or a cheater.”
*****
The next time you’re in the car, you’re in the passenger seat in front. Godzilla is driving you to your meeting.
Although, ‘meeting’ is probably the wrong word when the other party has no idea you’re coming.
Godzilla’s hands are slightly fidgety on the wheel. As loyal as he is to you, you’d asked him to straight-up lie if Anselm asked where you were going. You weren't sure he could do it, but it was good to know he was willing to try. But not really because he'd run outside and sat in the car until you were ready, to avoid talking to anyone.
You’d put on a black dress, slinky but conservative. A white trench coat. You’d thought about a colorful scarf and big sunglasses, but this isn’t about drama.
It’s about curiosity, and doing the right thing.
Godzilla had Claire’s address in less than thirty minutes after you’d come home from the donut shop. You were proud that you’d waited even a whole day before going to see her.
Anselm knows none of this.
Claire’s house is a large one-story in a nice neighborhood. She’d been married and divorced twice already. Cheated on both husbands.
She lives off her family’s money. Is on the board of a couple of her family’s companies, but as far as you can tell, she’s still the selfish, entitled jerk that had cheated on Anselm.
You slip on your black, leather gloves.
“Stay in the car, Godzilla.”
He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Ma’am, please let me go with you.”
You look at him. “If she tries anything, it’s a good excuse for me to fuck up her nose job. Stay here.”
“Yes ma’am.” He sinks back into the seat.
Claire answers the doorbell with a smile. As if she knows you. Probably because you have on expensive clothes and fancy perfume. Snob.
“I’m sorry, are you here about that charity thing? I promise it was a big misunderstanding,” she says, inviting you inside. “I’ll write you another check. It’ll clear this time.”
She laughs, high-pitched and fake. Annoying.
You smile, looking around her house, letting her lead you toward a sitting room that gets warm, morning light.
“Can I have my housekeeper make tea? I was just in Paris and brought back some lovely macarons.” She waves her hand vaguely at her housekeeper, who leaves quickly.
“You know, I’ve never been,” you say, sitting in a comfortable wingback chair across from Claire, on the sofa. “My husband hates Paris.”
She looks at you like you’re insane. “Who hates Paris? It’s cultured. The best shopping in the world. It’s so romantic, you must go.”
You nod. “Maybe soon. He has bad memories that I’m hoping to heal. His ex-girlfriend cheated on him.”
Claire’s face is all fake sympathy.
Your smile sharpens. “Said she was in Paris. She wasn’t. His cousin slash best friend was actually in her.”
Claire’s face freezes.
“I think you know my husband. Anselm Vogelweide.”
Her mouth parts in silent shock.
“Lucien is one of his middle names. The one you called him,” you say.
She stumbles over her words, but manages to gather a shred of composure. “Wow, Lucien, that was a long time ago. I hope he’s well. I mean, I thought he was dead. But I guess he's alive. That's good? Right?”
She laughs nervously.
You think of the pain this woman has caused your Anselm. How she’d taken advantage of him at a time when he was, perhaps, a little lost. Still finding his place in the world.
That, despite everything working out in the end, Anselm had hurt so badly that he’d burned his entire life to ash, almost killing himself in the process.
That’s the part you can't forgive.
This woman had almost killed Anselm.
You unbutton your trench coat and take out your gun from the inside pocket.
Claire gasps.
“Stay right where you are,” you say, pointing it at her. “You have no idea how lucky you are, Claire. You’ve been living on borrowed time. My Anselm, the Anselm that’s true to himself, would do exactly what I’m about to do. I think he’s a little ashamed actually, that he didn’t kill you when he had the chance.”
You enjoy her panicked look. How she’d like to bolt, but knows you have the upper hand.
“He killed Nikolai,” she said. “I don’t want anything to do with Lucien. Anselm. Whoever the fuck he is. He’s a manic. Fucking murderer.”
She yells the last word at you, flinging it like some kind of rock, wrapped in morals and laws, straight at your face.
You don’t bat an eye, your gun steady on her. “The thing about your righteous anger, Claire, is that it only works if you and I see the world in the exact same way. If we share the same set of morals. We don’t. I think you’re a total piece of shit. Therefore, nothing you say matters to me.”
Tears well up in her eyes. Her words are shaky. “You’re just like him. Both of you. Crazy.”
“Thank you,” you say, smiling. You pause for a moment. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”
Claire’s eyes somehow get even bigger.
“Anselm does all the killing. He’s a gentleman like that. But he’s been helping me practice at the range in the basement. Usually we use pictures of fascists for targets. Are you a fascist, Claire?”
Her breath exhales in jerky puffs. “No, you crazy bitch. I’m not a fucking fascist.”
“Okay, no need to get angry.” You bring up the gun and look down the sight at her. Then you turn it. One side, then the other. “Anselm gave me this. See all these decorations? A little something for every person he shot with it. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
You run your fingers over the smooth metal, down the grip. The beautiful bird that Anselm believes you to be.
“I love Anselm Vogelweide,” you say to Claire, your smile fading. “Beyond love, actually. Beyond reason.”
Claire holds up her hands, palms out. “It was like, a billion years ago. He’s moved on. Get over it. You don’t need to do this.”
You cock the gun and hold it back up, level with her lying, cheating face. “You have no idea the things that man has done for me. To keep me safe and happy. And I’m sure he’d agree, that I don’t need to do this. But I want to. You hurt him.”
Her face, still terrified, clouds with anger. “I hope you both rot in hell. I hope you’re both miserable. I hope you never get a happy ever after. You don’t deserve one.”
You tilt your head slightly, lining up the sight of your gun with her forehead. “Oh Claire. You really are a fucking idiot. This is the happily ever after.”
You pull the trigger. Once. Twice. A third time, just to be sure.
Godzilla bursts in the front door, seconds later, having heard the gunshots. He’s gobsmacked at seeing you, holding a gun and standing over a dead body slouched on the couch.
The housekeeper, who hated Claire with the burning fire of a thousand suns, is easily paid off. She even packs up the macarons for you to take home.
*****
You feel lighter than air as you walk in the front door. You want to hug everyone. You give all the bodyguards a macaron and a big smile.
If this is what Anselm feels whenever he shoots someone, you’re starting to understand the appeal.
You practically glide into Anselm’s office. He stands, face lighting up.
His suit jacket is off, slung over his chair. Two of his bodyguards are near the window, a table set up to clean the guns in the office. They nod to you.
“Someone had a good morning,” Anselm says. “You were away for a whole five hours without a word.”
“I’m sorry. A meeting I forgot to put on the calendar. Macaron?”
You walk around his desk and sit on on it, holding out the box.
Anselm, still smiling, looks at you like you’re a puzzle, all jumbled up for him to piece together.
“Birdie?” He says slowly.
You dig around in the box for one of the salted caramel ones. You pop it, whole, into your mouth and chew, relishing the crispy outside and creamy filling.
Anselm leans down and inhales the skin of your neck. He holds your arm, runs the tip of his nose down your shoulder and upper arm. Kisses your elbow.
He moves so fast to kiss your mouth that you drop the box of cookies on his desk. His lips are hard on yours, his teeth dig into your bottom lip. He breaks away with a deep breath.
“You smell like gunpowder,” he says, his face still pressed against yours.
“Like you said, I had a good morning.” You kiss him again, smiling.
You push him back, far enough so you can feed him a macaron from the box. Vanilla. You smell it as he bites down. An ironic flavor choice for Anselm, given he’s anything but.
“I did it,” you say. “You know how nervous I was about my first time. But it turns out, I just needed to find the right person.”
Anselm’s dark eyes are delighted, sparkly behind his yellow lenses.
You hug him, Anselm squeezing you back.
“I already had someone call the crew to get the jet ready. I feel like celebrating,” you say. “We’re going to Paris.”
Anselm doesn’t look nearly as excited anymore. “My dear, I would do anything for you. I’m surprised, though, that you’d want to celebrate in a city that I hate so much. So many bad memories.”
You cross your legs, pick the box of macarons back up. You shake it so the cookies rattle around and hold it out to the bodyguards.
“And what if,” you say, handing off the box to the biggest, hairiest one.
“Share,” you tell him. He nods.
“What if,” you continue talking to Anselm, “I told you that your bad memories were in the past? And that we could make new ones. Just you and me. That whatever happened between you and Paris is dead. Very. Dead.”
Anselm is rarely speechless. He always has something funny or cutting, observant or naughty.
Now, though, his face looks almost… it’s kind of like Andre the robot during a maintenance cycle. Anselm’s face is neutral, a thin facade of a smile, but his brain is out to lunch somewhere.
It occurs to you that maybe, Anselm didn’t want Claire dead. Maybe he wasn’t as uncaring about the whole thing as he’d said.
You’re sure he doesn’t still love her, but what if he does? A sliver of himself still loves Claire.
He’s entitled, of course. You’ve never demanded he hand over his entire heart and soul over to you. But still. You thought he had. That he was completely yours.
Anselm and Birdie.
Was there still a part of Anselm, though, that thought about Lucien and Claire?
A cold pit of dread forms in your stomach. You lay your hand over it, almost nauseated. It’s your left hand. You stare down at your wedding ring.
Then, you feel Anselm kiss the top of your head. His hands are gentle on your arms.
His voice sounds thick, almost tearful. “You are a wonder, my dear. Never ceasing to amaze me.”
He pulls you closer, so you rest against his chest and he can lay his cheek on your head. “You’re not mad?” You ask.
Anselm laughs, pulling away to look at you. To your relief, he looks ecstatic. Still surprised, but he’s all smiles.
“Angry? I could never be angry at you,” he says. “No. I’m honored that you would do such a thing for me. The depths of my love for you, deeper and deeper.”
You bite your lip, face feeling warm. “I thought-“ You cut yourself off, not wanting to say it out loud.
Anselm tips your chin up so you look at him. “I don’t care about her. I didn’t even feel enough to find her and kill her myself. But the thought of you, jealous and hell bent on defending my honor? Well, my dear, I hope you’ve been doing your yoga exercises because I’m going to have you bent in every possible direction for a week and a half.”
Your anxiety melts away. Replaced by pure happiness, and that excitement you get between your legs when you feel Anselm’s gigantic erection. He’s pressed up against the side of your thigh. Turned on by the violence and your demonstration of love.
“I should shower and pack,” you say. “We can leave in an hour.”
“No, I need to get my hands on you now, while you still smell like this. Gunpowder and hot metal.” Anselm gently rocks himself against your leg. “You killed someone for me. I must bury my face in your delicious cunt for at least an hour to say thank you. And I bought one of those little vibrating things that basically attaches to your body. You're going to make my desk so wet, I'm going to smell you in it for the rest of my life."
His hands part your legs, already working your dress up around your thighs.
You shift your body toward the edge of his desk, Anselm already kissing his way down your body, pushing aside your underwear to touch your hot, sensitive skin.
“Whatever you want, Anselm.”
“You,” he says, sliding his body back up to kiss you on the lips. “I only ever want you.”
Paris will be wonderful. You just know it. The city of love. The perfect place to spend part of your happily ever after.
Anselm Vogelweide masterlist :: main masterlist :: Join My Taglist
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please let me know if you'd like to be taken off- i promise not to take it personally!
#very much obsessed with this#i was indeed screaming and cheering out loud as Birdie shot Claire#bc once again i'm very obsessed with Birdie and Anselm being fucked up weirdos and in love<3#anselm vogelweide fanfiction
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Portrait of Oscar Isaac from “The Letter Room” (loved the lighting in this scene)
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modern!leto atreides- sweeter with you
more of modern, sugar daddy Leto Atreides
Summary: You love to push the boundaries Leto sets. And he loves to let you. In fact, he loves everything about you.
Part 1- Sweet Like
Contents: 🔥 18+ nsfw, p in v, masturbation (~4.7k)
-----
Leto crooks his finger at you. “Here.” He points down in front of him. “Now.”
He’s standing under the shade of the canopy at the front of the yacht. You walk over and stand in front of him.
He pushes his sunglasses up off his face and into his salt and pepper hair, slicked back and drying from his morning swim off the port side. His beard is a little longer and messier than he usually lets it get.
His face says that he doesn’t just want to see your bikini. He’s peeved about something.
Leto’s dark eyebrows form a V down to the lines in his forehead.
It’s the end of the trip, and your last bikini. They’ve been getting progressively smaller every day. Leto had to have noticed, but he hadn’t said anything.
You love to watch him watching you, though.
You’d saved this one for the couple of days back to Seattle. It’s a thin, shimmery gold material and barely exists at all. You play with the ruby earrings swinging from your ears.
“Sweetheart,” Leto says, his voice low and rough.
He looks you up and down with a cool gaze. From the top of your head to the kitten-heeled sandals on your feet. Leto’s shirt is unbuttoned and he has on dark swim trunks that stop mid-thigh.
He frowns slightly. “One of the PR reps called. You’ve had that thing on for 3 hours and there are already photos on the internet.”
You bite your lip. Leto doesn’t like to draw attention to himself, and by extension, you.
“You were on the upper deck making business calls. I had to go all the way to the front of the boat to lay down, or you wouldn’t have seen me.” You say innocently. “I only wore it for you.”
His frown flips up into the ghost of a smile.
Even now, his eyes are going over the curves of your body. His dark gaze lands on the shiny scrap of fabric that disappears between your legs.
He scratches the thick hair of his beard.
“I really shouldn’t let you get away with this shit,” he mumbles.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, feeling his sun-tanned skin and the beads of water from his swim.
“You can’t say no to me, Atreides,” you smile up at him.
Leto sighs lightly. He kisses your forehead. “Don’t start trouble and I won’t have to.”
He tips your head up, his face asking you to agree.
“Okay,” you say reluctantly. “So, should I go in and get a cover-up?”
His dark eyes sparkle. “You’re not covering up anything, baby.” His hands slide down to cup your ass. “We’ll both go inside. You put this excuse of a bikini on for me, you can take it off for me too.”
He moves you ahead of him so he can watch you walk down the hallway to the master.
You turn and lay down on the big bed, give him a sweet smile.
Leto shuts the door. Thirty minutes or three hours, the crew knows not to bother him when the door’s shut.
He takes off his shirt and trunks. Your eyes are fixed on the dark head of his cock.
“See something you like?” He asks.
You nod, swallowing the pool of spit that’s formed in your mouth. He takes himself in his hand and you reach out. Leto steps back.
You frown. “What, I don’t get to participate?”
He almost smiles, still working himself slowly, his fist stroking just his tip before he runs it down his thick shaft. “In that bikini, you look like the centerfold of every dirty magazine I ever jerked off to.”
“My God, you’re so old. Please tell me you use PornHub now.” You tease him.
He gives you a hot, annoyed look. “I don’t need porn. That’s what I have you for, right?”
You fight against your smile, not wanting to give into him too quickly.
Leto’s gaze drinks you in. You spread your legs more and his eyelids get heavier, his dark, brown eyes almost black.
“Let me see you,” he says in a breathy order.
As much as you’d like to keep teasing him, when he wants you like this, it makes you even needier. The two of you can’t get enough of each other, can’t be without each other, you make each other crazy.
So, you pull the center of your bikini bottoms aside so he can see you. Leto doesn’t say a word, but you know what he wants.
You play with yourself, fingers sliding along your wet slit, rubbing wetness onto your clit. You arch your back into your own fingers, pushing one in. Quickly, a second one joins it. Your fingers aren’t as thick as Leto’s. His muscled arms and hands, the way they drive you to the brink every time he shows you even a hint of his strength.
Your eyes drop closed as your hips writhe against your hand.
He’s standing right in front of you, not even touching you, but you still moan Leto’s name when you come. Begging for his touch as your body tightens, barely able to orgasm without him. It’s almost cruel, how soft you come with Leto watching.
You feel his weight join you on the bed and open your eyes. Leto pulls your hand away from your dripping wet cunt and closes his mouth around your fingers, his tongue licking and swirling over every single spot.
He dips his head down to nip at your breasts, pushing the material aside to get to your nipples. His beard rubs your skin, making you extra sensitive.
Leto tugs the strings of your bikini bottoms, pulling the material away from your body.
“Put me inside of you, sweetheart,” he says, biting along your neck.
You run your hand down his warm, smooth skin and wrap your hand around him as best as you can from this angle. He’s so hot, so hard, you can’t help but smile as you set the soft head of his cock against you.
You wiggle your hips, a laugh escaping you. “You have to help me a little, Leto. Come on.”
Leto lifts his head. “How bad do you want it?”
Your walls clench, just thinking about him. “So bad, Leto. Please.” You give him the big eyes that you know he’s weak for. “Fill me up.”
He groans, like you knew he would. You lift your head and lick his lips.
“Leto,” you say quietly, drawing out his name from your mouth.
“Mmm?” He says, his long eyelashes fluttering up to show you his huge, dark eyes.
You tease your teeth along his bottom lip. Leto’s eyelids get heavy again.
“You gonna ruin me?”
“Fuck, baby, you want me to?” He looks over your face, down to where his hands are cupping your breasts, massaging them. “You’re so sweet. Beautiful. You want it hard?”
You nod as you feel him push inside you easily. His beautiful lips part as he enters you. Your eyes glaze over from deep he is already, how stretched open you are without any preparation for him. But it feels amazing.
He waits for you to look him in the eyes, silently asking for more. He holds your waist in his hands, keeping you steady as he starts pulling and pushing, snapping his hips hard against yours.
“You look so hot in your little bikinis,” he says into your neck between wet kisses and his teeth catching your skin. “Just asking me to fuck you all the time, aren’t you?”
You wrap your legs higher, up around his hips. Your hands find your way up to his curly hair and you hold on tightly. Your walls clench around him, Leto canting his hips to hit that one, brain-melting spot deep inside of you. You can’t even keep your eyes open, overwhelmed by the driving force of his cock and his filthy praise.
He doesn’t let up until you’re coming so hard you feel like you’re going to snap in half, until your nails are digging into his scalp and back, deep in his sweaty skin. Until you’re so tight, he can only rock himself inside of you. Both of you shaking, you from the orgasm that’s straining every nerve in your body, and Leto from trying to keep you from dragging him with you.
Leto’s breathing in your ear, fucking you hard, his body pressing you down into the mattress. You lock your teeth onto his earlobe and he gasps.
“Just like that, baby, fuck. You feel how wet you are?” Leto’s words are short and gravely.
“Make me wetter. Come in me, Leto, please. Wanna feel it,” you say, tongue and teeth tracing his ear.
“You’re fucking amazing.” He buries himself deep and sits up, holding your hips to his so you can see his gorgeous chest and long chain he wears around his neck, and he can see you play with your nipples, twisting and pulling them.
His thrusts start to stutter, the sound of him slamming into you echoing in the bedroom.
“Look,” he orders you, “watch me fuck you, baby.”
You obey, watching the way his cock goes in and out between your legs. You grab onto his forearms.
“That’s it. There you go, sweetheart. One more time, come on.” Leto releases one of his hands and uses his thumb to flick your clit. You come again in a flood of wetness and brainless moaning, tightening around Leto as he pumps you full of himself.
You watch the muscles of his neck strain and flex under his beard, his face going taut. More beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen. Prettier than diamonds, your Leto.
He opens his eyes as he comes down from his orgasm, watching you run your hands up his chest as he gets his breath back.
A relaxed smile curves on his lips.
“You’re so easy,” you tease him. “One slutty bikini and you can’t control yourself.”
Leto leans down and kisses your forehead. “True. But don’t forget, the person in the bikini is also slutty.”
You laugh, swatting his chest. “It took a week and a half, but you finally made a joke. Now that the vacation is practically over.”
He rests his forehead against yours. “I wasn’t joking.”
You both laugh, both reluctant for Leto to pull out of you, to leave the bed, and go back to real life.
*****
Seattle is gray and drizzly. Just how you like it.
Leto wraps his arms around you from behind as you approach the dock.
He kisses the side of your head.
“This coat looks better on you,” he says, running his hands over the tan, cashmere fabric that you’d wrapped around yourself to disembark.
“I know,” you say, pushing up the too-long sleeves. “I’d like to tell you there’s nothing on under it, but that would be the kind of thing that gets me in trouble, right?”
He laughs quietly through his nose. “Knowing you, you’re in your underwear, just to be a brat.”
Leto runs one of his hands under the coat. He hums approvingly, nudging your head aside to kiss your neck.
“What if a gust of wind blows my coat open? What if everyone sees you wrapped up like a dirty present, hmm?” He says, letting his hand wander over your body.
You turn your head to kiss him, but only manage to land one on the soft hair of his beard. “All my clothes are packed up. I didn’t have anything to wear but this.”
You turn around and lean against the railing, opening the coat slightly so he can see the bodysuit that’s not much more than fine, cream-colored mesh and tiny, embroidered roses.
His nostrils flare as he looks down. His hands wrap around your waist, tracing up until he can make your nipples hard with his thumbs.
A slight shake of his head and Leto folds the coat around you snugly. With your thigh-high boots and his coat, you look perfectly respectable. You like to remind Leto, though, that you’re not.
He lifts your hand, still with the gigantic ring he gave you at the beginning of the trip, and kisses it.
He’s back to dark pants and a white button-down. You’d convinced him to leave a button or two undone, though, so you can look at his sun bronzed skin.
Every day had been sweet, being able to kiss that skin, seeing Leto let his guard down. You can already tell he has his ‘Leto Atreides powerful man’ walls back up.
“Matching earrings look nice,” he says, giving one of them a push with his finger so it catches the cloudy light and swings prettily.
“If you’d let me get my nipples pierced in Miami then you could have bought me more matching jewelry." You press your body up against him.
He licks his lips. “We had to get back to the boat. God, you’re impulsive.”
You laugh. “It’s not an impulse. I’m still doing it. And,” you loop your fingers into the waistband of his suit pants, “you’re going to love them.”
He bites his bottom lip, nodding in agreement. He steps away from you as a crew member appears around the corner to let you know they’ve started docking procedures.
Leto smooths his beard and offers you his arm. “I’ll call my jeweler and have something ready for when you get them done,” he says.
“If you make me nipple rings with the Atreides hawk, I’m never letting you near my boobs ever again,” you say, finding a pair of sunglasses in Leto’s coat pocket and sliding them onto your face.
Leto laughs. It’s one of the sounds you live for.
“Keep my coat closed,” Leto says as you walk down the ramp to the waiting car.
“I know. You’re such a nag.” You elbow him.
Leto closes his eyes in that way he does when he’s rolling them, but doesn’t want anyone to see that his patience isn’t completely infinite.
He’s back to his serious, serene self by the time he opens them again. “Keep it up and I’ll cancel the surprise I have waiting for you at the house.”
“Keep up your attitude, and you might never find out if this bodysuit is crotchless or not.” You slide into the car.
“Keep your voice down,” he reprimands you gently as he gets into the car next to you. He shuts the door. “We’re not in the middle of the ocean anymore where no one can hear your filthy mouth. And I know it’s crotchless. Because I know you.”
You snuggle up to him in the car.
“No,” he says looking at you patiently from the corner of one eye, “we have a stop to make in about ten minutes. Not enough time for whatever you’re planning with your hand.”
You pull your hand back down toward his knee.
“Are you working long enough for me to get a manicure?” You look down at your hand on his thigh.
“I’ll text my assistant and have someone come to the office for you. I have to sign a few documents, but I’m sure I’ll get pulled into four other things.”
His phone buzzes in his jacket pocket. He frowns.
“I’m sorry our vacation is over,” you say with feeling.
He kisses you quickly, then answers the phone with an impatient greeting, then tips his bearded chin at you, his eyes skimming down his coat. You lean back against the door, one of your legs up on the seat, and let the coat fall open.
He continues talking on the phone, not even in English anymore. Or maybe it is, but you stop paying attention once Leto’s hand parts your legs wider and he distracts you for the short ride downtown.
*****
Leto’s gigantic house is miles outside of the city. It predates you by many years, but he’s let you put your own touches on things, redo rooms when you want.
He’d been stuck at his office long enough for you to get a manicure, pedicure, and do some more damage to his credit card, but there’s nothing both of you need more than to go home.
A huge, modern, 3-story mansion shouldn’t feel cozy and warm. But it fits into the lush green landscape.
Leto asked his staff start fires in the fireplaces, light a couple of smelly, overpriced candles that you like, and turn on some lights.
You roll down the window of the car as you pull in.
Leto looks up from texting on his phone. “It’s freezing baby, put the window up.”
You lean your arms on the open window instead. “I’m happy we’re home.”
Leto’s big hand rubs up and down your back.
“Come on, let’s go inside,” he says.
“For my surprise?” You turn your head and smile at him.
He nods patiently and opens his door, taking your hand to pull you out behind him.
Leto looks you over as you stand up. “You have actual clothes on now,” he says.
You shrug. “You took so long I had time to pick up an outfit or two.”
“Mmm-hmm, one or two, I’m sure,” he says with a doubtful smile. He kisses the side of your head, his beard catching your hair.
You walk backwards up the walk, bugging him the whole time.
“What is it? You already expanded my closet a few months ago,” you say.
“We didn’t really need six extra bedrooms. Five are sufficient.”
“Did you have that chef I love make dinner?” You ask.
“As much as I love you, no. I don’t want brunch at seven in the evening.”
You sigh loudly. “It better not be another trip, Leto. We just got home.”
The door opens for you and Leto as you approach. The staff greet you and you hug them, much to Leto’s amusement.
“What?” You say. “They’re the only three people who are here full time. They let me grump about you and don’t tattle.”
Duncan Idaho, Leto’s head of security, appears with part of the luggage. “Sir? Everything’s set up in the dining room. And the forward team is finished at your requested location.”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “Duncan?”
He grins and holds his hands up. “If I tell you what he’s up to, I’m fired.”
“I thought we were friends,” you say, hands on your hips.
Duncan shakes his head. “If we were friends, you’d let me put a detail on you.”
“You worry too much. I’m not some precious asset under lock and key. I’m your friend. Or, apparently not. I’m your boss’s,” you pause, “whatever?”
Leto rests his hand on your lower back. “Thank you, Duncan. I can take it from here.”
You hand your coat off and let him lead you to the dining room. He pauses at the closed doors.
“Do you really feel like you’re my ‘whatever’?” He asks.
His voice and face are carefully neutral. He’s so good at it you want to ruffle his hair just to make him imperfect. You know behind that stern look is a hurricane of deep feelings.
“We kind of went from introductions to the back of your limo in like, two hours. But we’re still together, more than a year later. The rest doesn’t bother me. I’m happy. And I hope I make you happy. I cost you enough money,” you joke.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Leto says with a small smile.
He tips up your chin and kisses you the way he does behind closed doors.
You nuzzle into his beard, biting his bottom lip a little before his lips are so sunk into yours that you can’t even think. You run your hands up his dress shirt and around his neck, press in close to him.
“Baby,” he whispers against your lips, with a half step back, “if you want to bankrupt me, I’d let you do it with a smile on my face.”
Your cheeks feel warm from his intimate gaze, the way his fingers stroke your chin, just… him.
His dark, brown eyes shine at you as he works his bottom lip between his teeth, then opens the doors.
The long dining room table is set with a snacky kind of dinner. Bread and cheese, fruit, little veggie tarts and cured meats. A bottle of wine is chilling in a silver bucket.
The centerpieces are green and ferny, split by a huge, framed photograph laying flat on the table. You walk up and look at it.
“If you payed more than ten grand for this, I’m disappointed in you,” you say.
Leto pours the wine. “Why do you say that?”
You shrug. “It’s okay, but it’s really flat. And the colors are a little off. It should’ve been taken like, an hour or two before the sun got this low. Is it by someone famous?”
Leto shook his head. “Gurney took it.”
You laugh. “He’s a beautiful musician and has a memory for fancy quotes like a steel fucking trap, but an artistic eye, he does not have. I’ve never had a headache like seeing his tiger-print speedo and bright green sandals when we all went to Thailand together. Do you remember that? I was like-“ you pause. “I sound like an asshole. Okay. If he wants to be a photographer, then I’ll be supportive. I can be positive. Right?”
Leto raises a black eyebrow at you and sips his glass of wine. “I’m positive that your honesty is one of the best things about you. But no, sweetheart, Gurney’s not getting into photography.
“He has a house outside of Joshua Tree. He grew up out there, not that he likes to talk about it much, but a few hundred acres came up for sale near his place.”
“You hate the desert,” you say, leaning over the photograph.
“But you don’t,” Leto says. “I had that house built on the property. Gurney took that photo and sent it here. The land and house are both in your name.”
You turn your head, “what?”
“It’s yours, baby. Somewhere we can go when you want to wear sundresses and get a tan. Have a bbq with Gurney if the two of us can ever get the same weekend off.” He sets aside his wine and walks over to slide his arm around your waist. “I’ve been thinking lately, you’re giving me years of your life, your energy, your sunshine.”
You half-roll your eyes. “You say it like it’s some big sacrifice. You’re the most eligible bachelor on the planet. Probably on any planet.”
“Still,” Leto says, “I would hate for you to think I’d ever leave you with nothing.”
You hold up your hand, the emerald and diamond ring Leto had given you. “I’m wearing $3 million dollars and if you’re ever stupid enough to dump me, you’d better believe I’d never give it back. Any of it.”
He smiles dryly. “Smart ass.” He kisses your fingers. “It looks perfect on you, but it’s not an engagement ring. A woman as beautiful as you,” his words fade as he looks thoughtfully at your hand.
You untangle your fingers and switch them around so you can hold his hand up, the heavy ring he wears on the middle finger of his left hand staring at both of you.
“You’re married to this. I understand.” You kiss his fingers, as he’d kissed yours a few seconds ago. “Don’t get me wrong, your endless bank account is a rush, but I wouldn’t stay with you just because you’re stupid rich. I stay with you because you have the best cock I’ve ever let inside of me. A little longer and thicker than is actually comfortable, but the little bit of a stretch is perfect. It’s-“
Leto covers his face with the hand you’re not holding. You’re relieved to hear him laugh.
“Where in the hell do you come up with these things,” he says, still laughing.
You shrug. “Naturally dirty, I guess.”
Leto tilts his head and kisses you swiftly, hard. His hands slide around your waist, holding onto you tightly.
“And just so there’s no misunderstanding here,” he says, “I’m not a bachelor. Not anymore.”
“I just meant-“
“I know what you meant,” Leto says, his voice firm. “You think so little of me? That I would string you along? Treat you like a toy and not the sweetest part of my life?”
“No, Leto, of course not,” you say.
“I look forward to coming home to you from the very second I leave the house every morning.” His words are meant to reassure you, but they’re also true.
Everything he says and does is from his heart, something his family would rather he follow less.
You smile at him. “You’re so good with words, it’s criminal. I’m sorry for being dismissive about us. We love each other, and I know that won’t change.”
“Good,” he waits for your eyes to meet his, “I’m spoken for.”
Also, Leto never lies. He’s incapable.
Deception? Yes. Politics? Definitely.
But since the night you’d met him, you’d seen straight through his fancy suits and serious expression. You’d loved the heart of Leto Atreides right away.
“Well, I guess since you bought me a house and everything, it would be pretty tacky of me to try to keep things casual,” you say, teasing him.
Leto grins, the slight upturn at one corner of his mouth that always gets you a little bit hot.
“If you want to go out and rope some other sucker into single-handedly paying for Dior’s operating expenses with his credit card, sweetheart, go ahead and try to find him,” Leto says with a hint of a laugh in his tone.
“Wow,” you laugh, “you’re feisty tonight.”
You look down at the photograph, the sprawling one-story house in the desert. The colors blend in with the sand and sky. Huge, tangled cacti guard the front. It’s peaceful, stark.
Leto’s house here in Seattle will always be home, but you can already picture escaping to the desert after Christmas, or meeting Leto there when he has meetings in L.A.
The wardrobe you’re going to build around this house is going to be fuck-off good.
“Thank you,” you say.
“You’re welcome.” Leto says, finally sounding relaxed. Your hands massage the muscles at the back of his neck and he groans in pleasure.
“Why don’t we skip dinner?” You say. “We can take a bath together.”
You slide your fingers between Leto’s.
“Perfect,” he says. “I can’t wait to sleep in our own bed again.”
You hold his hand between both of yours as you wander back out, down the hallway and up the stairs.
“Are you super tired?” You ask, trying to make it sound like an off-hand question.
Leto chuckles under his breath. “Spoiled.”
“What? I was just asking,” you half-shrug.
“Sure you were, sweetheart. Not at all plotting to sit in my lap in that bath you want to take?”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” You open the bedroom door and pull him inside.
“You’re more demanding than any board of directors that I’ve ever stood in front of.” He grins, opening the bedroom door for you.
You heave a gigantic, loud sigh. “Well, if I’m so exhausting I guess I can pack my bags and have the plane take me to my new house in California tomorrow.”
“Okay, now you are actually acting spoiled,” Leto says, resting his hands on your hips to stop you from walking away.
“You know we’ve never had a fight?” You turn so you’re facing each other. “My last boyfriend and I broke up and got back together like, five times.”
“Your last boyfriend was an mma fighter who had no control over his emotions. He broke up with you before every big fight he had, and then came crawling back.”
“Oh yeah,” you remember. “I do love when men crawl, though. He had a horrible training schedule. Worked almost as much as you. Speaking of, I was thinking I could stop by your office tomorrow and we could have lunch together.”
You start undoing Leto’s shirt.
“I’d love that, baby, but I’m going to be slammed trying to catch up with everything,” he says.
“But we spent so much time together on vacation. You can’t just cut me off cold turkey. I’m used to your attention all day long now.”
Leto laughs. “You make a good point. Stop by around 2. I’ll make it work.”
You smile at him, playing with the tails of his shirt. “See? You give me everything I want.”
“I do,” Leto kisses your cheek. “You have me right where you want me.”
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me watching a movie when the antagonist starts doing bad things
#nathan bateman#ex machina#i fully knew that Nathan sucked ass as a person trust me#but i just felt so icky with every interaction he had with Kyoko#espeically from the angle of the movie when the viewers are still under the impression that she's human#anyways i'm still a whore for Nathan regardless because i love my lord and savior Oscar Isaac#i just think he deserves to be punished <3#oscar issac characters#oscar isaac hernandez estrada#oscar isaac
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look what i just stumbled on
#when i stumbled upon this a month ago or so i swear i was normal about it#i swear it didn't loop it for hours#i was normal about it
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TURNING FROWNS
into soft touches
Pairing: Marc Spector x Gn!reader
Warnings: just fluff, poor Marc needs to be comforted from time to time, although gets a bit suggestive at the end
A/N: English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there’s any mistakes, no proof read.
Word Count: 1k
Listen… taking care of Marc by giving him small featherlight kisses and soft caresses when he’s all grumpy and frowning after a hard day and being away from a mission, he ends up reluctantly letting you help him and your touch turns him into a tired, grateful and maybe horny mush.
After returning from a grueling three-day mission, Marc collapsed onto the couch, his clothes clinging to his body with sweat and dirt. Despite the pressing need for a shower and fresh attire, exhaustion rooted him in place, rendering even the slightest movement an arduous task.
His brow furrowed deeply, like the creases of a turbulent sea, Marc sat, amidst the chaos of his thoughts. The weight of the day hung heavy upon his shoulders, each line etched into his features a testament to the battles he fought within.
You slowly approach him and climb on his lap to try to help him relax. Startled by your sudden presence, he jolted slightly, his frown deepening at the intrusion.
"Not right now baby, I'm tired," he grumbled, his voice a weary murmur, as if carrying the weight of the world in each syllable. Yet, despite his protests, his hands found their way around your waist, drawing you closer to him as if seeking solace in your embrace.
With a tender touch, you began to massage his temples, your fingers tracing soothing circles against his skin. The tension in his muscles slowly began to melt away, replaced by a sense of calm that washed over him like a gentle tide. His eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the serenity of your touch as if seeking refuge in the tranquility you offered.
"It's okay," you whispered, your voice a soft murmur against the hushed silence of the room. "Just breathe."
And as he exhaled, a sigh of relief escaped him, carrying with it the burdens of the day. In the quiet intimacy of that moment, surrounded by the gentle cadence of your breath and the tender caress of your touch.
“I’m here my love, let me take care of you”
As you whispered in his ear, the words washed over him, bringing peace to his rattled soul. Letting out a deep sigh, he let out a faint smile, the corners of his lips curling up as he continued to surrender to you.
You gently trace your fingertips along the furrowed lines of his forehead, feeling the tension slowly dissipate beneath your touch. As your fingers work their magic, his frown begins to soften, melting away with each stroke. His breath steadies, deepening into a more relaxed rhythm as he gives into the sensation.
As you continue to work your magic by massaging his temples, your other hand begins to trail delicately along his jawline, tracing the contours of his face accompanying it with feather-light kisses. Each touch and kiss is filled with tenderness, a silent reassurance that you're here for him, to ease away the weight of the world, Marc cannot do anything but softly hum and let out small sounds of satisfaction.
Your lips brush against his furrowed brow, leaving a trail of soft kisses that slowly erase the creases of worry. Moving downward, you plant gentle kisses along his closed eyelids, coaxing them to flutter open and meet yours with a newfound warmth, a glint of appreciation on his eyes.
And as he finally opens his eyes, there's a softness in his gaze, a gratefulness for your presence and the solace you've bring him, but you let Marc close his eyes again as he sighs and let’s you keep kissing every single part of his face.
Your lips trail across his face, your hands delicately weave through his curls, fingers gently massaging his scalp in a rhythmic motion. With each touch, his tension begins to melt away, replaced by a sense of tranquility that washes over him like a gentle tide.
You whisper words of comfort against his skin, your breath mingling with his as he lets himself be consumed by the soft trail of your lips when you brush them against his cheekbones, the slight curve of his nose, going down to his jaw, stopping on his beard stubble to brush it against your lips before you make your way down to his neck.
Caresses and kisses on his neck pause momentarily as you accidentally make a gentle tug against his hair, and a small gasp escapes your lips, trying to quickly apologize for the discomfort you could've caused. But to your surprise, instead of a complaint, you're met with a satisfied low grunt from Marc. His eyes, still closed in bliss, flutter open slightly, a hint of amusement dancing within them.
“Careful there…” he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with a playful undertone, he squeezes your hips and his hand ends up going down further to your lower back to push your body as close as he can get you to him.
Marc's hands squeezed your hips, pulling you closer, as if wanting as much contact as possible with your body. Leaning his weight back against the couch, he pulled you into his arms and you settled properly on his lap, your weight resting against his frame.
As your soft lips continued to kiss his face, he tightened his grip on your hips, his muscles pulling you into him as your bodies pressed together, your breasts squished against his chest.
He buries his head on your shoulder, you feel his warm and hot breath against your skin, mixed with his musky scent, it sends tingles down your spine. Specially when his hand slowly guides your hips to his, and there’s when you finally notice what your soothing and sweet touches have been doing to him, feeling the hardness against his tight jeans.
“Oh.. Marc baby, weren’t you tired?”
A small hum escapes from Marc's lips when he finds the sensitive pulse point on your neck, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you. His husky voice, laced with desire, stirs something within you, that has you squirming on his lap and making him chuckle.
“I was… I am…but… I really want this… No I need this” Marc quickly corrects himself. ”Although you’re probably gonna be doing all the work baby, is that a problem?”
A playful grin tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze, your own voice a whisper of desire. "No problem at all," you reply, your tone dripping with anticipation. "I've got you, Marc. Always."
And of course you wouldn’t complain why would you? You’d gladly volunteer for that kind of extra comfort he seeks any day.
I might start a TAGLIST, cause I've been writing more lately? Let me know if you wanna get on it!
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Let's Get Out Of Here
Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: M •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •
Summary: You've met your Dad's best friend before.
🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜
A/N: This one was so difficult.
Warnings: Implied sexy times, Reader has a sort of family backstory, Reader's Dad had Reader very young, Reader has a good relationship with their Dad, Jake being a flirt, swearing, overuse of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 776
“And this is Jake.”
Your smile freezes on your face as your Dad gestures to his aforementioned best friend. If it wasn’t for the grounding warmth of his hand on your arm you were sure you would have had an out of body experience.
Him.
Oh fuck.
How could it be him?
“Nice to finally meet you Jake.” You nod and shake his hand when he holds his out to you.
“Likewise.” His own smile is polite, tailored to a mask of neutrality that you can see through. He’s shitting himself just as much as you are.
Your Dad laughs, thankfully oblivious to the sudden tension in air. “I’m glad you two could finally meet.”
If it wasn’t for social norms you’d turn on your heels and just march right out of there. Maybe you could hide somewhere in the crowd.
Your Father and Step-Mother were renewing their vows, and were throwing an ‘engagement’ party of sorts.
They’d long ago moved out of the town you’d grown up in, as had you and sadly your new home was further away from them than you’d have liked. So you didn’t get to see them in person as much as you wanted to.
Jake had met your Dad about four years ago, the two becoming fast friends. From what your Dad had told you Jake travelled a lot, but when they did meet up they always got on like a house on fire. He was, as well, a little camera shy. Covering his face or ducking out of the way in group photos, so the most you’d ever seen of him was the arm of his leather jacket, a blurred cap, or the scruff of curls poking just into frame.
It had become a running joke that this ‘Jake’ was either imaginary, or a spy.
Your Dad had had you young, an accident that he always called ‘his greatest achievement’. Despite his youth and the barely sixteen years between you, he had been and was a wonderful father.
Someone calls your Dad’s name and he excuses himself quickly, darting off before you even have a chance to protest.
You look after him forlornly, your shoulders slumping.
Maybe running away wasn’t such a break of social norms.
“Hi.” Jake says softly, having taken a step closer.
You turn back to him. He’s shoved his hands in his pocket, looking down before giving you an uncertain smile.
You return the gesture.
“I’m so sorry-” You blurt out.
“I didn’t know you-” He starts at the same time.
You both laugh.
“What are the odds?” He says with a shrug.
“Well, I guess a fondness for you runs in the family?”
Jake pulls a face and you laugh.
“Don’t say that.” He grins.
You try and fail to hide your smile. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Maybe… if I’d told you my name?”
“Well,” you shift your weight, relaxing a little. “I didn’t tell you mine either.”
“We were a little preoccupied.”
“Hmm.” You nod and close your eyes for a second to let the wave of embarrassment pass. “The first time yeah… but I think by the sixth we probably should have.”
He laughs again. It’s a musical sound, deep and rich. Calming in its certainty. “What did you save my number as?”
Heat burns a little under your skin. “Pretty guy.”
“Pretty guy?” His eyebrows raise, but not in upset, just surprise.
“Yeah, well,” you pull a face. “You’re pretty and a guy, so…”
He puffs his chest out a little, leaning a fraction closer. “You think I’m pretty.” He teases.
You give him a sincere look. “I think you’re beautiful.”
The honesty gives him pause for just a beat before he quickly recovers. “Says you.”
“Says me?”
“Yeah, says you. You’re stunning.” He lightly touches your forearm, his fingertips just ghosting over your skin.
You swallow, trying not to get lost in his eyes. “Shut up. What do you have me saved as then?”
He grins, not breaking eye contact for a moment before he pulls out his phone and shows you your contact information. There’s a single red heart emoji listed as your name.
“I didn’t take you as a romantic.” You tease.
He chuckles, leaning close and whispering in your ear. “Haven’t been treating you right then, have I?” He softly brushes the tip of his nose along your ear and you shiver. “Let me show you just how romantic I can be?”
He leans back just enough for you to see his expression, the question in his dark eyes as he nods his head towards the venue doors.
You grin. “Let’s get out of here.”
____________________________________________
Thank you for reading!
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OSCAR ISAAC in The Card Counter (2021)
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Service Fee
Llewyn Davis X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 3: Exhibitionism
Summary: Jerry offers Llewyn money to watch him and you fuck.
A/N: Llewyn and reader are in a realtionship. So Llewyn kinda realises he's into someone watching him. (martymachlia). Also $500 in 1961 is about $5134.21 today. This was so much more difficult that I thought it would be.
Warnings: martymachlia, exhinitionism , p in v sex, cream pie, hand on throat, cum eating, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, being 'paid' for sex, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 3035
This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, this was a fucking bad idea.
Llewyn hadn’t been drunk when the idea, business deal, had been proposed. But he had been a little tipsy, pleasantly buzzed. Enough to make him think, ‘fuck it, sure $500 for thirty minutes and an orgasm?’ He’d be an idiot not to, right?
Jerry, some friend of a friend of a work colleague of Marty’s, had bought him the drinks. Presumably to butter him up to what he was about to ask.
It seemed that Jerry got off to watching other people go at it. In the flesh. Like a horny theatre performance.
He had brought up the subject of porn during their conversation in such a subtle way that LLewyn hadn’t really noticed until they were well into the discussion.
“I mean, everyone enjoys a bit of x-rated content from time to time, wouldn’t you say?” Jerry spoke with a deep voice that was like a snake charmer, easing Llewyn into agreement without a second thought.
“I like watching, I need it right there in front of me. Like a sports game, always better seeing it live right?” He had laughed. “Used to just watch people get off on their own, but I tell you, there’s something about seeing a couple really go to town on each other.”
What really could you say to that? “Sure,” Llewyn answered, two too many shots down.
“I used to pay hookers you know, for a show? But it’s just not the same. No offence to the professionals, but I need at least one of them to not be... overly performing if you get my drift.”
Llewyn nodded.
“I still pay, of course, gotta pay people for their time.”
“Of course.” Llewyn took another shot.
“$500 a time, for a couple. $400 for two strangers. Couples are just better.” He shrugged.
Llewyn’s ears perked up.“$500?”
“Hmm.” Jerry smiled, sickeningly sweet and took a slip of his hardly touched beer. “Cash.”
Now, in the cold light of day, or more accurately, the cold dark of three hours later, with his pleasant buzz gone, Llewyn knew he had been gently coaxed into asking the question.
He had practically stumbled over his words in his rush to explain to you. “$500, for like thirty minutes. $500!”
You had stared at him uncertainly. “Llewyn-”
“No, no, I checked. It’s in this club, The Deep, private room, it has like a viewing mirror thing so he can see us, we can’t see him. Only us fucking, nothing we don’t normally do.”
You chewed your bottom lip, it wasn’t like the money would be unwelcome. “He knows Marty?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“This isn’t... illegal is it?”
“No, no, the club it’s like, people go there to do all kinds of stuff, we wouldn’t be getting paid to have sex... just Jerry would give us a gift... after. A thank you.”
“Does he... want anything particular?”
“Just for me to cum in you.” Llewyn shrugged, still a little too tipsy to not feel inebriated. “Like we normally do.” He nuzzled into your shoulder and you paused, looking over the slight flush on his skin.
“How much did you have to drink?”
.
Jerry had met you outside the club, paying your fees to get in. The bouncers greeted him by name.
“What the fuck are we doing here?” Llewyn whispered into your ear as you both entered.
You glared at him. “Llewyn, this was your fucking idea.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered as you followed Jerry. Llewyn kept his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.
“You’re not getting stage fright, are you?” You teased, trying to downplay your own anxieties.
He gave you a look.
The room was surprisingly nice. Clean and well kept.
Llewyn sat gingerly on the bed.
“Well, I’ll let you two get started.” Jerry smiled, somehow the expression didn’t come off as creepy. “When the green light comes on,” he pointed to a small bulb above the massive wall mirror next to the bed. “Feel free to start.” He moved to the door.
“Wait, erm,” you paused. “Can you hear as well?”
Jerry’s smile widened and he nodded. “Of course.” He closed the door behind him.
Okay, that smile was a little creepy.
You bite your lip nervously as you look at the door.
“We don’t have to do this, you know?” Llewyn made you jump lightly as he wrapped his arms around you, pressing his chest into your back.
You lean against him, “I know,” and sigh. “$500 though...”
He chuckles as he kisses your neck, his beard scraping softly at your skin. “$500.” He echoes.
You nod and turn to face him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “$500.” You repeat again. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Never have more romantic words been said.” He teases and you swat at him playfully.
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t know... gotta woo me first.”
“I have to woo you?”
“Hmm.” He smiles broadly, running his hands down to your waist and swaying ever so slightly with you. His half hard cock brushes against your thigh.
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I think you might be into this Llewyn Davis.”
“What?” He chuckles.
“Being watched,” you tease, your voice low. “I think part of you likes it.”
“And why is that?” He leans closer kissing along your jaw.
“Why do you think?”
“I always get like this around you.” He murmurs.
“Hmm.” You don’t sound very convinced.
“It’s true,” he continues kissing down your neck only to stop and suck on your pulse point. “You could say ‘get hard’ and I would.”
Your giggle turns into a moan as he bites lightly at your skin and walks you backwards to the bed. Gently pressing you down when the mattress hits the back of your thighs and moving his hips between your legs.
He kisses you languidly, almost soothingly sweet in the way he caresses your lips with his. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, shying away ever so slightly every time you try to as he grinds his rapidly hardening length against your centre.
“Llewyn,” you groan in frustration as his lips dance away from you again, grabbing hold of the back of his curls and forcing his mouth against yours.
He chuckles darkly but licks into your mouth. Finally indulging you.
His hands run down your ribs, stopping at your waist to just inch under your shirt. There’s a hunger in his movements, the force that he grinds against you, how his teeth lightly nip and bite at your bottom lip that’s different. Not unwelcome, just unusual. Slightly out of character for Llewyn’s normal style.
He kisses down to your jaw, his beard tickling your skin as he sucks a love bite into your neck and starts to hurriedly unbutton your shirt. His breathing quick and urgent.
The way he grinds against you, the outline of his hard cock rubbing against your core, sends sparks of pleasure up your spine.
He fumbles with the last two buttons on your top as he scrapes his teeth over your jaw and in annoyance he simply pulls the material, ripping the offending things off and sending them flying across the room.
“Llewyn,” you begin to chastise, but his lips are on yours again as he whines into your mouth.
“Sorry, sorry, just need you so bad.” He hooks his hands under your knees, spreading you wider as he kisses the tops of your breasts.
Out of the corner of your eye you notice the green light has come on.
Yeah, okay. He was really into this.
“Need you so fucking bad, baby.” He mutters under his breath and you’re not sure if he even realises he’s talking anymore.
You squirm against him as he pinches your left nipple through the fabric of your bra and bites at the other, sucking and licking at it like he’s never seen them before. His salvia sinks into the lace, spreads across the material as he moans and ruts against you.
There’s a tight heat building in your belly, fire that is being stoked higher and higher with every grind of Llewyn’s hips and drag of his cock. The zip on his fly presses firmly against your clit and you gasp, sinking your fingers into soft curls as you press up against him.
He growls, momentarily rocking against you harder before he pulls you into sitting up by your arms.
You open your mouth to speak, but he’s all over you again, kissing your lips and neck and pulling you out of your top and unclasping your bra.
“Llewyn-”
“You’re wearing too many fucking clothes.” He snarls and bites hard at your neck, groaning when you cry out and wrap your arms around his shoulders.
As he sucks another messy love bite into your skin and his nimble fingers undo your trousers, pulling his mouth away from you for just a second so that he can pull them down.
You lean back, helping him to undress you as best you can. There’s an unfamiliar spark of excitement in your chest. Seeing him like this, so close to losing his usual calm control makes heat rise to your face and wetness soak into your panties.
He didn’t think he’d be quite so into this. Llewyn kisses you hard, sliding his tongue into your mouth for a moment before he pulls your underwear down and throws it to the side. In fact, just a few minutes ago he was pretty sure he was going to have a problem performing. But now, god, if he didn’t hear you moan his name in the next minute he was going to burst a blood vessel.
There was something about it, something about knowing that Jerry could see you but couldn’t touch you. That you were all his, his his. Just brought him close to insanity.
He grabs you around the back of your neck a little harshly as he kneels between your open legs and pulls you back towards him. He kisses you deeply again, hungrily swallowing down your every breath as if it was his only source of oxygen.
Without giving you any warning he plunges two fingers into your folds and presses against your walls.
You gasp, breaking the kiss and Llewyn pumps his hand quickly, using his thumb to circle your clit as you cry out and grasp at his shoulders. Pleasure burning along your veins.
His name falls from your lips in a high-pitched rush of breath and he moans, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and using his other hand to press against your upper back to keep you as close as physically possible.
“Llewyn, shit,” you moan, your words catching in your throat as he adds a third finger and fucks you hard. Pumping in and out of you, the sound of your slick echoing obscenely as he groans.
All you can do is cling on for dear life as he plunges deeper, stroking your walls and clit in a perfect unison.
“Want you to cum so hard you gush all over the sheets baby,” he growls in your ear. “Want you to fucking soak my hand with it.”
You clenched down on him at his words, your eyes screwed shut as you gasped. He was never normally this vocal, never spoke to you like this and, god, if it didn’t make your head spin.
“Fuck, need to taste you.” He pushes you down flat on your back forcefully and dives between your legs, flicking his tongue over your clit and moaning against you.
You cry out, grabbing hold of the bedsheets and then whining as he pulls his fingers out, shoving them into his mouth. You look up quick enough to just see his eyes rolling back into his head, how he rocks his hips against the mattress.
Then his mouth is back on you, his hands pressing against the inner of both your thighs to stretch you impossibly wide as he curls his tongue between your folds.
You cry out his name in gasped pleasure. The burn of his beard scraps against your clit as he rolls his tongue and chin up through your folds to your bundle of nerves and then back down again, repeating the action twice before he firmly dives in and presses the bridge of his nose against you.
Heat coils tightly in your lower belly, beating out from your centre as he groans loudly with every lick and thrust of his tongue. His salvia and your slick mixing and coating his skin.
It’s too much, the onslaught of sensation suddenly overwhelming as he pushes your right to the edge in a rush.
“Gonna cum,” you manage to sob out, pulling at his curls to warn him, but he just growls against you and fucks you harder with his tongue.
Lights explode behind your eyes as your orgasm overtakes you, spills out of you in a wave as pleasure sings across every part of you.
LLewyn flicks his tongue against your clit, pressing hot and wet against it to stretch out your bliss for longer as you sob and writhe under him.
Your slick soaks into him, creamy and sweet as you cum.
He laps at you thrice before sitting up hurriedly, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans just enough to pull out his aching cock. He pumps himself twice in a rush, his eyes glazed over and dark as he looks at you naked and blissed out under him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grabs hold of your thigh harshly and pulls you wider. “You made such a mess, fuck.” He pushes forward, notching the tip of his fat needy cock at your entrance and thrusting in without a second thought.
You gasp in surprise at the sudden intrusion, despite your orgasm and how thoroughly he fucked you with his fingers the stretch of him is still a shock.
You grab hold of his arms as he bottoms out, snapped out of your post-orgasmic haze. He kisses you roughly, pushing his tongue into your open mouth and demanding your submission as he bends his body over yours. He snaps his hips forward, drinking down your cry as he bottoms out. The burn of him is delicious, hitting so deep, deeper than he ever has before and your back arches up from the bed as you cling onto him.
You swear between kisses, sob out his name as he starts to thrust harshly into you, pulling pleasure from every nerve with each snap of his hips.
“That’s it, baby, fuck, that’s it.” He leans up, rutting so hard that he’s sliding you back with every buck.
“Llewyn, oh my god, please!” You can’t get any other words out, all thoughts dissolving into an incoherent mess as he keeps hitting so deep, as he fucks you into the mattress.
He bites his lip, his hips moving of their own accord as he chases his high, needing to cum so deeply within you that you’ll be feeling it for weeks. Quickly he sits further up, pressing firmly on your clit with his thumb as he pushes you closer to your second orgasm, demanding you cum and milk his cock for everything he’s going to give you.
His other hand snakes down to your chin, holding your jaw and neck possessively for a moment before he pushes his thumb against your lips.
Your eyes widen in surprise at first as his palm presses against your windpipe, not enough to cut off your air, just a dominating hold. But you moan as you open your mouth and flick your tongue against the pad of this thumb.
Llewyn growls and pushes it in deeper, groaning as you suck on it. Revelling in the way your eyebrows pinch together, how your eyes soften and gaze over as you give into him completely.
The control makes his head spin and dick swell. He swears under his breath and pinches lightly at your clit as his balls draw up. You squirm and cry out around his thumb, your legs shaking and tensing on either side of his. The thick denim of his jeans rubbing your inner thighs red.
You cum suddenly, the force of it creeping up on you as it blooms throughout your core, practically forces your back off the bed as you scream silently.
LLewyn pulls his thumb from your mouth and ruts into you harder, punching the air out of your lungs with the force of his hips as he groans and pumps thick, hot cum inside of you. His orgasm is so strong that he nearly blacks out for a second.
He catches himself, his hand by your head as he breathes and recovers. It’s only then he notices the tears in your eyes. And a sharp pang of guilt cuts through his chest.
“Baby-”
You grab hold of him and pull him down against you, kissing him hard and moaning softly as aftershocks of your orgasm flow across your veins.
“Fuck,” you nuzzle against him, whispering against his ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard.”
He leans up to look at you, a small smile on his lips. “You okay?” He keeps his voice low and you nod.
“More than okay.”
The smile grows.
“Can’t believe you kept your clothes on,” you grin, “you’re all sweaty.”
LLewyn snorts and kisses you softly. “I didn’t have time.”
He helps you get dressed, your legs feeling boneless in the aftermath of your orgasm. He uses your brief weakness to his advantage and pins you back against the bed, cleaning the mess he made between your legs with his tongue until you’re a shaking begging heap. Your third orgasm is weaker than the previous two, but sweet nonetheless.
Jerry meets you both outside the room, a flush to his face. He gives you an envelope containing the $500, plus a $50 tip for ‘such a good show’, as well as his card, ‘if ever you’d both be interested in a repeat performance.’
LLewyn’s face betrays nothing, but he squeezes your hip eagerly at the suggestion.
____________________________________
Thank you for reading! I'm not doing my normal tag list for kinktober as to not overwhelm anyone, please let me know if you'd like to be added/taken off.
@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moon
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#i can't believe i haven't reblogged this fic yet#cause it is so good#read it first on ao3#and then read like all the other fics there at the time#changed my brain chemistry a bit#llewyn davis fanfiction
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Oscar Isaac in Life Itself (2018)
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Passion Project
Richard Alonso-Muñoz x fem!Reader
Rated PG-13 for sexual innuendo and pregnancy/having children
1,084 words
A/N: @aellynera sent me this idea like months ago and then one day i wrote it in one sitting while at work so that’s why it’s not the greatest 😂 but i hope y’all enjoy this lil blurb!
Richard never fancied himself a motorcycle gang guy.
Really it just starts as a hobby—something he can work on in his free time. He gets the bike cheap from his brother-in-law’s cousin who works in a scrap yard, and he thinks it’ll be something fun to work on, to destress with after a long day at work.
It’s in a state of, to put it nicely, complete disrepair. No working parts and a rusty body, but it’s something to do. And Richard has run out of room on his shelf for more jigsaw puzzles, so he figures he can use a different way to keep his hands in motion.
Keep reading
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marc spector- slow songs
Summary: Your friend, Marc, pretends to be your boyfriend at a wedding, but is it pretend? (~2.3k)
Contents: f!reader, fluff, fake dating/friends to lovers, language
part of @moonknight-events: MK spring ‘24 Bingo Event
This is the slow song:
-----
“Okay, just be calm. Stay cool, lay low.” You run your hands down your pale, blue dress.
Marc frowns at you. “That’s a terrible pep talk.”
“It’s not for you. It’s for me.” You give him a dirty look. “You’re used to lying to people’s faces, but I’m not.”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I deserved that one. But as a reminder, I don’t even want to be here. How’s the suit?”
You look him up and down. He has on a dark suit with a bow tie. His curly hair arranged in neat waves away from his face. He was on a mission somewhere sunny and came back tan.
He looks so gorgeous you want to scream.
“It’s not the worst you’ve ever looked.” You grab his hand and haul him into the reception hall.
“Well, I think you look amazing, cupcake,” Marc says with a grin. “My little candy heart-shaped nugget love, whatever.”
He stretches his neck in his shirt. “I’m gonna kill Steven.”
You sigh. Steven had volunteered to be your pretend boyfriend at a friend's wedding. The only way to avoid being put at the singles table, plus you’d have someone to joke with.
But when you’d told your friend you were bringing your new boyfriend, you’d lied and said you’d grown up together. So, not Steven because of his accent, and Jake was too charming to let loose on unsuspecting bridesmaids.
So, Marc had reluctantly agreed.
Not that you weren’t friends with all three of them, but you and Marc weren’t as close. You were never sure why. Probably because his walls were up so high you could see them from space.
“Can’t we just say we’re friends?” Marc says, loosening his bow tie.
You stop walking and re-tighten it. “No, or she’s going to try to set me up with her cousin. He’s had a crush on me for years. I want to tell him to fuck off, but he’d make a whole thing about it.” You give him another once over, smooth a stray curl off his forehead. “Maybe it worked out better this way. You’re intimidating. That’s good.”
Marc looks grim as you enter the ballroom, quiet classical music playing in the background.
“Anything I should know?” Marc says. “What even is your last name?”
You turn to him, mouth open. “We’ve been friends for months. You don’t know?”
He shrugs.
“Okay, you know what,” you say, annoyed, “why don’t you pretend to be someone else? Someone who doesn’t walk around with an ancient God’s arm stuck up his butthole, working him like a puppet?”
“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Marc mutters.
Your friend’s parents walk up to you and hug you enthusiastically. You say what a beautiful ceremony it was and turn to introduce Marc.
You hold his hand. “These are my friend’s parents, Maureen and Sidney. And this is my boyfriend.”
Marc holds out his hand, a tight smile on his face. “Tony Wrinklebottom. Nice to meet you.”
You feel like you're having an out of body experience. WHAT IS HAPPENING?
Maureen’s eyes go wide. “It’s nice to meet you too. We haven’t heard a lot about you, but you’re very handsome. And such an unusual last name. Where did it come from?”
“I got it from my father,” Marc says unironically.
You squeeze his hand hard. “We’re going to go get a drink. I’m sure everyone is dying to talk to the parents of the bride. I’ll see you later.”
You plaster on a fake smile and push Marc toward the bar.
“I didn’t mean you had to make up a fake name,” you whisper scream at him.
“I panicked.” Marc leans on the bar. “Whiskey neat and a vodka soda with two limes.”
“You know my drink order, but not my last name?”
Marc takes his wallet out of his jacket to tip the bartender, generously you notice.
He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “What’s more important to our friendship? Your last name, or my knowing what you like to drink?”
You open your mouth. Shut it. Cross your arms. “This is a disaster.”
“Sure is.” Marc knocks back his first whisky and taps the glass for a second.
He holds his refill in one hand and holds his other arm out for you. You take it reluctantly.
“Let’s find our table,” you say, sipping your drink.
“Whatever you say, cookie-poo.”
“Ugh,” you say, unable to stop the disgusted look on your face.
Marc smiles. “I take it back. This might be fun.”
And weirdly, it kind of is.
You and “Tony” are at a table with complete strangers. He’s not great at casual conversation, but with a face like his, people kind of go along with whatever he says.
He takes off his jacket and bow tie, and relaxes. Something you usually only see when you’re at his place watching a movie, or bringing him something you’d stress-baked.
Someone asks how you met.
Tony puts his arm around you. “My sweet pumpkin pie and I’ve known each other for years. She finally got the hint. All those times I stopped by with take out, or let her sleep with her head on my shoulder, we weren’t just hanging out.”
You smirk at him. “Pardon me for thinking we were friends.”
Marc’s eyes are almost black in the low light. His long lashes blink at you.
“You think friends plan their entire schedule, international travel, around Thursday movie nights? Friends go out of their way every night to walk you home?” His fingers tickle your neck lightly.
You frown, your stomach feeling funny. “You said it was on your way from the gym.”
“I picked that gym because it’s close to your work,” he says with a raised eyebrow.
Marc’s face goes serious again. He pulls his arm away and takes a drink. “Look, just forget I said anything. I must be drunk.”
You watch uncertainty pass over his handsome face. You rub your hand over his forearm.
“You want to dance, Wrinklebottom?” You ask with a smile.
Marc huffs a half-laugh out of his nose. “Sure, pookie bear. Long as it’s a slow one.”
Marc’s broad shoulders are strong under your arms. His hands warm and wide as he holds your waist. He smells good. You get as close enough as you dare, breathing him in.
He hums along to the song. You're surprised he knows it.
“Jake says you’re the prettiest thing here,” he says quietly. “And Steven says he apologizes for not bringing flowers. Wait. No. He thinks I should apologize for not bringing you flowers.”
You and Steven had been in limbo for awhile now. You liked each other as more than friends. Jake had already told Steven to go for it. But you didn’t want to make Marc uncomfortable.
“Thank you, and thank you,” you say. You tilt your head away slightly so you can look at him. “And what does Marc Spector say?”
Marc’s eyes trace over your face. He licks his bottom lip. “The wedding cake was dry.”
You nod slowly. “Yeah. I’m going to return the gift I got them.”
Marc grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “One of those clocks where the cat’s tail swings back and forth?”
You smile. “Yeah, a big one.”
“Maybe it’s not the cat’s tail then.”
You snort out a laugh. “Stop. Weddings are romantic. No dick jokes.”
“Okay, honey lump, no dick jokes.” He pulls you a little closer. Close enough that your front sides are touching, swaying back and forth in unison. One of his hands rubs the small of your back.
“We can probably leave after this dance,” you say, even though you don’t want to. “We said hello to the bride and groom, ate, had drinks. I think that’s everything.”
“Leave? Tony Wrinklebottom doesn’t leave a party until he slow dances about four times with his girl.”
You rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Where the hell did you even get that stupid name?”
Marc’s hand rubs back and forth over your upper back now. “Jake’s watching one of the neighbor’s cats.”
“You named yourself after a cat?”
Marc shrugs. “My last name is Spector, which, given my profession, isn’t exactly subtle either. Besides, you should be so lucky. You could be Mrs. Wrinklebottom one day.”
You laugh, pressing your mouth into his shoulder to keep from drawing attention to yourself. “I always forget what a ridiculous sense of humor you have.”
“Makes you laugh, though,” Marc says.
You raise your head to argue with him, just for the fun of it. Your words die in your throat.
Marc’s looking at you with unusual softness. His head tilts slightly and you think, hope, that he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he cradles the back of your head with one of his hands, and slots it next to his, so your faces really are touching now.
“Your shampoo smells nice,” he says.
Your stomach flutters. “You look really hot.”
“I thought I looked like shit,” Marc says dryly.
You reposition your arms so they’re around his middle, your fingers brushing a little lower than they probably should.
“You’re hot and you know it. In this suit, or your other one when you’re all bloody and sweaty. As much as it pains me to compliment you,” you say.
“Yeah, we don’t really have that kind of friendship, do we? More likely give each other grief than go on and on about how you make the best lasagna. Or thank you for staying over that night last month. When you could tell I didn’t want to be alone. How good you feel in my arms. How much I-“ Marc stops. You feel his jaw tense.
“How much I love you?” You say.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But I did.”
You’ve stopped dancing. Both you standing in the middle of a crowd of people who are still moving back and forth slowly. You desperately hope that you haven’t made a mistake by saying something.
Marc’s gaze burns into yours. “Do you mean it?” He asks.
You smile. “Yes. And, not to sound full of myself, but I think you feel the same way.”
A grin cracks his serious facade. “I meant what I said earlier. About the things I do for you. Showing you how I feel.”
Love washes over you, covering your memories with Marc in warm light.
Part of you is grateful. He’d given both of you time to really know each other, set down a solid base together. But at the same time, he’d been so slow about it you want to shake his muscled shoulders.
“You’ve never even tried to hold my hand,” you say. “I thought we just had this awkward friendship, where you overdid it sometimes and retreated from me other times.”
“I was trying not to scare you away,” Marc says. “And you know how I am with feelings. I don’t like admitting that I have them.”
You roll your eyes. “I know. Talking about your feelings would really eat up your punching-people-in-their-faces time.”
“Punching people is easy.”
“I wouldn’t know,” you say.
Marc’s hands nudge your hips and you start dancing again. He doesn’t look tense, or anxious.
“If we do this,” Marc says, “I’m still your awkward friend.”
You pull him close, leaning in to kiss his cheek. His facial hair is already a little rough under your lips, even though he’d shaved just before you’d left.
“Maybe you’d get the upgrade to awkward boyfriend,” you say with a smile.
He kisses the side of your head. “I’d like that.”
“But just so you know, any time we go out, the reservations are going under your alias.”
Marc doesn’t even sigh. He just keeps dancing, his hands tracing over your body. “Mr. and Mrs. Tony Wrinklebottom.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Anthony G. Wrinklebottom.”
Marc chuckles. For the first time, chest to chest with him, you feel the deep rumble under his rib cage. You press in closer.
“Deal,” Marc says. He rests his knuckles under your chin so you’ll look at him. “So you’ll go out with me?”
“On one condition,” you say with a sweet smile. “What’s my last name?”
Marc’s smile freezes on his face. He shuts his eyes tight, but if you know Jake and Steven, they’re more likely to laugh at him than to give him an easy out.
He does that frowny smile that means he gives up, spins you around the dance floor.
He pulls you back in close to him. “I know other things about you. Like, we’re going to that place with the burgers and the fancy french fries for our first date. You can’t make reservations, but Jake knows the manager and we could skip the line.”
You groan. “I love that place.”
“I know,” Marc says smugly. “And the shop with the raspberry gelato for dessert. Walk through the park with the fountain you like. On Fridays the buskers that play Fleetwood Mac and Springsteen are there. We'll sit on the bench under the broken light, more privacy. That's where I want to kiss you.”
“Wow, that’s a good date,” you say, breath knocked out of you by Marc's words and eyes and plans.
“It should be, I’ve been fine-tuning it for three weeks,” he says self-deprecatingly.
You rest your hand against his cheek, rubbing your thumb on his skin. “This Friday, then.”
Marc nods, one of his hands resting around your waist, the other so light on the back of your neck you can barely feel him. He rests his forehead against yours as the song comes to a close.
“You look beautiful. Did I tell you that?” He says. “My little sugar bunny, cherry pie dove bean-“
You clap your hand over his mouth. “You’re what my grandma would’ve called, ‘a real piece of work.’”
He smiles under your palm, picking up the rhythm of the second slow song and easing you into it. You remove your hand, slide it back over his shoulder.
If this is the last thing you ever do as just friends, then Tony’s right. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay for all the slow songs.
-----
Square B "Fake Dating"
**MK Spring '24 Bingo masterlist**
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#SOBBING#Marc is so fucking cute in this#i need to go bash my head into the wall#marc spector fanfiction
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Another Nathan idea
You're a streamer in this one, too, but not family-friendly
He's of course your top subscriber regardless, sort of flaunting hours himself at the top of your subscriber list.
But, he also helps design toys for you to use in every other stream
Building a thrusting dildo mount? Easy peasy.
A vibrator/clit stim/grinder in the shape of a human mouth for the best experience? Pfsh, he could do it in his sleep.
Designing a robot to fuck you just to fulfill a fantasy he has for himself, knowing that his work is making you successful? Oh, the ego trip is almost as big as his hard on.
Of course, he'd take control during a stream, walking in and taking the place of your "partner" himself, taking the camera and smirking like the cocky egotistical son of a bitch that he is and showing what a mess he made of you.
Yeah those lonely cucks paid to watch you get off, but he is the only one who gets to touch you.
Arch, why are you destroying me? I'm... I... but... *deep breathing ensues*
Your Nathan Bateman w/ Only Fans Reader HC is amazing. If this is you writing Bateman, it's f'ing goooooooood!!!! I am doa. I am in the Lonely Cuck Tier of subscribers for this.
Dirty things below the cut:
Just thinking about Nathan doing the calculations on exactly how much you can take.
Fine tuning everything so it's a little too big, too hard, too much.
Getting you just brain-dead enough that when he steps into the scene, you're at the stage of things that's made you a millionaire on this platform (and not just from his own contributions).
It's you, whining and drooling and wet beyond belief.
Bent over the piece of furniture he had made for this exact purpose. Exactly the right height for him.
He holds your hair so your face is up and everyone can see your teary, makeup-smeared face.
Nathan asking you if you want to safe word and you asking for more.
You don't see all of his face in the stream, just his beard from the chin down.
I have to go stare at the ceiling. No thoughts. Just this.
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