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alwaysonthemend · 4 days

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Author’s Note: This fic is in response to this lovely ask and from @jakeyt and her sinfully lovely little blurb as well. I loved writing this. The way I would pay all the money in my bank account to be able to make Jake Kiszka whimper… Ah well, a girl can dream.

Content Warnings: Fem!reader, smut, unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, dom!Jake & sub!reader (briefly), sub!Jake & dom!reader, overstimulation, cum play, name calling (whore, slut, etc), hickeys, biting. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.5k

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O how the mighty have fallen.

For Jake Kiszka, being a famous rockstar has its perks – money, traveling, thousands of adoring fans screaming his name, not to mention getting to do what he loves for a living surrounded by his brothers… all the things that you know Jake is thankful for. He’s told you countless times how lucky he feels, how humbled he is by the band’s success and by how much their fans support and love them.

But there’s one thing that comes with the job that Jake absolutely despises...

Paperwork.

It’s not often that he has to do it – all the contract signing and label nonsense that comes along with being famous. But whenever he does have to do it… well, it always leaves him in a sour mood.

And that’s exactly what he’s upstairs at his desk doing right now as you grow more and more bored by the second. You’d already cleaned up from the meal you’d shared a few hours before, you’d dusted, swept the floor, and re-arranged the ridiculous number of throw blankets that you and Jake have somehow managed to acquire over the years. But still… Jake is busy. So busy, in fact, that he’d declined your earlier offer of a special dessert after dinner, claiming that this paperwork just had to get done tonight.

But you’re tired of waiting.

Deciding that enough is enough, you ascend the stairs to your shared bedroom where you know Jake is currently hunched over the desk in the corner as he reads through all the musical industry jargon that’s nearly impossible to understand. You quietly enter the room, bare feet welcoming the softness of your carpeted bedroom floor as you creep up behind him.

“Still at it, huh?”

Jake startles, whipping his head around to glance at you over his shoulder before turning back around.

“Yep.” He mumbles, a fingertip tracing down the page in front of him.

“Sure is taking a while.” You walk closer to him, hovering over his shoulder to glance down at the papers in front of him.

Jake only hums in response, flipping a page over.

“Any idea when you’ll be done?” You ask, lips hovering so, so close to the sensitive skin of his neck – the spot right behind his ear that you know drives him crazy.

“Sooner if you let me work in peace.” The words are accompanied by a huff – not quite annoyed but definitely not pleased with your interruption.

“Touchy.” You tell him, earning yourself a sharp glance from the corner of his eye.

Realizing that you’re not going to get anything from him with just words, you decide it’s time to up your game a little bit. Dropping to your knees next to his chair, you glance up at him through your lashes. The movement finally seems to draw his full attention as he swivels in his chair to look at you in confusion.

His jaw clenches as he fully takes in the position that you’ve placed yourself in. Success.

“Y/n. What are you doing?”

“Waiting patiently and quietly,” you say with a little shrug, doing your best to play innocent, “for you to be finished.”

His eyes narrow, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“Sure you are.” He says, voice a little lower and his eyes dilating. You know now that you’ve got him hook, line, and sinker. “Definitely not trying to tease me at all?”

“I’m not teasing.” You tilt your head, spreading your thighs a little bit. “Is me sitting here bothering you?”

Jake grins a little, spreading his own legs as he keeps his dark eyes fixed on you.

“Just giving me a few, very unhelpful and entirely too distracting ideas.”

Oh you’ve really got him now. You know that there’s no way in hell that he’ll go back to whatever he was working on before. His hips shift in his seat, the light gray material of his pants allowing you to see as his length begins to harden – twitching and straining beneath the fabric.

“What sort of ideas?” You ask him, heat flooding to your core at the sight of his very obvious desire.

Instead of answering, Jake reaches down and grips your jaw in his calloused hand – his thumb coming up to drag along your bottom lip. You bite back a moan as his hips shift again and his breathing catches a little, betraying just how badly he wants you.

“Thinking about your big cock in my mouth?”

The bluntness of your question clearly takes him off guard as his lips part in a barely there moan. But then his grin widens, eyes sparkling wickedly.

“Something like that.” He murmurs, chest rising and falling quickly. “You know I love it when you talk filthy.”

You nod, reaching upwards to place your hands on his knees and pushing to spread his legs wider. You scoot forward, placing yourself even closer to where you know he wants you. But you don’t move, hands staying resolutely on his knees.

“Do you want me to stop, Jakey?” You ask, already knowing his answer. “Don’t wanna distract you...”

“No.” The word is more like a growl and his grip on your jaw tightens. His hips rock forward again, as if needing relief so badly that the little friction his pants provide is better than what you’re refusing to give him. “You know good and well what I want, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” You smile up at him as you finally move to unzip his pants. He lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them fully down, leaving him in his boxers now. His cocks strains against them – his precum already leaving a dark spot on the fabric.

“Fuck.” He groans as you finally press your palm to his length, rubbing him through the fabric slowly. His cock throbs in answer and you can’t help but laugh a little at his desperation.

“Feel good?” You ask teasingly, rubbing your middle and pointer finger along his head in slow circles. The muscles in his thighs tense as he lets out a breath.

“Yeah.” You slide your hand back downwards, massaging his balls through his boxers and making him groan again. “Such a fucking tease.”

You laugh lightly, pulling your hand away from him completely and he whines a little in protest.

“I would never.” You answer, tugging his boxers down and finally setting his aching cock free. The skin is red from rubbing against the fabric and he twitches a little as the cool air hits him.

You rise up fully, bracing both hands on the tops of his thighs before sinking your mouth down around him completely.

“Oh.” He says through a moan, his right hand coming up to tangle in your hair as you swallow around him. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You rise up a little, keeping your lips wrapped around his head and suckling a little bit, closing your eyes and moaning around him. It does the trick and suddenly he’s thrusting upwards the best he can, fingers tightening in your hair as you allow him to fuck into your mouth like you know he’s been thinking about doing since you first sat down at his feet.

“Bet you’ve been waiting for this all day.” He says through clenched teeth, eyes rolling back as you moan around him again. “Just waiting to let me fuck your pretty mouth, haven’t you?”

You nod the best you can, gagging a little as the velvety head of his cock nudges the back of your throat mercilessly. Your fingers dig into his thighs as he gets a little rougher, his composure cracking completely as he nears his release. Clearly he’s been just as worked up as you’ve been these past few hours.

His groans begin to grow even louder so you pull off him with a ‘pop’ and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Y/n, fuck.” He protests, glaring down at you the way he always does when you push him too far. “I was so close.”

“I know.” You say with a shrug, backing up a little bit. You know you’re toeing the line – getting dangerously close to pushing him too far and earning yourself a delicious punishment. But you don’t want to back down. “But you have work to do.” A nod to the papers laying abandoned on the desk.

Jake growls, fisting his hands in your hair and tugging so that your head falls back, exposing your throat as he leans in close.

“Don’t,” he says darkly, lips hovering just above yours, “be a brat. Or I’ll have to punish you.”

You lean upwards as much as you can with the tight grip he has on your hair and swipe your tongue across his bottom lip and then drag it across his jaw slowly, leaving a trail of saliva smeared across his beautiful face. Jake’s nostrils flare as you pull away, fire lighting in his eyes.

Without warning, Jake stands quickly and yanks on your hair, pulling you to your feet roughly.

“Get on the fucking bed. Lose the clothes.”

You hastily rip your tank top and shorts off, tossing them to the floor before climbing onto the bed, completely bare before him. Jake yanks his own shirt off, revealing himself fully to you as well before instantly pinning you to the mattress beneath him.

“What, my dearest, sweetest, little angel,” he teases, “has gotten into you tonight, hm? Why are you being such a little slut?”

You relax your thighs on either side of him and roll your hips up into him, rubbing your slick folds against his aching cock. He groans then, his hand coming down to press heavily against your lower stomach to stop you from moving.

“Were you feeling ignored?” His tone is sickly sweet, mocking and husky as you writhe beneath him. “Is that it, baby?”

“Yes.” You answer him breathlessly. “Wanted your cock so bad.”

“Oh, yeah? Such a desperate whore that you couldn’t wait just a little bit longer for me to be done? Couldn't- fuck!”

You cut him off, scissoring your legs and throwing your bodyweight with them as you flip Jake completely into his back, You settle on top of him, straddling him and using your body to pin him for once.

“You were taking too long.” You tell him, loving the way his mouth has dropped open in complete shock at you challenging him like this. “And you talk too much.”

“You’re asking for it, angel.” He warns darkly, but the flush on his chest and the way his cock keeps twitching betrays how the roles reversing has affected him.

“Am I?” You ask, sliding your wet pussy along his length where it rests against his stomach. “I think you like this too much to do anything about it…” You place both palms on his stomach for leverage, relishing in the softness of him as you continue to slide up and down on his hard cock.

His hands come up and grip your hips harshly, his eyes fluttering shut as he guides your hips over him faster.

“Bloody hell, where has this been hiding?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“Fuck, I dunno. You made me wait for too long.” You answer, struggling to get the words out thanks to the way his shaft is rubbing against your swollen clit – the feeling made even better thanks to his precum and your wetness mixing together.

“Ride me, angel.” He begs, fingers digging into your hips so harshly you know it’s gonna leave bruises. “Wanna see you bouncing on my cock.”

“Fuck.” You whine, rising up a little bit as he fists his dick, helping to guide himself into you as you slowly sink down onto him.

You both cry out loudly, the stretch of him nearly overwhelming.

“Jake.” You whimper. “Oh my God.”

“So fuckin’ tight.”

You start to bounce, tossing your hair over your shoulder and keeping your palms on his abdomen. Jake thrusts up to meet you, sweat dripping down his temples.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last long like this.” His voice sounds just as wrecked as he looks, his cock already twitching and pulsing inside you. You’re teasing from earlier has clearly done a number on him but you’re right behind him too.

With his eyes rolled back into his head and his creamy skin shiny and flushed, he looks like the picture of sin. His throat bobs, looking all too bite-able. His hair is splayed out on the pillow beneath his head like a halo — though you're entirely certain that no angel would want anything to do with you and him right now. A fallen angel then, you think to yourself, lost in the throes of pleasure.

Overcome by the sight of him beneath you like this, by the sounds of pleasure that tumble from his lips with each roll of your hips, you lean downwards and attach your mouth to the column of his throat. Then, almost without thinking, your teeth graze the sensitive skin and Jake jolts beneath you, a loud moan escaping him as you bite down — pinching his skin with your teeth. You soothe the spot with a pass of your tongue, moving downwards a little to suck a purple mark onto his skin.

"Do that again." His voice sounds so unlike himself — needy and desperate. "Mark me." It's not a request — but a whiny, broken prayer.

There's no denying him now as you graze your lips over to the other side of his neck, sucking another bruise there. You can feel his cock pulse as you do so and his breathing quickens even more.

"So pretty, Jakey."

He whimpers in answer, plush lips dropping open and tiny little grunts and moans leaving them with every thrust of his hips.

His cock feels so good inside of you, the ridges and veins brushing against your walls in a delicious drag and the blunt head hitting against your sweet spot with each rise and fall of your hips. He's driving into you recklessly, coaxing you closer and closer and closer to your release. Your thighs begin to burn but you can't stop. You won't stop.

“Jake, ‘m gonna cum! Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah. Fucking do it, angel. Oh fuck!”

Suddenly his thumb is circling your clit and then your orgasm is crashing through you. Your walls clench around him as you cry out his name – the burn in your thighs fading into nothing as you continue to ride him through your release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jake is right behind you, thrusting up helplessly as he finishes, painting your walls with his release.

As your mind finally begins to return, as the waves of pleasure dissipate at last, you’re hit with a wonderfully devilish idea. You’ve gotten away with more than you ever have before tonight and… what’s one more thing, really?

You pull off Jake, climbing off to the side of his body. His eyes are closed, his face the picture of bliss. Giving him no warning, you wrap your hand around his spent cock. Jake's body convulses, eyes snapping open as he whines. Loudly.

“Y/n!” He cries out your name as you jerk him roughly, his poor cock valiantly beginning to harden again as you work your palm over him, yours and his releases making it slick and easy. “God.”

“Give me one more, Jakey.” You murmur, unable to tear your gaze away from him. He writhes, hands falling to his sides and fisting the sheets into his hands, fingers turning white where his rings dig into his skin.

“I can’t!” He cries out, head thrashing. “Fuck, it’s too much.”

He sounds so desperate, so broken and it sends a thrill through you. Oh how the mighty has fallen at last.

“Poor baby.” You tease. “Getting a taste of your own medicine, yeah?”

He whimpers in answer, body going taut as pleasure finally begins to overtake him again. He really is tasting his own medicine – experiencing first hand the sinful agony that he loves to inflict upon you. It’s always you.

But not tonight. No, he’s been flying too close to the sun for a long, long time and tonight he’s finally paying the price for it.

“Give me another one, baby.” You murmur, eyeing the way his hair sticks to the side of his face and his neck with sweat. “Show me how much you love me. Show me that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” He says through a moan, body beginning to tremble. “Only yours. Fuck!”

“Yeah, you are. You’re mine.”

His body goes completely rigid, muscles so tense you’re almost afraid he might hurt himself.

“Holy shit! Oh God, I’m gonna- fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it, baby. That’s right. Being such a good boy.”

That does it. Jake’s whole body convulses, his eyes rolling back in his head as hot cum explodes from him. He screams – a sound so beautiful and full of pleasure that you’ve never heard from him before. You work him through it, watching as he completely succumbs to it all, chanting your name the whole way through.

Finally, his body relaxes slightly and he whimpers so you let go of him and reach up to swipe his hair from his forehead. You can feel his racing heartbeat as you place your hand on his chest, hoping to try and help him settle a little. Those gorgeous eyes of his finally blink open to look at you and a tired, satiated smile spreads across his lips.

“Okay?” You ask, trying to hold back your own grin after seeing such a display from him.

“Jesus. I think so.” He shifts a little, grimacing at the feeling of his cum drying on his stomach and chest. “Sticky.” He adds with a little pout.

You roll your eyes playfully and rise to grab his boxers off the floor and wipe him clean, carefully avoiding his abused cock where it lays spent against his thigh.

“That was fucking hot.” You tell him, settling down next to him in the bed. The lights are still on but neither of you seem to have the energy to get up and turn them off quite yet.

“Yeah.” He breathes out, laughing a little, “I think my soul left my body there for a minute.”

“Would do again, then?” You ask, grinning a little at him.

He grins back.

“Oh, fuck yes. I didn’t know you had that in you… taking control like that.”

You turn on your side to face him and press a little kiss to his lips.

“Me neither.”

After a long moment of comfortable, exhausted silence you ask, suddenly a little worried, “That paperwork didn’t actually have to be done by tonight, right?”

“Fuck.”

fin

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#dee's writing #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka

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ilyhaitanii · 25 days

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keep it down, and quick 𖤛 alhaitham

synopsis: alhaitham can feel someone staring at him from across the library. when further investigating the matter, he ends up having a quick… session with someone special in an aisle that brings back memories.

warnings: nsfw. public sex, lots of teasing, fingering, oral (f!receiving), finger sucking, cum play (?)

a/n: alhaitham brainrot is so bad right now i had to write this. sorry if it’s bad i was thinking with my clit (when do i not though?)

ALHAITHAM:

alhaitham has never been one to look too deep into conversations. he doesn’t like beating around the bush. if there’s something you need to tell him, just say it. no point in sugarcoating words.

he’s not cruel, of course. he understands it’s human nature to not understand your own feelings. however, he believes that logic does not apply to this situation.

you are very in-tune with your emotions right now. he knows that look on your face all too well. the slight flush, parted lips, and dilated eyes that stare at him from across the library. he knows you’re staring, hell he can feel it. every now and then he likes teasing you by looking right at you. he watched the way you jump and turn back around the corner, praying he doesn’t see you. (he can see you very clearly.)

when you turn back around to stare at him, he doesn’t even move. he looks right at you, an eyebrow raised. you flinch, fully running away from him. alhaitham does not like people who beat around the bush, but you however? he can entertain it for a bit. besides, there’s not much he has to do right now. work as the acting grand sage is slow as of now. why not entertain his very cute wife who hides behind bookshelves and stares at him like a schoolgirl.

he rises from his seat gingerly, taking his sweet time to walk towards you. within a matter of a few seconds, alhaitham finds you. he loops his fingers around your wrist, tugging you towards him. with his brow still raised, he looks down at you. you press your arm onto his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from his black shirt.

“is there a reason you wear such tight shirts, or is it just to bother me?” you ask him with a breathy voice. he smiles down at you as your fingers trace the gem on his chest. he leans down, lips brushing against the cartilage of your ear,

“a mix of both. now out with it— why are you running away from me?” he leaves the softest kiss on your ear, making you twitch in his hold. you almost drop the book you’re reading, but alhaitham has already accounted for that. he puts the book back on the shelf, cramming you into a corner.

his tall, muscular stature looms over you. you feel quite small under him and his intense gaze. you fidget with your fingers, picking at the sides of your nails. he takes a hold of your hands, separating them. he places one on his cheek, pressing his lips into your wrist.

“what is it? i don’t have all day,” he mumbles, eyes flutter shut. he’s annoyingly pretty like this. all up and close in your face with his eyebrows slightly downcast. that serious look on his face always gets you going. as you press your thighs togther, alhaitham shoves one of his between yours. “speak now or i’m leaving.”

he would leave you hanging like this— would he?! he would. he almost does until you pull him back by the shirt. he turns, leaning down as you pull him into a kiss. with your hand bunching his shirt in your fist, alhaitham’s hands crowd your waist and hips, pulling them closer to his body.

the kiss is incredibly hot. his tongue swirls together with yours, saliva mixing together. you feel yourself borderline drooling over his body touching yours. four years of marriage and you still aren’t used to how attractive your husband really is. when he pulls back a string of saliva follows after his tongue.

“you could’ve told me this in the morning. i would have changed my schedule for you. you know that,” his thumb rubs your cheekbone, watching the way you melt into his palm.

“i know, i just missed you a lot.” he looks around behind him. nobody is really here. lots of people are on a lunch break. however a small part of alhaitham wants to keep teasing you. he remembers all those days on the playground where you’d tease him as children.

you were always taller, had longer legs. you were always able to reach the higher leveled books he wanted to read when you both were younger. in this very section of the library you had grabbed a book he was mere seconds away from grabbing. when he politely asked you for it back, you raised it way above your head and told him to get it himself.

you always teased him for walking so slow in the hallway compared to you and your longer legs. you always teased him for being so small when you were children, terribly unaware that when you both would graduate secondary school that when you came back from your summer break in mondstadt that alhaitham would be much taller than you.

it was now you who shorter than him. he always reached to the middle of your chin, ghosting the bottom of your lip. but now, you were merely up to his chest. nearly a whole ruler shorter than him. then he’d grown muscle. the young prodigy you’d teased in primary school, who you’d poke and prod at finally grew up.

a part of you also felt jealous whenever he’d garner the attention of other girls your age. nobody played with him when you both were children aside from you. but now everyone wanted to act as though they knew him. he’d always been alhaitham— your alhaitham. he hadn’t changed, so why should your feelings? (your deep love for him you’d mistaken as pure “admiration”)

alhaitham gained your attention, looking down at your eyes. he drops a kiss on your nose, guiding a few down your cheeks.

“i love you,” he says softly, encasing your lips into a much softer kiss. you cling onto him, arms looped around his broad shoulders. when he pulls back there’s a soft smile of his face, “i still need to hear you say it.”

you pout, your hands flailing at your side. you hide your face into his neck, hugging his waist. as your fingers trace the trained muscles on his back, you mumble

“you already know what i want. why can’t you just do it?” he kneels below you, pulling your skirt up as his lips pepper kisses up the exposed skin. he takes his time, mouthing at your skin, making you needier by the second.

“im not a ‘know-it-all,’ as you like to put it. i can’t read your mind, darling.” he says in that sickly-sultry voice of his. that part of him makes your brain razzled and body tremble. every kiss makes your heart beat ten times faster. the higher up your thighs he gets, the more you tremble. the more soaked your panties become you realize when he presses kisses against your soaked slit.

your hands dart to your sweetheart’s hair, tangling your fingers into his sliver strands. your cant help but buck against his mouth when he leaves a hard kiss against your clothes clit. a soft moan of his name has him shushing you gently. he pulls you into a kiss when he stands at his full height.

“noisy girl. always have something to say to me, hm?” his lips take your agais as his fingers rub all over your wet slit. he watches the way you whine and mewl into his mouth, begging for more. a helpless plea leaves your mouth when his fingers brush over your clit. “let me hear it, love.”

“please?” is all you can muster up. alhaitham tsks, hot breath against your ear. he speaks in that low tone of his,

“please what, love? please don’t touch me? please touch me? please make me cum? what is it?” alhaitham teases, letting out a soft snicker when you whine. “hm?”

“need you,” you grab at his body, mumbling into his chest. “need you to make me cum, please. i tried this morning, i couldn’t do it without you.” his dick twitches in his pants just hearing that. he curses, taking you into a kiss again,

“don’t ever say that to anyone else, please.” he says in a breathy pitch before dropping to his knees. “stay quiet, okay?” he says as he ducks under your skirt. his hands drag up your thighs, parting your legs.

alhaitham slides your panties over your shoes and pockets them for later. one look at your face and alhaitham can tell just how wet you are. he opens you up, looking at your swollen clit that’s just begging to be touched. he also notices how you clench around absolutely nothing. he chuckles lightly, sliding two fingers deep inside your cunt.

your knees instantly buckle, but alhaitham holds you in place. you let out breathy moans as your hands tangle into his silver strands. he tsks again, sighing against your cunt.

“quiet, baby. noisy girl, you always have something to say to me, dont you?” you don’t know if he’s talking about your moans or the fact your cunt is squelching over every movement of his finger. “so messy.”

you have to stop yourself from toppling forwards when alhaitham’s tongue darts out to your clit, circling around the bud. the tip of his tongue ghosts over it.

“look at me,” he demands and you instantly lock eyes with him. “good girl. don’t take your eyes off of me, okay?” he says in a soft tone, before his tongue swirls over your clit. he treats the poor bud with no mercy. swirling it in circles, wrapping his lips around it to suck on it even when you beg for him to stop.

your head is spinning and you feel as though your legs are about to give out on you. your grip on his hair tightens and alhaitham moans into your cunt.

“cant, haitham. i cant-“ he hums into your clit, still keeping eye contact with you. your head feels as though it’s about to explode with how intense the pleasure he’s giving you is.

“cum for me, sweetheart. i can feel how close you are, mahiya. do it,” alhaitham keeps a steady grip on your as you cream around his fingers, slick and cum gushing over his digits. you weakly whimper when his tongue laps at your clit, riding out your high. he’s quick to shush you, but putting his fingers into your mouth.

“clean it all up for me, love. good,” he praises you so gently and his fingers in your mouth feel so nice you might just fall asleep right here. “let’s get you home, darling. we still have more things to do,”

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x female reader #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x you #alhaitham smut #al haitham x you #al haitham x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact alhaitham #genshin smut #genshin x you

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chrattenthusiast · 7 months

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Hate— Matthew sturniolo smut

(not proof read )

authors note 💌 — this is my FIRST time writing smut on this app so please forgive me for this 😔 with that being said I will be taking requests if my account actually reaches ANYONE. It’s kinda long and a little bit angsty but if you like that AND a good old enemies to lover trope (but without the love part!?) this is for you!!!

WARNINGS: nsfw, sexual content, minors dni!!!!!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You and matt never had a strong connection. The dynamic of your interactions with him were unclear, you couldn’t comprehend why the blue-eyed man barely acknowledged you, except during heated arguments where nick served as a mediator or the instances where you found yourself under him late at night

On this particular night, you patiently waited until the clock struck 3 a.m. before quietly slipping out of Nick's bed. It didn't seem to matter that Nick could sleep through anything, even an apocalypse.

You then made your way to Matt's bed and lightly tapped on the door three times."

the door swings open and before you could even mutter a sentence, Matt pulls you into the room, shutting the door and slamming you against it.

“you’re late” he says

“ That’s rich coming for a man that begs like a little subby bit-“

you are instantly cut off as matt smashes his lips onto yours. he deepens the kiss letting it get a little too heated, moments later you feel his tongue against yours

“open” he mumbles

you instantaneously obey even though matt was the number 1 person on the list of people you hated, you always caught yourself following his instructions

he grips your jaw, forcing your mouth to open slightly, taking the opportunity– he spits into your mouth

“swallow it like the slutty bitch you are ”

you feel yourself pool after those words leave his lips

matt decided to play it safe by moving down to your neck leaving small kisses

you don’t trust yourself to urge him to go quicker but matt gets the memo when a groan of frustration leave your mouth —he reaches inside your pants running a finger between your folds

“ interesting, you sure get wet so fast for the person you hate ”

“can we move this to the bed cause i do not have a problem getting dick from someone else ”

his hands clutch the flimsy tank top you have on and pulls it over to your head, lifting you up with ease

he walks over to his neatly made and tosses you to the bed smiling maliciously as he watches you bounce on his bed, his eyes dilating more as he watches your chest bounce

he moves onto your sweatpants tossing it somewhere across the room putting his undivided attention onto your underwear, he takes it off slowly knowing it would get under your skin.

Getting frustrated you start to groan, and in a split second he shoves your panties into your mouth

giving you a deadpan look, “ since you have a hard time keeping quiet “ he says

before further protesting, he shoves two fingers into you instantly groaning at how wet you are for him

he liked that, the idea that no one else could satisfy you, he thinks that he’d rather have you hate him knowing you’d always end up in his bed late at night and not in the comfort of another man.

His lips envelop your clit, and your head falls back involuntarily. He sucks it, and you’re greatful that the black lace in your mouth kept you from letting out the loudest moan of your life.

mixtures of whimpers, leave your mouth as your eyes start to tear up with how overwhelming it all is, “my cry baby, he whispers

you start tossing and moving around due to how stimulated you are.

matt holds you down as he circles his tongue around your clit sucking hard but pumping his fingers in and out of you roughly just how you like it. seconds later you feel yourself squirting but he doesn’t hault , you reach out to grab his arm but he stops you mid way

“i’m not done with you yet” he whispers

he takes off his sweatpants, pulling the panties out of your mouth.

he flips you over on all fours and you find yourself face to face with the mirror against his wall

you feel his tip against your folds and you find yourself unconsciously backing up towards him. he instantly slides into you filling you up, you feel your eyes shut racked with pleasure –when matt grabs your jaw.

“ no i need you to look at yourself for me yeah?, look away and i’ll stop.”

you immediately make eye contact with him and that’s when he smiles “you’re always such a good girl for me, taking me so well ”

he picks up the pace of his thrusts, fighting himself to not cum cause you felt so intoxicating — he would never admit that to you he was terrified with the thought of you pushing him away if he ever admitted that he felt anything else but hate towards you

he would rather argue with you all day than loose you. he didn’t like the thought of you with anyone else but him– sure it was selfish but he didn’t care he loved that you were always ready for him down the hallway every time you were over.

you gasp as you feel him pull you to his chest feeling him sink deeper, he wraps his arms around your torso forcing you to take every inch he gave you

in that moment you’re his, you don’t care about the insults you throw at each other, it’s almost like everything he did was perfect?

“im so close please don’t stop “ you whimper

“ i know baby” “ you wanna come for me ?” he says looking at you through the mirror hitting ever perfect spot, giving you tender kisses on along the nape of your neck

you lost the ability to form a sentence as he thrusts gets rougher all of a sudden remembering how you teased him about getting involved with another man

“answer me “

“yes please “ you say not caring how stupid you sound or the fact that he’d use this against you in the mere future

“ you still feel like getting dick from someone else?”

“no” you reply instantly

“no one can ever make you feel like thid , can they pretty?”

“no i swear please i can’t-”

“can’t what ? “ he mocks you

“you can’t take it ?”

“ i think you can ”he encouraged

“take it for me baby”

you continue to meet his hard thrusts working yourself even though all you want to do is come around the man you hate the most

“ atta girl, look at yourself, so pretty taking every inch of me”

he reaches down your folds, circling your senstive clit pushing you further towards the climax, you feel yourself coming he presses his hands against your mouth muffling your screams

whispering sweet nothings into your ear

“that’s it , let it all out for me baby

he begins to groan as he feels himself reaching his climax, not trusting himself either he grabs your neck giving you a harsh kiss. as he releases himself inside you

you collapse against him as pleasure consumes the both of you

he runs his finger against the knots of you hair

“you okay “ he whispers

nodding your head as you couldn’t mutter a single sentence.

he smiles at you, gently wiping the fallen tears from your eyes, he looks down at the both of you connected,

his eyes trained at his dick swallowed by your tight folds, cautiously pulling out — refusing to give you a break you feel his fingers at the entrance of your swollen cunt, not letting his cum slip out. you open your mouth to gasp but you are met with a gentle kiss.

he moves to grabs his boxers putting them on you feeling a sinking weight of disappointment in your chest.

you start to look for your materials he trashed around his room thinking that it was time for you to leave when hault your actions when he speaks suddenly “what are you doing ?”

“leaving ” you reply monotonously

“ sit down, i’m running you a bath ”

this was an unusual for you, you were used to men giving you the cold shoulder after a round of intimacy

you try your best to ignore the weird feeling that bubbles in your chest— secretly enjoying his civility towards you, knowing that the next day everything would go back to the way things always were — leaving a bitter taste of unresolved emotions in the air.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

@mattsd0ll @loveesiren @christinarowie332 @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @mangosrar @kenzieiskoolaid @lucvly @recklesssturniolo

#matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo

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circyexistforcontent · 1 year

Text

SAGAU: WHEN YOUR FRIEND JOINS YOUR WORLD

❀ synopsis: the characters are forced to watch as you and your friend frolic around Teyvat unaware of the storm brewing inside of them.

❀ notes: So recently I raised my adventure rank to 16 (I'm at 17 now) and people can now join my world. After my friend discovered this she keeps pestering me to log in to my genshin account so we can fight enemies together. I main Aether while she mains Venti so most of the time we're in Monstadt we would chill together at good hunter which looked like a dinner date. The brain rot immediately hit my head on how the sagau characters would be like with this so here I am writing about it.

❀ pronouns: none specified.

VENTI/BARBATOS:

Envy. That was all he felt as he watches the impostor skipping beside you as you possess Aether. The worst part is he couldn't do anything, no matter what he did the arrows would never be able to hit the other Venti. It was like the winds were obeying the other Venti's orders, making sure it never hit the impostor which infuriated him even more. And he can't just run toward the other and strangle them either because his body would suddenly freeze up and force him to stand in a singular place when the both of you are close. When you and the other Venti are not in his peripheral vision he would be able to move again.

His knuckles turn white as he clenches his bow with strength that is enough to snap it into two. You and the impostor are currently in good hunter sitting across each other on a table, the impostor's voice sounded different from his (which was expected since it wasn't the original anyway) but you didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't care about its voice. He hid behind one of the houses as he stalked on the both of you, his pupils dilating as he watches the other Venti feed you radish stew.

'It should've been me' his breathing became more shallow 'it should've been me' his bow snapped into two before disintegrating into dust and manifesting on his back in pristine condition. His nails dig into the flesh of his palm causing it to bleed, his blood starts to form a puddle next to his foot as he continues to watch the two of you laughing and smiling together. While it shows it was Aether smiling and laughing he knows that Aether is under the influence of your emotions. Meaning if Aether is happy, so are you.

He wishes he could just run up to the impostor and rip off its vocal cords so it may never be able to laugh alongside you. He wanted to pummel its face until it was unrecognizable to anyone seeing its corpse. Its face was never it's own anyway, from what he remembers he was the one who made the promise to take the form of his friend. Not that thing.

DILUC RAGNVINDR

When he saw you and "Venti" walking together while talking he was in shock. How was Venti able to talk to you so normally without him being stuck in one place? Did he find a way to break the code? How? He was going to rush towards the both of you before he found himself slowly freezing and shifting to his idle stance. "Damn it" he thought, Venti better tell him how he broke through the code or he's gonna riot-

What he discovered next shocked him before he felt an inkling of fear inside of him. He saw another Venti, but this one seem to be in a trance of anger and jealousy. The blood on his palms stained his fingers and created a puddle below the ground, but he didn't seem to mind as all of his attention was on the Venti spending time with your host Aether. If Venti was over there then....who is the one talking to you?

When the two of you passed by Diluc he stalked from afar to observe you and "Venti" fighting slimes and exterminating hilichurl camps. While observing he imagines the one fighting beside you was him, slashing any enemy going too close to you and saving you when your health bar goes low. Sadly, dreams are just dreams, and somehow this thing was the one doing what he wants. He freezes when "Venti" suddenly shifted to Kaeya when a pyro slime was approaching the both of you.

The sight of his brother fighting alongside you...he feels his scowl deepen. Was it mocking him? It must have known he was stalking the both of you, why else would it shift to Kaeya conveniently after Diluc was done daydreaming of fighting with you? He couldn't stand the sight of Kaeya being with you and quietly left back to Monstadt. He seems to be more focused on serving the visitors of Angels Share because he was ignoring anything and everything that wasn't related to his work. he didn't even bat an eye at Venti who was sobbing about an impostor stealing you away, chugging a bottle of wine while slurring out words of heartbreak and woe.

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moonlight-prose · 1 year

Text

DEVOTION

a/n: this is just pure filth. literally no plot, but it was needed at this point. i've been back on my moon knight shit for awhile now and am working on several fics for them in the new year. so please enjoy the small interlude of smut before i get back to my regularly scheduled angst. (also yes this gif was necessary). everyone thank dia for dropping some of the best lines in this fic. her mind is unmatched.

co-conspirator/writer: @softanon🖤 (this is literally just the conversation we had word for word)

summary: marc needed to relax, but things don't go as you expect them to.

word count: 4.2k+

pairing: marc spector x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, filth, p in v sex, gratuitous oral (m receiving), bondage, slight dom!marc, rough sex, cum eating, cumplay, biting, edging.

“You’re meant to be relaxing,” you said, watching as Marc paced around the living room for what felt like the millionth time that night.

“I am.”

You scoffed, setting your glass of water down. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep going.”

He didn’t find your comment amusing, opting to ignore you in favor of doing another lap. After days of donning his suit and title as Moon Knight, you asked him to stay home. To relax with you until the next day where his routine would start all over again. Except you never accounted for the fact that relaxing was not a term Marc understood well. In fact, you were fifty percent sure that he didn’t know what it meant in the first place, constantly exerting himself in favor of actually resting.

Eventually your patience would run out—you knew that much. So, when he decided to turn around one more time, heading straight for the kitchen only to do exactly what he’d been doing for the past twenty minutes, you snapped. Getting up from where you sat, you reached for his arm, gripping it so tight he froze midstep. Normally you held a tight reign over your emotions, never allowing them to slip free. You just couldn’t handle seeing him unable to do the one thing you wanted for him.

“Please sit down before I tie you to the chair.”

If he wasn’t listening to you before, he was now. “Tie me to the chair?”

“Yes…” The incredulous expression he wore faded, a new one taking over. One you’d seen before. His lips curved upwards, eyes lighting up as he took in the sight of you slightly frazzled and on edge.

“You want to try?” His smile widened and you couldn’t decide between kissing him or actually going through with what you planned.

Tying him to a chair shouldn’t have been too difficult. Sure, he possessed immense strength and powers, but you had one thing over him he never saw coming. You smiled, tilting your chin up—the defiance burning in your eyes—and you saw him waver. You watched his eyes dilate, his chest heaving as he inhaled a sharp breath. He was captivated by you, a sight he’d never tire of seeing. Which made tricking him easier for you than even he anticipated.

“I really do Spector,” you breathed, emphasizing his last name in the way you knew he liked.

He liked knowing that he was what you wanted. That while you loved Steven and Jake as much as him, it was Marc that met you first. Marc that made your head spin in that first kiss, brought your walls down with a single look, and captured your heart with his gentle touch. He belonged to you. He knew that from day one.

Tugging on his shirt, you pulled him towards you, capturing his lips in a kiss that melted him. You’d always say kissing Marc was entirely different from kissing Steven. Where Steven hesitated, Marc took, he devoured you—leaving nothing behind. He yanked you closer, his tongue sliding against yours as you breathed a heady moan into his mouth. Marc would never tire of your taste, always craving the flavor of your favorite tea on your tongue, the slight mint of your toothpaste.

All that together mixed with the perfume he bought you and suddenly he was at your mercy.

He stumbled, feeling you push against him until eventually somehow you ended up in the bedroom. Kissing you stopped time; everything ceased to exist except you. You and your soft hands and warm skin. He moaned, palms sliding up into your t-shirt, delighted to find out that you had forgone wearing a bra today. That combined with the fact that it was his t-shirt you wore made his head spin even more. He was throbbing in his sweatpants, his heart racing so fast he was certain you could hear it.

One last push sent him tumbling into the overpriced desk chair you bought him (well technically Steven but sharing was a part of the deal), followed by you climbing on top of him. He didn’t care where he sat, couldn’t even coherently tell you with confidence where he was. All his brain let him comprehend was your tongue that slid along his, your hands that tugged off his shirt before they reached behind him for something.

By the time he realized what exactly you were doing it was too late. He pulled back, accidentally nipping too hard on your bottom lip, as you finished adjusting the leather belt that was wrapped around his wrists. Binding them together.

His eyes flew open to see your pleased smile as you adjusted your spot in his lap. Purposely grinding down on his hard cock to hear that soft grunt you loved. Normally it was you at his mercy, willingly complying to everything he wanted. But to finally be helpless to you (or as helpless as he could be with superpowers), made his whole body heat up. His cock throbbed when you licked along the prominent vein in his neck. A gasp leaving his lips at your touch.

“Relax,” you murmured, pulling away from his head that tilted up towards yours in an effort to catch your lips in a kiss.

“Baby c’mon,” he replied, his words tinged with a pleading tone he’d never used before.

He watched your eyes light up, your smile deepening at the sound of him begging and he knew he was done for. He’d give you anything to get you to look at him like that again. The unfocused look in his eyes told you exactly what he was feeling. After all, he’d seen the same look in your eyes each time he gave you an orgasm so intense it caused your brain to short circuit.

Not feeling the need to respond, you slid out of his lap until your knees hit the floor—his leg parting unconsciously to give you room. The sight caused his mouth to part, his chest heaving with every breath he took. Marc wanted to render you incapable of speech. He wanted to watch you fall apart in his arms while you came on his cock. He wanted you, and he tugged on the tight bind the belt had on his wrists.

Your eyes snapping up to meet his gaze with a glare stopped his movements.

“I said you need to relax,” you sniped, hands sliding up his thighs and stopping right below the waistband of his sweats.

“Let me fuck you and I will,” he replied, grinning breathlessly at the sight of your eyes unfocusing for a moment. “This was fun, but I promise I’ll relax much more if you—”

The words died on his tongue as his breath was punched out of his chest, a groan ripping from his throat. Marc’s head fell back against the chair the second you pulled his sweatpants down and took his cock into your mouth. There was no warning, no foreplay where you stroked him until he was a mess in your hands. Somehow that made all of this hotter. You wanted him to relax your way by giving him this.

He gasped when you pulled back only to engulf him in the wet heat of your mouth again. His gaze fell back down to you and he had to refrain from cumming then and there. Your eyes were glassy with tears, spit trailing down your chin as you came up for air every now and then. Marc was leaking, practically dripping down your palm and that somehow made all of this worse. Yet he silently begged you to keep going. The taste of him was salty and intoxicating, causing you to moan with each spurt of precum that landed on your tongue.

Licking at the head of his cock you watched his mouth fall open, a whiny breathless moan hitting your ears. His hips jolted with each lap of your tongue, a broken please falling from his lips. Pumping the rest of him steadily you watched him grow closer to the edge. Each drag of your lips along his cock—tongue pressed to the thick vein that ran beneath it—dragged him towards a climax that would leave him incoherent. He could practically taste it on the back of his tongue.

“Fuck baby,” he gasped, his head tilting back as his hips attempted to thrust up into your mouth. “I’m—shit—‘m gonna cum.”

He felt the familiar tug in his stomach and right as you sunk down lower on his cock, taking him into your throat with a muffled moan, he knew he was done for. A shout left his lips, but was cut off suddenly, the feeling now fading. He whined, eyes focusing on you sitting back on your heels with a shit eating grin on your face.

“What the fuck?” he whined. “Why…why did you stop?”

Pressing your head down on his thigh you watched his cock jolt from your close proximity. “You wouldn’t listen when I said you needed to relax.”

“So you decide to edge me?” he asked, trying not to snap at you.

You giggled, kissing his clothed thigh. “Had to make sure you were paying attention.”

If he wasn’t so keyed up he would have melted from that sound alone, but his body was thrumming with the loss of an orgasm. His arousal now spread like liquid fire through his veins. He wanted to cum. No fuck that. He needed to cum. Tugging on his restraints again, he felt tempted to summon up a part of the suit—just to break himself free. But you blowing air on his cock, your hand wrapping around him again, silenced that thought immediately.

“Are you going to relax now honey?”

He’d do whatever the fuck you wanted. “Yes,” he breathed, watching wide eyed as you wrapped your already swollen lips around his head.

A shiver wracked his whole body at the soft kitten licks you were giving him, his eyes threatening to close.

“Are you going to be good for me?”

The words didn’t even register in his mind before he nodded frantically, his hips pushing up into your mouth when you took more of him.

“Yes,” he panted, his hands tightening into fists. “I’ll—oh fuckfuckfuck baby that’s so fucking perfect. You’re perfect.”

The words were falling out of his mouth faster than he anticipated, his head now empty of only one thought. How it felt when your cheeks hollowed, tongue licking at his slit each time you pulled up. The pressure was building once more. Blinding pleasure spreading through his body at a rapid pace as you built and built his orgasm. For a moment he forgot that you had pulled away before—he allowed himself to relish in what was to come.

Only for it to fade away once again.

He cried out as if in pain, his cock throbbing so painfully that he was sure you saw it. It was red, leaking, and begging to be put back in your mouth. Yet you still shifted back to where you were before. Only this time you didn’t wear a grin; your eyes were dazed, watching the drop of precum slip down to his balls. Your chest was heaving with each breath and you had half a mind to let him finish. To finally indulge yourself in the taste of his spend.

However, you were too fucking stubborn to give in now.

“Fuck please,” he begged, desperate for some reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure.

But then he saw it. The sinful mischief in your eyes that had his toes curling. Marc knew what he was in for whenever you looked at him like that. The last time he had almost cum in his pants from the sight of you in lingerie so see through you might as well have been standing before him completely bare. His breath caught in his throat, your name a moaned prayer falling from his lips.

“Marc,” you teased, finger trailing down his cock lightly to watch it jump. “You’re so pretty like this.”

“Yeah?” he asked, trying to keep hold of the thin strand of control he had left. “I’m even prettier when I cum.”

He heard the sharp intake of breath and knew he had you in his hold. Or at least that’s what he thought. You tutted, pulling away entirely before once again taking him into your mouth. His whole body jolted as if he was electrified, the blinding pleasure he sought now being shoved his way as you doubled down. The wet sounds of you pumping his cock filled the room, combining with his whimpers and moans. He couldn’t tell up from down, whether he was on the precipice of cumming or being torn away from it even further.

You moaned, your hips rolling forward into nothing, and that nearly sent him over the edge. Tears tracked down your cheeks, spit now spilling down your throat. He had never seen a sight so beautiful before. You tightened your grip, sucking the head of his cock into your mouth, and he cried out—his balls drawing up so tightly it was accompanied by a slight sting of pain.

“Fuck!” he shouted, hips jolting up and causing you to gag as he hit the back of your throat.

He was right there.

Then as it did before…the feeling began to fade.

You practically heard his control break in half, his head snapping up—eyes meeting yours with a hardened expression you’d only seen him wear when he was fighting. The black of his pupil began to glow white, the familiar wrappings now trailing up his arms as you heard the belt snap, clattering to the ground.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

His gaze held you in place as you tried to scramble back on the floor to somehow escape the consequences of your actions. A guttural growl tore from his chest, his now bare hand latching onto your leg and yanking you back until you were spread out on the floor underneath him. Pulling at your shorts, he managed to get them down to your ankles, allowing you to make the final choice and kick them off all the way.

“Marc,” you started, the remainder of your sentence dying on your tongue as he fixed you with a glare.

“No,” he spit out. “You wanted me to relax. So I’m going to relax.”

There was no room for you to argue. Not that you wanted to either way.

Hoisting your leg over his shoulder, he gave you no warning as he lined up his cock and pushed into you in one thrust. You cried out, fingers searching for purchase on his forearms as he pulled back until just the tip remained inside of you. His hips shoved forward, filling you up until you were barely able to breathe. This wasn’t him tenderly making love to you, this was him chasing his release while breaking you apart beneath him.

“Ah—Fuck! Marc, r-right there.” Your head fell back, eyes squeezing shut when he sped up, his pace brutal and unforgiving.

Fingers wrapped around your chin, gripping tight in order to tilt your head towards him. “I want you to look at me,” he rasped, his voice deeper than before. “Can you do that baby? Can you be good for me?”

Your words being thrown back at you sent a thrill shooting through your body—your pussy clenching down around him. He groaned, hips ramming into yours with a fervor that mimicked your own. While you liked being in control, seeing him like this, fully ripped apart from your actions, was far more appealing. His eyes squeezed shut, mouth parting as he unexpectedly dropped his weight on you, striking against that spot that made you see white.

Choking out a sob, you dug your nails into his bare back to find something to ground yourself. You were drowning in him and he loved it. His lips slotted messily against yours, spit trailing down your chin, and he moaned when he tasted himself on your tongue. Marc no longer had control of his actions, too desperate for a release that had been out off for far too long. Yet you loved it all the same.

“You’re dripping for me,” he murmured, fingers dropping to swipe through your folds and press against your clit. “Did you like sucking my cock that much? Hm?”

His words barely registered in your mind before your whole body tightened. A breathless grunt was punched out of him as your pussy clamped down around his cock, your orgasm nearing with each stunted thrust of his hips. You keened in his arms, your head falling back—mouth dropping open—and he almost gave in entirely. If there’s one thing Marc loved more than anything else, it was seeing you fall apart on his cock. Tonight however he would deprive himself of that experience.

Because his stubbornness outweighed yours every time.

“No!” you gasped, head shooting up as he pulled away entirely. The pleasure began to melt from your body, leaving you feeling empty and hot. “Please. Marc, please. I want to cum. I’ll be good for you. I promise—” You were babbling, saying anything to finally make him give in, but deep down you knew this was his own form of payback.

“I know baby,” he breathed against your lips, thumb running along the top of your cheek. “I’ve got you.”

His hands gripped your hips, turning your body with practiced ease and pulling you to your knees. Your chest was against the floor, head turned and cheek pressed down to see what he was doing. Although you knew what he was doing.

Marc got to his knees, gripping his cock to slide against your dripping folds before finally pressing into you again. This way he sunk into you deeper, hitting spots that made your toes curl before he even began to move. You moaned, pushing back until his hips met your ass, smiling at the sound he let out. Both of you may be stubborn as hell, but when it came to this—being so full of him that you would feel it for days to come—you finally relented.

Pressing a wet kiss to your spine, he started the previous pace from before. He shoved sounds you didn’t even know you could make from your chest with each thrust, as pleasure streaked down your spine. You felt the way he stuttered when your walls began to tighten around him again; knew that he was on the very precipice of cumming. With a shaky hand you began to touch yourself, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts—causing your pussy to clamp down even tighter.

“Fuck,” he grunted, fingers digging in painfully into the skin of your hips. “I fucking love you.”

You cried out unabashedly, uncaring if the neighbors heard you. “Marc!”

“Yeah?” His hand gripped the back of your neck, using the leverage to push you back onto his cock. “I’m the one making you feel good.”

He felt it before you did, the familiar tightening of his lower abdomen, his cock throbbing as the orgasm began to wash over him and he tried to stave off. Just a bit longer to finally give you what he denied you. Baring his teeth, he fought against the sensations, forcing himself to be edged one more time. Fuck, even now you still held a tight grip around him, still the one in complete control and he loved it. That alone made him nearly fall off the edge of the cliff.

“Oh shit,” he groaned, getting ready to pull out and spill over your ass as he usually did. Your hand digging into his hips stopped him.

“Cum inside me please,” you whimpered, tears tracked down your cheeks from the amount of pleasure wracking your body.

“What?” His eyes went wide.

A slow smile crept up your lips, eyes lighting up with the same mischief as before. “I want you to cum inside me.”

Marc wasn’t sure he heard you correctly, but his body was already working towards exactly that. His right hand slapped against the floor beside your head, forehead dropping to press against your temple as he gasped for any amount of air.

“Gods. Fuck.” he grunted, hand reaching up to grip your chin—meeting your lips in a messy kiss.

“No gods,” you hummed. “Just me.”

He felt your hand dig into his hair, holding him close to you as his hips rutted into you in sloppy strokes. Each drag of his cock along your walls sent you even higher—the echo of your slick and skin slapping against skin became a filthy symphony to your cries of pleasure.

“Cum for me gorgeous,” you breathed, watching his face contort, eyebrows pulling together.

His mind went blank, vision blacking out and body going taut. Euphoric pleasure ran through every inch of his body as he finally let himself go. A cry of your name was muffled into your shoulder, arms giving out while his whole body shook from the waves of mind numbing bliss that filled him. He spurted into you, filling you until some began to spill out and drip down his balls, and you begged for more.

The breath caught in your throat when he broke for you—his cock pulsing inside of your wet heat. You wanted to shout, tell him how much you ached for him, how much you belonged to him, but the words were stuck in your throat. He hadn’t made you cum, but somehow you were flying just as high as he was. Unable to form a coherent thought.

Your walls clenched around him when he finally caught his breath and pulled out slowly. A trail of his cum dripping down your inner thighs.

Whimpering, you tried to fight off the urge to finish yourself off, because if there’s one thing you knew about Marc it was that he refused to let sex end until you finished. That still didn’t stop your eyes from shutting when your body practically shook from the overstimulation of being edged yet again. He heard you though…loud and clear.

“Oh baby,” he breathed, hand running gently up your thigh.

“Please…” You were silenced by his hands sliding up to your ass, spreading you for his eyes to see.

“Look at you.” His fingers swiped through his cum that steadily dripped out of you. Only to drag it towards your clit that pulsed with need. “Beautiful.”

Gasping, you pushed back onto his fingers, desperate for any amount of attention he gave you. But soon it wasn’t enough. Your body was so worked up that his fingers alone couldn’t bring you to that edge and he knew it. You sobbed his name when he pulled away, nearly on the verge of bursting into tears. Only for your back to bow, a moan ripping from your throat, when his mouth sealed over your pussy.

“Fuck!” Your nails scratched along the floor, legs shaking as he sucked your clit into his mouth.

He moaned against you, the vibrations going straight through you and causing your toes to curl. It wouldn’t take long at all for you to violently fall over the edge. Which is why he sped up. Slipping two fingers into your pussy, he sought out the spot that would send you to the quick end. Each swipe of his tongue forced a moan from your chest—the breath leaving your lungs faster than you could keep it.

Marc was licking you clean of the mess he made and that single though alone paired with his fingers striking gold finished you off. Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream, eyes rolling back as your body convulsed with the power of your orgasm.

For a moment you lost all sense. The blood rushing through your ears and white flashing behind your tightly shut eyes. But when you came to you found Marc still going. Drinking down every last drop of you and him combined with a fucked out dazed look in his eyes. You knew if you didn’t stop him now he’d continue until you were unraveling beneath him, but your legs were already shaking from the strain of being on them.

“Wait,” you panted, hand shooting out to grip on his wrist. “I-I can’t.”

His teeth sunk into the skin of your ass in response. “You taste so good.”

That brought a smile to your face. “You don’t taste so bad yourself, Spector.”

Gently, he turned you until you were laying flat on your back, his chest pressed to yours as he laid over you. His lips met yours in a soft kiss, tongue sliding along yours. You moaned at the combined taste of you and him. It made your head spin.

Exhaustion riddled your body and you could see that it was the same for him. Tomorrow he’d have to go back to being Moon Knight; somehow having to find a way to sleep in between giving Jake and Steven the body. But tonight…right now, he was yours. Yours to love, yours to care for. So, you pulled him closer, your leg slinging over his bare hip as you kissed him languidly—relishing in the closeness.

#marc spector x f!reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector #marc spector smut #moon knight #moon knight fic #moon knight smut #my writing #posting this unhinged and unedited #fuck it #we live and die by the pen

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dilemmaontwolegs · 10 months

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Privacy || PG10

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader, Kika x fem!reader Warnings: angst, cheating, wlw WC: ~700 F1 Masterlist

You were his. He had promised it over and over, time and time again. You were only his. He didn’t want to share you, not with anyone. Privacy - that was the foundation of your relationship. Everything was kept private, so he could keep you safe.

Or so he said...

You could still see the notification when you closed your eyes. The WhatsApp message that mysteriously disappeared before you could read it, just like all the rest. You could feel the ice spreading down your spine at the lie.

It was just a group message, just one of the guys on the grid. He said it as if you didn’t know the name of every driver.

“I’ll be back before you wake, you won’t even notice I’m gone,” he promised as he stepped out of the bedroom in a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You had taken time off work to spend the summer break with him but he couldn’t seem to go one night without attending a party at some club you couldn’t even pronounce.

You placed your phone on the coffee table and nodded your head like a good girlfriend should, just as he expected. “Be safe. Have fun.”

“Yeah, course.” He could barely hide his smile as he replied to a message on his phone, completely distracted as you did the same. “Love you.”

“You too.”

The club was full by the time you made it inside, unable to skip the long queue because you were just another pretty face, not one of the influencers or sports stars that frequented the place. There were hundreds of people but it was impossible to miss Mr Personality in the crowd, his smile wide as his arm curled around the model’s narrow waist.

The anonymity that came with the ‘private’ relationship worked in your favour as you made your way through the people. A few men took notice of your hips swaying with each step, but that was nothing new. Pierre had called you his ‘petal’, beautiful and in need of protecting.

“Hi,” you greeted your boyfriend when you reached the ring of strangers surrounding him. He dropped his arm from the model’s body and tore his lips away from her neck with wide-eyes. “Oh, don’t stop on my account, Kika is very beautiful.”

“It’s not what it looks like-”

“Of course not, it was totally innocent,” you interrupted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No need to be a bitch.” You could smell the alcohol on his breath and see his eyes dilated with the thoughts he had of finishing what he started with the younger woman. He had been talking to her for weeks, waiting for their trip to align so he could do more than just slide into her DMs.

You watched his hand disappear behind her back and she bit her lip as he palmed her ass. “It’s time to make a decision,” you said as you crossed your arms. “Are you going to come home with me?”

Pierre looked between you and Kika, his eyes dropped from her face to her tits before flicking back to you. “I’m good here.”

“Let’s go, love,” you said as you held your hand out, making Pierre laugh.

His laughter died when Kika stepped away from him, taking your hand and curling her body into your side. The devilish look in her siren eyes had you combing your fingers into her dark hair as she gripped the tight dress you wore and pulled you closer. Her lips tasted of strawberry from her daiquiri and the essence of the rum was stronger on her tongue when she deepened the kiss.

“What the fuck?” Pierre growled as he pulled you apart to see her lipstick smeared on your smirking lips.

“You’re not the only one in my DMs,” Kika teased as cleaned her lipstick from your face with a promising look. “Isn’t that right, my petal?”

“Petal?” His face was falling with each passing second, devastation at his actions being realised the longer he looked at you. He knew he was losing you. “Baby, wait, we can talk about this.”

“You made your bed, Pierre,” you said as you shook your head and curled your arm around Kika like he had earlier. “Now sleep alone in it.”

#pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic

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raz-writes-the-thing · 7 months

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It's The Dominance Of The Thing (Bad Samaritan One-Shot)

Cale Erendreich x Fem!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: Cale wants you to ride his boot.

CW: It's Cale- that should be warning enough tbh, boot grinding, blood (super mild), choking, vague CNC, verbal humiliation, name-calling

Bad Samaritan Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

For such a string bean of a man, Cale was very foreboding. Incredibly foreboding. There was just something in how he carried himself- the way he spoke and in the way his energy rolled off him like even that was trying to get away from him.

By all accounts, you should not have been attracted to him. The safest thing would have been not to be attracted to him. But you were, and by some (un)lucky twist of fate, he was attracted to you, too.

Not that he’d ever seriously hurt you or anything. But it was just that he screamed ‘dangerous’ to all of your input receptors and you just ignored them anyway. You’re pretty sure Cale knew this. You’re also pretty sure he got off on knowing that you could be, at times, just a little scared of him.

Like right now, for instance.

You’d been sitting on your pillow in the lounge room on the floor when Cale came home. You had been working on an essay and had somehow just wound up on the floor. That happened sometimes. There were flecks of blood across his cheeks like crimson freckles that you’d noticed as he’d closed the door and gotten closer. You knew better than to ask where they’d come from. Cale had sat down on the couch behind you, his booted foot brushing against the outer curve of your ass.

You leaned into his touch just a fraction, and a noise of satisfaction escaped his throat.

“Turn around.” A command, not a question.

You set your laptop down in front of you and turn to face him, essay forgotten. His expression is cool and calculated, and you watch with rapt attention at the way his eyes dilate from the sight of you kneeling before him.

Cale adjusts his boot so it’s between your knees. You look down at the boot before sliding your gaze up his calf, thigh, tummy and finally back up to his face. His eyes flick downward, telling you without question exactly what he wants from you.

You bite your lip and angle yourself to lower back down onto the ground. Your cunt rests on his boot and you suck in a breath. You know your cheeks are heating up and flushing the prettiest shade for him right now. It’s not the fact that it’s his foot- it’s the dominance that does it for you.

Cale grunts in approval, and nods his head. Permission.

You experimentally grind yourself against the leather and a little gasp works its way free before you have time to stop it. Cale smirks, not taking his eyes off yours for a second. You flush darker, mouth dropping open just slightly as you roll your hips again. And again. God, this felt good.

You reach to wrap your arms around his calf, gripping at the back of his knee for balance. Cale laughs now, but mockingly. Your eyes flick to the blood across his cheek, and you’re almost a little concerned at the way your clit pulses at the sight.

Fuck. Your hips stutter up against his boot, and your eyes begin to droop as you succumb to the pleasure.

“Fuckin’ look at me, slut,” he says, and you snap back to attention. Fingers flex against his denim-clad skin, and he tuts disapprovingly. “Look at you- humping yourself silly on my fuckin’ boot.”

You nod, rocking your hips faster. The pleasure is melting into the burn of your muscles but you don’t dare stop. Not with the way Cale is looking at you.

“Gonna cry? Fuck, you look like you’re gonna cry. Pathetic, darling. Yeah, you like that, I know. You love it when I call you names, don’t you?”

You whimper, struggling to keep your gaze on his when it burns with such intensity. Your insides are aching as you chase your orgasm. It’s getting closer, and you’re panting more now as you exert yourself over him.

“Answer me,” he says evenly.

“Y-yes, I love it,” you pant back, resting your forehead on his knee. He chuckles and leans forward in his seat. He’s sitting and yet somehow also leaning over you. His hand is suddenly in your hair, ripping your head back and forcing you to make eye contact.

“Thought I told you to look at me, slut.”

Your eyebrows screw up and you cling to him harder.

“S-sorry sir,” you whimper out. Cale hums in a way that tells you that’s an acceptable apology for now and lets go of your hair. You’re so close to cumming now. It’s all you want- that sweet release. “P-please.”

Cale arcs a brow, running a finger down your cheek and over your jaw.

“Please what?”

“I- I need- I want- please I want to cum,” you pant out desperately. Cale’s eyes lave over your face, drinking down every detail of your desperation.

“Then cum.”

That’s all the permission you need. You rock your cunt against his leather boot, not caring what sounds or pants you release in the process. You’re desperate to cum, working yourself harder and harder, feeling that coil tighten bit by bit.

Cale’s hand shoots out like a snake, fingers wrapping around your throat before you even realise he’s moved.

Your breath cuts off and a yelp dies on your tongue. Your hips jolt against him and the warning look in his eyes is all it takes before that coil snaps. Your hips jerk over him uncontrollably, muscles spasming over your body as the force of your release slams into you over and over again.

You haven’t cum this hard in so long, and the way Cale’s mouth drops open just barely, pupils blown wide, makes you think he’s definitely going to have you do this again. Your hand automatically wraps around his wrist, and he clicks his tongue. His own fingers grip just that little bit harder and you feel your tongue swallowing over nothing, trying to clear an immovable blockage.

He holds you like that, desperately grappling with his wrist as you grow more desperate for air. You can’t help the way your cunt pulses with need. Even like this, growing closer and closer to blacking out you want him. Want him to fuck and ruin you.

The bastard knows it too.

“Good girl,” Cale praises, letting go and watching as you collapse against his knee, sagging into a heap as you greedily suck air into your deprived lungs.

You giggle a little wheezily, and that makes Cale smile.

“Filthy thing.” It’s affectionate, though. Cale loves you.

You know he does.

#A/N: hes so- oof #A/N: i love him ur honour #cale erendreich x reader #cale erendreich x you #bad samaritan fic #bad samaritan fanfiction #cale erendreich fic #cale erendreich fanfiction #david tennant #cale #cale erendreich fanfic #bad samaritan fanfic #cale erendreich x y/n #cale erendreich smut #bad samaritan smut #x reader

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ellieslittleburrow · 4 months

Text

Summary : your dad, Hannibal. And your brother Sherlock sense something different about you. They bug you about it and later find out that you're being bullied. Needless to say, each one reacts differently. But both are comforting enough to get you to smile again.

Pairings : Alternate Universe : Hannibal Lecter x daughter, Sherlock holmes x sister.

Warnings : Hannibal being a cutie pie dad, mentions of bullying, a punch scene, mentions of wanting to off somebody.

A/N: yall know how much we love big boiz and these two are the perfect definition of that!!! Also let's ignore the fact that they're both somehow hoe at the same time like- don't they have no life??? Also i'm sorry if any of yall suffer from bullying ❤️. I really hope this doesn't trigger you. And i hope it comforts yall. I decided to delete it from the other account because i'm trying to get used to this one. Sorry if that confuses anybody lol

------

Home sweet home.

Opening the door to your house, a very distinctive smell of rosemary oil slaps your nose as your pupils suddenly dilate, adjusting to the dim blueish feel of the house. That's what you've always loved about home. It wasn't just a safe space you thought about whenever you were outside, it was a smell, a look, a feel, warmth no matter how cold it was. Inner warmth.

"Little one."

You emerged back to real life.

"Oh" Spinning your head to the side, you catch your brother in act, pinning his head backwards as he sighs dramatically. "I caught her. Finally, i can have her now. She has awoken from her daydreams and she finally has time for us."

Your shoulders slouch as you roll your eyes at him. You're annoyed. And fucking pressured.

Your father and brother have been bugging you about what's been going on. A genius detective and a genius psychiatrist are two of the things you DO NOT want to be surrounded with.

But here you are, living with both-

"There she goes again."

Snapped out, again, of your little world, you huff, even more annoyed now.

"Would you both leave me alone."

The words come out harsher than you expected. You brush past them, taking off your coat before tossing it on the sofa. That upsets your dad. Sherlock too. But one's dangerous. The other one is too. Just..less dangerous.

"Something's different about you...I just can't seem to find what it is."

You smile when they're facing your back. You're honored to know that you're a difficult person to read, as reading is all they do.

As you walk upstairs, Sherlock follows behind. "What's been bugging you?"

"Nothing, Sherlock. Leave it." You mumble, entering your room, not bothering to look back because you know Sherlock to be respectful enough not to force things out of you. He can tell when you're really not in the mood to talk.

------

On your way home, you like to walk past the forest entrance. The forest that's been known, your whole life, for it's eerie feels. The forest that only those YOLO people dare go into. Walking past it always made your blood pump, filled it with such adrenaline that- it made you feel al-

"Hey there, Lecter."

Fuck.

The voice is too close behind. How did you not realize somebody was behind you? If your dad were to hear he'd be so mad.

You slowly pivot around, only to find more than the one girl you expected.

Uh...

"Miller, let's not do this, okay? It's been a very long week and I'm t-"

You're interrupted by a fist that flies towards your face. And it's too quick so all you manage to do is lean back, making contact less painful. You stagger backwards, reaching up for your nose.

This bitch.

"Don't tell me what to do, Lecter. I choose when and what to do."

Miller and her rats walk away, leaving you frozen in place.

When did this become such a normal thing? You achingly take a deep breath in. You'd fight back, but you'd kill her. And that's not something you really want..

As you start walking home again, you think about how you're going to hide your bloody nose from your family...Or maybe..You won't. Too tired to do anything....You just didn't care anymore.

Opening the door, you're welcomed with that sweet sweet smell but...Fuck that and fuck everyth-

"What's that?"

You look up to find your dad hurrying towards you. He hols his hands out, ready to grab your cheeks but you flinch. The shock from earlier not having worn off.

"It's okay. It's just me." He reassures you, examining your nose as he rotates your head up and down. "Who did this to you?"

"It....It doesn't matter." You mutter, pulling away from him before heading for the living room.

"What's g-What's that?" Sherlock almost copies Hannibal but you lean back, holding an arm out to stop him. But he ignores it, grabbing your face to take a better look at your dried up bloody nose.

"Who did th-"

"It doesn't mattteeeeeeer." You groan this time, rolling your eyes as you once again pull yourself away. "It's just somebody from school that dislike me for no fucking reason." Your voice gets lower at the end of your sentence.

There really no reas-

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock frowns. "And you didn't think about telling us about this earlier? We would've hel-"

"How?" You cut Sherlock off, bitterness lacing your voice. You violently swing your coat and toss it on the sofa. "How the fuck would you have been able to help?"

"I know a way." Your dad joins in. You can sense the smirk creeping up on his lips. You can hear it in his voice.

"Is it a boy, or a girl?" Sherlock asks and before you get to reply, your dad does.

"It doesn't matter to me." Your dad jerks his knife playfully.. Although...the darkness in his eyes doesn't look so playful.

"What are their names, honey?" The doctor's voice is hauntingly blank. Just filled with nothingness. Like the person inside of him suddenly disappeared. And Sherlock senses it too.

"Father...Calm down...Please. I'll...." Sherlock's fatigued sigh stabs you in the heart. "I'll take care of it." He shoots his father a glare before grabbing your hand, gently. "I'll show you how to defend yourself."

You follow behind, turning when your dad speaks from a distance.

"I don't care what moves you're going to teach her, Sherlock. I'll make sure those kids never touch her again."

Your heart skips a beat. You don't want to ask. Don't want to know. You'd really rather not. But you ignore that...fear anyways. Why would you care. At least you had them to take care of you.

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wtf was this, am i right? I don't even how i managed to write it. Anyways, i hope yall enjoyed it. ❤❤❤🥀🥀🥀

#daughter!reader #sister!reader #sister x brothers #adoptive father troop #father figure fic #daughter x father #henry cavil x daughter #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes x reader #Sherlock holmes x sister!reader #alternate universe #hannibal x daughter!reader #Hannibal lecter x daughter #Father hannibal lecter

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

Text

Pink Scarf - PART 17 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXX. Verbal Abuse. Assault, both sexual and physical. Blood. Violence. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 10k

A/N: PREPARE YOURSELVES, cuz this is an INTENSE roller coaster ride, y'all. Also, PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. I'm not gonna say much else, other than this is a beast and I cannot wait to hear the unhinged responses after. And thank you for your patience!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

“You need me?” you question him, honestly taken aback by the sentiment, even though he has said it before. It’s just still so hard for you to believe that a man like this needs a woman like you. Running your fingers through the soft, damp hair at the nape of his neck, you look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, baby, I do. I really do,” Elvis says, wrapping his arms tight around you and pulling you close. His head buries in your neck, in your hair, breathing you in.

“Show me,” you whisper in his ear, surprised by your own boldness. But his declarations have you some kind of way and that coil is still like hot coals smoldering in your belly. You feel his body stiffen against you, knowing that he is even more stubborn than you and doesn’t want to give in to you just yet.

You run your hands over his exposed chest and under the deep V of the fabric, grazing over his nipple with your fingernails. He twitches and jumps under your touch, despite his efforts to stay neutral.

“I need you,” you breathe, pitching your voice up the slightest bit as you look into his eyes. And you do. You desperately need him, in every way. If you could crawl inside of him, you would. You need to believe his promises are true, that he will take care of you and be everything you need. You need him to show you.

This must read on your face, because he cannot seem to mask his response this time, his azure eyes widening and pupils dilating.

“Take care of me,” you say, your voice nearly a whine.

That’s the ticket. “Fuck, okay…yeah, let me take care of ya,” Elvis breathes in your mouth as his lips find yours, your sins forgotten for the moment, if not forgiven completely. His lips devour yours and your hands can’t get enough of him, starved from before when he had you tied up. They roam over his chest, wind around his neck and into his hair before scraping down his back and clawing at his waist.

Elvis pulls back for a moment and surveys the space in the room. You can see his wheels turning, then how his lips curve up in a smile as he figures out how he wants you. He leaves you hanging for a moment as he pulls a chair right in front of a huge, floor length mirror. Sitting in the chair, his legs spread wide, he beckons you to him.

“Come sit on my lap, baby,” he purrs at you, and you immediately obey, settling on one of his strong thighs and burying your head into that deliciously long neck of his. The salt of his sweat stains your lips. His strong scent surrounds you, magnifying your need for him. You suddenly feel very small in his arms in addition to that need. He seems to sense this, letting you first cuddle into him a bit before winding his large hand below your jaw and peppering kisses down your neck.

“Gonna be a good girl and do as I tell ya?” Elvis asks, his voice low and gravely as he grabs your chin.

You nod. He truly fucked the fight right out of you before, over there against the wall.

“That’s my girl. Now turn and face the mirror for me,” he says, guiding your hips to swivel in his lap. He pulls your dress up and over your waist, leaving you in your lacy panties. You feel a little self-conscious looking at yourself perched on his lap like this, your cheeks a flaming shade of red. You are very close to the mirror, too close. But you watch as your eyes go wide when he grabs your inner thighs, spreading them open with his large hands while sliding his strong thighs in between to keep yours apart.

The lacy fabric of your already-soaked underwear strains as he massages your legs from your knees to your hips. The groping shoots fire through you and you press back into his lap, encouraging him to continue. When he ghosts over your core, it steals your breath away, and you are so incredibly ready for whatever he has to give you.

“Let get these off,” he says, tapping your clit over your panties and causing you to jump with the sensation. Nearly frantic, you shuck them down and off with lightning speed, along with your heels. Elvis chuckles, spreading you open even further when you sit back in his lap. Your muscles strain with the stretch, but you don’t care.

“Be a good girl and put your feet up on the mirror for me,” he instructs, and albeit confused, you do as you’re told. “Nice and wide for me, honey. Yeah, just like that.” He scoots your hips down a bit as you adjust and cradles your upper body with his, his head resting over your shoulder, looking at you both in the mirror. You are completely exposed and utterly vulnerable before him once again.

“Now look at that,” he breathes almost reverently, “You’re stunning, in every way.” You both watch in the mirror as he runs his fingers down your face, your jaw, then over your body. You shiver in his lap, earning his famous lopsided smile in return.

Elvis gets more serious as his fingers reach your core. “But ain’t this the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in your ear, running his pointer finger ever-so-lightly over your folds as you watch. The combination of sensation and the visual you are not used to seeing has you squirming in his lap, aching. He locks his other arm around your pelvis, pressing you against him and immobilizing you.

“Be good, baby. You promised,” he says in your ear, and you watch yourself nod furiously, stilling. He commences his lecture. “I wantcha to see what I see, baby. Look at how pretty and red you are for me like this, all slick and swollen and needy,” he says, watching intently, hungrily, as his finger grazes your lower lips, up one side and down the other. You whine and grip his arm for purchase, feeling like he is calling all the blood in your body to gather in your cunt. It feels heavy and pulsing, burning with need for him.

Elvis brushes up to your clit. “Hmm, one of my favorite little spots,” he hums, circling it softly, making you keen as you lean back into him. Then, obscenely, he uses his first two fingers to spread your lips apart. “Christ, baby, look at that,” he says, voice filled with lust and awe, “You’re fuckin’ weeping for me.”

Your eyes travel down to your exposed hole, and sure enough, you are literally dripping with arousal, both yours and his. It glistens as it gathers, a slow, eager little drop sliding out. You cannot stifle the low moan that escapes your lips at the erotic nature of this little show, your pussy buzzing with heat and want, on display for all to see.

Elvis senses you need more, and he lets your folds wrap around his long middle finger, dragging it up and down through your slick as you watch.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, thankful for the friction, your hips automatically rolling for him.

“Touch yourself, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he says, moving your hand over your mound and guiding your fingers in slow circles over your clit before he returns to rubbing in between your slick lower lips. The wonderful combination makes your eyes flutter closed and your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Nuh uh! Eyes open!” Elvis nudges you, and your eyes pop open. “I want you to watch yourself come, baby. I need you to see what I see.” He smiles, and it’s almost boyish in its mischievousness.

It’s not going to take much, considering how primed that coil was before you even sat down, and how strangely erotic this whole scene is. How it’s making you feel lightheaded and buzzy and hot all over. You begin to work your clit furiously, watching as Elvis runs his fingers over then through your sopping, swollen folds. When he dips one long finger, then another into your weeping hole while you watch, the string of curses that leaves your lips is utterly filthy.

Your senses are overloading, which you imagine was his intention. The sight of you swallowing his fingers so needily, so readily, your arousal shining, the wet suckling sound coming from your cunt as he expertly works his fingers in and out of you pushes you headlong to the edge. Coupled with this and your barrage on your clit, you hit your climax hard with a loud cry, pressing your heels into the mirror with such force, you’re afraid you might crack it.

“Look, look, look, baby,” he pants, forcing your focus back to him, back to what he’s doing to you. “Look at how you flutter around me!” He’s right; you watch, mesmerized as your hole clenches at his fingers through your orgasm, and fuck if that isn’t amazingly hot.

You whimper at the sight, shuddering and panting at the exertion. He chooses that moment to curl his fingers, pressing that special spot inside you that is only his, and another wave of pleasure shoots through you so strongly that you lose your breath. You crest the hill again, stars shooting through you, forgetting that you ever came here to break this off, to run away from him.

There is a wild, desperate look in your eyes that you’ve never seen before as you writhe against him in your ecstasy, keeping you fucking down onto his fingers even though you are sore from before. You can’t stop the waves that keep crashing over you, engulfing every inch of you as you watch it happen before your eyes.

And Elvis looks gorgeous, those blue eyes flashing with his magnetic sexual energy, his pouty lips open and pink and panting right along with you. He is hard again, his length pressing into your spine through his suit as you furiously roll on his fingers, and you can feel him begin to shudder underneath you. You know he gets off on watching and this is quite the show. You rock your hips more deliberately now, feeling the length of him slide between your ass cheeks, and he groans.

“Am I gonna make you come in your pants, E? Gonna make a mess for me?” you mewl seductively, wanting to push him over the edge, too. “You like watching me get off on your fingers, don’t you?”

“Jesus, baby, yes,” he moans, “but I need to watch you come again. Come with me, honey.”

You’re not sure you can. You are overstimulated and over stretched and near hysterical with pleasure. Your heart is thrumming so fast you can barely breathe.

“You can do it. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, baby. Watch me take care of you,” he pants heavy in your ear, his eyes glassy, unable to take his eyes off your pussy. He moves his hips in tandem with yours now, then without warning, slides a third finger inside you.

Your eyes are glued to the mirror, seeing just how well you take him. You automatically adjust to him, and he works you as only he knows how. You work your clit and grit your teeth as you feel that coil poised to spring again.

“E-El-El-vis…F-f-fuckkk!” you cry breathlessly, coming completely undone around him again.

“Oh, fuck, honey…GodDAMN!” he groans into you simultaneously as he slams his hips up with a violent shudder that matches your own. You can feel the heat pulse under you, dampening the fabric of his suit.

But you continue to shake and shiver on top of him, your orgasm ripping through you, stealing everything you have left, draining every ounce of energy from your reserves, which isn’t much considering the insanity of the last 24 hours. You sense much too late that your body cannot keep up. Your heart is too fast, your breathing too labored, and your muscles too weak.

You shouldn’t be surprised, then, when your body goes limp, the blood drains from your head with a cold rush, and the world goes dim and then black.

“Y/n! Y/n! Jesus, Satnin, c-come on baby, w-w-wake up!” you hear Elvis’ panicked voice from far away, but you are so very tired and just want to sleep, thinking maybe it’s a dream.

…no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I lo…The faraway echo of long-ago words in this too familiar panicked voice fades away like a dream. You slip back into darkness.

It’s the piercing fear in his voice when he calls your name again that has you finally coming back into yourself. You blink a few times, willing the world to come back into focus, confused.

“O-oh, shit. Oh, t-thank God,” Elvis breathes. He is right above you, his eyes bright and flooded with fear, near tears.

“Wh—what happened?” you murmur, feeling buzzy and strange, and like things aren’t moving fast enough.

“You scared the shit outta me is w-what happened!” he looks down at you, now placed on the couch, his eyes quickly shifting from fear to anger. “You—you just fuckin’ collapsed!”

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what happened. You’d come here to break up with him, to tell him you were leaving…then you argued. Then you fucked. The mirror.

Oh, god, had you passed out from coming too hard?

You start to giggle at that, uncontrollably.

“Baby, what the fuck? It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Elvis fumes, leaning over you.

That just makes you laugh more. “I came…s-so h-hard I p-passed out!” you hiccup out.

“That’s not normal!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

Another peal of laughter at the absurdity of it rolls through you. He’s not wrong, but whatever is happening to you seems to be overpowering your sense of self-control.

“Are you on something?” he asks suddenly, grabbing your jaw to get you to focus. He looks over you carefully and then a flash of horror comes over him at what you assume is the thought that he’s somehow taken advantage of you.

“N-no, of course not,” you finally manage to get out. You are shivering now though, and suddenly freezing. “S-something’s not r-right,” you finally chatter out.

“No shit,” Elvis mumbles, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. “Baby, when was the last time you ate?” he asks.

You blink at that, trying to run through the last day in your mind, but all the days have been running together. You honestly don’t know.

“I-It’s been at least a day, I think,” you finally eek out. “Maybe l-longer?”

“’Maybe longer?’ Goddammit, y/n, you can’t just go without fuckin’ eating!” he yells, getting up from the couch and storming over to the phone at the other end of the room. You hear him ordering someone to bring food immediately as you attempt to sit up, but your dizziness has you lying back down quickly.

Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t in a constant swarm of emotional and physical upheaval for the last week, I would remember to eat, but who’s fault is that?

Elvis slams down the phone and paces back over to you. “When was the last time you slept, y/n?” he angrily asks now, his eyes a churning gray-blue, as he pulls your dress down modestly and throws one of his plush robes over you.

“Um, on the r-roof,” you get out.

“Christ, that was barely sleep,” he mumbles, obviously frustrated as he continues to pace the room. “You have to take better care of yourself, y/n!” he erupts.

You recoil a bit but are touched by his anger, knowing it is fueled by concern. But you are also annoyed because it isn’t all your fault.

“Well, I’ve been a b-bit busy,” you manage.

“Not that fuckin’ busy!”

He’s not getting it. You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes.

“Th-this is part of the problem, E. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, I’ve been so s-stressed, I don’t know which way is up…” you shiver out.

He halts. Your words must be sinking in because the blood drains from his face and you’re suddenly afraid he might pass out.

“This is because of me,” he finally says. The way he phrases it, you’re not sure if it’s a question or statement.

“It’s not—” you start, not wanting him to spiral more than he already is.

“Goddammit, you’ve been tellin’ me you’re strugglin’, and I been yammerin’ at you to trust me to take care of you and then I did the opposite. Shit,” he curses. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Elvis deflates onto the couch next to you and pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids.

You are too tired to respond other than to brush the errant tear that runs down his cheek with your thumb. You wish you could see this sensitive side of him more often.

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna get some food in ya, then I’m sending Jerry with you upstairs so you can rest—”

You open your mouth to argue.

“There’ll be none of that,” he hushes you. “There’s no way you’re doin’ the show tonight. And Jerry’ll get you woken up before we come up after the show, and everybody’ll be none the wiser.” He gives you a stern look.

There’s no point in fighting him or telling him how his plan could go wrong. You’re still confused exactly how things with Jack are going to be handled or if anything Elvis said while fucking your brains out earlier was going to come to fruition, but you’re not in the frame of mind to try and solve that this minute. So instead you just nod.

The food comes, somehow all of your favorites. He knows my favorite foods? runs through your mind, but you are too hungry to dwell on it. Then, as he instructed, you head upstairs with Jerry, who without judgement, sends you into Elvis’ suite to rest. You think your mind won’t possibly let you sleep, but between the food and your exhaustion, you drift off before your head hits the pillow.

Circle G Ranch, February 1967

You wake up early, your eyes blinking out the dull winter morning light streaming through the window. Well, it’s not early for normal standards, but in Elvis’ world, most haven’t even gone to bed yet, you think, looking at the clock. You being awake now is likely due to the fact you couldn’t keep up with the partying last night and had excused yourself much sooner than usual to go to bed.

It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Being at Elvis’ newly acquired ranch in Mississippi has been a welcome change of scenery yet is still a little disorienting. You are used to Memphis, and even occasionally California, but this place is new for you all.

Completely dissatisfied and not having any semblance of control with his career, Elvis recently decided that he wanted a place in the country, a place where they could all come to relax and ride the horses he’d bought for all the men and their wives. A place where they could work the land and have a little fun. And you wonder if he just wanted to feel a little normal for once, thinking that a ranch would do that for him, that it could give him the control he so desperately craved. That maybe it might bring him some of that happiness and zest for life that had been bled out of him for all these years, turning him into someone you barely recognized.

So, Circle G Ranch was purchased, and you’d all arrived to take in its splendor and fresh air. And it was working. Elvis seemed happier here than he’d been in a very long time, the sparkle beginning to return in those expressive eyes of his. And when Elvis was happy, everyone else was allowed to be happy too, theoretically.

You think maybe all that horseback riding and fresh air is part of the reason you were so tired last night. Turning over, you notice that Jack hasn’t come to bed. Your heart sinks, though out here in the middle of the country, it’s not like he can get in too much trouble. It’s just likely the guys are still awake.

Either way, there is an emptiness in your chest that misses your husband. Each time he leaves with Elvis, less of the man you knew returns. You are hoping that some leisure time on the ranch will help him, too. There is less temptation out here, and more opportunities for you two to spend time together.

Unfortunately, he has not been very receptive to that so far, opting to hang with the guys more than you. But considering that he has been drinking more, part of you is glad for it. If the last couple of years have shown you anything, it’s that Jack is a mean drunk, just like his father.

With that thought, you decide to get up instead of dwelling on things you cannot change. As you get dressed, you hear the door of the trailer slam.

“Jack? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” he replies belligerently. The tone of his voice tells you immediately all you need to know. Your heart speeds up as a warning discomfort blooms in your chest. You steel yourself before walking out into the living area.

“Morning, sweetie. Want me to make you some breakfast?” you ask in a light and easy voice. If nothing else, food might help sober him some.

Jack’s response is a grunt in the affirmative, and then he shoots you a glare, his brown eyes dull but cutting all the same. You have no idea what you may have done to upset him, but he is obviously not happy with you. The tightness in your chest increases and you force a smile, not wanting to set him off. If you act like everything is fine, he might forget what is bothering him. It happens that way sometimes and is generally the best-case scenario when he’s like this.

“Okay, I’ll get that started,” you smile, and he settles with a huff on the couch. Scurrying off to the kitchen, your smile falls and you get to cooking as quickly as possible. Steak and eggs, you think. That’s his favorite and will help clear his head.

Your mind races as you cook, trying to find a reason for his ire. You dissect every moment from the day and night before but cannot pinpoint anything in particular that you might have done to make him upset. This has you feeling uneasy, on eggshells. If you knew what you’d done, you could apologize and make up for it before things get out of hand, but it occurs to you that he might be too far gone for that anyway.

Lost in your thoughts, it takes until you smell the meat smoking to realize you may have cooked it too long. You are hoping he is too drunk to notice. With renewed focus, you plate your breakfasts and walk to the tiny table.

“Soup’s on, babe!” you say in a cheerful sing-song voice. Part of you cringes inside to hear yourself like this.

He grunts off the sofa and stumbles to the table, plopping down with a screech of the chair. You keep yourself from wincing at the sound, wanting to stay as sunny as possible as you begin to cut into the meat. You’re unable to keep from looking up at him to check his body language, his affect, as he begins shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth without so much as a word to you.

You pick at your own breakfast, your appetite low because you feel so on edge. You can sense the tension in the room and know better than to speak at this point.

“What the fuck is this?” Jack grumbles, throwing his knife and fork clattering onto the plate.

You look up quickly, your heartbeat skipping. He’s fuming now, his eyes bloodshot and narrowed at you, his scar an angry red with the flush on his cheeks. You don’t have time to piece together whatever has happened before he continues, his voice shaking low with anger.

“First, you embarrass me by taking off in the middle of everyone having a good time last night. Everybody asking, ‘What’s wrong with her, is she okay?’ blah, blah, blah,” he says with a mocking venom that sends a chill right down your spine. “And now you can’t even make me a decent breakfast. Can’t even get that right,” he growls, pounding on the table.

The table rattles and you start to shake a little, frozen to the spot. You realize that maybe Jack is more than just drunk, that maybe he took something on top of it that has him worse than usual.

“I…I’m sorry, I was just tired from all the activity yesterday, and I can make you a new—” you sputter out quickly, but still unable to move, trapped in his furious gaze.

“I don’t wanna hear your fuckin’ excuses, you stupid bitch!” he screams, exploding out of his seat, the chair toppling over behind him with a clatter. “What I want is a fuckin’ steak that’s not cooked to death!” he roars, then picks up his plate and hurls it over the table near your head. You barely have time to register what’s happening, leaning out of the way at the last second on pure instinct, and the plate careens into the wall behind you with a crash, sending food and ceramic flying everywhere.

Your brain misfires and your heart leaps to your throat, the terror in your veins pulsing through you so intensely that all you can do is turn and run. You have to escape because you don’t know what he’s gonna do, he’s never thrown anything at you before, and he’s yelled, yes, but not done anything to hurt you, and oh, god, you have to get out, get out, GET OUT.

You fly past Jack, his rage too consuming and his senses too dull to catch you as you go, and you are out the door of the trailer in a flash, not stopping to see if he’s following you. No, all you can think is you have to get away, you have to escape, and you fly through the rows of trailers housing the other men and their wives. Your heart slams against your ribcage, fueling your body forward as you sprint down the dirt road towards the barn in the distance. Your socks stick to the cold ground as you run but you don’t care—all you need is to get to the horses. You’re not sure why, but you just know that if you can get to the horses, you’ll be safe.

You run and run, only hearing the crash of the plate in your ear, feeling the splatter as it shatters behind you. Only hearing Jack’s screams, “You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch!” You don’t even register the tears burning down your cheeks as you finally reach the barn, flinging open the door with what little strength you have left and frantically looking in the stalls for the horse that Elvis gave you.

Moonbeam. You finally see her near the other end of the barn, her gray and white coloring standing out in the sea of darker equines. You skid to a stop in front of her. Knowingly, as if she can sense your distress and your need for her large, calming presence, she turns and pokes her head out of the stall, nuzzling your tear-stained face.

“Oh. Oh,” you gasp, completely out of breath from the exertion. You cling onto Moonbeam’s strong neck, her coat soft and warm under your shaking arms. Your chest heaves, desperately trying to take in air. If you could, you would jump right on Moonbeam’s back and ride as fast and as far as you can, but she is not saddled, and you have no idea how to get her ready.

The light tap on your shoulder sends you flailing into the stall door with a shriek.

He’s found me he’s found me he’s found me, is all that runs through your head, though if you were anywhere near logical, you’d know that Jack was in no state to chase you all the way to the barn.

“Hey! Hey, y/n, it’s okay! Honey, it’s just me!” You turn toward the warm, familiar voice and are met with concerned deep blue eyes, a far cry from Jack’s bloodshot and brown glaring ones.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to huff out as you look at Elvis, your muscles starting to burn and shake. Your heart is still beating too fast.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Elvis says worriedly but gently, looking over you, seeming to sense how on edge you are. He goes to touch your shoulder, but you reflexively shirk backwards, knocking your elbow into the door with a thud. He quickly backs away a step, putting his hands up in a non-threatening way.

You suddenly slam into the present moment, realizing that you must look insane. Your hair is windblown, you are makeup-less with tears streaking down your face. It’s the dead of winter and you are without a coat or shoes, your socks dirty and torn and bloody from your sprint. You have food splattered down your left side, and you are gasping for air like you’re drowning.

“Y/n, I need you to tell me if you’re okay,” Elvis says, quiet and calm, as if talking to a spooked horse.

You glance over his shoulder, suddenly afraid that Jack could stumble through the barn door at any moment. Wide-eyed and frantic, you look back at Elvis. You realize he’s between you and the door and that gives you some comfort. Jack would have to get through Elvis to get to you, and while you know you’re not in your right mind, you are completely certain that Elvis wouldn’t let Jack hurt you.

With this relieving thought and your adrenaline beginning to wane, you suddenly feel extraordinarily tired as well as embarrassed that Elvis is seeing you like this. You realize he’s waiting for an answer, but you cannot speak. You don’t want to bother Elvis with any of this, so you nod your head, bobbing it up and down quickly.

Elvis tilts his head and looks at you perceptively. Of course you’re not okay, and Elvis reads it all over your face and appearance. You finally give up under his watchful gaze, shaking your head. It falls back against the door behind you, and you choke back a sob. Your exhausted body shakes with cold and the remnants of your fear, and you slide down the door, unable to support yourself any longer.

“Oh, shit, okay. Honey, it’s okay,” Elvis coos at you, stepping quickly to your side but not wanting to touch you and invade your space, lest you freak out again. Instead, he slides down the door with you, letting you lean into him for support. And you do. As you reach the cold, straw-covered ground, you lean your head onto his shoulder, his warmth radiating comfortingly into your side. You begin to shiver.

“Here, baby,” he says, taking off his thick coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Immediately, you feel calmer, as the heat and his distinctly Elvis scent of musk and Old Spice, coupled with the woodsmoke from last night’s campfire surrounds you like a blanket.

You both sit in silence for a while as your body comes back down from the fear of Jack’s outburst. He’s yelled at you before, even called you names, but he’d never gotten so close to actually physically hurting you.

He must’ve been on something, you think. Jack would never hurt me.

I should’ve been more careful with the breakfast. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve stayed up last night with him. The thoughts run through your head, as though if you examine them enough, you can possibly avoid setting him off in the future.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elvis asks quietly, sensing the wheels turning in your head as only he can.

Humiliated, you shake your head vehemently. Elvis does not need to know the specifics of your marriage. He does not need to know of your failures.

But part of you wants to tell him he’s created a monster.

Without Elvis, Jack might never have gone into the bottle. Without Elvis, he wouldn’t be taking other shit that makes him fly off the handle at any moment. Without Elvis, without Elvis, without Elvis…

You are too exhausted for blame and anger right now, though, so you bury it instead. It is what it is.

Elvis doesn’t push you, though you can tell he wants to know everything. You can practically feel that he’s quelling some deep instinct to protect you, his muscles tensing and releasing, his jaw working. But maybe he begins to piece it all together himself because he remains quiet. You are safe now, and that’s what matters, right?

And perhaps it is your heightened emotions, but you suddenly crave the nearness of the man who used to be your best friend. The man that, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, time and circumstance somehow stole from you when you weren’t looking.

So you lean into him, into his strength and sensitivity and his unique power to draw you to him, even when part of you wants to blame him for everything. Even after all these years of confusing behavior and emotional distance, you can’t begin to imagine your world without Elvis Presley in it.

And now you sit here on the cold floor of a horse barn in the middle of the Mississippi countryside in the dead of winter, wondering how in the hell your life became this.

Jerry wakes you gently with a whisper and a poke on your shoulder but you startle anyway, pulled out of the dream violently with a gasp.

“Sorry, y/n, but everyone is on their way up soon. EP told me to wake you,” he says apologetically.

The room is dark, and you are still exhausted, but you are somewhat grateful to be pulled out of that dream-memory. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and a sick feeling in your stomach. You can’t help but chastise yourself for letting Jack grovel the way he did after he’d sobered up that day, for how you forgave him so easily because it certainly was not the last time he went crazy like that on you.

“Thank you, Jerry. I’ll be right out,” you say blearily. You blink the sleep from your eyes and stagger into the bathroom to make yourself presentable.

Anger at Jack festers like an open wound, but the dream has also reminded you of your anger towards Elvis about all of it. That makes you feel uneasy, especially coupled with that nagging feeling that he is hiding something from you. You don’t want to feel angry at Elvis, but some of his actions over the years have contributed to your overall dissatisfaction with your life.

You didn’t fully realize until now how upset it had made you that he just stopped being your best friend one day. You still don’t understand all of it, though you feel like these unearthed memories are trying to get you there. But it doesn’t change the fact that both he and Jack abandoned you in different ways. And this pisses you off.

Fucking men, you think, touching up your makeup and straightening your dress. Your unease deepens when you realize you are going to face the group very soon and you have absolutely no idea what Elvis is going to do or even if he will do anything. Is he just going to pull you to his side and tell Jack to go fuck himself? Is he going to act like it never happened at all? You’re not sure which is worse.

Your stomach churns and you desperately need to talk to Elvis before he does something stupid. Panic rises, but you slam it back down, willing yourself to just be normal for the time being.

Be normal. What a laugh. As if any of this is remotely normal.

Steeling yourself, you head out to the living room just as people start walking through the door. Sandy finds you immediately, giving you a concerned and questioning look. You can’t tell if she’s surprised to see you or not, but you turn from her, still annoyed that she ratted you out (even if it was in an attempt to help you).

As the room fills and bustles, something is itching at you, poking at the corners of your mind. You think maybe it is paranoia. It feels as though Red keeps shooting knowing, snide looks your way. You can’t help but examine everyone around you, searching for signs that they know. You squirm in your skin, unable to get comfortable.

It doesn’t help that Jack slides in behind you when you aren’t looking, wrapping his arms around you a little too tight. He reeks of whiskey and cigar smoke so badly you choke. “Where you been, treasure?” Jack asks a little too pointedly, suspiciously, as if he knows something is up. Your heart plummets and you resist the urge to push him away but can’t help but try to worm your way out of his clutches as Elvis strolls in the room.

Elvis’ intense eyes find you immediately, and you watch his jaw clench as he keeps himself in check. You manage to slip out of Jack’s grasp and Elvis relaxes a bit, distracted by one of the guys. It seems like he doesn’t want to make a scene over the two of you in front of the group, which has you breathing a sigh of relief.

What doesn’t have you relieved is that Jack is once again all over you as everyone finds a seat. You feel trapped as the conversation begins to flow, wanting nothing more than to go hide in Elvis’ room, far away from the fumbling hands of your husband. His hands are heavy on you, creeping up your thigh, drawing circles on your shoulder with his fingertips. It used to be a comforting gesture, but now it feels possessive.

He knows. Maybe Red already told him, you panic. Your heart gallops in your chest and you try not to lose it.

No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he knew, right? Jack is a few drinks in at this point, and the more he drinks, the louder he generally gets. Though based on his hands, you think that he is feeling something else altogether.

You can feel Elvis’ jealous eyes bore on you as Jack touches you, but you are caught between a rock and a hard place. If you shirk your husband’s advances to obviously, it will seem strange and garner attention, but if you don’t, you fear Elvis will give you both away. And you aren’t ready for that, not before the two of you come up with a cohesive plan.

If you are going to leave Jack (no, when you leave Jack, you remind yourself), you certainly don’t want to do it in the middle of an afterparty with the whole gang listening in.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” you finally whisper, excusing yourself with a forced smile, needing to escape Jack’s clutches. “You need anything?” you ask.

“Oh, I need something alright,” Jack breathes sloppily in your ear, attempting to be seductive and failing. But it has an edge to it that worries you.

“You’re hilarious, babe,” you say as sweet as you can while standing to make your escape. Jack takes the moment to grope your ass and you can almost feel the wave of irritation coming off Elvis from across the room. “I’ll get you a drink,” you sputter out, sliding out of Jack’s grasp, shooting Elvis a quick, warning glance to not do anything stupid. Then you scurry away as fast as you can without seeming strange.

Instead of heading to the kitchen, you make a beeline for the bathroom, desperately needing a moment away from all the eyes you feel are on you tonight, wanting things from you that you cannot give.

Fucking men, you think again, closing the door behind you.

To your shock, it doesn’t close. Jack pushes in and your heart drops into your stomach. The look in his dark and muddled eyes bodes nothing good.

“Hey, treasure,” he slurs with that disturbing edge to his voice, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a sloppy, whisky-tinged kiss. You try rather unsuccessfully to not cringe at the feel of his lips on yours.

Maybe he’s too drunk to notice, you hope.

“I thought you were going to get drinks,” Jack says suspiciously. He locks the door behind you, warning bells exploding in your brain for a multitude of reasons, one being Elvis breaking the door down, another being whatever Jack expects of you.

“I had to pee first, babe,” you say as evenly as possible, “Now get so I can!” You playfully swat him on the shoulder, as you’ve done a million times before in your life together, but this time is different. This time, Jack’s chocolate eyes blacken as he grabs your wrist.

Your breath catches, and your heart starts to speed up as Jack’s hand tightens. “Honey, you’re hurting me. Let go,” you whisper.

His dark eyes rake over your body with what you think is lust, but it is tainted with something frightening. “Oh, I think you came in here because you wanted something else,” he says, backing you into the vanity. “You know, some of the guys are saying that you’re stepping out on me. Can you believe that?” His head buries in your neck, his lips dragging roughly against your skin.

Fucking Red.

“W-What? That’s ridiculous,” you manage to eek out, trying to lean away from his touch, but there is nowhere for you to go. Your heart is in your throat, but before you can say anything else in your defense, he’s changing the subject.

“You’re wearing this scarf again?” Jack questions because it impedes his barrage of his mouth on your neck. He unties it and you watch the pink and black silk flutter to the floor.

“It goes with my outfit,” you reply. You attempt to push him away but get nowhere, his broad chest stubbornly immobile. “Seriously, Jack, I need to pee,” you whine now, hoping that will do the trick. Every nerve in your body is on alert as he kisses your skin, as he presses into you. You can feel the bulge in his pants growing, poking into your pelvis.

Every fiber of your being wants out of this enclosed space, a space that only a moment ago felt like a refuge but now feels like a prison. You don’t want this, and if Elvis finds out, there will be hell to pay. But Jack is too far gone to listen and too strong for you to move.

Jack picks you up easily and places you on the counter, his hands pushing the unyielding fabric of your dress up your thighs so he can spread them open and step between them. It feels cold—nothing like the warmth and passion you felt when Elvis did the same thing earlier.

“I told ‘em, ‘Not my treasure. She knows her place. Besides, who else would want her anyway?’” he laughs cruelly, grinding into you. The words cut, as he intended, and you become fully aware that you are in trouble. Your stomach rolls, nausea consuming you.

“Jack, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to do this right now. You’re too drunk,” you protest, pushing your palms into his chest to try and put space between you.

But he seems to take your protests as being coy, or perhaps he just doesn’t care, and chuckles darkly into your neck. “Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick the other night.” He lathes his tongue against your collarbone, causing an icy shiver down your spine that he interprets as positive, smiling on your skin. His hands roam to your back and unzip your dress.

You squirm, but it only serves to assist in his attempt to undress you, his hands roughly pulling down your sleeves and bra straps.

He stops abruptly, to your relief. “What are those?” Jack asks, suddenly on edge, his tone changing completely. He pulls back from you and for that you are grateful but confused.

“What’s what?” you reply as he stares at your chest, his eyes narrowing, the lust being replaced fully by anger.

Jack is on you in a flash, too fast for you to register what’s happening and then he’s yanking down the front of your dress, your bra, exposing your breast.

“Jesus Jack! What are you doing?!” you shriek, trying to pull away as he manhandles you, but you have nowhere to go.

“What the fuck are those?” He pulls you roughly off the counter and spins you around to the mirror, pointing to the series of purple welts on your breasts.

Oh, fuck.

“I…uh…I…,” you sputter incoherently. Your brain misfires, too panicked to think of anything clever or even anything at all. There’s no logical explanation for the dark bruises other than them being what they are. Your mind flashes back to the other night, how Elvis had claimed you, his pouty mouth suckling your skin roughly as he’d fucked you into oblivion on the couch.

You hadn’t even thought to cover them with makeup, since Jack hadn’t seen you naked in eons.

“You stupid fucking slut! Who are you screwing?!” Jack screams, ballistic, swinging you back around to face him.

You’ve never seen him this angry, his face and scar turning beet red, his eyes like daggers. But this reaction is rich coming from him, which triggers your own anger as much as your fear.

“Really, Jack? You barely come home and when you do you smell of cheap perfume, but me, I’m the slut?!” you yell back at him, your body shaking all over, as you pull up your bra and dress. You certainly hadn’t planned to do this here, now, but you’d known in your heart for days that this was coming.

The vein in his forehead pulses dangerously, and he looks like he truly wants to hurt you. He grabs your wrists painfully as you try and zip up your dress. You’ve never seen him look at you this way, even in his worst moments, and it send a shudder of fear through you. “You’re my goddamn wife! Nobody touches my wife!” he yells, his spit flying in your face, ignoring your reasoning completely, too far gone.

Then, he unlocks the door and yanks it open so hard it slams into the wall with a crash, and then pulls you into the hallway, dragging you behind him.

“Jack, stop. You’re hurting me!” you say, trying to wrench out of his iron grasp. “What’re you doing? This isn’t the place for this,” you hiss frantically, scared of what he might do or say next.

Jack manhandles you into the living area where people are conversing and laughing at someone’s jokes, and roughly pushes you into the middle of the room.

The laughter dies out quickly as all eyes turn towards you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and heat burns your cheeks. You are furious and scared and now embarrassed, the back of your dress undone in front of everyone. You watch as Sandy’s eyes widen, immediately gleaning what’s happening, and she starts to stand, but Jerry grabs her arm to stop her.

You rub at your raw wrists, but you don’t turn to look at Elvis, who is behind you. That would give it all away, and for now you at least have control over that.

“Who is it, huh? Who are you fucking? All of them?” Jack shouts at you in front of the group, pointing aimlessly at the men. There are confused and alarmed glances on most faces, though Sandy, Jerry, and Red all attempt to cover their knowledge with surprise. Some are better than others at concealing it, but Jack is too busy looking at you to see them.

“Hey, man, cool it,” Elvis says from behind you, trying to be nonchalant and deescalate the situation, but you can hear in his voice the effort it’s taking him to be calm.

Jack whirls you around roughly by the arm to face Elvis, as though he’s trying to shame you at court in front of the king. Elvis looks at you, unable to hide his concern and budding fury completely, and you shake your head the smallest amount, for only him to see, telling him to lay low and not give himself away. You may be fucked, but this can still be contained, at least until Jack has calmed down and not everyone is watching.

“This ain’t your problem, EP!” Jack yells. It’s as though the most obvious has escaped Jack’s rage-addled mind, since he’s not even considering Elvis when he’s the biggest threat of all.

But one doesn’t yell at Elvis. Not without repercussions.

“The hell it isn’t, not when you come in here drunk and hot like this, fixin’ to ruin everyone’s mood,” Elvis warns, standing slowly. He’s not yelling yet, but his eyes are starting to turn hard and dark. Elvis can be incredibly patient, but if his temper turns, it won’t be pretty. And he was already done with Jack before this wretched display. The tension in the room thickens to a heightened degree, leaving everyone on edge.

So hot with fear and embarrassment and anger, you think you might burst into flames right here. Your heart is thundering against your ribcage and you can barely breathe. Your legs itch to run, but you are surrounded by prying eyes, trapped between the two most important men in your life.

Jack is incensed, fuming, and not backing down. He’s gearing up for a fight, which is bad. His grip on your arm tightens and you can’t help but wince. You watch as Elvis takes a step towards you both and you shoot him a look to stay put.

“Jack, stop this,” you say as calmly as you can. “Let’s just take a breath and talk somewhere else and let the party go on.”

Jack’s chest heaves and he turns on you. “Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he snarls.

Then his fist brutally collides with your face.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion after that. The pain is instant, radiating through your cheek and your jaw, up into your eye socket. The metal of his rings snag at the corner of your mouth and scrape your face. Shock and disbelief course through you as the air rushes out of your lungs and hot tears spring to your eyes. The momentum of his strike sends you careening to the floor, and you manage to throw your hands out to catch yourself just before you hit the carpet.

A stunned silence falls over the group.

He hit me. He fucking hit me, you think in disbelief, through the pain, through the ringing in your ears.Jack had never, ever laid a hand on you before. You reach your hand up to your face, and it comes away bright red, bloody, your lip split. You can’t hold back the choked, shaking sob that escapes your lips.

Everything explodes at once.

The roar that comes from Elvis is like nothing you’ve heard before. The anger he’d shown you is but a fraction of what you see now as he crosses the room, a menacing bull after a matador. He strides so quickly and fiercely with those long legs of his that Jack barely has time to register what is happening before Elvis punches him square in the jaw, then rapidly again right in the nose. You can hear the sickening break of it which turns your stomach. Or maybe it’s your own pain doing that, you’re not sure at this point.

Elvis doesn’t even say anything, so blacked out with rage that he can’t even speak. You watch from the floor as Jack stumbles back and his eyes widen in shock, then confusion.

“EP? What the—?” Jack starts to say, holding his nose as it starts to bleed down his face, but before he can get it out, Elvis has him by the throat. Those long fingers wrap around and begin to squeeze as Elvis walks Jack back into the wall. Shocked, you watch from the floor as Jack’s face begins to turn red and he begins to sputter, clawing at Elvis’ hand and arm. True fear begins to play over Jack’s features.

Suddenly, the guys are all yelling and rushing around you. Sandy’s hands yank you up and back out of the fray, and you feel dizzy, swaying on your feet. You’re not sure how, but she manages to get you on the couch, zipping up your dress in a flash, and then examines your injuries.

“Are you okay? Y/n, are you okay?” she asks frantically, but with the commotion in the room and the fuzzy white noise in your head, she feels a million miles away. Your eyes are locked on the insane sight in front of you, freezing you with shock.

The guys are desperately trying to pull Elvis off Jack, but his hand is like a vise around Jack’s throat. He’s strangling him, truly choking him because you can see Jack’s face start to go purple and his eyes begin to roll back.

Three of the guys are on Elvis’ back now while Red chops at his arms, trying to break his hold on Jack’s throat unsuccessfully.

Oh my god, if Elvis kills him, I’ll lose them both and it’ll be all my fault, you realize.

You rise to your feet, ignoring Sandy’s protests, ignoring the dizziness and throbbing in your head, and you somehow, through pure will, push yourself through the throng of men to Elvis’ side.

“Elvis! Elvis, you have to stop this,” you say firmly, staring into his beautiful, terrifying face. His eyes are black and unyielding, almost unrecognizable. His jaw is so clenched in his murderous fury that you think he’ll crack his teeth. You’re not even sure if he can hear you because he doesn’t give any indication that he can, but you have to get him to stop.

“Baby, you can’t do this. You’re killing him. You can’t kill him. Satnin, I can’t lose you and if you do this, we’ll both be lost,” you murmur, pleading in his ear for only him to hear, hoping against hope it gets through to him.

You watch Elvis blink a few times, as if waking briefly from his trance, his shoulders relaxing just enough that when Red slams down on his arms again, they give way. Jerry pulls you backwards with a yelp, as Jack coughs, sucking in deep, rattling breaths as he slumps down the wall.

You do not go to him.

Elvis’ lapse in rage is short lived, for he sees Red and turns on him quickly with another roar, throwing brutal punches. You see on Red’s face that he knows exactly why Elvis is coming for him. A few punches land hard, and you hear more of the crack of flesh on flesh. You can’t help but smile a little inside at Red getting what’s coming to him, but horrified at yourself, you push that thought right out of your brain.

But there is a reason Red is Elvis’ bodyguard. He’s tough and scrappy and much more prepared for a fight than Jack was. You can see he doesn’t want to hurt Elvis but blocks and dodges some of his punches more readily. Four of the Mafia surround Elvis now, grabbing his arms, his waist, holding him back from Red, holding him down.

Elvis struggles against them and lets out one last terrifying primal cry before they get him subdued, pushing him to his knees. His chest heaves as they continue to hold his arms, his chin lowered, those lethal blue eyes peering out from under the black hair falling in his face. They still home in on Jack and Red, who are licking their wounds at the other end of the living room.

Adrenaline courses through you, your heart threatening to pound through your ribs, the blood rushing in your ears, as you watch four men have to hold down the man you love to keep him from killing the men that hurt you. And you aren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. A small part of you is frightened by this side of Elvis, how he is gone so deep into his rage that the man you know is barely there at all. And you can’t help but feel responsible for this turn in him.

But another part of you feels vindicated and relieved and almost proud of his defense of you. Part of you swells with so much love for him that you want to fall to your knees and kiss him as if your life depended on it.

“You sonofabitch. You fucking wife-stealing asshole,” Jack rasps out bitterly at Elvis, cowering on the floor with Red and a couple of the other men surrounding him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” some of the guys cry, having to hold Elvis back from going ballistic again. His glare at Jack is so fierce, you think the look alone might kill him from across the room.

But you don’t stop to find out because you wrench out of Jerry’s grasp and somehow make it over to Jack before your brain catches up with your body. You don’t even have time to think twice before your hand pulls back and slaps open-handed across Jack’s cheek, the smack reverberating in your ears and stinging through your hand and up your arm.

But you don’t care.

Silence falls over the room once more. Jack stares up at you wide-eyed, with shocked indignation.

“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” you seethe, now fully infuriated that the man you once loved had hurt you so badly, in so many ways. “You lost me a long time ago, and Elvis had nothing to do with it, you cheating, lying, drunken bastard!” You lean over into his face, your voice low and biting, “And don’t you ever, ever, lay your hands on me again, or next time I won’t stop him from tearing you apart.”

You watch the mixture of surprise and contempt and fear play over Jack’s features for a moment before stepping back. You look back at Elvis and see his lip curl into a sly grin.

And then it all hits you at once. All your mistakes. Everyone staring at you in shock. Your dirty laundry aired out for all to see. The blood and pain bruising on your face, your head pounding, your vision hazy. The mortifying violence that has occurred in your name. Your lover almost murdering your husband.

Oh, god.

Suddenly, vertigo hits you hard and you are so dizzy that the room swims and sways in front of you. The bile rises so quickly that you don’t even have time to process what is happening before you are hurling your dinner onto the shag carpet.

Something is quite wrong, you realize. All your anger and doubts and regrets and love drain from you with a tingling coolness, and everything and everyone feels very far away, their cries muffled by the pain in your head. Then you fall into a dark oblivion, leaving the pain and consequences of your actions far, far behind, and you wonder fleetingly if it was all worth it.

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ghelgheli · 6 months

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17! but also using the opportunity of the ask game to get to know more about the effortless worldbuilding in sff :)

from the end-of-year book ask

17: Did any books surprise you with how good they were?

I think Three Body Problem is the only one meeting this condition this year so I'll have no trouble staying on topic :> but I'm gonna specifically talk about "hard" SF as I conceive of it—I haven't read any analysis so this may just be a jumble of improvised thoughts.

SF, being "speculative" fiction, of course has to take on the problem of speculating and of presenting things that don't (and perhaps cannot) happen. On average this is accomplished thru a healthy combination of scientific grounding and good-natured handwaving: I drop a few sentences about "quantum entanglement" and you go along with my ansible, or you tell me about "positronic circuits" and I agree that you can make a brain with them. This is the compact that makes SF work because you fundamentally cannot expect speculation without, well, ceding ground on reality.

But at least a subset of SF readers are of the kind to really want to grok how it is that this or that scientific feature of the world works or may come about. Every contraption and novel technology is like a puzzle to be riddled out. This is the place where speculation becomes sincere mechanical prediction, and it's why I love hard SF.

This subset of readers can be matched to a subgenre of writers who commit fully to filling in as many blanks in their technological, biological, etc. speculation as possible. The rows of astronomical data can't be left vague—tell me what frequency of light we're dealing with here—xenobiology isn't taken for granted—what is the neurology of your aliens??—and so on. The dots are connected, the rest of the owl is drawn for real, the image is made crisp. Like fireworks for the reader's brain.

When this kind of worldbuilding is executed well imo it looks effortless. Looks, not is, because behind every explanation of near-c travel is hours of research into at least special relativity and time dilation, along with calculations by-hand. Behind every account of an exoplanet's atmosphere is probably a few papers perused on the subject and several articles on scientific american. Peter Watts, in the note at the end of Blindsight, includes a fucking bibliography of a hundred or so references as well as thank-yous to many an academic he split handles of liquor with. And this is only the visible fragment of what has to be a library of knowledge accumulated both passively and actively to make a speculated world feel as concretely plausible as possible.

None of this is necessary for good SF. The aforementioned compact means any author can opt out of this commitment at any time. But it's what it takes to make tightly-written hard SF, where your conceptual hands are kept diligently at your side, waving an idea through maybe once every five chapters when you have no other choice.

So anyway, Three Body Problem is a tour de force in doing this and doing it cleanly. It uses a storytelling device a lot of hard SF employs to make it work: rather than stuffing dense exposition into narration (at which point, just read the source papers) it deploys a cast of characters who more than anything else, really know their shit. We get exposition trickle-fed through experts who are trying, along with us, to make sense of their novel environments and unfamiliar technologies using their knowledge of the present limits of human understanding. This is what Watts does in Blindsight too, by the way: a claustrophobic ship crewed by technical specialists makes first contact, so everyone has something encyclopedic to say about everything and it's only natural.

What astounded me about Cixin Liu's writing is that he made it work just when I least thought he would be able to. I was sure I was being shown things completely inexplicable and necessarily supernatural until he went and explained them in plain terms; better yet, he explained them in ways that made so much sense in retrospect that I was kicking myself for not seeing the answer. This has exactly the flavour of a good puzzle.

The trade-off hard SF makes is that you are often limited in the metaphorical/thematic work you can do through your speculation. I think the contrast between "calendrical science" in Yoon Ha Lee's Machineries of Empire series and Asimov's "psychohistory" illustrates this well.

Yoon Ha Lee has mathematical training, and calendrical science is a speculative field consisting of theorems, conjectures, proofs, etc. in the language of mathematics that stand in for cultural hegemony and power projection. This makes for a great operationalization of soft power: space is filled and distorted by the quantifiable effects of whatever regime is dominant there (the "calendar" here being synecdoche for culture writ large). But obviously he can't fill in the blanks of how a calendar causes spacetime distortions that specifically make one side's weapons more effective, or provide certain formations with shielding effects. This is, I guess, semi-hard (lol) SF—you can see how it's supposed to work, but it's clear that it just won't. What you get in return is pretty politically interesting storytelling.

Psychohistory is the converse: a deterministic-enough lovechild of economics and sociology explained in the Foundation series as using all the familiar methods of linear algebra and differential equations together with unfamiliar innovations of just how to quantify human behaviour in order to make reliable predictions. There are entire chapters dedicated to explaining the conceptual nuance that went into developing psychohistory ("the hand on thigh principle" from prelude to foundation is just about how the theory resolves divergence by reducing insignificant terms to zero) and an entire book to exploring one of its limitations. It's fascinating to read. But you also get little narrative depth out of it, because hard SF, even when done well, is not guaranteed to make a story thematically interesting or politically compelling. This is the Three Body Problem problem too: its political commitments are threadbare and unserious because that's just not what it's about. I couldn't recommend it on those terms, but that's not what I like so much about it. I will say the conceptualization goes a little off the rails in the final chapters, but I think most SF authors were in some kind of string theory inspired fugue state at the time.

What I would love to see (and I'm sure exists) is hard SF that also has interesting politics. Unfortunately that's an intersection of two already-narrow intersections.

ty for ask✨🐐

#ask answer #idk if that's what u were asking about but. well.#got some sleepy thoughts out #also this is not to say that there isn't tons of research in “soft” SF #it's just that it would be a different kind of research and a different library of knowledge

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writingbyshiloh · 2 years

Text

Dating Jim Halpert would include...

Word Count: 718

Warnings: none

I’m not sure if this is friend to dating headcanons or dating headcanons – so I did both! Secondly, I love Pam so this is an AU where she found someone amazing for her who treats her right.

The Dunder Mifflin office is always hectic so it was no surprise your first day there was chaotic

From your first day, Jim was always there to help you navigate through it, how to avoid pranks from Dwight, and how to deal with Micheal.

Jim thinks you're attractive from your first day but I feel like he won’t act on his feelings – Jim likes a slow burn. He is also polite and you never want to make anyone uncomfortable.

No matter what part of Dunder Mifflin you work in Jim will always find a reason to be there.

If you're a salesperson he would always be at your desk to help you with sales of course. If you're in accounting he would always be at your desk because he says he wants to learn more about accounting (this causes nothing but glares from Angela to the two of you). If in the back office, he would pass through the kitchen and bring you coffee/tea/juice

He would memorize how you like said drink too

He enlists Pam (his best friend) help to ask you out. He figures that she would be the most casual when finding out what movies and restaurants you like to eat at.

You kinda thought that he had a crush on you because of all the flirting and inside jokes. He would include you in prank planning and help you with pranks of your own. In staff meetings he would sit next to you and joke, causing you to stifle your laughter.

I like the idea of Dwight noticing your crush on Jim or Jim’s crush on you

You rolled your eyes and tried to muffle your laugh at the email Jim sent you. It was about an inside joke from the last useless staff meeting.

“What are you laughing about?” Dwight asked, not taking his eyes off of his work.

“Nothing just an email,” you replied, trying to keep your laughter under control as you felt heat rise in your face. You took off your cardigan to cool down.

“You just took off your sweater, indicating your blushing and you keep looking at Jim” he retorted.

“Dwight, that doesn’t mean anything. It's just sent a funny email” Jim said trying to defend you against Dwight.

“Yeah, just like Jim said” you tried in hopes that Dwight would drop the matter.

“Wrong. (Y/N)’s pupils dilate when talking to Jim, but contract when looking at others. It is a basic sign in humans of attraction”

You caught Jim's eye and felt your face get warmer.

“Flirt elsewhere. I’m trying to work here” Dwight grumbled before returning to his work.

After the conversation with Dwight and a private conversation, you and Jim go on a date! Something casual and not too fancy. Probably getting coffee or lunch on the weekend.

Also something fun! Like bowling, roller rink you name it!

To avoid drama in the office you two agree not to tell anyone

Pam notices a change in the dynamic between the two of you and immediately asks you for details. The rest of the office doesn't notice due to the mass amounts of drama that happen at work

If you wanted to tell everyone, Jim would agree as he would support whatever you wanted

Moving into a relationship did not change much from being friends with Jim, he is still always trying to make you laugh, supporting you no matter what

Once Michael finds out, all bets are off. He’ll want to go on double dates all the time and feel included. You two are getting invited over for dinner… many times

It is great if you like sports, but if you don't Jim would tell you all about them, trying to point out the key players and moves

If you have a bad day, he is ready. He has your favourite food/drinks at the ready, armed with jokes and any funny shows/movies you like.

Your face often hurts from laughing and smiling for hours

Overall a super caring, sweet, and funny boyfriend!

#Yes the format is not perfect but I also hate formatting #Thank you for the request!!!!!#I hope you like it! Even though it is months later lol #jim halpert x reader #the office x reader #the office fanfiction #jim halpert x you #jim halpert fanfiction #shiloh writing

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emeraldelysian · 1 year

Text

Moon Byulyi ✧ A Fine Taste

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Pairing: Moon Byulyi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Synopsis: With the late and disheveled arrival of your date, you are easily unimpressed by his demeanor and language. However, his lack of presence allowed you to engage in a flirtation with a woman across the bar- leading to heavenly wonders in the bar bathroom.

Wordcount: 2.6K+

Warnings: Brian’s lowkey homophobic, all my homies hate Brian; Reader has F. Anatomy; Bathroom Sex; Eating Out; Fingering; Praise Kink; Exhibitionist; Cum Eating

Note: This is honestly one of the best things I’ve ever written; Moonbyul is so hot in this and I don’t know if y’all will survive.

♡︎ follow, provide feedback, or reblog if you enjoyed but please don't repost or translate!♡︎

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

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“Sorry I'm late,” he says.

As he briskly removes his jacket and shakes the rain from his hair, droplets fling onto the white tablecloth. A few land in the half-empty breadbasket, the contents of which are no longer steaming as they had been when the waiter first brought it to the table.

“I’m Brian,” he says, extending his hand to you.

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the gesture—a bit too proper for someone who couldn’t even be bothered to account for the weather in rush hour traffic. Not to mention that he was interrupting wherever the night had been headed with the beautiful stranger at the bar, the one you had been eye-fucking the whole time you’d been waiting for him.

You shake Brian’s outreached hand anyway, hoping he doesn’t mistake the flush in your cheeks and cold sweat on your palms as a side effect of his presence.

“Y/N,” you say. For one horrific moment when he hesitates, you suspect he might bring your fingers to his lips, oblivious to your annoyance. Much to your relief, he releases his grip and narrows his eyes at the open bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket between you both instead.

His brow arches. “Oh,” he says, frowning at the centerpiece, digging his wallet out of his pocket. “I see you’ve helped yourself. Not too expensive for a first date, I hope?”

It’s not just his words, but the screech of the chair and the stench of cheap cologne that makes you wrinkle your nose.

You don’t miss the way the brunette’s attention keeps drifting back to your table, her gaze flickering between you and your intruder.

You stifle a laugh. You weren’t invested in being set up with her mother’s colleague's son. But you do find it a little funny, now that he’s finally here, that he’s intruding on his own date.

Your admirer is clearly still interested, setting her sights now on your bare legs. Sucking in a breath, you steel yourself before crossing your knees. Your fingers twitch, but you fight the instinct to stop your skirt from rising to the side where the slit reveals your thigh.

“You’re in the clear,” You say, doing nothing to hide the sarcasm dripping from your tone. “It was a gift.”

His unkempt brows disappear behind his fringe. “Someone you know?”

Not yet.

“Nope,” you reply, folding your arms, pointer finger tapping against your bicep.

He waits for you to elaborate.

Cocking your head to the side, you opt for playing dumb instead.

“Well, I guess we owe our mysterious onlooker a thank you,” he remarks after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“My,” You correct.

His lips press together in a tight line. “What?”

“You were nowhere to be found,” you remind him. “So she is my mysterious onlooker, no?”

His pupils dilate, jaw unclenching. “She?”

You stiffen and nod, loathing how much you can anticipate his next response.

“Well, I guess I have nothing to worry about then.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you counter, sighing at his baffled expression, “I’m not only into men.”

It takes a few seconds for your words to sink in and then, “Oh!” His face brightens, morphing into one of delight, as he glances around the restaurant, like a dog sniffing out his new favorite toy.

“Would you-”

“I need to use the ladies' room,” you snap, cutting off what was sure to be another request for a threesome from a straight man.

It’s not that you have anything against them- threesomes, or straight men in general. But you certainly won’t be entertaining anything with this one anytime soon, alone or with a partner.

Brian’s mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish washed up on the shore. You might have thought he was mildly handsome under different circumstances, but with the mere 5 minutes of his initial presentation, you were already tired of interacting with him.

You straighten your spine and walk tall away from your table. Your neck tingles as you pass the brunette woman, who is still nursing the same glass of whiskey, and her entourage. The sting of her eyes tracking your trajectory prickles every inch of your exposed skin.

You hasten into the bathroom and blow out a deep breath once inside. You blink at your reflection, fixing your appearance. Your palms linger, caressing and squeezing, imagining another pair of hands covering your own.

You could leave if you wanted. Just scrawl your number on a paper towel for your new crush and then sneak out the back. Then start a nice warm bath once back in your apartment, teasing yourself with your favorite vibrator. Dragging out your orgasm until you cum, fantasizing about those sunlit locks tangled through your fingers and soft rose kisses between your thighs.

Your mother would be livid for ditching Brian, making it all the more tempting.

With a sigh, you run the cold water into the sink, but just as you’re about to splash your flushed face, the door swings open, startling you. You glance up at the door through the mirror, the coffee-eyed beauty in holding eye contact with you as the door clicks shut behind her.

“Hello,” she says, calm and sweet with a soft hum of approval as her gaze lowers a fraction and your nipples harden beneath her stare.

Momentarily forgetting how to speak, your mouth snaps shut. The other woman’s lips curl into a soft grin, closing the distance to lean around you and turn off the faucet.

“I’m Moon Byulyi, but you can call me Moonbyul,” she says, resting her hip against the counter, tugging her brown locks to one side to expose her neck, and angling her body towards you in the process. Your breath hitches, as you imagine running your fingers down Moonbyul’s clavicle.

You swallow. “Hi,” you say. Moonbyul arches a brow with such precision that you’re convinced she must have practiced that look at least a dozen times before. You clear your throat before adding, “I’m Y/N.”

“Hi, Y/N,” she murmurs, as a lover might from between the sheets. “It’s nice to meet you.” She doesn’t reach out to take her hand. Instead, she seems to be waiting for your next move.

You wipe your palms on your dress, before wriggling them together. “You have a fine taste,” you murmur and immediately regret it. Moonbyul’s eyes light up, teeth sinking into her ruby-painted lip to stifle her laughter. “-in wine!” You finish quickly, blood rushing to your cheeks again.

There’s a startling contrast between how controlled you are when men fawn over you, to how quickly you are reduced to a pool of mush when you’re caught in the sights of a pretty lady. Moonbyul licks her lips and all at once, the only thing you can focus on is how her mouth looks as inviting and red and sweet as the wine poured into your glass, empty and abandoned at the table.

Along with your date.

There must be something in your expression that’s easy to read, because the next thing Moonbyul says is, “How long before you need to get back?”

You could tell her that you’re already planning an escape route, maybe even invite Moonbyul to come home with you. But the low huskiness of Moonbyul’s voice and the flash of danger in her eyes spark your curiosity past the point of no return. How far would you be willing to go here?

Your heart quickens, as you lift your chin and muster up the courage to say, “However long it takes.”

Moonbyul’s eyes widen a fraction, apparently taken aback by this sudden forwardness. You wonder if you’ve made an awful mistake.

You aren’t left wondering for long.

Time speeds up. One moment your feet are steady on the floor and the next your backside is pressed up against the sink while ridiculously soft fingers roam your torso, reaching upwards to trace your jaw, asking for permission. You release a shuddering breath and words escape you, before you’re frantically nodding into the kiss, hands skimming up Moonbyul’s silk blouse to knead her warm flesh.

You swallow Moonbyul’s moan as she moves to ruck up your navy dress. “Can I-”

“If you don’t, I will,” you admit.

Moonbyul beams at you and she melts into a puddle under your touch. “Up,” she commands and then adds, teasingly, “I want to see how fine my taste is.”

You bury your face in Moonbyul’s neck, sucking a mark onto her pulse point and nipping at her shoulder before obeying, hopping up onto the counter. A strangled gasp leaves your mouth when your bare skin hits the cool metal.

Moonbyul shushes you, a gentle, “I got you,” passing her lips, breath tickling her chin.

Your stomach swoops as Moonbyul glides between your legs. She tugs the dip of your dress down like she’s unwrapping a present and swirls her tongue around your nipple like it’s her favorite flavor of ice cream.

You hiss at the sudden scrape of her teeth. “Wait-”

Moonbyul stills, instantly pulling back to check you over. “What’s wrong?”

“The door-” you pant. “Is it locked?”

Moonbyul’s smile is predatory. “Maybe,” she hedges, “if you want it to be.” Her lips brush against your ear. “But isn’t it hotter, not knowing if that inconsiderate boyfriend of yours will come barreling through here only to find my tongue buried deep in your cunt?”

Your moan is feral and yeah, maybe you should explain that Brian is most definitely not your boyfriend, but you’re not going to ruin this moment.

Your eyes meet again, mouth tumbling after. Moonbyul’s determination rolls off of her in waves, searching every inch of your skin, latching onto whatever sensitive flesh will make you shudder and gasp. Moonbyul rolls one of your nipples between her forefinger and thumb, sucking the other into her mouth with kitten licks and nips.

“You’re not playing fair,” you mutter, as Moonbyul draws her lips away with a pop, rewarding you with a seductive smirk.

“I don’t like rules.” The confession rolls off her tongue like it’s the world’s dirtiest secret. “But I do like keeping track of the ones I break.”

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you groan while arching her back as Moonbyul slides your soaked lace panties down your legs and stuffs them into her purse.

“I’ll make up for it later,” she promises, the implication alone sending a thrill up your spine. Moonbyul sinks down to the floor. “Spread your legs for me, love.”

Your head drops back and hits the mirror at the words. The ghost of a kiss finds the inside of your knee.

“That’s it,” Moonbyul cues. Her praise does wonders to your body, sending a shiver straight to your clit. You briefly wonder if this is the work of some benevolent goddess, given that you were praying for this exact scenario not five minutes earlier.

You’ll worry about which religion to convert to later.

You look down just in time to catch Moonbyul in the act of sliding two fingers past her lips, sucking and coating them in spit. It’s probably not necessary, given that you’re practically vibrating with arousal, but Moonbyul makes a show of it and she’s such a pretty picture like this.

Hell, you’re not going to stop her.

Moonbyul’s smile is coy when she catches you ogling her like she knows all the filthy thoughts running through your mind.

“Relax,” she says between quick breaths as she presses in closer. You grip Moonbyul’s free hand. Moonbyul flips it over lacing your fingers together, causing your heart to halt and stutter against her. “We’re both going to enjoy this.”

Moonbyul’s nose brushes up against your clit, breathing you in and sending small puffs of air over your center. Then, she pauses, leaving you wanting for a moment. She waits right up until you begin to squirm until a soft please leaves your lips. And then, as if that’s what she was waiting for, one long finger slips inside you with ease, the familiar pressure causing your eyes to roll back.

It’s been too long since anyone has done this for you.

Moonbyul presses a chaste kiss to your clit before diving her tongue between your folds, humming and vibrating against you. You are up the wall with need, each new sensation igniting a white fire in your veins. She explores your cunt just like she explored the rest of you, thoroughly mapping your entire body with her mouth and tongue, and fingers.

Moonbyul drags this out until you are dripping and pleading for her to return her attention to that bundle of nerves, before sliding another finger inside, curling at the knuckles, and playing your pleasure spot like a piano key. She learns fast, discovering where to apply more pressure each time you let out the most embarrassing noises, and exactly how much it takes to make you sing. Your toes curl as Moonbyul finds that sweet spot again and again.

“Hush,” Moonbyul murmurs from above your clit, causing you to jerk against Moonbyul’s mouth. “You don’t want anyone bursting in here to check on us now, do you?” You involuntarily clench down on her fingers and you feel Moonbyul’s smirk sweep across your inner thigh. “Or perhaps you do, naughty girl.”

With those words echoing in your mind, your orgasm builds inside you. Every thrust of Moonbyul’s fingers and every twist of her tongue brings you closer to release.

You thread your fingers through Moonbyul’s hair as delicately you can manage, but when they tighten and tug in spite of your care, Moonbyul’s movements grow more eager. She rolls her tongue harder against your clit, crooking her knuckles deeper.

There’s a sharp knock on the door and you gasp; the jump sends you right over the edge. You tighten and snap, riding out your orgasm on Moonbyul’s face, biting your fist to muffle your screams. Your vision whites out and your legs shake. Moonbyul slows her pace, gently licking around your folds as you come down from your high.

The deep voices behind the door grow louder and more urgent. You nearly panic but Moonbyul takes care of it. She pulls away far enough to shout, “Just give us a minute, we’re dealing with some girly issues if you catch my drift.”

You might have laughed if she weren’t so exhausted.

Once the footsteps fade away, Moonbyul rests her head against your thigh, looking through her lashes. “You good?” she asks softly.

You nod and smile back at her, standing to help Moonbyul fix her suit. You think about asking for your panties back but decide it would be better to save it as an excuse to see Moonbyul again.

You hop down and reach for Moonbyul’s hand, stilling yourself. “Will I be able to return the favor?”

Moonbyul cocks her head, licking the taste of you from the seam of her lips. You try not to, but you can’t help the shiver that travels up your spine at the sight.

“Is that your way of asking for my number?” Moonbyul asks, coy.

Hesitating only a moment, you reply, “Actually I was asking if you’d like to come home with me.”

Moonbyul's smooth brow creases, eyes widening. “That’s rather bold of you.”

You bite your cheek to keep from snorting. “Not nearly as bold as fucking another person’s date on a public bathroom counter.”

“That’s fair.” She hums. “You’re going to break that poor boy’s heart, you know.”

Your nose wrinkles. “Doubtful, we’d only just met.”

“So did we,” Moonbyul counters.

You lean forward, lacing your fingers with hers. “And do I have the power to break your heart, Byulie?”

Moonbyul catches her grin between her teeth.

“I think I’d like to find out, love.”

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