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writefightandflightclub · 3 years ago

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Six Ways to Sunday: Marc Spector x fem!reader (part 1/2)

Summary:

Yeah. It was only ever meant to be a one time thing. Just a one night stand. A casual Tinder hook-up with no strings and even fewer feelings.

Clearly, you had both decided that once wouldn’t be enough; but you’re still not sure you’re on the same page about what qualifies as too much.

Rating: EXPLICIT. This is 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI.

Genre: Smut with some plot (bear with it), some light angst.

Characters: Marc focussed, a cameo from Steven, fem!reader. Written when Marc and Steven have more communication going than they do by ep 2′s close.

Word count: 9k

Author’s note: I’ve opted to post this fic in 2 parts, so this part of a larger whole. It can totally be read as a standalone too, though I hope you’ll be excited to read part 2 as well? This is set up to part 2′s resolution - I just couldn’t finish them both just yet, so the split made sense for me - and hopefully for you, because this is already 9k! This is written after I saw ep 2 and before 3, so I have very little of Marc’s characterisation to go on. I was inspired by how Marc is protective of those in his life, and how sometimes that results in them being pushed away. I wanted to play with Marc doing his utmost to keep someone at arm’s length. How he might manage to fulfil some, ahem, needs but bury others. In this part, it plays out as explicit smut (and okay, I admit to a component of this being rather self-indulgent PWP), but I promise an emotional arc is buried overall, between parts 1 and 2 :o) Nervous to post but hope you like?

Warnings: VERY EXPLICIT ROUGH SMUT, from the get go, fully consensual, inc: public/risky sex (p in v), daddy kink; pain kink / blood kink / exhibitionism if you squint; slight age gap implied(?) - mainly as Marc calls reader “kid”, once, but I see him as doing this with anyone even slightly younger than him given how worldly he is- they are 100% plenty more than of age; fingering; oral mentions. Hook-ups / casual sex partner situation. Condoms, mentions of bareback. Marc being emotionally witholding. One moment where onlookers see what’s going on (reader obscured from view) and they make a non-consensual sexual comment about reader - the narrative quickly moves on from this. Not proofed very well. Sorry, if this is a mess - I’ve been ill, so this all may be one long fever dream anyway :P

GIF: by the amazing @damerondjarin 🧡

By clicking to read more, you are agreeing you are over the age of 18 and agree to read adult themes, as per the warnings above. Minors, DO NOT INTERACT.

You let out a ragged moan as you feel the swell of him splitting you apart, his fat, contoured head punching aggressively at a spot so deep inside of you that the edges of your vision blur, whiting-out like the soft edges of the moon. Fittingly, besides Marc, the round, full, bright spot is your only spectator in this tucked away backstreet, shining down on you from above the staggered constellation of rooftops beyond.

Hinged at the hips to present your rear to him, to place yourself at his mercy, you rake your hands down the wall for purchase as you feel your knees almost buckle and betray you with this divine swell of him, scraping textured, mottled brick and carving a hundred tiny crescents into your palms. Perfect little blood moons. The singing sting only takes you higher and you wane for him already, adjusting hurriedly – impaled on his dick - before he starts to move. You know all too well how that taut body of his holds enough power to knock you right out of orbit.

From behind you, you hear a perfunctory grunt from Marc as your walls grip and writhe on his length, subtly correcting angles like some divine geometry; and then, he is drawing out of you, inch by unforgiving inch. His hands clamping into the gathered meat of your hips – and you brace yourself. You brace yourself for the full force of him slamming his length back home, remaking the shape of you from within.

You don’t have long to make this count, not here, in this dark, public corner, but luckily – he’s long enough for the both of you. If anyone could make this count, you believe it’s him.

You whimper then, tears spiking in your eyes with sheer, unabashed relief as he finally fucks into you like this, the motion slamming your whole body and sending ripples through your flesh. Again and again, he slams you, picking up the pace and spearing you on the thick mass of him.

Your flimsy heels struggle for purchase on the rain-wetted concrete, one foot languishing in a puddle - but you can scarce care. In fact, as soon as you push your ass back to meet the force of his thrusts - his hands digging harder into the meat of your hips - you couldn’t care less about the dismal back street. Not the odour of old beer bottles or the drip of leftover rain from the gutters. Not the shush of the 47 bus in the adjacent street nor the distant shouts of drunk revellers making their way home.

You do not care about anything but this. Not as soon as Marc pulls you down on him so deep that you feel the slap of his balls and the bracing of his thighs against yours, his hot skin clammy against you as he slams home hard. You can hear your arousal as he fucks you; an abrupt, repetitive motion which punches sharp, rhythmic exhales from your lungs, your mouth dropping open in rapture and disbelief at the pleasure already tightening and coalescing in your middle like some bound star.

The motion is like a wave – back and forth – in and out, in and out. In and out of your tight, wet, suckering heat. Your necklace pendulums chaotically, the pendant colliding with the soft cushion of your shuddering breasts, lifted from out of their lace cups by his greedy hands only moments before. Your nipples are still wet with his spit, your breasts bitten and sucked until your nipples became puffy and your clit had ached for equivalent attentions.

It strikes you how exposed you are for him, here like this. Your ass bared with your skirt hitched up over the globes of you, your breasts bouncing and swaying with every brutal snap of his hips. Your arousal leaking from you and coating your inner thighs – coursing down his balls as he fills you with every inch he has to give. As much as you try to hold it together, it is unravelling you, your core a pool of pale, molten moonlight for him; your juices leaking from you and dripping down his straining shaft, the night air kissing coolness against your hot, slickened skin.

You let it happen. Marc is the one who is in control here, as though you are merely his avatar; some externalisation of his needs and wants. That’s okay, though. You give your body to him willingly, as your needs and wants in this moment overlap so closely with his, they are a circle; as bright and clear as the celestial object looking down on you now, shrouded by clouds like a mask over that lit face.

In case you were getting too comfortable, Marc fists a hand in your hair, pain needling over your scalp and causing your body to arc for him like a bent stem, spine curling. The angle of penetration shifts and immediately, his urgent thrusts begin to spark a pleasure that’s hot and bright in your centre; one which threatens to engulf you as he opens you up for him, like his wanton night-blooming flower.

It feels good. But more than that it feels hot and sweaty and thoroughly sordid. He’s taking you in some dingy back street from behind, like he couldn’t physically wait to have you. Like the quickening of his desire grew too stark for propriety. Like the need you inspired within him, with your lips working his hot throat and your fingers teasing the bulging shaft of him through his trousers, was too pressing to wait until you could ride the DLR home, alight at your stop, politely bypass your roommate, and spread you open on the crisp white Egyptian cotton of your sheets, until you were a tangle of limbs with him.

No. Marc had to have you now, urgent and raw and ravenous. He had to have you here. Had to remake you in the shadows. In the dark. He called you his fox, once, for you are his nocturnal animal. You think he is a wolf. He is just one man, seemingly so solitary, but he hunts with the precision of a pack, seeing from every angle. His eyes hold secrets. Tell of many facets working as one. He takes you down on his teeth and you know it is coming, but God, you relish that chase.

Your hair still tugged taut in the claws of his fingers, he twists your head towards him, wishing to see the pleasure play out on your face, perhaps. Gasps and puffs of air emptied of sound coming staccato from your lips, painted red as blood. You can’t really see him, but you can feel him, deep in the cavern of you as his thrusts punch your cervix, your whole body glowing with a deep suffusing warmth. Can’t really see much more than a silhouette. A shadow.

Like a moon before the sun, Marc’s dense, sculpted body eclipses the warm and yellowed ambience inside the pub, his form hunched - broad and muscled - between your body and the back door as he pumps himself into you. The pub which you had left for dead as soon as the swell of your desire has spirited you away from there, leading you to abandon the merry patrons and the craft IPAs and sticky floor in favour of this quick but very necessary dalliance.

It was a no brainer.

Your need had been just as urgent as his.

It’s not elegant, like this; but, it certainly is efficient. There’s no romance about this, certainly. It’s dirty and it’s sordid and you’re getting railed unceremoniously behind a stack of crates; but God, it’s good.

He smacks your buttock with his strident palm and a sudden sting radiates across your skin, the sharp, percussive sound bouncing off brick as you swallow you moans down into your chest.

You’re getting close, and Marc’s pace shows no sign of relenting.

Maybe it -this- shouldn’t be enough for you - this hasty fuck with your skirt hitched up above the cushion of your arse, entirely undignified – but, somehow, it’s more than. Marc makes this seem like everything you could want from a man. Everything and then some. Maybe it’s because he’s so fucking-

-You spit out an abortive moan.

- because he’s so fucking deep.

Of course it feels like enough, when he’s giving you almost more than you can take.

He’s giving you everything he’s got and yet, somehow, he still manages to seem so withholding. Barely any sound emanating from him. Only a series of harsh, sawing puffs of air. A peppering of restrained grunts as he has you convulsing on the needy mass of him, your eyes practically rolling back into your head with how good it feels to be taken like this.

The strangled sound you make when he smacks you again is alien to you, a yowl caught in your throat like a rabbit in a snare; but still, you want more. Always more.

And so, you rail against his punctuated thrusts, pushing your buttocks back in rhythm to meet that determined, urgent snap and angling of his hips. He’s giving it to you hard.

So hard that the grip of his hands is almost too harsh, digging into your middle like he could mould you into any shape he needed around him. So hard that your earring has shaken free from one ear, dropping to the floor. That the breasts he man-handled from the lace cups of your bra are bouncing far more violently now. So hard that he makes your body feel like a rag doll. Makes your mind blank out, as though you could forget who you are.

You’re full of him. So full.

He’s not gentle with you, not in the least. There are no roses here; but then again, Marc’s learned all too well how much you can take without breaking. He’s learned how much you like the thorns.

You don’t have long left. Not long at all before you-

“-Oh God.”

“There are no gods here, baby,” he bites off, his voice pleasingly hoarse and scolding. Sunken with need and exertion. “Only me.”

“Marc!” you correct, saying his name like a prayer all the same. Feeling the strain and tremble in your parted legs. The legs he had unceremoniously kicked open when he had spun you against the wall, hinging your hips to pert your heat towards him. Your spread legs with your red lace knickers stretched down around your parted knees, damp with the slick of your first release. You feel the echo of it now. The memory of where Marc had curled his hand like a crescent moon and beckoned your orgasm to him with ease. The feel of his girthy digits thrust inside of your slick. Buried up to the knuckle.

Now, you chase your second wave of pleasure, and he controls it like a moon would drag the tide. You feel a sea inside you roll and swell, entirely at his mercy, and you wish to soak him with it. Soothe over the sand in his throat as he expels guttural noises of pleasure. Over the heat of him, his sturdy body against you, his warmth bleeding through where he contacts you.

“Shit, Marc!”

Encouraged by you, his hips slam into the cushion of your bare ass so hard from behind that you have to brace yourself more thoroughly, palms splayed as wide as they will go against the mottled brick wall, and the sting as the rough texture drives pinpricks of pain across your palms only driving you higher. You keen a sliding note from between your lips, rough yet musical like the scratch and slur of a bow over strings - your core pulling just as taut.

You hear a commotion at the mouth of the alley which threatens to tear you from this bliss; but Marc is already reacting, slowing his thrusts slightly and waiting for the revellers to straggle by. You groan angrily – but not at the chance of being observed; rather at the subduing of his pace - and Marc chuckles darkly at your evident distress. He kneads your ass as you buck and writhe it on him in search of greater friction. Smooths over your flesh where only moments ago whips of his palm had marked you, the sharp smack bouncing off brick and ricocheting into your head.

“Marc! Fuck! Please! Don’t stop!” You shuck out the words, voice hoarse with desperation. You’re sure he’s trying to protect you but why can’t he understand that you don’t care. You don’t care who sees you. Let them watch. Let them watch how he fills you so full that you are overflowing.

“Sssssshhhhh”, Marc scolds, the sound filtering in to the shell of your ear, and with his hot, discombobulated breath sawing across your neck you realise that he has drawn your limpening body closer to his, back now flush to his sturdy, sculpted chest. “Be quiet for me, huh, pretty girl?”

You can barely think coherent thoughts any longer but you nod. You’re nodding and he’s tipping your chin, up and back, until your head is reclined against the junction of his dense, muscled shoulder. His hand is winding around the front of your throat, palm clammy with sweat and heavy with the scent of you; from where his thick fingers worked the seam of you open for him.

God. This is how he – as one wolf - works like a pack. His dick, his hands, his mouth, his tongue. His voice. All conspiring to take you down. To take you apart. All working as one to dismantle you. It feels premeditated. It feels systematic. It feels unstoppable.

Ragged breaths saw in your lungs now, your eyes falling shut with the weight of this incomprehensible need. The shift in position is a relief, the muscles in your arms and back aching from bracing against his sex, muscles cramping with the pulse of lactic acid under your skin.

You whimper, trying to beg for him to fuck you hard again but unable to get the words out, the slower drag of him through your heat teasing you deliciously, stoking your release.

God, he feels good.

The sturdy trunk of him up pressed up against your back. The meat of his muscled quads hard and smooth, tensing against the back of your legs as he fucks up into you - just shallow enough to make you want to curse him and just deep enough that you forget how.

Still, you cannot see him, which seems like a crime when the man is so fucking beautiful. But, you can smell him - the exertion evaporating from his body. Can hear him - the ways he is coming undone too. Percussive grunts. The chaotic jangling of his belt buckle as he fills you. You envision his jeans shoved down around his ample hips. Can imagine his peachy bum and thick thighs clenching – more than one full moon on display tonight.

Then, hooking one forearm under the crook of your left leg and shuffling you closer towards the wall, he draws your knee up to the side, meaning he can penetrate you just a little deeper. Fuck. That makes all the difference.

You scream for him as he picks up the pace again, balls resuming their rhythmic slap against you. “Too much?” he asks, knowing fine well it isn’t. Knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. You can’t see it, but you can hear the crescent-shaped uptick of his lips. Can hear how amused he is by how easily he is able to dismantle you. He knows all the ways how.

“More!” The words are punched from your lungs. “Give me more, Marc. Please. Harder.” You wring a pretty moan from deep within your chest as he snaps his hips up hard, and you barely know how you’re still standing on one flimsy stiletto but between your palms -rebraced against the wall - and his sturdy, muscled form taking some of your weight, you aren’t moving anywhere. At least, nowhere except deeper on to his shaft as he fucks you into oblivion. As he finds the rhythm that you want. That he knows you need.

This. This is how it goes. This is how it always goes. He’s going to take you apart; but, this is a well-matched fight. You’re also going to make him come undone. You are determined, that you will dissolve his restraint into chaos.

He drops your leg then and walks your body forwards, driving his hips and feet with you until he’s pinning you in place with his own weight. Until you are cramped helplessly between him and the wall, nowhere to go and nothing to do but keep taking it, his thrusts shallow and languid once more – the calm before the storm.

He loves teasing you and you hate him for it.

Still, for someone you claim to hate, you sure are fond of Marc right now. It certainly sounds like it. Indeed, you submit more pretty moans to him, flowered things, and meanwhile, he remains inscrutable as ever. You’d barely know his own end was close unless you’d learned to interpret the signs – clues he leaves, like some forgotten glyphs littered over his body. You think you must be the only one fluent. You can feel the ramping tension in his limbs, the discombobulated pace of his breath, the harsh set of his jaw. Still, he aims – as always, Lord knows why - to obscure the hold you have over him, and so, when he speaks again, the cracks in his voice are all smoothed out.

“Are you ready for a real fucking, beautiful?” His voice is rich and full-bodied now. Brimming with warmth and flavour, like the whisky you had tasted on his tongue as it had shoved over yours. “Gonna be a good girl for Daddy? Take my dick hard until I spill for you?”

He fucks up into you, just a little harder to foreshadow the rougher pace of his sex.

“Please.”

With your plea submitted, Marc buries himself into you as deep as he can go and he holds there for a moment, his cock twitching and needy inside you as your walls tighten, clamping around the head of him. Coiling up. Preparing to drown him in the flood of your release.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Please, Daddy,” you beg, intoning a husky, throaty submission to him.

Shit. Fuck. Shit, you can barely fight it any longer.

He knows how that gets you. Calling him those things. Having him stay so calm and sure while you become chaos around him.

Again, he fucks you harder. Faster. He’s fucking you deep now, his hips snapping and pistoning and setting a brutal pace. You whimper pathetically, noises throaty and high-pitched. All undone - in such contrast to his deep, American smooth. His cool calm and his steady pace as you barrel ever closer to your end. Closer; and he keeps filling you. Keeps driving himself into the depths of you.

You are impossibly wet for him now. So wet and slick and accommodating that he groans. That he has to bite down and bury his head in the junction of your shoulder so that he stays quiet too. So wet, that he has to fight not to slip out of you, even if -at the same time- it feels like he’s filling you airtight, forcing your juices out of you since they have nowhere else to go.

“Mmm. Daddy,” you praise, twisting your head and straining to capture his lips, that amused crescent uptick gone from his lips and his whole face instead weighted by his pleasure. His face harsh planes, stern and shadowed, the pale moonlight joining you and stooping to kiss his brow. His high cheekbones and prominent nose, painting him with an ethereal glow like a fingertip through settled dust.

His tongue shoves over yours, and you swallow down his subtle, delicious moans, his thrusts becoming lazy and sloppy and you know that he’s close. Know you are dismantling him too, with less precision than he has shown you, but with equal force.

“When are you going to pull it together and fuck me, Daddy,” you tease, you chide, you tempt, and he laughs deliciously then. A dark but rich sound that promises you shouldn’t play with him; not unless you’re sure you can handle the consequences.

It’s not that you want this over with, no. Not that you want it to end. You don’t. It’s more that it’s a rush. Having him in the shadows like this. Making him spill over with his need for you. The fact that he keeps coming back for more when this was only ever supposed to be once. He could get it anywhere he wanted it; you’re sure he could have his pick. But he keeps coming back for more of you. You wish to feel that desire, that need, that want, shooting up into you. Want to be awash with it. Want to hold it in your centre like for a moment he could be in your orbit.

All that, yes, but most of all, you just want him to fuck you as hard as he can give it to you, and almost harder than you can take it.

He obliges.

You weaken as he hits your sweet spot, over and over.

“Please,” you keen, and he knows what you need. Always does.

He growls as he shoves his fingers past your lips - and you know what to do. You lave your tongue over them, sucking on them. Wetting them so he can move them down and rub your clit in circles; waxing and waning in a cycle which has you dizzy, your pleasure spinning you out of orbit. He plants a wet, biting slap to you the mound of you which had aftershocks zipping through your body.

He’s fucking you now, alright. Fucking you so hard it’s like he hates you. Or, maybe, like he hates himself. Like this is all he can allow himself. All he deserves. He might be cast in moonlight; but he only gives himself to you in the dark. In pieces, like there’s more of him you may never have. A crescent - a slice of him, despite that he is not at all broken. Despite that he must be entirely whole. Despite that you feel full with him. You only ever see the face he wishes to show you.

“Come for me,” you plead, unable to last out any longer, and wanting to tip over the edge together.

“Make me,” he rumbles, voice full of grit and seeping into every crack and every weakness in you like a shifting sandstorm. “Wring it out of me.”

“Marc!” Another plea as his hips snap against your ass, obscene noises filling the alleyway and your head. His name slips past your lips on a wave of praises and curses and expletives.

“Ah ah,” he scolds, and his voice is as deep and as dark as the shadows coalescing around you. You swear he must be grinning like a jackal with his next words readied in his mouth. “You can call me Daddy.”

Fuck. And there it is. That’s enough for you. That is more than enough for you to clamp down on him; or, it would be, but it is, in fact, the soft kiss he plants on the spot beneath your ear – in the next moment - which turns out to be your final breaking point. Which has you convulsing wildly on his length. Gushing over the fat head of him. The softness of his lips on your neck the act finally tipping the scales (those scales which have been seeking balance all this time) in your favour.

You shiver with it, and find your release, Marc chasing you soon after, his hips jerking and stuttering entirely out of rhythm. You offer your mouth to him for hungry, devouring kisses, tongue sliding over his as he comes undone. A taste of iron floods your tongue, as though he has bitten down hard enough on his own lip to draw blood – perhaps in attempts to stave off his end. God, you love that you can make him come undone. That he has to fight it, not to give in to you too soon.

Well, he gives in to you fully now.

You feel Marc’s thick length spasm deliciously inside of you, filling the condom, the pulse of his seed zipping from his balls and emptying inside of you drawing jittering aftershocks from your cunt.

God, you wish he could truly shoot himself up inside of you. Paint your walls with his spend until you were weeping with him. Claim you in that primal way.

Still twitching, on his softening length, another’s voice rips you away from this moment all too abruptly. “Wheeeyyyy! We’ve got a full moon out here tonight lads,” a reveller announces, spilling out from the pub’s back door, no doubt getting an eyeful of Marc’s behind. “Getting some action, fella? Fancy giving me a go of your missus next?”

Christ. Talk about timing.

You scramble for your modesty; but meanwhile, Marc is eerily calm, one hand clamping and pinning your hips flush to him with an iron grip. The other, gently tilting your head away, preserving your modesty via anonymity, and via the protective mask of his own body.

“Go back inside,” you hear him intone, his voice dripping with dark and threat, and directed towards the group of onlookers.

You are moments from panic -especially given your position of vulnerability - when, to your surprise, they obey. “Yeah, alright fella. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” You might wonder how he had such power over them, were you not equally caught up in doing his bidding. In fact, you can fully understand their obedience. Marc has an edge to him; sharp enough that you would not dare cross it for fear of being cut. Still, at the same time, you have never feared him. Not once. He is restraint around you. Protective. Only ever wielding the blunt side of his power. Only wielding it in ways you like.

Once the group has retreated, Marc holds the base of the condom and slips himself out of you -an easy glide. Bereft of his fullness, you feel pleasantly used up and fucked open, your pool of slick cool against the night air.

As you catch your breath, chest heaving, he swivels you around carefully, propping you with you back against the wall. He pulls your skirt down quickly to cover your modesty, even before he sees to his own pants, tucking his softening, sated roll of cock away with a one-handed slip of leather belt through its buckle. In the other he holds the condom, which he discards next– almost dropping it down a drain before looking perturbed and mouthing “fishes”- into an adjacent bin.

Then, he crosses back to you, watching you with interest as you quickly pull up your knickers, a struggle as the silky, lacy material sticks to your heated, clammy thighs.

Marc hums and moves his body close to you now, those delicious eyes raking over you - heavy lidded half-moons. Dark planets pulling you into their thrall.

“Mmm. Marc,” you hum with satisfaction, looping your arms around his middle to pull him flush to you, grateful of his warmth as the night chill claims your heat. You kiss the stray bead of sweat from his temple, gathering it on your tongue as though it is the last pearl of water in a desert. The only thing which could quench you, and your lips linger there.

“You good?” he asks smoothly. “Wasn’t too rough?”

You shake your head, and he chides you for your lack of clarity. “Use your words, Princess.”

“’M good,” you confirm.

He nods once, satisfied with that, and your gaze sweeps over the planes of his face. The face which looks sharp and shadowed when it counts, but always marginally softer in these fleeting moments after. As though you could muster power to have him soften further, you lift your palm, pressing it flush to his face, tenderly scraping it down his cheek.

You don’t have a lot of time. You know how you need to drink him in before it’s too late.

However, your gesture has the opposite effect than intended. As you contact his rough brush of stubble, you feel a soft sting. “Ah shit,” you curse, pulling your hand away and glancing down at it. You recall how you had dug it into the mottled brick. How it had retaliated by carving out little crescent indents, your palms now flecked with red; a constellation of tiny blood moons.

A weight settles on Marc’s brow as he reaches to inspect you for himself. “Why didn’t you say?” A hard swallow trails down your throat as Marc’s tone becomes scolding, a sharper edge settling on his features. His strong jaw twitching. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But I like it,” you coo, making your eyes big and batting your lashes to counterbalance your challenge – albeit to little avail. The weight on Marc’s brow becomes an increasing burden on his features, casting his eyes almost entirely in darkness beneath the heavy set of it. You sigh, a shiver tracing up your spine like a cold finger, matching his demeanour. You’re not exactly surprised. This. This is how it goes. There’s the blissful peak, and after that, it usually sours quickly. “That bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“I need to be able to trust you. To tell me if I go too far.” His features contort with what you can only interpret as regret. As though maybe he’s had enough dealings with pain for a lifetime and he would prefer not to cross paths with it again.

Still, you fold your arms over your chest. He has the audacity to talk about trust here? Really? “Too far according to whom?” you bite, and you watch him chew on some unspoken words. “I know my own limits better than you do, thank you very much.” He huffs out air through his nose. Looks down at the floor. “Anyway. You can trust me.” What remains unspoken is heavily implied. That he is altogether more aligned with secrets than you are.

He smiles, but it’s not out of joy. It’s a tired, jaded thing. Thin as paper. Still, he reaches up, looking you in the eye and jostling the point of your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t do this again, kid. It doesn’t lead anywhere good.” His tone is so deliberately smoothed and free from cracks that you can see right through it. He’s trying to placate you. Subdue you.

Well, the first problem is that he knows just how to do it. Has it down to an art. And, the second problem is that you don’t entirely mind; because unlike your lines of questioning, that usually does lead somewhere good.

“Now.” He winds his hand between your legs, finding that damp strip of material – the pad of his index finger skimming over your plumped, clothed clit. “Do you want me to give you another one? Or do you want to go home?” Placating you. Case in point.

Still, you defy him. “I want to go home.”

You search conscientiously for any flicker of disappointment you are able to discern in his face; but it’s too dark and he’s too good to let his mask of indifference slip, even for a moment – if it truly is a mask he wears at all.

“Well. That was pretty fun,” you breeze, pushing off from the wall. “Think that’s in the top three fucks that I’ve had in an alleyway.” That’s a lie. You’ve never fucked in an alleyway before. And, if you’re talking top fucks, Marc currently occupies spots one through 28. (Given that’s as many times as you’ve had hook-ups with him, his record is pretty consistently good. Gleaming, in fact.)

You examine his face now, for any hint of jealousy or bruised ego at the insinuation he many share the leading rank with some other of your conquests; but your comment seems only to have amused him. Maybe he can see through you, already?

Fuck. Maybe next time he’ll even make you admit it. Edge you for hours until you admit it to him. That he’s the best you’ve had.

If there is a next time, that is. Being his booty call is a precarious game.

Normally, you can handle that he never expresses anything much back to you – his face impassive. No gushing praise for how well you take him or how good you feel on his cock. You would barely know he enjoyed you at all - aside from the obvious, the straining mass of him and gush of liquid – if it weren’t for the fact he keeps coming back for more. Coming back to you.

Yeah. It was only ever meant to be a one time thing. Just a one night stand. A casual Tinder hook-up with no strings and even fewer feelings.

Clearly, you had both decided that once wouldn’t be enough; but you’re still not sure you’re on the same page about what qualifies as too much.

Marc places his broad palm on the small of your back to gently encourage you back inside, and you allow it. “Did you bring a coat?”

“I’m not living in Newcastle anymore. What do you think?” Marc looks blank. He doesn’t understand the reference. Why would he? He’s not from around here. “Newcastle,” you explain dryly. “Residents famed for not wearing coats on nights out?” Still nothing. It’s a regional stereotype, and sometimes brandished unkindly, but even so, some of your friends from up there would genuinely give you shit for this. Would call you a Southern softie. “Yes,” you concede in a monotone. “In the cloakroom.”

Marc’s hand becomes a little more insistent on your back, and for some reason it irks you. It’s like now that he’s taken what he wanted he can’t wait to be rid of you. For that, you shrug him off you. And, you don’t want to say it. You don’t want to push him. But you can feel it bubbling up in you. This desire for a little more. “You know. We could grab a drink if you-“

“-We did what we came to do,” he says neutrally. Probably things he’s doing you a favour too. Stopping you before you can humiliate yourself further. “You know I don’t do pillow talk.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, hard, as you head deeper into the warren of pub corridors. “Pillow talk? Please. When was the last time we fucked in an actual bed?”

Annoyance twitches on Marc’s face. “You know what I mean.”

Your expression grows bitter in turn and Marc sighs, cupping a hand on to your elbow and gently moving you to a dark corner next to the stairs, planting his feet and coming to face you. “Look. This is just sex, and it’s all it’s ever going to be.” Wow. Not pulling any punches here, is he? You pinch your lips together in a tight line, and as tears ball in your eyes his face softens marginally. You think you detect just a hint of sympathy in his tone. “I’m sorry to be cold. But I don’t want pleasantries. I don’t want a girlfriend.” You dip your chin and gaze down to the floor, hoping he can’t see how much that stings. It’s not that this is news to you – not at all. He’s been upfront with you from the start, and Marc is nothing if not consistent.

It's just that, gradually, you have found yourself wishing that could change. Would a soft cuddle and some chat after being railed into oblivion be too much to ask for on the odd occasion? Would it really?

Marc brings his forefinger beneath your chin, gingerly tipping your gaze back to him. His touch is tender, but you know better than to expect that from his words, and inwardly you brace yourself, your fists clenching and reminding you all over again of the sting in your palms. “I don’t want to chat. Become buddies. I don’t want to know anything about you, don’t need to know anything about you, other than how to make you come six ways to Sunday.” He shifts his hips a little closer to you, winding one arm around your waist and so help you, you hate yourself for being so weak that a heat crawls and crackles beneath your skin from this contact. “If that bothers you, you’re free to stop. But it’s good, isn’t it? This thing we do?”

Fuck.

Are you? Free to stop? About as free as the sea is. Looks like it - that great expanse of water. Looks wild and unstoppable and ferocious; but, the moon drags it in line, every time. Always entices it back to smash itself upon the rocks. You feel a tide within you drawing you to him, and you’re not sure that you have the strength to escape it.

Still, he’s not wrong. It is good – this thing you do. Even now, a heat curls in your belly at the memory. You exhale a breath in concession, and Marc perhaps gives an inch too. Perhaps realises that just a smidgen of aftercare wouldn’t be remiss, and he searches your eyes in something which could pass for apology. You feel embarrassed that you have tears balling there, but you still loop your hands around his neck regardless as he offers his arms for a hug. As his big warm hands smooth your back.

“You did so well, Princess,” he coos, his prominent nose nuzzling into the cushion of your cheek. His lips skimming yours for a fleeting, almost sweet kiss. Almost. “So good for me, huh?”

There he goes again, eh? Placating you.

His lips dip for another kiss but you wilfully shake yourself out of your stupor. You paint on a thin smile and brace your hands on his shoulders, pushing him away from you. He immediately steps back, creating space, looking a little put out. Well, good.

“Walk me to the tube?” you ask perfunctorily, tilting your head in direction of the ladies’ toilets. “I need to piss first,” you say bluntly. There’s no elegance in this – any of this – so why put up a charade? You have no masks to wear. That’s his domain. “Will you just let me wee in peace?”

He nods efficiently. “I’ll get your coat.” You fumble the cloakroom ticket from your handbag and pass it off to him, and then you head your separate ways for the moment.

It gives you a valuable moment to gather yourself. You wee. Wash your grazed hands in cool water. Fish some unsightly mascara goop from the corner of your eye. You splash some cold water on your still heated cheeks, and then you smooth yourself, so that by the time you step out into the corridor – Marc holding your coat – you feel almost as inscrutable as him. Just as unbothered.

He helps you shrug on your coat and the banality of the action almost makes you laugh. Almost.

Then, you head together out into the street. You link your arm into the crook of his elbow so that he can support some of the weight of you, the balls of your feet starting to ache in these flimsy shoes – one of them particularly soggy still from languishing in that puddle.

You walk in silence, letting Marc navigate to the nearest tube stop and not giving much thought to anything else. What’s the point, anyway? It’s not as though he wants to make conversation. He’s made that abundantly clear.

Indeed, his words from moments ago replay in your head, but now one choice phrase sticks out.

You huff out a small laugh, directed nowhere in particular. “Six ways to Sunday, eh?” Marc turns his head towards you. “Well, you certainly have that down.” You’ll give him that.

He says nothing, of course. Doesn’t even deign to look smug about it. It irks you, that. His impassivity. And then all of a sudden you can’t help but fling your words out on a surge of emotion. You are trying to be more like him, but it’s wrong, isn’t it? That won’t do. You’re not the same. You care.

Your tone drips with ire, all your complaints bubbling up at once. “Why do you keep doing this, if you hate it so much?” You mean all of it – your whole arrangement - but why put himself through this, specifically? The prolonged walk to the tube? Can’t he just shove you in a taxi and be done with it?

“I don’t,” he says coolly. “I… don’t hate it.” There is a beat as you try to suss him out. “Why do you?”

You tut and huff and you don’t even care what he thinks of you at this point. “Why do I what?”

“Keep doing this. If you hate it.”

You swallow. You allow a stretched silence, the only sound you make for a few beats is the relentless clacking of your heels against the pavement.

You don’t hate it. Not exactly.

A troubled frown settles on your brow. Fuck, what are you even doing?

You’d told him earlier how you like things that hurt. That you know your own limits for pain. But, you’re starting to wonder if that’s as true as you thought it was, given that this -this arrangement in and of itself - is starting to hurt you. You know all the right safe words for the physical stuff, sure, but when it comes to your heart? Apparently, you just don’t know when to quit. Don’t know how to get out before you get bruised.

God. You wish sometimes he could be another man. Someone who would cuddle you and buy you chocolates. Who wants a girlfriend. You knew what you’d signed up for, it’s true, but you hadn’t known what you were getting yourself into. And now, you can’t see your way out of it. How could you, when you only ever see him in the shadows. Your path is not illuminated.

Oh well. Fuck it. You double-down on your frown. Pick up the pace of your steps. “On second thoughts, I think you were on to something, Marc. Let’s not talk.”

Indeed, that’s how you arrive at the otherwise deserted tube station; wordlessly. You shuffle to the platform, wincing at the pain in your feet and aching body, and flick your eyes up to the illuminated sign. Three minutes before the arrival of the next train.

You don’t have much time.

Time seems to slip away faster all of a sudden, like sand through your fingers. You’re already thinking ahead to your day tomorrow. About what time to set your alarm and what you have in your calendar. You’re already compartmentalising Marc away. Consigning him to the dark. Burying him like some treasure that you might later excavate, but that, for right now, you need to forget all about.

You could forget he was there at all - if he didn’t reach out for you, his hand finding the small of your back again. “Text me, when you get home safe.”

You don’t fight your eye-roll this time. “What do you care?”

You hear his long sigh then. You realise all of a sudden, under the artificial lights in the underground station, how tired he looks. Still, he continues to be just as stoic and withholding as ever. You want to be bratty and petty and provoke him, but you know it would be futile. It would be like meeting a wall of stone. A blocked entrance to a tomb, where his cold, dead heart must languish within.

Besides, what use would it be trying to appeal to him? You feel like you have more to lose here than he does. Marc is pushing you away, and it’s all too deliberate – he’s made no bones about that - but you can’t have him thinking he’s pushed you too far. After all, for better or worse, you need this again. You need him to come back to you. “When will I see you again?”

His voice stoops a little with apology. “You know I can’t make any guarantees.”

You make a point of looking ahead into the blackened mouth of the tunnel. Looking away from him, as though you can’t wait to get away. “I won’t just sit around any wait by the phone, Marc.”

It’s frustrating. You have to deal with his weird fucking schedule again? Really? Disappearing for days or weeks? He’s straight down the line about the fact he doesn’t want more than a fuck from you… but, damn. Everything else? A big fat question mark. You’re not exactly naïve, though. You like to think you’re actually quite perceptive as a person. You know fine well he has stuff to hide – though you’re not entirely sure you want to know what it is he’s hiding, anyway.

You look at the sign again and he follows your line of sight. Two minutes left before the train. Marc looks perturbed by that fact for the exact opposite reason that you are. Two minutes for you to needle him. Well, whatever. You’ve tried. You’ve tried to give him your soft side – and he doesn’t want it. It doesn’t matter what you do. “Are you seeing anyone else?” you ask as casually as possible. You hear the tension laid out in his breaths before you see it on his face, finally looking back at him. No doubt, he must think you are jealous. About to spin some wild theories about his whereabouts when you don’t hear from him. “Relax, Marc. I just ask because… the condoms. If we didn’t need to use them it’d be...” He quirks an eyebrow at you, prompting you to finish that thought. (Ah, yes. Fucking. The one topic of conversation that’s safe with him.) “Well. That’d be… fun. Wouldn’t it?”

You paint a devious smile on your pretty mouth and you watch with satisfaction as a hard swallow trails down Marc’s corded neck. There is a beat. There always is. But, then he answers you. No mirrors or deflection that you can tell. “I’m not seeing anyone else,” he says plainly.

Your mouth falls open, and you close it quickly.

Honestly? That surprises you. You watch desire weigh him down, his eyes growing hooded as a result of your proposition. “Aren’t you?” he asks with the level of casual you had attempted to muster. “Seeing anyone else? Alley fucking champions one through two?”

A devious spark lights your eyes. Good. So that comment did get under his skin a little bit, then? You answer him with reciprocal plainness. “No.”

Heat brews in his gorgeous earth brown eyes at your statement. “Would you like that? Me shooting myself inside of you?”

You look at him levelly. “I’d like that a lot.” His desire, in turn, warms you, your core turning molten all over again.

This. This is all he wants from you, and this is all of himself he’s prepared to give, but isn’t this enough? Even a sliver of him is enough to light your glow through the lonely nights. A sliver of him – a mere crescent - shining down on you? That is better than the dark, you think. So much better than the dark.

You look at the sign. One minute.

You’re running out of time.

So, hastily, and with a devious half-moon smile to rival his best, you slip your damp silken, lacy knickers from your legs, stepping out of them and stuffing them into his jacket pocket. You lean forward to whisper into the shell of his ear, your voice and your scent fanning over him. “Something to remember me by, Daddy.”

His curls are whipped about his deliciously dumbfounded face by the rushing air in the tube, as the train whooshes in on its approach. You take satisfaction in your timing. In the fact your little act has blindsided him. Indeed, you watch him pile his restraint on like armour, like a mask, his nostrils flaring and his tongue darting out hungrily along his lip as you spin away from him. You step aboard the tube as the hideous, jarring beep sounds, signalling that the doors are about to swallow you up.

When the signal sounds, Marc looks primed to pounce. He looks after you with regret. Like he could jump through those doors and wrestle you on to the floor right there. Instead though, he has two little words for you. “Text me,” he says sternly, before his hand shoves into his pocket. No doubt searching for how soaked your panties are. Feeling how wet he had made you; for it was all for him.

Settling in a seat, in the interior of the train, you deliver him a wolfish smile through the window, texting him a message which he opens immediately. “Perv.”

He smiles then. Actually smiles at you, eyes eclipsed with mirth and surprise - and still that lazily blazing heat. He gives you a wink, and he pulls his fingers from his pocket to smell you on him, your stomach flipping with desire as he does so.

God, he makes your blood run beneath your skin like a pack of wolves. Chaotic but focussed. Animalistic and wild. The clamour and pulse of it unrelenting.

You see him typing again on his shitty phone. “Text me. When you’re HOME SAFE.” You look up at him and he dips his chin pointedly. Raises an eyebrow, signalling that you should not dare disobey him. Not on this occasion.

“Alright,” you type back. “But no-one says ‘text’ anymore, old man.”

He smiles again, and for the first time it is a soft thing. Lingering as you watch him shove his hands into his trouser pockets, preparing to slink off into the shadows without so much as a wave.

This. This is what you don’t understand about the man. He’s caring in so many ways. He’s respectful. Never prepared to compromise on your physical safety. Straight up in that he has never tried to trick you; has always been honest in his intentions. But, his eyes are harbouring so many secrets.

Still. For the first time, tonight, you wonder if they were finally harbouring some secrets about you. For the first time, you wonder if you have finally managed to crack his façade. To see a glimpse of who he might be beneath the mask.

You watch him slink away, but for just a moment your attention is diverted by a rowdy group of hens, with whom you share the carriage. They distract you for a moment, with their colourful sashes and booming laughter, and when you slant your eyes back, Marc is gone.

“He was a bit of alright,” one of the friendly and rather tipsy women pipes up, practically drooling in the direction of the window. “Is he your bloke?” Her eyes are a little glassy. A little unfocussed.

You look between her and her pals with a taut smile. “Not really.” You too look out of the window now, a little wistfully, picking the spot he disappeared into as the train pulls away. “I don’t think that he belongs to anyone.” You shake your head, dismissing the thought before it drags you down. You pull your coat around you, and nod politely towards the bride. “Congratulations on the wedding.” Her face apples with an unrestrained joy. You wonder what that’s like.

“Thanks chick,” she grins, and then, just like that, you are on the outside again. The group forgets you, descending back into their own bubble of giggles and jokes.

Naturally, as you sit and wait for your stop, your thoughts wander. Naturally, they drag back to Marc; like you are the tide and he is the moon. Every now and again, he keeps emerging from the dark. Holding this power of you. You never know if you’ll see him again.

It was only meant to be once, and that means you’re already out of time.

He always disappears from your grasp.

In fact, the only way you’d know he was ever there at all -that he enjoys you - is the dull, continued throb between your legs. That’s the only thing you have to remember him by, and that will be gone by morning.

Just like he always is.

***

The next day, Steven puts his hand into his pocket, expecting to find a little box of tic-tacs.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he curses instead, as he unfurls the intricate red lace underwear between his fingers.

As a mirroring hot-red heat blooms up his neck, he looks up into the bathroom mirror, clearly awaiting some sort of explanation.

Marc’s face peers back at him from within the reflective surface, looking all bent out of shape – as he so often does. Maybe that’s just his face, Steven thinks, never one to judge. “They don’t belong to you, buddy,” Marc warns, in that robust, smooth tone of his.

Oh? A little possessive of these, is he? How telling.

“Yeah? Is that right?” Steven says animatedly. “’Cause they don’t strike me as belonging to you either, mate.”

Marc tilts his head. A concessionary move he hopes will invite no further questions. But, he musn’t forget. This is Steven he’s dealing with.

“Has Marc-y gone and got ‘imself a girlfriend?” Steven sing-songs, abruptly shoving the knickers back into his pocket as the bathroom door opens, to guard them from sight.

When the other man enters the stall, Steven glances back to the mirror, to see Marc shaking his head. Quite adamant that that’s not what’s happening here. Not at all.

Steven grins, knowingly. A little too knowingly for Marc’s liking.

Well, well, well. The mercenary has many secrets, including from Steven; but it seems you are no longer one of them.

You can’t possibly know yet, just how significant that fact will be… and the truth is, neither can he.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Part 2 is here!

#moon knight spoilers #Marc Spector x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #Oscar Isaac

662 notes · View notes

albakore · 3 years ago

Text

Away From Home

Characters: Zhongli, Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Thoma/Tohma (fem!reader) (fic)

Synopsis: (office!au) Even your boss Zhongli has moments where self control goes out the window to make way for carnal desires.

Warnings: not sfw (18+) reverse harem, (an orgie?), semi public sex again, creampie, oral (giving), petnames (angel, princess, gem), squirting, umm? did i miss anything?, not proofread because im lazy if you catch any errors feel free to shoot me an ask,

A/N: This is a part two to Office Adventures but t's not necessary that you read it before this. I don't know if people were expecting a direct continuation of the last one but I took some creative liberty because I felt like that would be boring and instead created a whole new scenario, I hope you all enjoy it just the same!

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘•⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅ ⊰ ⋅•⋅

The sexual tension in the office since that (ahem) eventful meeting had been nothing short of palpable, as Lisa had been ever so kind to point out. Even Jean and Eula were starting to grow frustrated with the way Childe and Kaeya made it painstakingly obvious their lust for you, and as you explained to Jean apologetically, they just wouldn't seem to take your request to tone it down seriously. Though you couldn't deny that even you often found your mind wandering as you sat alone in your office, frequently coming to remember the way you wobbled out of the meeting room that day, cunt quivering and leaking cum.

Luck seemed to be on Jean's side however, because this week you found yourself away from the office on an important regional business conference accompanied by none other than the men themselves, leaving her alone in charge of the office for a few days. The adventure of being in a new place was always exciting; there was light in your eyes as your plane touched down just outside the city, the skyline stood shimmering off in the distance. Though, as Diluc so gracefully reminded you, this was not a vacation but a business trip and most of your time would be consumed by meetings and other work-related affairs.

"(Name)!" You heard someone call from behind you. You were walking back to the hotel after another boring day of drifting in and out of meetings with people you hardly knew and topics you hardly cared about.

"Hm?" Your head turned to see three familiar figures waving at you as they approached.

"Care to join us for dinner? It'll be our treat." Childe asked once they had caught up to you, falling into step beside you.

"Where are you guys going?" You asked. You silently took in the appearance of the boys beside you. You hadn't gotten a chance to see them all day since you greeted them at the complimentary hotel breakfast bar this morning, and you had to admit they cleaned up nicely. You admired the three's formal dress, remembering the way Zhongli had specifically lectured them on the importance of appearance at an event like this. You notes Thoma's expensive looking watch and Kaeya's tailored button-up shirt that was, of course, unbuttoned halfway now that the workday was over. Childe had his suit jacket thrown over his shoulder, one hand holding the jacket the other shoved in his pocket.

"Mr. Zhongli found this fancy looking French restaurant a few blocks away, he wanted us to get there before we missed our reservation time." Thoma answered.

"Where is he?" You asked, taking note of his and Diluc's absence from the group.

"He and Diluc got caught up in some last minute business they had to attend to. It's times like these I don't envy the higher up positions of our company's cofounders." Kaeya answered you this time. "No matter how attractive the pay increase may seem, I can only handle so much overtime."

"You can say that again." Childe chuckled in agreeance, "I can't tell you how many times I've left the office only to come back in the morning and find Zhongli still hunched over some paperwork."

"Hey, guys, I think this is the place." Thoma motioned to the building you were approaching, and you immediately realized that 'fancy looking' was an understatement. "Will you be joining us, Lady (Name)?" Thoma questioned, extending his hand as an invitation to you.

"I don't see why not." You flashed him a smile before placing your hand in his, allowing him to tug you along. Kaeya opened the door for you, gesturing to allow you to step inside first. You were awestruck by the inside -- if you thought ‘fancy looking’ was an understatement for the outside, then the inside could be described as nothing short of grandiose. There were round tables covered in white cloth and fancy silverware, a fountain sat in the middle of the room behind the hostess desk and elegant trimmings lining the staircase off on the far side of the room. You quickly quelled your shocked expression as the hostess approached you.

"We have a reservation for six under the name Zhongli." Childe told her. "We'll have two more joining us later."

She checked her ledger and quickly crossed off the name. "Right this way, sir." She said to Childe with a polite smile. She led your group away from the main room, opening the door to a nicely decorated single-table room with a pleasant and romantic vibe, most likely accredited to the soft lighting.

“Thank you.” Childe told her as you four took your seats. One side of the table had booth-style seating and the other side had individual chairs. She closed the door with a click, and before you knew it you were sat in between Kaeya and Childe on the booth side, with Thoma directly across from you. You picked up a menu and began flipping through it to get a feel for what items might interest you. Before long, Childe’s hand had found its way onto your thigh. You looked down at it before looking back at him, a silent prompt for an explanation. “What?” He inquired mischievously, thumb rubbing your skin gently.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could your server opened the door with a brief knock. Childe’s hand stayed firmly in place as the server introduced themselves before asking if they could get you guys anything to drink. Thoma and Childe ordered regular fountain drinks, and requested two extra waters be brought out preemptively for Diluc and Zhongli whenever they should arrive.

“Ah yes may I have a glass of your finest red wine.” Kaeya asked with a smile once it came his time to order, earning a look from you. “What? It’s coming out of Diluc’s pocket not mine, might as well make good use of it.”

"And I'll have a..." You started, feeling Childe's hand inch upwards as the servers gaze remained fixed on you. "Just a r-regular glass of water please." You managed to force out while trying to ignore the growing feeling of need that Childe's attention was causing you. You smiled at the server as they stated that they'd be right back with your drinks.

Moments after the server left, Thoma's phone started buzzing. He answered it and paused for a few moments before he stepped away saying something about needing to meet Diluc and Zhongli in the lobby. That left you alone trapped in a booth with two mischievous gazes focused on you. "I must say, (Name)," Childe started, "you look absolutely stunning tonight. You really took Zhongli's 'Dress to Impress' speech to heart it seems." His flirty demeanor was predictable, earning a chuckle and an eye roll from you. His fingers were tracing patterns into the flesh of your inner thigh, head resting in his other hand as he studied you. You felt Kaeya's arm snake around your torso, hand coming to rest on your hip.

"He's right, you should wear this outfit more often." Kaeya whispered into your ear.

“You know, typically you’re supposed to wine and dine me before you-“ A knock resonated from the door, cutting you off and causing Kaeya to pull away from you but neither him nor Childe made any effort to remove their hands from where they were situated. The server entered with the table’s drinks on a tray, dishing them out to their respective spots on the table before asking if anybody was ready to order. Kaeya told them politely that we would wait for the rest of the group to join us first, and with that they turned and exited the room again.

You watched as Kaeya reached for his no doubt expensive wine, taking a sip and letting out a satisfied hum. "This wine is absolutely divine, it's not often I get the chance to indulge in such luxury. Would you like to try some, angel?" Kaeya asked you while his fingertips traced your hips.

"Sure." You hummed back, reaching out to grab the glass but Kaeya stopped your hand. You looked at him quizzically, watching as he dipped two fingers into the glass and let the crimson liquid pool at his fingertips. He brought his fingers to your lips, waiting for you to part them. You did, but only ever so slightly, letting your tongue drag along his slender fingers with a hum of delight as you maintained eye contact with him. Once upon a time you may have been flustered by his actions, but ever since the incident in the meeting room you have become no stranger to these types of occurrences. You pulled away before pressing a kiss to the pads at the tip of his finger.

"Divine indeed, captain." You added teasingly, the nickname a reference to a costume he wore to a halloween party last year that had caught on and stuck around even months after. You watched his unreadable expression closely as you awaited his response. He grabbed your face, tugging you toward him so he could plant a firm kiss on your lips while he caressed your cheek gently. You felt Childe's hand inch upward yet again further and further before finally reaching your clothed sex. Your breath hitched as Kaeya deepened the kiss, Childe rubbing you through thin material at a teasingly slow pace. You shifted your hips, trying to gain more friction from his fingers.

Kaeya pulled back from the kiss to let you catch your breath. "You know, there is one thing that would make this wine taste better." He kissed along your jaw and down your neck, breath fanning your skin as he continued. "If I could pour it over your chest and lick it off of you, slowly, inch by inch while you squirmed under my touch. That would make this experience undeniably perfect." You felt a shiver run down your spine, hand intertwining with his hair. As if working in tandem with Kaeya, Childe took this opportunity to slip his fingers past the barrier of fabric, your slick making his fingers run smoothly over your folds. Your free hand extended over to Childe's lap so you could palm him through his pants, thumb caressing the imprint of his erection. He let a breathy moan right next to your ear, fingers slipping into your heat.

"This is our reserved room, correct?" Zhongli’s voice resonated from just outside the door before the door swung open. He stepped in, followed by Diluc and Thoma. Your eyes met with Zhongli's as you tried futilely to push the lustful duo off of you. You filled with embarrassment when you thought about how sleazy you must look with Kaeya's lips attached to your neck and Childe's fingers squelching in and out of you. "Thoma, switch with (name), please. Evidently these two are incapable of practicing self control."

"W-what?" You protested, stomach sinking at the thought of disappointing your boss.

"Seriously, you two wouldn't know good timing if it hit you in the face. Your hotel rooms are literally a few yards away from each other." Diluc scoffed, tossing his suit coat over the back of his chair before pulling it out and sitting in it.

Childe pulled away from you, frowning at Diluc's words. "If I'm not mistaken, it was you who was moaning her name last night while you were alone in the shower, no?"

"And if I'm not mistaken, I'm still your boss. Watch how you talk to me." Diluc shot back immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. You scooted out of the booth, over Childe's lap, effectively pulling away from the two.

"Sorry.." You fiddled nervously with the hem of your skirt, still trying to recover from the embarrassment.

"You misunderstand me, gem, I'm not upset at you in the slightest." Zhongli smoothed over some of your hair comfortingly. "I specifically had a talk with these two about keeping things professional on this trip. This has nothing to do with you or your actions." You stared at him for a second before nodding. You took your place in between Zhongli and Diluc, directly across from where you had been previously sitting.

"How did your meetings go?" Zhongli asked you, tone much softer than the one he had just taken with Childe and Kaeya.

"They were boring for the most part, I managed to make a few connections though so that's good. What about you?" You responded, tuning out Diluc and Childe's bickering in the background.

"Stressful, I had many presentations to give, and only few bode over well."

"That's just how it goes." Thoma chimed in. "Tomorrow is a new day filled with new opportunity, I'm sure you'll do better."

"Stressful, eh? Fortunately for you, I know of the perfect way to relieve stress." Kaeya, ever the troublemaker, fixed his gaze on you pointedly for a few seconds to allow his point to get across. He just couldn't help himself when the ball was set up fo perfectly for him to spike it. You studied Zhongli's expression, his face remaining stoic as he processed Kaeya's innuendo.

"Unfortunately, the rules I set for you two apply to me as well. It would be wholly unfair to not hold myself to the same standard I hold my staff." Zhongli answered effortlessly. Seems like all these years of press conferences seemed to have really sharped his ability to form charismatic responses. Wait, 'unfortunately'?

"C'mon, Zhongli, (name)'s had eyes for us just as much as we've had eyes for them. You should see the look they get on their face when they're alone in their office." Childe laughed after ending his bickering session with Diluc. Your eyes went wide at that, having whole-heartedly believed you were being careful about when to indulge in your fantasies. "Besides, doesn't fucking them senseless sound like the perfect pick-me-up after a long day of meetings."

Zhongli seemed like he was still struggling to process his comment, resolve chipping with every second. He couldn't deny the nights he spent replaying the image of you bent over that table while he pleasured himself, and tonight was shaping up to be no different -- well, that would have been the case had he not attended this dinner. His eyes shifted over to you, inner turmoil apparent in them. Evidently, your response would be the deciding factor that pushed Zhongli to either side of the fence.

"He's not wrong." You shrugged, offering Zhongli a small smile. It was a simple sentence, only three words and yet… You watched his expression darken in that moment, his half hard erection already apparent in his pants.

"Thoma," you immediately noted the way his voice seemed to have dropped an octave. His gaze never once left yours.

"Yes boss?" Thoma responded almost instantly.

"Lock the door." Zhongli growled. Your heart skipped a beat, you felt heat rush straight to your core. The way Zhongli was looking at you made you feel bare even though not a single article of clothing had been removed from your form, at least not yet.

"The waitress is going to come back to place our order though." Diluc seemed to be the only voice of reason in this scenario. Thoma returned, scooting back into his spot in the booth, forcing Childe to be the one trapped in the middle this time. "That's gonna look awfully suspicious."

"Frankly, I can't seem to bring myself to care about that right now." Zhongli stood from his seat. He turned toward you, motioning for you to stand as well. "We'll tell them I had an important announcement that I didn't want getting interrupted or something." He lifted you at the hips and set you down on the table, placing himself in between your legs and pulling your core to meet his crotch. His lips caught yours, deep and breathtaking, as his hands roamed over your body. He tugged your shirt to untuck it until his fingers came into contact with the hem. He pulled it up, breaking the kiss to allow him to discard your shirt.

You found yourself rocking against him as his lips worked down your neck and chest. A new pair of hands hooked themselves under your bra clasp. You looked back to see Childe's arm extended. He pushed the straps off your arms, allowing the bra to fall away and expose your breasts. The cool air made your nipple perk instantly. You felt Childe's hands tug you down gently, allowing your back to lay against the cool cloth. You looked over to see Diluc's hands full of your table's drinks as he set them off to the side to avoid any accidents. Thoma eagerly took one of your nipples into his mouth while Kaeya's cold hand cupped the other.

Childe scooted the table away from him to provide him with the room to stand up. Your cheeks burned as you found yourself face to face with his still clothed erection. He chuckled at your expression, fingers caressing your cheek. He let his pointer finger trail delicately down your jaw to your chin, and then from your chin down your exposed neck. You shivered slightly at the way it tickled.

You felt someone tug down your skirt and your underwear, cool air rushing over your core. Zhongli had managed to free his member from his pants and was pumping himself outside of your field of vision. His other hand was pressed to your hip. He admired the way your chest heaved. Thoma and Kaeya littered your skin with bite marks and kisses. You watched intently as Childe followed in Zhongli's lead, freeing himself from his pants. Your lips parted slightly in anticipation, breath fanning the tip of Childe's dick with every exhale. Zhongli lined himself up with your entrance, you clenched your fists when you felt his tip push in. He sunk the rest of the way into you, a sigh of relief falling from his lips. He silently thanked Kaeya and Childe for prepping you so well before he had even arrived. Childe repeated this same process with your lips, slowly sinking into your mouth and relishing the feeling of your warm tongue wrapping around him.

The men both started thrusting at the same time but at very different paces. Childe was eager and less restrained, holding you steady while he fucked your face. He was also louder, not seeming to care if the staff or other patrons heard how good you were making him feel. Zhongli on the other hand was slower, drawing all the way out of you before slamming back into you. Though, after a few moments he seemed to compromise with himself and picked up the pace slightly, only drawing partially out of you, but still enough to let you feel his tip hit deep inside of you with each powerful thrust. You felt Diluc's familiar fingers come into contact with your clit, rubbing you in just the right way to make you clench around Zhongli and moan around Childe. Diluc left kisses all over your lower half, his long hair spilling over his shoulder and tickling your stomach.

The lewd sounds of slapping and kissing and sucking were all that could be heard in the room, along with Childe’s occasional unrestrained noises of pleasure. He moaned your name, head thrown back and mouth agape. His cheeks were flushed bright pink, and they only seemed to glow brighter the closer he got to cumming. Childe's pace became sloppy and erratic as he drew near to his own orgasm, thrusts becoming shallow as he chased euphoria. He pulled out right as he hit his high point so he could paint your chest with his cum. He moaned your name particularly loudly as he did, using his own hand to slowly lower himself down from his peak.

Kaeya pulled back and marveled at the marks he left on your skin, the imprints of his teeth visible in several spots. "My turn already?" He hummed, fingers tracing over the splotches and bruises on your skin. "A shame, I wasn't finished with my work of art yet." He stood up nonetheless as Childe fell back on the seat behind him, still trying to catch his breath. Kaeya quickly took his place, much to Thoma's disappointment. Kaeya's signature smirk hadn't left his face once while he admired the way your breasts glistened with a mixture of sweat and cum. He slowly undid the button to his pants, pushing them partially down his legs before moving to his underwear. You swear his cock bounced when it sprang free, tip flushed and absolutely beautiful. It seems this man truly didn't have an ugly bone in his body.

You felt Zhongli slowly coming undone inside you too, his cock twitching more and more every time he pushed himself into your smooth walls, even more so whenever Diluc's added stimulation made you clench around him. You felt yourself rock against his fingers, your own climax on the horizon. Zhongli gave one final thrust into you before you felt him spill his hot seed into you, his fingers digging into your hips in an attempt to ground himself. You moaned at the feeling of your walls being coated white. Kaeya took this as an opportunity to muffle you with his cock. He stuffed your mouth full of him, watching in a sort of satisfied sadistic fashion as you choked slightly on his length.

Zhongli pulled out of you after he finished cumming, panting heavily. You whined around Kaeya's cock at the loss of contact, hole clenching desperately around nothing. You squirmed your hips and mewled, hoping someone would get your wordless plea for some form of stimulation. Diluc, ever so observant, was the first one to pick up on your discomfort. "Aw, does my little princess want to be filled up again?" He asked tauntingly. "Do you want my cock inside of you?" His fingers continued to push you toward your orgasm. He chuckled at the way you jerked your hips into his touch, whines becoming louder still even with your mouth full of Kaeya's erection. As he felt your body start to tense, he withdrew his hand from your clit before you could cum. You pressed your thighs together while a groan left your lips, feeling frustrated tears well up in your eyes.

Diluc switched spots with Zhongli and unzipped his pants loud enough to get the anticipation in your stomach building rapidly. You heard fabric bunching and shuffling, and in turn took advantage of the adrenaline rush you were getting to eagerly please Kaeya. You hollowed your cheeks and allowed your tongue to work over him, lewd sucking noises escaping your lips. Kaeya groaned in response, his grip on your head tightening still as he bucked his hips into you frantically. You felt Zhongli's rough hands run over the skin of your breasts, centering on the nipples. You felt him wipe some of Childe's cum off you, and moments later the feeling of his fingers got replaced with his tongue as he sucked slightly on the soft flesh.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt Diluc's tip at your entrance, face contorting as you prepared for him to stretch you out just like Zhongli had. You paused as he pushed in -- not all the way, just an inch or so -- to truly revel in the feeling the he was providing you. He sunk in a little bit more to let you get used to the feeling of him in your tight sex, he was a little more girthy than Zhongli. Finally, he pushed into you until he bottomed out, filling your cunt to the brim with his member. A quiet groan escaping his lips; you would give anything to see the blissful look on his face right now.

You squirmed as he started to move. He went slowly at first, letting himself become coated in your slick to make his job easier. He took a few moments to find a good rhythm, one that was much different from Zhongli's. He was steady and consistent, pulling out an inch or two only to push back into you. He lifted one of your legs to give him a better angle, you let out a muffled moan as his tip kissed your sweet spot. Kaeya groaned again at the vibration of your voice. You felt Kaeya’s thumb press slightly against the center of your throat where he could feel himself thrusting in and out of you. You swallowed around him as he gave his last few thrusts before he was sent over the edge, cumming in spurts over your tongue. He let out a long moan that you wanted to keep on repeat forever.

You caught sight of Thoma eagerly awaiting his chance to feel your mouth around him. Kaeya pulled out slowly, stepping to the side (albeit a little bit grudgingly) to let Thoma have his turn. Thoma has already freed himself, precum leaking from the tip. He seemed a little nervous as he found himself finally aligned with your awaiting mouth. “Are you sure this is alright?” He asked, closely watching your face for signs of discomfort. His gentleness was refreshing after the way Kaeya and Childe so unceremoniously face-fucked you.

You giggled, kissing his tip causing his ears to flush red. “Mhm, of course. You’re so good for me~” His eyes went wide at your praise. You let your mouth hang open as an invitation for him to enter you, a high pitched whine escaping him almost immediately after sinking into you. He cupped your head gently, pulling out of you slowly before pushing back into you, truly appreciating the stimulation you were giving him.

Kaeya truly could never sit still with an opportunity so grand in front of him. His fingers found their way to toy with your clit, his cold fingers making you squirm under his touch. Childe, who was still on the couch, had gotten hard again and was pumping himself as he watch you slowly get your holes stuff full of cum. You moaned as Diluc’s dick hit your sweet spot again and again, Kaeya’s cold fingers causing your head to spin. You could feel your orgasm coming fast, and it felt like it was going to be an intense one. You arched your back off the table, whines becoming increasingly more frequent the more pressure built up. Diluc also seemed to be nearing his release, you could always tell by the way he moaned your name. A few more thrusts into you was all it took for you to come undone. You cried out, thighs quivering as you squirted all over Kaeya’s fingers and Diluc’s cock alike. Diluc followed a few seconds after, burying himself inside of you as he came hard, eyes intently watching the sight of you during and after your orgasm.

Thoma’s cock twitched as he watched you make a mess over Diluc’s cock, his breathy moans of your name getting louder and louder. He knew it wouldn’t take long for him to finish, not with the way your tongue traced his veins and your hand assisting him with whatever he couldn’t fit in your mouth. You felt the knot come undone and Thoma’s sweet cum flooded your mouth. He pulled out, gently wiping the spit from your face.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing as everyone came down from their highs. Zhongli was even nice enough to grab your water from where Diluc had set them off to the side and offer you some as he dabbed away some of your sweat with a napkin. Diluc finally pulled his now softened member out of you, admiring the way your cum-filled hole leaked. He had to fight the urge to fuck every last drop back into you.

A knock resonated from the door, causing everyone in the room to freeze. “Um, sorry to interrupt,” the servers voice sounded meekly from outside the door, “you guys reservation time is up…” You cringed at the idea of having to walk back to your hotel room in this state, legs still wobbly and cum all over you.

“I supposed to ‘important announcement’ excuse won’t work now..” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Zhongli sounded amused. “No need to fret, I’ll just pay them a generous tip to overlook this little.. endeavor.”

“You mean I’ll pay the tip.” Diluc cut in flatly. You all were lucky the company had the money to be avoiding scandals like this or else you’d all be done for. Maybe he could convince you to, uh, thank him for it later…

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writingwithcolor · 3 years ago

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Hey there! I'm writing a very self indulgent AU right now based on a movie, and one of the characters I'm transplanting into it is Jewish. The movie plays with the popular sci-fi trope of characters being trapped in an infinite time loop of living the same day over and over (a la Groundhog Day), and I started to wonder if there's readings of that through a Jewish lens I haven't thought of; how might a Jewish character approach/conceptualise becoming stuck in that situation, waking up to the same day over and over, resetting when they fall asleep or die, everyone around them (bar one) resetting too and not remembering the past loops? I have one or two friends I'm thinking of asking too but I'd love to hear as many perspectives as possible! (note: I'm afraid I'm not sure of the character's exact denomination bc I don't think the source text specified and my knowledge is limited, but he's very proud of and happy with his religion and fairly observant as far as I'm aware!) No worries if you can't/don't want to answer this, I'm not even sure I'll ever finish or post this fic and I don't think I NEED to change the narrative as such, but I've been thinking a lot about how it'd be a good/worthwhile thing to consider for the character and I'm not sure where to start, it seems like a question a bit philosophical for a quick Google! Thank you in advance, you guys do great work here ^^

Jewish Character Stuck in Time Loop

Ooh this sounds like fun 😊

One thing to consider is the observance of time-dependent mitzvot. You should be able to find some relevant discussions by googling ‘when is Shabbat in the north pole?’ or ‘when is shacharit in space?’ for example, since so many of our commandments depend on certain assumptions about how time can be measured using the sun. If you live the same Thursday over and over, is the third one Shabbat? Or the seventh one? Or is it always just Thursday? Similarly, is the character marking off the days until the important Jewish holidays in their own reference frame, or observing the Jewish calendar as per the reference frame of the local community?

Oh, and if he has a menstrual cycle and is married, if he still gets his cycle while in the time loop that would tie him up in knots that I can’t even start to untangle right now but look up taharat mishpachah for details. (And if he’s married to someone with a menstrual cycle, probably still look this up because there would be an emotional impact of losing the rhythm of touching and not touching, even without all the practical implications.)

In real life, to keep these commandments properly would definitely need rabbinic input. In the absence of a rabbi to provide realistic dialogue for this (or just to keep the story moving), I’d recommend slipping in a reason why that conversation can’t happen. Maybe the rabbi keeps saying, “What an interesting question, I’ll look it up and get back to you tomorrow.” D’oh!

Despite playing havoc with the time-bound mitzvot, a time loop would be beneficial for the interpersonal commandments. That conversation where you accidentally spoke loshan hara? Go back tomorrow and do better. The process of teshuva (usually translated as ‘repentance’ but literally means ‘returning’, i.e. getting back to your connection to God or to your best self) is very important in Judaism. The process is only complete when you’re in the same situation again and don’t make the same mistake. Your character has a unique advantage of being able to get back to the literal same situation, in a highly predictable way that won’t catch him off guard and knock him back into old habits. It would be nice to see him improving in the interpersonal mitzvot each day.

Finally, it’s not a disaster if you can’t work this in, but I wonder if your character is someone who likes to study and do research? It’s one of those things that is a stereotype if overdone, but is culturally accurate if well executed as part of a fully rounded character. If they have some free time as a result of being in a loop (e.g. you don’t have to spend too long on work if you know everything that’s going to happen), it would be cool if they spent some of it learning about the science and philosophy of time and how a time loop could be possible. I think that’s what a lot of real Jewish people would do. It also occurred to me that their learning is one of the few achievements they can hold on to, that won’t be lost when time resets, therefore exalting knowledge as being beyond any material prize. That seemed like a very Jewish idea to me.

- Shoshi

November 2021

#Asks #dont-offend-the-bees #Judaism #Jewish #time loops #sci fi #religion

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husbandohunter · 4 years ago

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Windblume Memories [Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: “The annual Windblume festival held in the name of romance and freedom! Why not celebrate it with your lover?”

Characters: Kaeya, Diluc

(A/N): A self-indulgent headcanon because Mihoyo has yet to give us more moments with our husbandos. Just imagining them having fun and enjoying, mah heart~~ And no Mihoyo, if you bother giving us their quotes why can’t you just give us a hangout already (cri cri)

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{Diluc}

“I do know how to play music. Is it so strange?"

• As the most eligible (former)bachelor of Mondstadt, it wouldn't be a surprise if he actually knew the ways of an instrument. But here you were, comepletely awestruck while looking expectantly at your fiance.

• "Diluc you're so perfect I love you!" -you probably

• Back in the days when he took his etiquette lessons, Diluc also learned how to play the violin as well as the piano but the lyre was a traditional instrument of Mondstadt so he focused on that the most.

• His repitoire would lean more to the soft and solemn pieces. (Like his soundtracks HA)

• Diluc is quite shy when you ask him to give you a performance but the way you just plead, he can't say no

• If you don't know how to play an instrument, he'll be more than glad to help you. He's an excellent teacher due to the vast amount of patience he has (thought can't really say the same for other people) and could spend hours elaborating on the same place you've been stuck at.

"Why is this song so slooooow?"

"You're being too hasty, love."

• You're worried if he's bored but Diluc reassures that he isn't. Seldom does he have the opportunity to spend time with you like this so he makes sure to treasure every moment (Even when you're about to break the goddam lyre out of frustration).

• But when you do manage to make it to the end after several attempts, albeit still terrible, there would be the stupidest fat grin on your face while chanting, "I did it! I did it!"

• And he'd praise you as a soft expression graces his features, "You certainly did."

• Soft man I cri

"It takes a long period of training to become a battle-ready archer. These games are only enough to pass the time."

• "No Diluc, I brought you here to have fun not to have this as a training session."

• This man can do pretty much ANYTHING and literally win you any prize. You want that stuffed toy? Consider it taken.

• Perhaps the activities weren't challenging enough. Whether it'd be wind gliding or the peculiar wonderland house, he's got the reflexes for it all.

• Since Diluc is so battle oriented, he treats the games as such. You call him a worry wart after falling into the pit just because you steped on the wrong stone: "Diluc I’m fine. Its just a game." He’ll grab you out of pure instinct and apologize shortly after when you pout at him

• Eventually Diluc learns to loosen up while still keeping an eye at your stance. You figured it would probably be best if you two stuck with something more light and carefree. In a nutshell, anything but the peculiar wonderland house.

• At the end of the day, the two of you are exhausted from all that workout. While closing up Angel's Share after a long night, Diluc catches you falling asleep at the front bar and gently drapes his coat over your shoulders.

• His initial plan was to wake you up since the ideal place to sleep would be the Dawn Winery but Diluc didn't have the heart to wake you up. He simply sits on the stool beside you while leaning down to memorize your serene look, thankful to have been able to experience what it's like to live in a city of freedom again.

{Kaeya}

"Oh dear, is this what they call a height advantage? I suppose I can go a little easy on you all to make things a bit more exciting."

• You gave him that look where you weren't quite sure if he was lying or telling the truth. Could the Cavalry Captain be afraid of heights? You'll never know.

• So regardless, you guys decided to fly together which at first was meant to be a competition of who can collect the most flowers. You managed to land safely with the highest score while your boyfriend was still behind, trying to avoid the dusty balloons.

"Seems like I went a little too easy on you," he jests. You roll your eyes.

"Alright, let's go for another round then."

• This time you had a different idea. Just a few seconds before the game started, you took him by the hand and jumped straight off the platform. The whole time as the two of you were soaring through the air, you held him tight.

• "Now it shouldn't be so scary anymore!"

• The surprised expression he had lasted for a moment before melting into a smile, "How very cunning of you, darling."

• Your security gave him the chance to admire the scenery from the skies, it was a breathtaking view. How your hair whips beautifully against the wind and your pink-tainted cheeks from the cold, breathtaking.

• Though, holding the other meant you had to collect the flowers with one hand and one arm which proved to be very unproductive. Even once the both of you landed within the garland of windwheel asters, Kaeya was still holding your hand.

• Kaeya often treats fearful situations as thrilling experiences but the outcome in the end turned out to be more favourable than he had initially planned it to be. Though if you’re a novice windglider beware, this man will let you go at random times just so he can see your reactions.

"What an interesting diversion. Since everyone's in high spirits, it would truly be a shame if I didn't pitch in a little!"

• You were extremely curious of Kaeya's musical skills since his nature tends to lean towards the frivolous side. Unexpectedly, his tunes and playing style sounded melancholic as well. Most likely due to the fact of growing up in the Ragnvindr household.

• Since he hangs out at the bars during late nights quite often, Kaeya would know how to play a few tunes he picked up along the way. He would love to give you a full on performance! Anything for his sweetheart~ Though keep staring and you might find him teasing you about it after.

• Honestly Kaeya also makes an excellent teacher. His way of wording makes everything so easy to understand which is helpful to avoid silly mistakes. He teaches you very simple lyre pieces, brushing his fingers over yours every once in a while to help you adjust the right position.

• You think he's doing this on purpose to get you bothered but Kaeya simply feigns ignorance.

• But if you do know how to play a lyre, it would be a session where both of you share your songs. Out of all of them, there was one song that stuck out the most:

You felt a sense of longing in the tune Kaeya played. Far too slow to match the upbeat atmosphere of Mondstadt during the day and not as romantic as it would be during the night. Instead, it seemed to reflect the emotion of sadness, like hands reaching to a far away land which turned out to be nothing but a mirage.

"Where did you learn that piece? I never heard it before," you comment shortly after he finished.

Kaeya hums playfully while shooting a grin to match, "I composed it myself."

"Is that so?" You learned to not take everything at face value when talking to your lover, "Then where did you draw your inspiration from. It doesn't seem like you'd create it on a whim when your expertise lies in swordsmanship."

"Aha just when did you become so keen sweetheart?"

"Since I started dating you."

"Touche."

There would be a momentary pause and during times like these, it was easy to tell that the subject was related to his homeland. Kaeya always found it hard to bring up the topic, even before he met Crepus, music was one of the very last traces that tied his life to the scarce warms days of Khaenriah.

"What's the song called?"

Thankful that you changed the subject, Kaeya answers, "Frozen Dreams. At least, that is what I can remember."

"Frozen Dreams?" You pondered quietly, "I wonder what that title means."

"Do you like it that much?"

"Of course, that piece must be very important to you right? I would like to learn it," You pump your fists determinedly, I would like to learn about you as much as I can.

He looks at you, lips slightly parted at your genuine declaration. Although you may be tenacious when it came to his secrets, Kaeya did not doubt that it was also one of the quirks he loved about you most. With a small chuckle, he complies your request, “It would be my pleasure.”

Sometimes its best to leave the words unspoken. Perhaps another day when Kaeya feels ready to tell you everything, for now he will revel in the present where the intagible feelings of music and emotion do the speaking.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #diluc #Kaeya #nya-writes

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twistnet · 3 years ago

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nsfw alphabet [ chibs telford ]

WARNINGS ─ gn!reader, smut [ oral sex, cum, kinks, masturbation ]

DISCLAIMER ─ if you are under the age of 18, do not read [ nsfw content under cut ]

a = aftercare [ what they’re like after sex ]

is one to light a cigarette the minute the act is done, patiently waiting you come down from your high and maybe, gain some feeling back in your legs again. his hands is coaxing you to even your breathing as he pulls you to rest against his chest

once he’s stamped out his cigarette, he’s pulling on a pair of briefs and walking to the washroom to get you cleaned up. if a bath and a change of sheets is needed, he’ll get that together for you and get the bedroom all squared away until you’re ready to join him once again

b = body part [ their favorite body part of theirs, and also their partner’s ]

his gentleman side would say that his favorite body part on his partner is their mind and tongue. nothing sexual about it, but he loves to hear you speak your mind, take control of the area you are in and take no shit from anyone

now, his more non-gentlemen side would say he’s a sucker for chests [ boobies or not ]. he loves laying his head there and listening to your heartbeat but also loves pressing his face right into your sternum. getting to bit and lick and mark every inch of the skin

on himself, he would say his hands. years of garage work, motorcycles, and other things have roughed them up quite a bit and he gets a small spark of joy when he gets to run his clast finger tips down any part of your exposed skin

c = cum [ anything to do with cum basically…i’m a disgusting person ]

going back to the above, on your chest. getting to paint you with his cum gets him hard all over again, and is not embarrassed to groan at the sight. oh, but you happen to swipe up some of the cum on your finger and pop it in your mouth? you might have just killed him

on the flip side, he does like cumming inside you, but likes to ask before doing so. but if given permission, loves watching it drip out of your hole. and might push some of it back in with a loving smile

d = dirty secret [ pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs ]

playing the game that you don’t know each other at a club party, and him taking you to his dorm for a little fun time. has never said anything, but has thought about it often

e = experience [ how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing? ]

with a previous wife and plenty of croweaters that he’s had his way with in the past, there is no denying this man has gotten around. he might try the first time to use what he’s used on croweaters before, but quickly finds that you might tick a different way and has to relearn basically everything. but don’t worry, he’ll make sure to get plenty of practice in

f = favorite position [ this goes without saying ]

missionary. standard & reverse cowgirl. doggy-style. spooning.

g = goofy [ are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc ]

while he tends to be serious most of the time, he finds that if he can’t laugh something off like you getting a cramp midway through, or he fumbles while trying to get into a position, then the relationship won’t last

h = hair [ how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc ]

has truly given up on keeping groomed. use to in younger years make everything nice and clean, but has since stopped as he just doesn't want to do it anymore and regrowth is a bitch. now, he does trim so it doesn’t get too long

i = intimacy [ how are they during the moment, romantic aspect… ]

very affectionate in a private setting. pulls you in close and loves to just be able to touch you and have you surround him in anyway possible. whispering sweets words in gaelic, holding your face in his hands. that kind of thing

j = jack off [ masturbation headcanon ]

never really used his hand to get himself off, as there was always a croweater nearby to help him out and be his companion for the night. since he has started a relationship with you, he might do it more to keep himself faithful while on runs. he doesn’t do anything with the croweaters on runs, even though it’s always been something the married men have always done, he’s not one to partake

k = kink [ one or more of their kinks ]

tit-fucking ─ going back to his fascinations with chests, having the ability to run his cock against your sternum turns him on so fucking much. sometimes, he’ll do in unprompted, but sometimes, you pat your chest and he’ll quickly get into position

stockings ─ any color, any detail is fine with him. they look so pretty against your skin and are so soft. will literally buy you one in ever color. they stay on while everything else comes off.

l = location [ favorite places to do the do ]

his/ your home or in his dorm at the clubhouse. both are safe places for him and there is less room for interruptions and he can focus he’s sole attention on you

m = motivation [ what turns them on, gets them going ]

a strong confidence paired with a mouth that has no problem telling someone off or letting people know what you think. you sitting or riding with him on his bike -- also wearing his helmet. kicking ass against some of his brothers -- winning a drinking game, a round of pool, or darts. jeans that seem to hug all of your curves. leather attire of any kind. you speaking gaelic

n = no [ something they wouldn’t do, turn offs ]

sharing you with someone ─ he’s seen some of his brother indulge in something like this and has always felt funny about it. plus, the man has a major jealous streak when prompted and that just doesn’t mix well

degradation & abuse ─ this was after having seen it during one of the porn shoots and he had to step away, not truly understanding how someone could do that to another human in a vulnerable situation

o = oral [ preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc ]

oral for him is split 50/50. in his eyes, it’s only fair if you suck him off that he return the favor.

receiving ─ he’s coaching you through it, even if you know how to do it. he loves talking to you, lightly pulling your hair away from your face or affectionately caressing your cheek or jaw. he lets you do what you want, and isn’t going to dictate what you can and cannot do. as this is just as much for him as it is for you

giving ─ okay, so maybe i lied about the 50/50 split. to a degree. once this man gets to return the favor, it’s hard to pull him away after the first orgasm. he will continue to build you up for another one and won’t come up for breath until you’ve cum at least three times

p = pace [ are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc. ]

depends on the mood and can range from a rough fucking or soft lovemaking.

he isn’t fast per say, most of his thrusts are quite calculated in the sense that he knows what spots make you weak at the knees or make your spine tingle. so, while the thrusts are powerful, there is no speed to them as he doesn’t want you to come undone too quickly

soft lovemaking on the other hand is just like the above, but the power behind the thrusts is toned down. it’s still there, but it’s not as rough. he takes his time, either letting you ride him or spooning you. this pace happens to get you to completion much later, but it is so worth it

q = quickie [ their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc. ]

yes, yes, and yes. quickies are frequented quite heavily in your relationship, as sometimes, that is the only way the two of you can blow of some steam. a quickie will happen before runs or when you sneak off during parties to hurry back like you weren’t gone for 20 minutes

but don’t get it confused, this man would always rather have a nice, quiet session with you over a quickie any day.

r = risk [ are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc. ]

isn’t one to take risks without thinking through or talking about them first. sure, he likes that you are open enough to come and talk to him about what you would like to do in the bedroom, but would like to make sure that everyone is on the same page

s = stamina [ how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last… ]

two rounds max. and that goes for whatever mood and pace the two of you happen to be in. chibs doesn’t want to overexert himself or you, as sometimes just one session is enough to knock you out for the evening.

now, this isn’t going to impact the amount of orgasms he’s going to pull from you over the course of the night. no one ever asked how long the sessions were going to last, just how many you are able to do

t = toy [ do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves? ]

was never one to use toys on partners, and had never thought for himself.

if you own toys for personal use and would like to incorporate them into the bedroom, he has no problem using them to aid in getting you off. however, he will draw the line at using them for himself, as it’s not really his thing

u = unfair [ how much do they like to tease ]

teasing is his specialty, but this man makes timed and deliberate strikes that will have to melting in his hand within a few hours. but don’t let it fool you, as he can wait for as long as he needs and he definitely isn’t going to be the one to crack

so, if you want to push through your conversation with your friends and pretend he hasn’t been feeling you up this past hour, you go ahead. you’ll break eventually

v = volume [ how loud they are, what sound they make ]

no very loud would in comes to moans of pleasure, as they are usually quite muffled to some degree -- as he’s either muffling them into your skin as he presses kisses or is doing it more so under his breath

on the flip side, he isn’t quite when speaking to you. the amount of filth and sin that leaves his mouth as he slides into you over and over again is almost too much to handle. especially when it’s paired with his thick accent, that also, seemingly gets deeper the more settles into you

w = wild card [ get a random headcanon for the character of your choice ]

roleplay, specifically one where he can use the premise of him being a biker and you either taking on an authority figure or someone who’s seen in a more innocence light. bringing his kutte into the mix, or his bike is super appealing to him and anything the two of you can do with that is okay in his book

x = x-ray [ let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words ]

six inches. thick and slightly veiny from bottom to tip. curves slightly when erect.

y = yearning [ how high is their sex drive? ]

despite his age, he has a medium to high sex drive. this all depends on what is currently going on and how he’s feeling.

his sex drive is medium when he’s doing day to day things. being ready as almost a drop of a hat if you are wanting to initiate something with him during some down time or at a club party. it might take just a little convincing, however, you seem to have him wrapped around your finger and he has a hard time resisting you.

his sex drive is high when he’s very frustrated -- i.e. with happenings involving the club, or when he’s been while on a run for some time. however, he is a patient man and isn’t one to pull you away mid conversation with someone just to throw you into the bed and have his way with you. he will let you come to him and from there, will go as many rounds as the two of you will allow

z = zzz [ how quickly they fall asleep afterward ]

as his finishes off his cigarette, and the post-orgasm high has settled, he pulls you in close. letting you rest against his chest as finger tips run along your spine with practiced ease. it’s his way of showing you a small hint of affection without doing too much if that’s not what you are in the mood for

at this moment, he is fully relaxed and slowly starts to draft off. there is really no telling if he falls asleep first, or if you do, but he’ll fall asleep if he wants to. but not without making sure you are well taken care of before doing so

#soa #soa fx #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fx #soa x reader #soa imagine #sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #chibs telford #chibs telford imagine #chibs telford x reader #n*fw alphabet #all genders welcome #twistnet #twistnet works 2021

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ofnifflersandkings · 4 years ago

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Endgame Strategy

Character: Benny Watts

A/n: I said I’d write for the hot chess people so I did. The timeline for this is kinda confusing but the desperation I had to write this made me simply not care.

•

“(Y/n)!”

A familiar voice pulled you from your current task of getting Benny’s two ton apartment door shut. You barely got yourself inside before a pair of arms promptly wrapped around you.

You staggered backwards by the sudden weight, a noise between a wheeze and a laugh escaping you as you registered who it was.

“If it isn’t my favorite drama queen!” You pulled back to get a good luck at Beth, a big grin busting out on both of your faces.

“Come in,” She ushered you in, helping you take off your coat and asking you little questions as she lead you over to the sink.

You were a pretty established photographer for some big fashion companies, so you had been traveling with Cleo around Europe for the better half of a year. You’d telephoned Benny as soon as all of your campaigns wrapped up and he instantly insisted you come to New York to make up for lost time.

You had just started to get a word in when you felt someone come up behind you and squeeze you abruptly, practically toppling you over. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

You looked over to see Benny already looking down at you with a grin before promptly ruffling up your hair. “Hey stranger,” He grinned. You pushed him off and turned to give him a proper hug.

You noticed Arthur and Hilton lingering behind him and you pulled yourself from his hold to greet them as well.

“You came at the perfect time,” Benny said, slinging an arm over your shoulder. “We were just about to start.”

“What do you say, (Y/n)?” Hilton asked. “Finally gonna indulge us and play a game?”

You shoved his hands off of you and sent him a smile. “You don’t need some newbie slowing down your thunder,” You noticed Benny giving you the pleading look he always sent your way when you turned down playing chess. You swear you thought he knew how to deflate his eyes on purpose so he looked like a kicked puppy. “No, I don’t need your patronizing when I barely make it past five moves.”

Benny was an old childhood friend of yours, so you had known Arthur and Hilton for almost as long as he had. And they made it their personal life mission to rope into playing against one of them. But you were renowned for your patience and they’d yet to wear you down.

Beth sent a small pout your way and handed you a glass of water. “Oh please, now who’s the drama queen. You were doing great when I was teaching you last time we saw each other.”

Benny’s gaze shot up. “What?”

You scoffed at her, completely forget about your last encounter. “Now that’s not fair, we were hardly playing. You had to show me where to move every five minutes.”

“When did you see each other?” Benny pushed.

You sighed, smoothing down your sweater. “When I was in Paris with Cleo, we only saw each other the one night and I was just bored and tipsy enough to let her show me.”

She grinned at you, shoving her arm into you as she leant into your side. “I think you have lots of potential. I could make a grandmaster out of you, I know it.”

Benny’s eyes followed you as you moved from your standing position to sit next to him on the sofa.

“You never let me teach you how to play,” He murmured to you with a huff, causing a small tuft of his hair to fly upwards.

Benny had made several attempts to get you into the game he loved so dearly. And as one of the few constant people in his life he wanted you to be part of his world. But each time was met with a firm refusal on your part, insisting you wouldn’t get it. He’d try to pull every trick in the book, every charming smile and all the pretty words he knew to try and convince you to let him show you, but you were always indifferent to his charisma.

It annoyed the shit out of him.

Truth was you didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself in front of him. You’d seen him play at almost every match he was ever in and it was almost scary how good he was. You could play a casual game and maybe boast a win or two, but playing against him wasn’t something you think you’ll ever do. Besides, give him the satisfaction of having your inevitable defeat over your head? Not in this lifetime.

You let out a light laugh, smiling at Beth as she moved to grab the other boards from Benny’s alarming collection he kept stuffed in the closet. “You’re too intimidating when you play, I’d be distracted.”

Benny rolled his eyes, thinking of the stern look that permanently sets on Beth’s face. The woman who looks like she’s three seconds away from going for your neck during her games but he was too intimidating.

You took a sip from your glass of water and lightly knocking over one of the knight pieces on the board in front of you. “I don’t see why it matters, I’ll be beat regardless of who’s playing.”

He frowned, he’d always wanted to play you. Not because he cared about winning but he just wanted you to see his skill firsthand. You didn’t bat an eyelash at winnings anymore, and you never stuck around for his in-depth lectures about game theory with the other players. But he also knew you liked knowing the way things worked. And since chess was his bailiwick, Beth being the only other American player who could beat him, he knew you’d be impressed. At first he just thought you weren’t interested, so knowing you were being taught by someone else stung twice-over.

You knew something was wrong when he didn’t send a clever remark back your way. Benny liked to think he was this cool and collected character, but really he could be quite the prima donna. Knowing him for as long as you did made him an open book, you could almost always know what he was thinking.

“Don’t be such a baby, Bens.” You grinned, leaning over to tap the end of his nose, something you always did to irritate him. “She crushed me anyways.”

“You’d win if you let me teach you.” He argued, looking at you pointedly.

“I don’t need to win, that’s your job,” You leaned into him, trying to stroke his ego to get him to drop the subject.

Benny’s ears perked up and he was about to go into of his grand self-assured lectures when Beth interrupted him, promptly placing the boxes of chess boards on the table in front of him.

“I dunno, (Y/n),” Beth gloated, passing a box to Hilton. “I think he’s losing his touch, last time we played I damn near emptied his wallet.”

That got your attention, and you sat up with a laugh. “You’re kidding? In speed chess?” Your cackles only grew when she gave a proud nod. “I can’t believe I missed it!”

Benny scoffed, pushing away from you to help set up the boards. “You hardly missed anything-“

“She kicked his ass, ,” Arthur chuckled, loosening the cap on his beer bottle. “Said she’d kick him the crotch too when he tried to argue with her.”

You raised your glass to Beth in commencement. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much.”

“Another simultaneous?” Beth asked, noticing they were moving the boards onto the floor, she turned back to you. “Have you ever seen once of these?”

You shook your head dramatically, moving from your place on the sofa to the floor so you could sit right next to the action. “Nope! I mean I know what they are, but I’ve never actually seen one.”

She smirked, placing the clock at every board while the boys situated the pieces. “Well, you’re in for a treat, these are my specialty.”

You leaned forward, placing your elbows on your knees so could you watch every move. The speed of the game was something you had long gotten used to, but it never was any less impressive. You don’t know how anyone’s brain could go that fast, but watching the pieces fly around the board completely fascinated you.

Beth really was everything the chess magazines said she was and maybe even more amazing in person. You found it hard to pull your gaze away from her hand, watching as she completely tore through the three boys pieces. Hilton and Arthur were the first to lose, knocking over there kings.

You got ready to settle in while she took on Benny, but not even a few moments later you watched him grimace and reluctantly fish his wallet from his pockets.

“Wow,” You breathed out, looking over at Beth with a gaze that could only be described as positively starstruck. “I mean I knew you were good, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.”

Beth felt her face get a little warm, not used to such straight-forward praise. At least not since she was a child prodigy. She reached her hand up to brush her hair out of her eyes, and pulled her gaze away from you.

“I can do it again.”

Benny felt his eyebrow twitch, he was used to your praise being directed at him for the most part. You had grown up with him constantly talking about and challenging others to play chess. And when he started to make a name for himself he’d taken you along with him. Before your work took off, you had more time to see his games in person. But, even when you couldn’t physically be there, you always called when you saw the results in Chess Review or tuned in to one of the broadcasted matches.

He was the best in the States for a long time, so you had become especially hard to impress. He knew Beth was better him than by miles, but to finally have his title of best chess player you knew taken away made him feel scratchy.

But he scoffed, straightening his back to try and get his focus back. “Not if I have anything to say about it, Harmon.”

And so for about three more games, she absolutely crushed the three boys. You got closer to the boards each time, admiring Beth’s superhuman skill. It made you feel a little sting of pride, the girl was showing up three of most arrogant and skilled players you knew.

“God,” You leaned back onto your elbows, sniffling a giggle when. “I would’ve given any amount of money to be here to see the faces on these boys when you did this the first time.”

Beth smirked, rounding up the pieces to put them away in their cases. “Me too, we could’ve gotten it all on camera.”

You groaned. “Such a missed opportunity.”

You lolled your head over and saw Benny staring intently at the board, a deep frown on his face. You smiled, scooting over so you could lean all your weight against him. “Don’t look so sad, Bens. I’m sure you would’ve gotten her eventually.”

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what you used to tell all the sorry losers I used to beat.”

You closed your eyes, settling into his side and sighing at his warmth. “You’re not a sorry loser. You’re the best chess player I know.”

“Still?”

“Hey now, I didn’t drag my ass to every one of your matches for decades for you to question my loyalty,” You teased, you opened your eyes and saw something on his wall. Nestled snug inside a frame was the first time he was on the cover of Chess Review.

“You remember when I took that?” You nodded towards it.

Benny smiled properly, his eyes getting a familiar shimmer. “Yes ma’am, I told them I wouldn’t be on the cover unless you got to take my photos,” He wrapped an arm around you. “Course if I had known it’d make you a hot shot photographer who had to go away all the time I might’ve kept my mouth shut.”

You smiled, reaching up to flick his forehead. “I’ve taken all your photos for decades” You made a sweeping notion with your hands to all the various magazines scattered around his apartment. “Even when we were kids, I think I earned my little adventures abroad”

Benny gave you a look, one you couldn’t quite place, but he kept your gaze for awhile. A small smile snuck up in the corner of his mouth before he looked down, strawberry blonde strands hiding him from your view.

“Well don’t stay away so long next time, yeah? I missed you.”

#the way this has bi disaster just written all over it #benny watts imagine #benny watts x reader #benny watts imagines #the queen’s gambit #the queen’s gambit imagine #queen’s gambit imagine

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glamgoblin · 2 years ago

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Last day of kp week 😭😭

Prompt: “You’re so beautiful” + your favorite trope

So we all already know it’s soulmates lol. But not gonna lie this is the most shamefully self indulgent thing I’ve ever written.

In which Tankhun is ace but his soulmate is not. They work it out anyway. Cw: internalized acephobia

On ao3 and below the cut

“Oh you just had to bring your friends here. I bet they’re boring. The minor family gets too much leeway these days. C’mon Chay you’re coming with me. Hmph.” Tankhun turned away with a twirl of his cape.

“Sorry P’.” Chay motioned to Porsche before following after Tankhun.

Not that Porsche could blame him, Tankhun was a forced to be reckoned with. Besides it was kind of his fault. Porsche did need to hide Jom and Tem in the main family compound after receiving some threats from the Italian mafia.

Deep down, Porsche knew Tankhun was excited Porsche was bringing more people. He had the biggest heart of anyone in the family and there was always room for one more. However, he hated any disruption to his routine. And this was more than a small disruption, given why they were hiding.

So Porsche buckled down for some horrible days and considered bribing Tankhun with hair dye, if it got bad he wouldn’t hesitate to get the fish costume.

Tem would be fine, he was Time’s soulmate and both Time and Tay’s boyfriend. Porsche knew he didn’t love what they did for a living, but he’d blend in well enough. Jom, on the other hand, was unexposed to the world of death threats and taking things seriously. He was a lot like Khun in that way, and the thought sent a shiver down Porsche’s spine.

This was not going to end well. Something was going to end up burnt and someone was going to end up in something worse than a fish costume.

Porsche started calling his soulmate to complain. Each day Porsche hoped Khun would find his soulmate, that somehow one of the guards Khun had known forever would just say the words and they’d be happy. At least then he’d have someone to entertain him in situations like these. He knew Khun wanted anything but.

Porsche never asked why Khun never wanted to meet his soulmate, but he had a few guesses.

“Babe, we’ve got a code paisley.”

Porsche could hear Kinn groan on the other side of the line.

“So you’re Porsche’s friend?” Tankhun sat across a table in the main lounge, looking as intimidating as possible and staring at Porsche’s friend Jom. He intended to judge this man to see if he was really good enough to be friends with one of his best friends.

“Um yes.”

“And what’s your opinion on series?”

“This one.” Tankhun slid a phone across the table. “Does the main character die?”

“Yes.” The man looked confident enough. Time for round two.

“And this one. Does the main character find her soulmate.”

“Um, no. I don’t think. But she says the man she’s in love with is enough.”

“Oh. She finds her soulmate in the released scripts of the second season that was cancelled mid filming. You’re behind. Come with me.”

“I always wanted to be on screen, like a star. An agent came to me once, but someone else got casts. But now, I’m a love coach total change and super cool right?”

The man called out following Tankhun

“Love coach, you say?” Tankhun had more than one plan for Arm and Pol.

Over the next few days Jom had become Tankhun’s new favorite person. It was rare for Khun to open up to someone so quickly, but he’d make an exception for one of Porsche’s closest friends. Porsche’s other friend, Tem, mostly stayed to himself or with his boyfriends which Tankhun thought was boring. No one would even go out drinking.

Tankhun’s favorite thing was that Jom was not afraid to pull off some of their more dramatic tricks. Now, Arm and Pol had a first date planned and Tankhun had another excuse to tease them.

Khun liked having a partner in crime.

At least until Porsche jokingly made them all watch porn again. Tankhun was distinctly uncomfortable. Not that it really bothered him but…it was something he’d never really wanted. Sex just didn’t seem like something he’d ever want to do.

He knew he was the outlier here. From the comments Jom and Porsche were making he knew he was more than just a little different. Subconsciously, he reached for his soulmark behind his ear sending them an apology. He’d always felt broken for this one. Even if he shouldn’t. He hoped he’d never have to meet them and watch their face fall in disappointment.

The…cinematic experience…if Tankhun could call it that, continued and Khun pretended to look interested until he took the first chance to walk out.

Tankhun kind of missed having a partner in crime that always agreed with him.

In moments of clarity and honesty, Tankhun could admit to himself that his feelings for Jom were starting to grow to more than friendship. This was a cruel reminder that he should probably stop that. There were a lot of reasons why it would be a bad idea, and a lot why it just wouldn’t work, but this was the worst one.

Tankhun gathered his breath to go back in and pretend nothing happened.

“Hey!” Jom snuck up behind him. “Are you okay? You kind of bolted out.”

“Of course I’m okay. I’m Tankhun.” Tankhun dramatically flailed the strings on his jacket.

“I know.” Jom laughed. “But if I made you uncomfortable, or if we did-”

“I would tell you and make you pay.” Tankhun tried to walk forward.

“You’re right.” Jom’s smile was genuine.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to give Porsche any more ideas and Arm and Pol’s date is tonight. We are on stakeout.”

Tankhun twirled around motioning for Jom to follow. Technically he had lied. Khun was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t their fault. It just wasn’t Khun’s either.

He was much more invested in watching Arm and Pol fumble around each other, trying not to admit they’d been in love for years.

“For the record, when I said I wanted to be on screen this wasn’t what I meant. But I’m sure I could make a lot of money.”

“Does Porsche ever tell you to shut up?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“Will they kiss? Do you think they’ll kiss?” Khun whispered, peeking over the menu. He was in a relatively understated pink jacket, so hopefully they wouldn’t notice.

“No. Nether of them has said a word. I should go over and say hi.”

“Don’t you dare!” Khun slapped Jom’s hand with the menu. “They’re figuring it out for themselves. Sheesh. Besides who knows what chaos you’ll bring.”

“I’ll have you know I am very popular. People always try to get me to date them.”

“That’s not what they meant when they said live your dream.”

“Hey!”

“And what does your future girlfriend think of you acting like that huh?”

“Um,” Jom blushed, “partner. I’m bi. But they’re going to love it. Because they’re going to love me.”

“Ooh you’re a sap.” Tankhun laughed, making a note to investigate why Porsche called Jom his only straight friend and filing the fact that Jom was bi under his would be important to know if only there weren’t other problems. Whoever they were, he hoped they loved Jom and put up with his jokes.

“What about you, you never talk about the little mark behind your ear. It’s not faded so you don’t know who it is yet do you?”

Tankhun went silent for a moment. “No. But when I meet them I will.”

“Oho, so you think you’ll be one of the lucky ones who’s mark is their first words?”

“No, but I’ll know.” Tankhun sent a prayer any chance he got that he would. So he could run the other direction. This life, who Tankhun was, by nature and by trauma, and the fears they would have to face, it was too much to ask someone.

Kinn got lucky with Porsche, he was ready for this life. Khun had suspicions about who Kim’s soulmate was, but trusted him to get them out. Tankhun was the wild card.

Back to the matter at hand, he was hoping Jom would stop talking about soulmate and start focusing on the fact that Arm and Pol were using breadsticks as mustaches. Tankhun was trying to get a good picture of them.

“You remind me of how Porsche after he first found out about Kinn.” Jom laughed. “He was so—wait! They’re kissing!” Jom pointed to Arm and Pol.

“Finally!” Tankhun turned around to where Arm and Pol were shovelling food and distinctly not kissing.

“Rude, why’d you do that to me.” He was grateful for the distraction nonetheless.

“To see what you’d do. Besides there’s more to love than kissing silly.”

“I know. But those two have been pretending they’re just friends for years.”

“I don’t know. Look at the way Pol is putting food on Arm’s plate, and the way Arm made sure to give him the better seat.”

“Hmm…”

They were stopped by a small, polite, terrified waitress interrupting. “Um, excuse me. Are you two going to order anything? If you don’t I think my boss will make me kick you out.”

They ended up leaving, content to let Arm and Pol figure it out for themselves and tease them about it tomorrow. Some things were meant to be discovered by the people living them.

As they were heading back to their rooms, Jom kissed Tankhun. It was sudden and unexpected. Tankhun melted. It felt like home, unconditionally. It felt like electricity. It made his heart race, jumping from a standstill to light speed.

It was probably actually a bad kiss. It was an awkward angle and it took Tankhun’s brain a moment to catch up with the situation. But it was absolutely returned.

“Cool.” Jom smiled and walked away.

After that, they started casually ‘dating’. Nothing much happened differently, but there were one or two movie nights that Khun had with just Jom. They snuck out to another part of the compound once, Jom only allowed to leave for university due to the threats, and Khun to nervous to leave. It was sweet.

No one, except maybe Kim, suspected anything. Tankhun liked it that way. It was a little secret they could keep away from very prying, teasing, eyes.

The problem was Tankhun was falling in love.

Unlike in his favorite series, there was no dramatic music playing or sudden lighting changes to tell him what Jom was feeling. That and they hadn’t discussed Tankhun’s being different to Jom. Tankhun knew he wasn’t broken, but it didn’t stop the insecurity from making him feel like he had cracks at every seam, one moment away from shattering.

“You’re so beautiful.” Jom whispered, breaking Tankhun from his reverie.

Tankhun kissed him. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Hey is somebody there?” Porsche called out.

Without words Tankhun and Jom turned to each other with a look that said run. This would be interesting.

They ran until they ended up in one of the gardens. Tankhun was securing a hiding spot and Jom was on lookout.

It had been awhile, and Tankhun was starting to get nervous that Jom ran into someone.

“I’m back.” Jom joined him hiding in the shrub. Okay they were hiding because it was fun, too.

“I got us snacks from the vending machine. Here’s your favorite.”

It was silly, it was sweet. Tankhun was having so much fun.

“You’re sweet, I knew you’d be, you just made me wait so long.”

Jom winced in pain almost doubling over.

“Never thought I’d find out about my soulmate on the run from armed bodyguards.”

Tankhun felt a stinging sensation behind his ear, suddenly in pain. It was the cosmos telling him, Jom was his soulmate. Tankhun reached behind his ear, where his soulmark faded to a beautiful soulscar.

“It’s you.” Tankhun spoke out trying to take everything about the moment in.

Jom kissed him. “Guess I should’ve seen this coming.”

Tankhun was a little scared what the future would bring, but right now, he was elated. He had his soulmate. He had his home. And his soulmate was perfect.

For their first impromptu movie night as soulmates, Tankhun put on one of their favorite series. Technically it was a movie afternoon, and they’d just snuck back in after losing the guard who may have caught them being more than friends. Nobody knew yet, and Tankhun and Jom both wanted to have this moment for just them.

The series played in the background, but they were mostly whispering love confessions and sharing kisses. It was perfect. Tankhun was so happy.

Khun was in a happy bubble, until the kisses became more heated and Jom’s hand slipped lower.

“Don’t, please.” Tankhun gently grabbed his hand. “I don’t want…” Tankhun trailed off trying to find the words and trying not to ruin this.

Jom sat a little further back, but not far. He was giving Khun the space to breathe.

“I’ve never wanted sex, even before everything. I was just…I came this way. I’m happy this way.” Tankhun gathered his breath. “I understand if you don’t want this anymore.”

“Dear love, never.” Jom gently kissed him, briefly. “Nothing could ever make me not want this. Not want you. Here. With me. If you don’t want that its okay with me. It’s something I want, but I’m willing to lose, you’re not.”

Tankhun was looking down, trying to believe what he was saying was true and afraid to see a look of betrayal on his loves face.

“Hey, love, look at me. I love you. All of you. For you. This is a part of you too. So it’s perfect.”

Tankhun looked and saw truth in his soulmate’s eyes. An honesty that only came with love.

“So perfect.”

Tankhun lifted his head to kiss his soulmate, hoping all of his emotions could be relayed in the motion. “I love you, so much.”

They cuddled for the rest of the afternoon, planning their future as much as they could. Kinn might break trying to do the math on how many of Porsche’s friends could possibly soulmates with his friends and family.

“Your soulmate is Porsche’s friend. And you told me not to go after Vegas.”

“And I was right.”

“I’m happy for you Khun.”

“You better be.” Khun laughed, reminiscing with his favorite ex-bodyguard and best friend. “Now you have to come back and meet him.”

Khun pecked Jom on the cheek, motioning to the phone and mouthing “it’s Pete.”

#kinnporsche #kpweek2022

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