Rated M
Tag: Friends to lovers, Get the girl, Love Triangles, Slow burn
Summary: You're the former Project Manager of Dunder Mifflin Syracuse. Newly transferred to Scranton branch to get away from your heartbreak. And you've met a boy. Who's also heartbroken. But you swore to yourself 'No more office romances' So, you and him plan to get his girl back.
It’s my first ever fanfiction! I tried my best to give him the love I think he deserved. It’ll be long and it’ll take a few chapters before we get to the action (I mean...the romantic part) And this is a super sloooow burn. *wink* The story will start with the first day Deangelo comes and work in Dunder Mifflin Scranton.
Inspired by Co-Lovers [GABE X FEM!READER] written by my favorite author Shogami.
Hello everyone! For people just discovering us, or for those of you who do know about us and would like a better summary of what’s to come, this is the right place! We are the It Lives Project, a fan team working in our free time to make the visual novel It Lives Within, the third and final book in the It Lives series.
You’re finally ready to leave your past behind and move on. But apparently, moving on means enrolling at a community college in a supernatural town overflowing with monsters and dark magic…
IT LIVES WITHIN NOW AIRING
Any bugs you find can be reported here. You can find the release schedule here, and our progress tracker here. Our ask box is always open, but make sure you read our FAQ first. To prevent our blog from being too cluttered and chaotic, we will delete any asks that are answered in our FAQ.
Summary: Jake always wants to win, but it’s time for him to learn that winning doesn’t always mean coming first. Inspired by Episode 7.
Word count: 3,826
Warnings: Enemies-to-lovers energy, himbo drunk on respect women juice, man learns about foreplay and knows how to take direction, Jake just wants to be a good boy ok??, SMUT; vaginal sex, semi-public sex, rough sex, wall sex, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, squirting, finger sucking, praise kink, dirty talk, subby Jake
THEN
When Jake walks into the garage, he hears Jessie talking to Chuck and Amir about her technical preferences for the car when she drives, preferences that Jake fears are much different from his.
“Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa,” he interrupts. “Make sure you can turn that all back to the stuff I like next week.”
Jessie, lips pursed and ready to challenge him, says, “How do you like your car set up?”
Jake pushes off the counter and struts toward her. “Like I like my women,” he says. “Pretty on the outside, with a lot of parts I don’t understand on the inside.”
“Jake just hits the gas and tries to finish first,” Chuck pipes up from beside Amir.
“I’m guessing that’s also how he is with his ladies,” says Jessie.
Jake laughs, “Yeah, it is.” Chuck grimaces at him.
“She’s saying you know nothing about cars or women,” Amir explains.
Jake shrugs. “Yeah, well, she doesn’t know anything about…” He looks over his shoulder. “Potato chips or coffee makers.”
Amir points at the coffee bar behind Jake. “Are you just naming things you see?”
A panicked expression crosses Jake’s face.
“I’m going to Kevin’s office.” He starts toward the office, but stops short to add, “And not just because I can see it. Because I want to.”
+ + +
NOW
Being the public relations officer for Bobby Spencer Racing is never boring, especially when the majority of your job revolves around cleaning up the destruction Jake Martin, your driver, leaves in his wake every time he opens his mouth.
But this? This takes the cake.
You storm into the locker room off the gym.
“Jake, are you in here?” you bellow. “I need to talk to you now.”
“Yeah, I’ll be out in a second,” he shouts from the shower.
Fuming, you tap your foot impatiently on the tile floor. He has a lot of explaining to do, and you don’t have time to waste when you have to mop up a mess like this.
The shower shuts off two minutes later. Jake emerges from the steam like a Greek god, damp and glistening, an absolute masterpiece carved in marble, wearing only a towel tied precariously around his hips. Your core flutters traitorously at the sight.
“Jesus Christ,” you curse, “will you put some clothes on?”
“You’re in my locker room,” he stresses.
“This,” you say, gesturing at his perfect abdomen, “is gratuitous.”
“Thank you.” A smile, lost somewhere between charmingly boyish and dangerously seductive, spreads across his full lips.
“Not a compliment.”
“You called me gratuitous,” he says confidently. “I’m pretty sure that’s a compliment.”
“It’s not. Anyway…” You pull up the Instagram post that has quickly become the bane of your existence. “Can you please explain to me what the hell is going on in this photo?”
He leans toward you to get a better look at the picture, subsequently giving you a better look at him. His gorgeous green eyes flicker under the fluorescent lights. His rippling muscles roll enticingly over his masculine bone structure. His build exudes power and strength, a trait that piques your more primal instincts.
“That?” Jake says. “Oh, that’s me.”
He brushes past you toward his locker. You drop your arm and follow him. “Yes, I know it’s you, but why are you with Layla Howard?”
“Why do you want to know?” He pitches his hands on his hips and smirks at you. “Are you jealous?”
“No, I’m not jealous, Jake.” You shake your phone at him. “This is a serious issue.”
His sultry sneer softens into a confused puppy-dog expression. “Why?” he asks.
“Layla Howard is the advocate for the Democratic party in North Carolina,” you explain. “She’s the most influential—Oh, my god!”
You whip around milliseconds before Jake’s towel leaves his hips and puddles on the bench beside the two of you.
“For Christ’s sake, Martin, give a girl a little warning next time!” you squeak.
“Sorry,” he apologizes. You hear clothes rustling, then, “Okay, I got pants on now.”
You pivot to face him again.
Jake is ruffling the towel over his blond hair, the bend at his elbows making his biceps bulge. With each inhale, his chest expands and his stomach tenses, deepening the lines between his washboard of an abdomen. Your eyes drift to the V-cut seams at either hip, cut off by the elastic waistband of his gray sweatpants.
Clearly, putting on pants is not enough to keep you from gawking.
“What were you saying?” he asks. You shake your head, clearing the desire-riddled haze from your mind.
“I was saying,” you continue, “that Layla Howard is like Democrat royalty in North Carolina, and you going out with her is going to make a lot of people not happy.”
He flashes you a cheeky grin and mutters, “Well, it made Layla and me pretty happy.”
“That’s not the point!” you bark. “She’s a Democrat, Jake. Do you know how many NASCAR supporters are actively anti-Democrat?”
“How many?”
“Pretty much all of them.”
He scrunches his nose. “That’s a lot.”
“Yeah, it is.” You sigh. “You really have no idea what you’ve done here, do you?”
“To be completely honest,” he grimaces, “I kind of forgot what we were talking about.”
And that’s it, the last straw. Lost in the disorienting presence of Jake’s half-naked body and the stress of the job, you explode. “Oh, my god! Were you sent from hell to torture me?!”
“Jeez,” he grumbles, “what’s your problem?”
“What’s my problem?!” you bellow. “You! You’re my problem! You’re a walking PR nightmare. You stress me out so much that I almost took up smoking.”
“You shouldn’t do that,” he says earnestly. “I know it secretly looks kind of cool, but it’s really bad for you.”
“Yeah, I know that.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a centering breath. Calm again, you look back at him.
“Stop seeing her,” you order. “Now.”
Jake clicks his tongue and groans. “Aw, man,” he gripes. “Who am I supposed to go out with then?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” you say. “Literally anyone else. I’m sure there’s tons of girls who would love to date a pain in the ass.”
A sly expression slowly crosses his face. His brow quirks. “Like you?”
You should’ve seen this coming. Since you started at Bobby Spencer Racing, Jake has hit on you at least once every day. Despite how often you turn him down and no matter how mean you are to him, he keeps coming back for more.
“No, Jake,” you say. “Not me either.”
“Oh, come on,” he presses playfully, sauntering toward you. You take a step back to maintain the distance between you. “Don’t you want to go out with me? I make a lot of money. Do you know how much stuff I can buy you? A lot. Plus, I am a NASCAR driver, and that’s kind of hot, isn’t it?”
This man is going to break you. And not just because part of you agrees with him.
“No, Jake, it’s not!” you shriek, your voice peaking in pitch with the lie. “I don’t want to go out with you. I don’t care how much money you make. The only thing you drive is me, crazy. Just fucking fix this, okay? Break it off with her tonight or, I swear to god, I will make it so that you can’t even get a job as a high school driving instructor, got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs reluctantly.
“Thank you,” you say sharply. Irate and nearly growling, you stomp toward the exit.
“I know you think I’m dumb, but I’m not.”
You stall and pivot back to him.
Shoulders slumped, Jake looks at you sheepishly. “I know I’m not smart, but I’m not dumb either.”
“I don’t think you’re dumb,” you say. He shoots you an skeptical glance, and you correct yourself, adding, “Okay, I think you’re a little dumb, but that’s just because you do dumb shit all the time.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “God, you’re always so mean to me. I mean, yeah, I kind of like it, but why is that? Do you really hate me that much?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Why, then?” he asks, striding toward you. “Why are you so mean?”
Still trying to keep your distance, you walk backwards into the wall. You’re distracted and scatterbrained and blurt out, “Because I don’t like the way I feel when I’m around you! I get all stressed out and angry and confused and turned on—”
Oh, shit.
The color drains from your face.
Jake’s mouth sneaks up into a cocky smirk. He rakes his eyes over your figure. “Turned on?”
“That’s not what I meant,” you stammer, burning under the heat of his green-eyed gaze.
“Why not?” he says. “You turn me on, too.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “I do?”
“Duh!” he exclaims. “You’re mean and hot. That’s, like, the dream.”
You cross your arms over your chest, unconvinced. “I’m the dream?”
Dripping in dangerous charm, Jake swaggers nearer, boyish grin growing more wicked with each step. He moves like a predator, flexing and hungry. He places his palm flat on the wall beside your head and lowers his face.
The tip of his nose brushes against the side of yours and he whispers, “Fuck yeah, you are.”
He’s so close that you can feel the warmth of his body against yours. His breath breezes hot and inviting over your upper lip. He’s right there, right there. You could just…
“Fuck it,” you mumble. Your self-restraint flies out of the window, and you clamp your hand over his bare shoulder and drag his mouth to yours.
Your lips meet in a flash flame, fueled by the tension that’s been building between the two of you for weeks. Jake curls his palm around the side of your neck and rolls his body against yours. Against the groove of your pelvis, you feel his cock stiffening in his sweatpants.
The feeling of your tongue sliding against his rouses something inside of him. Instantly, the kiss becomes more consuming and intense, earth-shaking and reality-shattering. Jake’s hands roam desperately over your body, pawing and pinching and coveting.
He’s shameless and unafraid, unabashedly yanking your blouse out of your pencil skirt, unbuttoning it, and tearing it off of your shoulders. The silk garment flutters to the ground, but you’re too distracted by Jake’s mouth traveling across your cleavage to care.
He quickly moves onto the zipper at your hip and has your pencil skirt around your feet in seconds. He breaks the kiss and holds his forefingers up at you.
“Just a sec,” he says. He flits off back to his locker, rifles through his jeans for his wallet, and pulls out a condom.
He dashes back to you, glues his lips to yours again, and starts pulling off his sweatpants. You push him back. “What are you doing?”
He stares at you blankly. “I thought I was gonna fuck you.”
“Not like that, you’re not,” you balk.
“How am I supposed to fuck you, then?” he asks.
“Seriously? You gotta warm me up a little bit, Martin,” you explain. “You can’t just go around sticking your dick in people and jack-hammering at them until you come.”
Jake laughs, “I’ve been doing it that way for a while and I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Yeah, because you’re hot and famous,” you scoff.
He frowns. “I don’t get it.”
“No one’s gonna tell you you’re bad in bed when you make six figures a year and look like a fucking model.”
“Well, you said it, not me,” he croons. He tips his head impishly to the side and brings his face back to yours. You grab him by the jaw.
“I’m serious, Jake,” you say. “You know you don’t have to come first in everything, right?”
Fear washes over his face. It’s as though something has broken inside of him. “Oh, no. Am I bad at sex?” he squeaks.
“If you are, we’re gonna fix that,” you promise.
“Okay,” he says, bobbing his chin frantically. “Tell me what to do.”
Wanton heat blooms in your core. Hell yeah, you’ll tell him what to fucking do.
“When you get behind the wheel, what do you do?” you ask him.
“I listen to the car,” he answers.
“It’s the same with sex.”
You can almost see the gears turning in his head. “I… listen to the girl?”
“Yes.”
You see the pieces linking together now. His eyes widen in realization. “So, I should treat a girl like a car?”
You shrug noncommittally. “Sure.”
“Okay, yeah. I can do that.” He steps back and looks you over, his brow furrowing in concentration. “So, is there, like, a gear shift or…?”
You roll your eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Hooking your hand around the back of Jake’s neck, you bring his face to yours again.
It doesn’t take long for you to realize kissing is not something Jake needs to practice. He moves his mouth expertly, swiping his tongue teasingly at the seam of your lips and slipping it past your teeth to mingle with yours. He cups the side of your jaw with his left hand while his right travels over your hip to your ass, and up the curve of your waist. It passes briefly over your breast before skimming down your stomach. He dips his fingertips under the waistband of your panties.
“Mm-mm,” you hum disapprovingly. “Not yet.”
He whines in disappointment and returns his hand to your breast, palming it roughly.
“Softer,” you tell him, and he softens his touch immediately.
Damn, he takes direction well.
“Good,” you praise him. “That’s better.”
Jake ghosts his thumb over your nipple, hardening it underneath your bra. An airy moan floats from your tongue onto his. Apparently, he’s a fast learner, at least when it comes to sex. It surprises you, but perhaps you shouldn’t have assumed the track would be the only place he’s fast.
He winds his hand around your ribs and flicks open the clasp between your shoulder blades. You lower your arms to drop your bra on the floor. With the garment out of the way, Jake brings his mouth to your tits and circles his tongue around your nipples. The flick of his tongue is enough to have arousal pooling between your legs.
He definitely doesn’t need to practice this either.
Fingers twining in his hair, you whisper, “Touch me, Jake.”
His hand moves to the apex of your thighs straight away. He wedges his fingers underneath your panties and between your folds. Your cunt is dripping with arousal, allowing his fingers to glide over you with ease. He breaks the kiss and takes a deep inhale.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.”
“See how good it can be when you take your time?” you say breathlessly. He nods, causing his lips to brush over yours. His mouth returns to yours with newfound fervor.
Laying your hand on top of his, you guide him toward your swollen clit. You circle the pads of his fingers around it in teasing strokes. He picks up on the pattern quickly and in minutes you’re gasping into his mouth, toes tingling and knees wobbling.
“Jake,” you purr, “you’re making me feel so good. Yeah, keep touching my clit, just like that. Oh, fuck, you’re gonna make me come. I’m gonna come so hard for you. Fuck me with your fingers, Jake. I need it.”
You feel how your praise encourages him. He does as he’s told and moves his fingers from your clit to your folds again and sinks his fingers into your pussy. You wrap your hand around his wrist to help him set a comfortable pace, not too fast or hard.
It really does feel good. It feels amazing, actually. He’s so attentive, listening so carefully to what you say, acting on instinct at your reaction to his touch. Fingers still pumping in and out of your pussy, the heel of his palm rubs against your clit, intensifying the pleasure.
“Oh, god, yes!” you cry. “Jake, I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me come so fucking hard. Yes, Jake, yes! Just like that! Don’t stop, don’t stop! Make me come, Jake. Make me come!”
The coil in your core snaps and you come on his hand. Your arousal floods his palm, your cunt clenches unforgivingly around his fingers, and you let out a high-pitched whine as you topple into ecstasy. Sated, you slump against the wall, panting and dewy.
Jake gawks at you, awestruck. “Holy shit,” he says. “That was so fuckin’ sick.”
“Yeah,” you chuckle weakly, “it was, wasn’t it?”
He crashes his mouth against yours, drawing you into a crushing kiss, then pulls back and says, “Can you teach me how to do that with my mouth?”
Jake says that you’re his dream, but you’re starting to think he may be yours as well.
Leering at him like he’s a fucking meal, you dart your tongue across the seam of your lips. “Get on your knees.”
Jake lowers to the floor in front of you, his mouth a mere three inches from your cunt. He starts to pull his fingers out of your pussy, but you stop him. “No, keep them there.”
He bobs his chin in acknowledgement and leaves his fingers in place. With his eyes fixed on yours, he uses his left hand to slowly drag your panties down your legs. Once your panties fall in a heap around your ankles, you prop your foot up on the edge of the bench to your right.
Jake breaks eye contact to stare straight at your cunt. Mouth watering, he licks his lips and looks up at you again, ready for further instructions.
“Stick out your tongue,” you direct him. He does as you say. You comb your fingers through his hair and lead his head to the apex of your thighs. “Go real slow. Tongue flat. Take your time. Taste me.”
Jake flattens his tongue and swipes slowly between your folds. He repeats the action. And again. Your head tips back. Your jaw drops. You sigh into the wet heat of his mouth.
“Good. Very good,” you say. “Now, lick my clit.”
He does. Eyes trained on your quivering body, he flicks the tip of his tongue over your clit, sucks it between his lips, and licks it hungrily.
“Oh, my god,” you gasp. “That’s really good, Jake, really good. I want more, baby. Can you give me more?”
Jake, high on the praise and desperate to please, intensifies his ministrations on your clit and, without being asked, begins to pump his fingers inside of you again. Eyes screwing shut, you squeal lewdly.
“Are you gonna come again?” he mumbles against your cunt.
Breathless, you nod. “Yeah, I’m gonna come again. Make me come, baby. Make me come.”
He laves at you greedily, devouring you, consuming you. He drinks you in, covering his chin in your arousal, as he pushes you over the edge for a second time. You can’t contain the blissful wail that rips through your throat. It echoes around the locker room, bouncing off of the concrete walls, surely loud enough that any passersby would know exactly what’s happening inside. What a blessing it is that the only way to get to the locker room is through the gym.
With your grip on his hair, you pull his face away from your cunt. He peers up at you with those puppy dog eyes and swipes the back of his hand over his soaked chin.
“Did I do a good job?” he asks.
“You did such a good job,” you assure him. “Now, come up here and kiss me.”
Beaming proudly, Jake rises to his feet and brings his lips to yours. Tasting your release on his tongue, you hum against him, satisfied.
Such a good listener. Such a fast learner. Such a good boy.
You guide his hand out of your pussy, whimpering softly at the emptiness, and bring his wet fingers to your lips. You suck them into your mouth and swirl your tongue around them, cleaning your pleasure off of him.
Jake stares at you dumbly as you pull his fingers out with a salacious moan. He gulps. “What now?”
“Now,” you say, “you fuck me against this wall, as hard as you fucking can.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He yanks off his sweatpants, reaches for the condom he’d gotten earlier, puts it on, and lifts you into his arms.
He holds you like it’s nothing, like you’re lighter than air, and pins you against the wall. Secure between his solid body and the concrete, he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance and thrusts into you.
Each snap of his hips tears a shrill cry from you. You cling to him, clawing at his shoulders and the nape of his neck. You moan into his ear and nip at his jawline.
Jake grunts along with you, truly primal and instinctual, animalistic. He keeps one hand planted on the wall by your head and the other on your ass, effectively caging you in place so he can rail into you as deeply and harshly as he wants to.
“Oh, Jake. Oh, my god,” you whimper. “You’re fucking me so well. You’re doing such a good job. You’re being such a good boy for me. You’re my good boy, aren’t you?”
He hears the words ‘good boy’ and his cock throbs inside of you. He growls into your shoulder and increases his speed. He gains power, rutting into you like his life depends on it. Your bare back scrapes against the concrete wall, but the rough texture only makes the pleasure that much more intense.
“I’m gonna come,” Jake croaks. “Can I come?”
“God, yes,” you moan. “Come for me, Jake.”
He shouts, stills, and jolts against you as he empties himself into the condom. Sweat-slick and spent, he melts against you. His head drops into the curve of your neck. He stamps kisses absentmindedly onto your skin.
Chuckling, he lifts his head. “Wow.”
“Wow is fuckin’ right,” you agree. “Jesus Christ, Martin, you’re like a fucking machine.”
He locks his emerald, doe-eyed gaze on yours. “So… Not bad at sex?”
“Definitely not,” you say. A confident smile breaks across his face. The corner of his mouth pulls it into a cocky smirk.
“You know,” he says, “I think I could use some more practice, though, if you’re game.”
“Oh, I’m always game,” you rasp. You pinch his chin between your forefinger and thumb. “And there’s a few other things I’d like to teach you. Do you think you’re up to the challenge?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. He presses his grinning mouth to yours once more, the flavor of your arousal still lingering on his tongue.
He really is such a good boy.
+
Masterlist | Smut Masterlist
Freddie Stroma Characters Smut Masterpost
Recommended: Unlikely Heroes, Part 1 (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader)
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A/N: Yes, I realize how cheesy it is to name this fic after the song featured in the Peacemaker title sequence. Sue me.
Word count: 2,268
Warnings: Vaginal sex, rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, squirting, overstimulation, spanking, dirty talk, Adrian treats the kitty right, these two are whooers, the mask comes OFF (but does go back ON and we respect that), a wee bit o’ fluff
“Oh! Oh, my god!”
You prop yourself up onto your forearms and look down.
Adrian’s face is buried so deeply between your thighs that all you can see is the back of his dark-haired head as he runs his tongue up and down your folds. He sneaks a quick glance up at you, and you catch a peek of the dimple bracketing his mouth before he lowers his head and continues.
He’s been between your legs for what feels like hours now. After coming home from a morning shift at Fennel Fields, you’d found Adrian standing in your kitchen, snacking on dry cereal.
“What are you doing?”
“Eating.”
“No, I mean, what are you doing here?”
“Oh. Well, I was hoping we could have sex. You game?”
Your elbows buckle out from under you when Adrian sucks your clit into his mouth. You splay your arms wide across your mattress, your unbuttoned Fennel Fields shirt falling open, revealing your bra underneath. The crease between your brows deepens. Your jaw falls open. A slew of nonsensical praises trickle freely past your parted lips.
“Oh, yes! God, that feels so good. Please, don’t stop. Please, please, please. I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come!”
It’s your third orgasm since Adrian started and it’s equally as shattering as the two before. You’re well past logical thinking, your mind occupied only by the pleasure Adrian has been providing with his mouth alone.
Adrian’s head pops up. “Did you just come again?”
“Uh-huh,” you answer.
You pull yourself into an unsteady sitting position and card your hands through his curls. Adrian smiles into the comfort of your palm against the crown of his skull. He starts dipping between your legs again, but you move your hand below his chin and stop him.
“Aren’t you tired?” you ask. “Like, doesn’t your jaw hurt?”
“Not really,” he says, a casual frown pulling at the corners of his wet mouth.
“How?”
He scrunches his nose and narrows his stare.
“Well,” he says, “I’m really good at eating pussy. And I like doing things I’m good at.”
Since you started sleeping together, Adrian continues to surprise you. You curse yourself for spending so much time convincing yourself that you couldn’t possibly be interested in him, when that whole time you could’ve been enjoying this: Adrian’s tongue, Adrian’s hands, Adrian’s body.
You eye him hungrily and lick your lips. “Feel free to keep going, then.”
Adrian beams, snaps his spine straight, and tugs off the black thermal shirt he wears under his suit, the one that fits him like a second skin, though it still doesn’t do justice to the body beneath. He lunges forward to give you a swift kiss, then settles at the apex of your thighs again.
The ropes of muscle in his back roll like waves, cresting over his shoulder blades as he strokes the flat of his tongue hungrily over your pussy. His biceps and forearms flex as he pulls you closer to him and adjusts the position of his hands around your legs. The tips of his fingers tickle the insides of your thighs, ghosting over your sensitive skin in time with the movement of his mouth.
It’s too much, it’s too good. He’s too good.
“A-Adrian,” you stammer, “I don’t think… I think I…”
“Hmm?” he hums.
“I need a—” The shrill whine that tears through your throat splinters your sentence in half. “I need… I need—ah!—I need a break.”
“Oh, okay.” He lifts his head immediately. Confusion crosses his face when he sees your shocked expression. “Why do you look surprised?”
“I—I didn’t really think you’d stop.”
“You told me to,” he says in a clipped voice, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. (Fuck, that’s hot.) “Did you not want me to stop?”
You shake your head rapidly, trying to clear your sex-hazed mind. “No, I did. I mean, I think I did. I said that I did.”
Adrian raises his brow. “Do you want me to keep going?”
You worry at your lip. “I—I don’t—”
“I’m not gonna keep going unless you tell me to,” he says. “Do you want a break or not?”
“Um…”
Did you really want him to stop?
(No.)
“I don’t want a break,” you decide.
“Awesome.” He smiles and nestles between your thighs again.
Your back bows when Adrian slips two fingers inside of you. He beckons you toward another release with the curve of his knuckles. Your body is at his will. Under the control of his mouth, she’ll do anything he wants her to.
Adrian, fingers still furling inside you, raises his glistening face again. “I have a question.”
“Ye-es?” you gasp.
“If you ever tell me that you want a break again, should I assume that means you do want a break or that you want me to keep going?” he asks.
(It’s a fair question—and a good one.)
“What if we set up a word?” you suggest.
“What kind of word?”
“A safe word.”
“Ooh, I love those!” he pipes. “Obviously, it has to be something we wouldn’t say a lot, so it couldn’t be anything like oh-my-god, or harder, or fuck-me-Vigilante. And it especially couldn’t be holy-shit-you’re-the-best-sex-of-my-life.”
His mouth spreads into a goofy grin, the smug bastard.
“What? It’s true!” he squawks.
You shake your head and try to hide your smile. Your expression breaks almost instantly when Adrian starts circling his thumb around your clit.
“What about ‘red’?” you manage, breathless under the pressure of Adrian’s hand. “Like the stoplight system?”
“Works for me,” he agrees. Dimpled grin plastered to his face, he dives in again.
Adrian fucking consumes you. He laps at you gluttonously. He flicks the tip of his tongue feverishly over your clit. He drinks you in like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. He puts his entire being, and then some, into making you come on his tongue.
You writhe on the mattress, chasing after his mouth. Adrian pins his forearm over your bucking hips to keep you still, giggling confidently as he does it. The staccato gust of his breath stokes the heat in your core, bringing you to the edge again, already. You grab onto his hair and draw him closer.
You wrap your fingers around his curls and pull them taut. Shocked by your strength and egged on by the surprising sting of your grip, Adrian moans into your folds. Your head tips back deeper into the mattress.
“Oh, god,” you whimper. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Adrian intensifies the flick of his tongue, batting against your clit at an unparalleled speed. He keeps his fingers curled and pumps them faster into your pussy. You listen to the lewd, wet slapping of Adrian’s hand and tongue at the apex of your quivering thighs.
Now, this, you think, is too much.
You relinquish control to the overwhelming power of your cresting orgasm. It’s unlike any you’ve felt before, stronger than any climax you’ve experienced to date. You inch closer and closer and closer and—
“Ah, fuck!”
You scream as the orgasm rips through you. It’s devastating, earth-shattering, and ruinous in the best way. Your vision flashes white. Your heart thuds violently in your chest, threatening to bruise itself against your ribs. Your release floods Adrian’s mouth.
“Whoa.” Adrian slides off the bed. The lower half of his face is soaked, shining with your arousal. He swipes his forearm across his mouth and chuckles. “That. Was. Awesome.”
He’s swelling with pride. His eyes brighten and he smiles his Adrian smile. “I’ve never made a girl do that before! I thought it was a joke!”
Your chest rises and falls heavily as you regain control of your breath. “Adrian.”
“Dude! That was fucking crazy. Holy shit!”
“Adrian,” you repeat, breathing evenly again.
“Like, I did my thing, then you came, and you fucking squirted! Goddammit, that’s so fucking sick. Isn’t it sick? Don’t you think it’s sick?”
“Adrian.”
“Yeah?” He meets your glassy gaze and blushes. “Sorry, I’m just really excited about it.”
“You should be,” you say.
Adrian pitches one fist on his hip and scratches the back of his head with his other hand. “So, how, uh, how are you feeling?”
On wobbly legs, you pull yourself up onto your knees and shuffle to the foot of the bed toward Adrian.
You reach for him and place your palm flat on his stomach. His perfectly sculpted abdomen is solid under your touch. You trace the tip of your forefinger down the center line between the two columns of muscle to the trail of hair that leads to his pelvis.
Adrian ogles you, green eyes swimming with want. You unbutton his pants, shove your hand under the waistband of his boxer briefs, and wrap your fist around his cock.
“O-oh,” he groans. Adrian shudders as you work over his shaft. He stands awkwardly, his hands hovering in front of him as though he’s unsure where to put them. Eventually, he decides to skim them lightly over your upper arms. His eyes slide shut and he gulps.
Your desire grows with his. It’s not long before you need him inside of you as badly as he does.
“Can we fuck now?” he asks. You take your hand out of his pants.
“Yes, please,” you say.
While you shrug out of what remains of your Fennel Fields uniform, Adrian shucks off his pants and boxer briefs. He stands in front of you, enjoying the lustful expression on your face, before he reaches for his Vigilante mask strewn across your dresser behind him.
“Wait!” you blurt. Adrian stills and looks at you expectantly.
God, that clueless expression is so fucking cute on his adorable fucking face. How is it possible that that face is the same one that puts on a mask to hide his identity while he’s out doing… Vigilante things?
(Nope, you’re not thinking more about that right now. Now is not the time to fall down that existential rabbit hole.)
You scrape your bottom lip between your teeth. In a tone sweeter than cotton candy, you say, “Before you put the mask back on… Kiss me?”
Adrian dons his Vigilante-esque, self-assured grin and crawls on top of you.
You taste yourself on him, the distinct tang of your arousal. It’s too fucking hot, knowing that he did that to you. And that he enjoyed it. He got off on getting you off, and that’s not something you can say for most of the men you’ve been with.
Adrian’s hand slithers under your back. He wedges his hand between your shoulder blades and flicks open your bra clasp. You release your grip on him to strip off the garment and toss it carelessly across the room. Adrian growls into your mouth, tears his lips from yours, and ghosts them over your sternum.
He peppers kisses across your chest, flicks his tongue over your nipples, and palms your tits in his hands. You yelp when he sinks his teeth deep into one of your breasts.
Adrian sits back on his heels, fits his mask over his face, and flips you onto your stomach. You balance yourself on your kneecaps and grab the headboard of your bed for support. Behind you, you hear the crinkle of the condom wrapper and his low grunt as he rolls on the condom.
You feel the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you. He glides his shaft between your dripping folds slowly. You’re a breath away from cursing him when he finally thrusts his cock into your pussy.
He sets a damning pace. With his hands on your hips, he jerks you back on his cock, rough and harsh.
“Oh, yeah, fuck me, Vigilante! Fuck me harder!” you squeal.
Adrian’s voice is barely audible when he mumbles, “Told you we couldn’t use that as a safe word.”
You don’t have a chance to fire back a response, because then his palm lands flat on your ass and he has you screaming under the sweet sting of his hand. He smooths over your backside, delivers another spank, and repeats.
Nonsense trickles from your parted lips, a chorus of curses and cries, mindless praises and prayers for more. A guttural grunt sounds behind you. You look over your shoulder to see Adrian squirming, struggling to maintain his thrusts.
“Gonna come,” he pants. “Gonna come.”
He yanks his cock out of your overwrought pussy, flips you onto your back, and snaps off the condom. He jerks his shaft until he comes, splattering the hot ropes of his release across your stomach and tits. He slumps into himself and pulls off his mask, dropping his arm limply at his side.
He looks dumbstruck, utterly mind-fucked. Gasping, he swipes his hand over his glistening forehead and runs his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. You wriggle toward the edge of the mattress and reach for the box of tissues on your bedside table to wipe the cum off your skin. Adrian collapses weakly onto his side.
“You alright there?” you ask him.
“You’re really loud,” he wheezes. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten a noise complaint yet.”
You shrug. “Well, I chose an apartment building with thick walls for a reason.”
“Sure, yeah,” he says, “but I feel like thick walls only do so much.”
You roll over to face him and smile. “I guess we’ll just have to keep fucking to see how long it takes for us to get a noise complaint, then.”
His brow lifts. “Now, that’s an idea I can get behind.”
+
Vigilante | Masterlist | Smut Masterlist
Recommended: The Second Time (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader)
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Stage, screen and television star Alfred Molina stops by the Bitter Table and gets really really really acquainted with the Bitter Gang. You won't believe w...
Bitter P: You've been quoted as saying that you give good accent– What else do you give good?
Thank you @julia-highstorms for thinking of me. I'm one of the Christmas ppl. It's the most wonderful time of the year and I'm here ready to rock the jingle bell Mean Girls style hehehehehe
So no Blades of Light and Shadows for at least another year?????!!!
I understand how complex it is and that it demands time and all @playchoices, but please don't pull another It Lives on us. And Hero, and all the other series you first said you would continue and then dropped.
Blades is the solemnly reason why I still have Choices app installed on my phone, and I'm pretty sure this is a reality for a bunch of people too. You're losing a fan basis with this constant cut outs of the less romantic books.
Maybe our part is small compared to the number of people who play the romance books, but you're just slowly becoming another visual novel app with romantic stories within a sea of similar apps. You're losing your identity. I know how hard it is to stay competitive and profitable in this market (believe me, I know. I've been working with apps and technology for the past three years). But you gathered a lot of users through years with these books to.
And the fandom lived with them. When It Lives and Blades were releasing people would lose their minds, fanarts/fanfics were at their peaks. I remember Choices fandom being on trending topics here on Tumblr because of these two books.
And on top of that, the Royal series has just finished. Choices's main series. These new books probably may retain a part of the Royal fans but, are they enough? What about the other part of your users who don't play it?
And, as someone whose work is centered on user's experience, I cannot help but think: Do you have forms and surveys to know what your users want to play? Do you ever conduct researches with your base? Do you ever seek for users' feedbacks? I honestly have never seen it. If somebody knows, please tell me. All I get is the feeling that you just follow the data you get. But you don't look further into it. Into what this data means. You just look which books are more profitable and keep on working on them and drop the others. This is what I feel.
I'm okay with postponing Blades, but I'm getting It Lives vibes. I won't be surprised if you announce next year that Blades will be discontinued. But I and a lot of people will be surely disappointed. So yeah, this is a plead. Don't cancel Blades, please.
Summary: Noah reminisces about a happier time when his twin sister was here.
Note: After over three years since it’s finished, I am writing a prologue for “If Jane Was Here” (revised and posted on AO3). Because I just can’t get enough of my kids even after all these years. Read more of my ILITW fanfics here
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, not me.
Rating: PG-16 (angst. Trigger warning: depression and death mention)
Song: Lonely by Palaye Royale screams Noah to me😭 my poor boy
Word count: 980
___________________________
The boy with a beanie and a denim jacket sat down on one of the benches at Westchester’s town square, cursing through gritted teeth. As usual, he had an argument with Mom and left the house. It always felt like he would suffocate when he was at home.
The next day would be the first day of senior year.
It had been 10 years since Jane’s death.
Not that it changed much. Things were still crap.
When Noah woke up that morning, Mom was already talking his ears off. She always got more emotional at the beginning of each school year. Probably thinking about how it would have been if Jane was still here.
…Because that was exactly what always passed through his mind every single year.
Not that it changed much. Jane wasn’t here anymore.
She hadn’t been for a long time now.
For ten years. For ten years, Jane has been gone.
Noah sometimes wished he could turn back time to when Jane was here.
The first time I ever saw Zach Woods was in Whit Stillman’s glorious 2011 collegiate comedy Damsels in Distress. Greta Gerwig’s transcendent turn as future Nylon private icon Violet Wister rightfully stole the show and forever turned me into a devotee, but it was Woods who, as Rick DeWolfe, the sarcastic, plucky editor of university paper The Daily Complainer, became the subtly attractive three-scene wonder I would come to retroactively recognize and girlishly admire in several films and television shows, most recently (and most brilliantly!) as lovable kind-to-a-fault mother hen/business development head and unflappable butt monkey Donald “Jared/OJ” Dunn on Silicon Valley.
Part of the reason I couldn’t help but be transfixed by Zach Woods (he’s one of those people whose names you can’t help but say in full–even his Silicon Valley castmates [when they’re not referring to him as “Zee-Wee,” that is] do) is because Rick and Violet, in their only scene together, have an undeniable chemistry and tension that unfortunately goes nowhere.
Case in point:
The amount of fan fiction scenarios in my head that feature them is insane–but if I ever get around to writing them, I think I’ll keep them to myself.
What I don’t like keeping to myself are these amazing little tidbits I’ve learned about Zach Woods recently from reading/watching interviews and listening to podcasts. So now, in a barely-disguised effort to get them out there and convince people of his greatness (and to compile them all together in a place where I could easily find them and remind myself), here they are, listed and written out with probably-unnecessary commentary from me:
At age thirteen-ish he invited some of his friends to his house for a sleepover and demanded that they read one-act plays with him.
After reading Roald Dahl’s The Witches, he became paranoid and convinced that his mom was a witch. He can also quote the line that gave him this “inkling” word for word. (I mean, okay, the first email newsletter I subscribed to–I was ten at the time–was The Dahl-y Telegraph off Dahl’s website, and I’m still subscribed, and he’ll forever be one of my heroes, so…)
He seems to be unable to smile without looking sarcastic. I swear.
He’s 6′4″ tall, but according to him, he’s only 6′2″ with his “confidence” aka slouch.
Also around middle school (I would give anything to know Middle School Zach) he memorized all the worlds to “Staying Alive” and, for Halloween while trick-or-treating, dressed up as Tony Manero from Saturday Night Fever (disco!), gathered his friends as his “backup dancers,” and performed for everyone who opened their doors to them. Brilliant.
He became the Homecoming King, deliberately ironically, by a fluke, decided by the misfits. And, for a laugh, posed scowling for the official photos.
Uses the word “smartypants.” Articulate in general. Slight accent I can’t place (probably Philly or Jersey), especially with near-low front unrounded vowels (e.g. “back” or “cat”).
You can feel his love of improv and working on Silicon Valley radiate off him. Loved the “secret New York life” going to UCB gave him.
His greatest dream was to live creatively, “not making a lot of money,” in underground clubs.
Self-deprecating. Has referred to self as “cadaverous.”
Speaking of self-deprecation, he improvised the line “My uncle says I look like someone starved a virgin to death” on Silicon Valley, as well as “I’ve booby-trapped the house with several corporate resources,” “He made this bro angry,” and that line about someone lying about wanting to go birding with you when really they just want to steal your binoculars. Among others.
He based the character of Jared off his mom, compared the character to those smiley-face balloons you punch and they pop back up (makes sense), and read Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret to prepare for it.
Adored Martin Starr as Bill Haverchuck years and years before SV.
Doesn’t watch Game of Thrones–during the Red Wedding, when his girlfriend called him crying, he thought it was because he hadn’t been an ideal companion throughout their time together. All four years (at the time) of it.
Ellie Kemper has sent him a text with the words “big tall bitch” in it.
While playing a video game in which his character is a girl, people were yelling for him to make her spin or jump in order to finish a goal. His response: “She’s not gonna do things just because a bunch of men tell her to!”
Has never smoked, barely drinks. I don’t have anything against this really but it’s nice to know.
Jewish. Because of course he is. Therefore, intense and sensitive.
This ran sort of longer (wayyyy longer) than I meant for it to. I still kind of have more but I’ll leave it at this. Is anyone still even reading anymore? Anyway. That’s Zach Woods for you. What a guy.
