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shina913 · 1 year

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The Boyfriend Experience | MYG

The Boyfriend Experience: Yoongi

The BFE: Masterlist

Pairing: Escort!Yoongi x Divorcee Fem!Reader

Rating: M🔞

Genre: sex!workAU; strangers to ? ; angst; smut;

Warnings: alcohol consumption; cussing; mentions of antidepressant; gynecology; mentions of divorce; bits of self-pity and low-self-esteem; legal sex work (in this AU); fingering; dirty talk; clit play; protected penetrative sex; aftercare

Word count: ~8.2k words

Summary: 💬 When I saw my gynecologist recently after not having sex for a year, she told me, ‘You need to be having sex.’ She told me that my vagina was 'drying up.’ Sex, in and of itself and for its own sake, is also important for a woman’s physical health.

A/N: Little disclaimer: the doctor's office part is a spin on this one scene from Sex and the City. I found out that this is a legitimate condition 🥴 I don't really go into detail about it but I also don't mean to offend anyone who is actually suffering from this condition so I apologize! It's only a small part of the plot.

A/N: Thank you to @/itdoesntmatterwhy and @/purplewhalewrites for reading through this and for your super helpful suggestions to get this installment going. It's been kind of a struggle to get the storyline straight for this one so...I hope you all like how this Yoongi turned out. Enjoy! 😘

You are hypnotized by the bubbles in your champagne. You watch the tiny orbs floating and fizzling up to the surface…much like many of the realities you’d encountered in recent days.

Three days ago, you were at a doctor’s appointment for your annual exam. You’d been experiencing some discomfort down in your lady parts.

After making her assessment, the doctor prompts you to sit up on the exam table. You straighten your posture, adjust the hospital gown behind your shoulder, smooth the paper blanket over your lap, and anticipate her professional advice.

As she scribbles on her prescription pad, she says, “I’m prescribing you an antidepressant.”

“I-I’m sorry…I’m confused. An antidepressant? B-but I don’t think that—“

She looked up from her dark-framed glasses. “Oh, it’s not for you.” Then she cocks her eyebrow and gestures below your waist. “It’s for your vagina.”

“Uhm…okay, now I’m even more confused.” It was the understatement of the century.

“The discomfort you’re feeling is due to some dryness,” she begins to explain. “I’m also prescribing a topical gel with some hormones to help with lubrication.”

“Lubrication?” You ask incredulously.

“Yes,” she smiled politely. “I would recommend abstaining from any sexual activity for about 24-48 hours to allow the gel to work its magic but after that, you can get right back on that pony!”

“Well, abstaining shouldn’t be a problem then. I’ve been sexually in-active for a while, so what’s another two days?” You joked.

Your doctor’s eyebrows furrowed. “You haven’t had sex in–how long?”

You’d already gone through this line of questioning from the pre-assessment intake that her assistant had done before your doctor entered the room. Didn’t she check your records?

She looked at her laptop and scrolled up. “A year?”

“Yes…give or take,” you replied quietly.

In actuality, it was a little bit longer than that. It’s been over a year since you and your ex-husband, Jihoon, separated and began divorce proceedings. Months before he moved out, intimacy was already scarce, bordering on nonexistent.

The doctor’s mouth falls open at your confirmation. “Oh, honey…” She pulled her glasses off.

You and Dr. Cabrera have known each other for years. You both spoke freely and casually when the situation called for it.

“You need to be having sex. And no, it doesn’t need to be with an actual dick. There are other ways, too.” Her lips thinned into a tight line as she gave you a knowing look.

You roll your eyes at her. “Don’t you think I know that, Mina? It’s just that I haven’t been motivated to date…” Much less touch myself. “Ever since Jihoon—“

“Ah, fuck him!” She waved you off. “Girl, you need some regular activity in your vaj, okay? And not just for pleasure but for your health!”

She goes on to lecture you more about vaginal health and how it goes hand-in-hand with sexual health. If your ex was getting all the sex he could elsewhere, there was no logical reason to be depriving yourself.

“You need constant stimulation! That’s why your coochie is depressed!”

Another reason to be depressed? Receiving a written notification from the courts this morning, telling you that you and Jihoon were legally divorced now. It was a tough reality to face. For the longest time, you were both unhappy. Breaking up was a foregone conclusion and yet–seeing it written on paper, in bold letters, still felt like a swift kick in the lady balls.

“What are you celebrating?” You are snapped back to reality by a voice.

“Hm?” You were so lost in thought, you had no idea how long you’d been staring at your champagne flute.

You turn your head to find a man, standing about two feet away, his elbow resting on the back of one of the bar stools next to you. His hair was long, ending just a couple of inches below his earlobes; it was loosely brushed back, one side tucked behind his ear while the other had a few strands falling right above his eyebrows.

He wore a dark, tailored suit–formal, understated elegance but with a hint of approachability since he’d skipped wearing a tie. Despite that, he still looked like a million bucks.

The lounge was nearly empty as the night waned. A handful of customers were still meandering about, sitting in the plush tables and chairs situated by the wall.

Even though you were the only one seated at the bar, you weren’t sure whether he was addressing you.

“Are you talking to me?”

He kept his gaze on you. “I am,” he smiled softly. He then gestured to the chair next to you. “May I?”

“S-sure.” With another smile, he saunters over and settles into the seat. He points to your drink again. “So, one usually orders champagne to celebrate something, right?”

“Oh, this?” You lift your glass and then shake your head. “I’m not sure if I would exactly categorize tonight as a ‘celebration’.”

The corner of his mouth quirks in a half-smile. “Maybe you should have ordered a whisky instead?”

You laughed wryly at his comment then thought, maybe you should have–especially after the week that you had.

He calls the bartender over. They smile and make small talk as if they’d known each other for years.

You frequented this lounge at least twice a month in the last six or seven months after your girlfriends dragged you out to dinner here once. Eventually, you’d gone out on your own to have a cocktail or two, whenever the kids were with their dad for the weekend.

Coming to L’Atelier beat drinking at home on your own. You didn’t socialize much on your nights out but at least you were drinking at a nice place. It was a small comfort and you just wanted to unwind after busy weekdays shuttling your children around.

This was the first time anybody had actually approached you–apart from the bartender and the occasional ‘Is this seat taken’ question from random men trying to hit on women who sat next to you.

After this man places his drink order, he turns his attention back to you.

“Do you come here often?” Your question sounded like a terrible cliche but it was the best you could muster. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

The bartender clears their throat and presents the man with his drink.

He thanks the bartender before he answers, “Yes, I’m here pretty regularly,” he smiled enigmatically. “Maybe you just haven’t noticed me.”

Haven’t noticed him? Nonsense! You most definitely would have noticed him if he walked into a room. Was your sad vagina making you blind, too?

“I’ve seen you once or twice, though,” he says before taking a sip of the amber liquid from his glass, his eyes never leaving you.

“Oh?” You ask nervously.

“Yeah. I come here often for…business meetings,” he rationalizes. “Have you been offered a seat at the chef’s table yet?”

You frowned in confusion. After coming to this place many times before, this was the first time you’d ever heard of an option to have a seat at the chef’s table.

“I don’t think I have. Sounds exclusive,” you remarked.

“It is but I know the owner and I can bring you in as a guest.” After a beat, he asks, “Would you like to take advantage of it?”

Tempting as it was, you cross your legs and decline politely. “That’s alright. I don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not,” he says. “I’d be happy to show you what offerings the restaurant has. The chef always has something that will satisfy any appetite.”

You stopped to consider your answer. Was he trying to pick you up or were you trying to read too much into an innocent offer?

You gulped your nervousness down your throat. “No, it’s not that. I’m, uh…” You scrambled to think of an answer. How could you tell this man that you hadn’t gone out on a date in a long time and that you were rusty when it came to settings like this so you’d prefer not to embarrass yourself.

His expression suddenly shifts to a look of realization. “S-sorry, I’m not trying to be a creeper. If you're with someone or just want to be alone–”

You shook your head and answer meekly. “No, no. I’m here by myself.” Then, you decide you’d dare to take a chance. What was the harm in enjoying a drink with someone?

“I don’t mind the company, either.”

To quell any further awkwardness, he introduces himself. “I’m Yoongi, by the way.”

After giving him your name, you can't help but notice that your breath hitches as he shakes your hand firmly. "Pleasure to meet you.”

“Please! The pleasure is all mine,” he says with a smile, his hold still lingering on your skin.

******

It was hard to pinpoint what exactly made him attractive to you but you narrowed it down to a combination of his looks, personality, and confidence–the confidence, especially! And no, it wasn’t the type of confidence that was synonymous with arrogance or cockiness.

It was the quiet self-assurance that he exuded, where his ego took a backseat and you took center stage.

It was a refreshing experience since the man you were married to for years was very much into asserting his masculinity, especially when you first started dating. Admittedly, you’d found that attractive at one point in your life.

That was half of Yoongi’s charm. The other half of it was the element of seduction. He knew and understood how seduction worked.

In the short amount of time that he spent with you, it seemed that the trick lay in small things: his cologne, outfit, laughter, eye contact, and subtle touches–his knees brushing against yours as he shifted in his seat…they all added up.

You don’t recall Jihoon putting that much effort into your relationship, much less coaxing your own self-esteem to the forefront. You chalked it up to the fact that you were both so young and had been together for a long time. You didn’t have many points of comparison, relationship-wise.

“You seem like a really great person,” he says. “Why are you out here by yourself?”

You eventually relay that you’d come here to enjoy some ‘me-time’.

“Interesting,” he says. “And what do you typically do when you’re not alone?”

“Well, I have a day job and children who keep me busy.”

“Oh, you have children?”

“Yes,” you reply. “Two boys–currently with their dad. It’s his weekend.” You try but fail to hide the bitterness behind your tone. The tight smile you gave Yoongi was a dead giveaway, too.

You were fully expecting him to pepper you with questions, questions that you weren’t quite ready to hash out with a stranger.

“I see.” His tone had a finality to it, sensing your apprehension about expanding on your recent divorce.

You tilt your head back and down the last drops of your drink, thankful that he decides not to pry.

“Last call!” The bartender announces to the whole room before turning to you. “Can I get you anything else, miss?”

You shook your head in response and start to dig for your credit card to settle your tab. When they turn to Yoongi, who also declines any more drinks, he makes a request instead. “Junho-ssi, can you put her tab on mine?”

“Oh gosh–no, please–”

“I insist!” He hands his credit card to the bartender, effectively ending your protests.

******

You, along with the last few customers from the restaurant, walk out through the expansive foyer and toward the main exit. The restaurant staff begins to shut the lights off but leaves the lounge illuminated. You’d never been around for closing time so you found the whole scene novel.

A tall, handsome man dressed in a bespoke suit struts out of the backroom, which you assumed was the office. You’d seen him before, in passing. One of your girlfriends pointed out that he owned the place.

You part ways with Yoongi when the owner stops to greet him.

What was the owner’s name again?

“Jin-hyung,” Yoongi greets him in return, answering your unspoken question. They share a friendly hug and exchange pleasantries.

“I thought you left hours ago?“ Jin asks him.

“I was on my way out but I decided to hang around the lounge for a bit.”

Not wanting to linger, you walk out to the front of the restaurant to call yourself a rideshare. While you wait, you think about how this evening turned out to be a pleasant surprise to you. You walked into the bar, thinking you’d have a few drinks, and wallow in self-pity for a bit before you returned home to slip into your pajamas and fall asleep while a Beat Bobby Flay marathon plays in the background.

“Did you drive here?”

Your thoughts are interrupted by Yoongi, who was now standing next to you.

“Nah, I knew I was drinking so I just took a car over here.”

You shifted nervously. You hardly thought of yourself as ‘confident’ and it’s been a long time since you’ve been in the dating scene. You were out of practice after all these years but how else did you expect to jumpstart your sex life?

Besides, it’s been well over 72 hours since your gynecological treatment. By doctor’s orders–you should be good to go.

You found yourself speaking the words before you thought through them clearly. “I don’t know if you have any plans tonight but would you like to come over and have a few more drinks?”

******

Once you and Yoongi walked into your home, all that confidence remained at your doorstep and never followed you past the threshold.

Luckily, you found an unopened bottle of vintage red in your kitchen, which you offered to him.

After a few sips in, you clear your throat. “Listen, I have a confession to make.”

He shifted in his seat, prompting you to continue. “What’s that?”

“I…I don’t…do this kind of thing often. You know, bring men home. I hope that you don’t think ill of me for stringing you along like this.”

He smiled, looking calm and not at all disappointed. “And why would I think that?”

Not knowing why he couldn’t see the obvious answer, you shrug. “I realize that I hadn’t thought this through. I don’t want you to think that I’m reckless or easy.”

“Why are you apologizing? It’s not like you’ve offended me.” His tone remained even and his expression was soft.

“I didn’t know if you were expecting to get laid or whatever,” you say anxiously.

“When a woman invites me back to her place, I never expect anything to happen. There’s always the hope but I’m honestly content with whatever she wants to do.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “You’re telling me that men don’t expect sex all the time?”

“I’m not like other men, unfortunately,” he answers. “I have a slightly different perspective, especially in my line of work.”

Your brows knit in curiosity. You’d come to realize that you hadn’t asked what exactly he did for work. You’d been too enraptured with his charm, happily talking about yourself while he listened to every word you said.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but what do you do for work?”

“I’m an escort,” he says matter-of-factly.

If memory serves, that meant– “Oh my god. Oh my god…” Your scalp prickles immediately. Setting your glass down on the coffee table, you abruptly get up from your seat and start to pace around your living room. “W-why didn’t you tell me that right away? Why did–”

“I’m sorry. Our conversation was going so well earlier that I didn’t feel the need to slip it in. I didn’t think you’d invite me over.”

“Wait! Do I have to pay you? Is this…are you going to charge me for this?” You stammered in a panic.

His voice was soft and reassuring. "Relax. When I approached you, I thought you were a client - that's why I asked if you'd been offered the chef's table. It's kind of like the secret password," he reveals. "But since it didn't seem like you knew anything about it, I made the conscious decision to spend time with you. So, to answer your question: no, I am not charging you. I'm here because I want to be here.”

You breathe a small sigh of relief. Your head was spinning. A ‘secret password’? Was there a hidden brothel at the restaurant? You had so many questions!

“I understand that this is overwhelming and I don’t mean to freak you out any further. If I’m making you uncomfortable, just say the word and I’ll leave. ” He raised his hands up, further conveying his point. “No harm done.”

He stood up and collected his jacket which was neatly draped over the couch cushion.

Your mind was still racing. What would it mean if you asked him to stay? He says that he’s not charging you but was it enough that you’d take his word for it?

You stop your pacing and turn to look at him.

Sure, you could make him leave and forget that this ever happened. Nobody has to know, nobody needs to know.

…Exactly. Nobody needs to know.

“Wait,” you answer softly. “Could you stay a little longer?”

******

It took a few minutes of some awkward, borderline-invasive questions about his job. You were understandably curious and he was a very patient interview subject. He kept most details vague–presumably, to keep some ‘trade secrets’ under wraps–he was fairly open about his work.

You learned that there was a specific app where his clients can book him and that he often stops by the restaurant, which had a secret lounge, for discreet meet-ups.

“So, you’re saying it’s not just all sex all the time for you?”

He threw his head back in laughter. “It’s not. Sometimes, some clients just want to talk–just like we’re doing now. That’s what our back room is for.”

“Right, but what are the chances that you don’t, I don’t know, get it in before the end of your date?”

He lets out another chuckle. “This may be hard to believe but there are times when some of my dates just want someone to keep them company. And yes, there are times when all they want is physical contact the whole time we’re together.”

“Huh…okay.” You internally fan yourself. “You can tell me to stop if I’m being annoying!”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Normally, I just talk to the other guys I work with since we all have to be discreet. So, talking to you about it feels liberating…on a different level. By the way, I love this red,” he comments at the wine.

You smile at his compliment before sinking into the couch cushions–internalizing this brand-new perspective. You marveled at the concept, like an awakening of sorts.

Hearing about his experiences and different approaches to each of his relationships with his clients fascinated you. On the other hand, it also made you think about how much you missed out on when you were younger.

He notices that you’ve fallen silent. “What are you thinking?”

“Just how little I know about relationships and…sex.” You sighed softly.

“What do you mean?”

You thought about how quickly that year passed, focusing on distracting yourself with work, and your kids so you wouldn’t have to think about how Jihoon was living his best life, with a newer, younger partner.

You didn’t have time for that. You had your babies to take care of. You had to stay focused for them!

Shaking your head, you say, “I don’t know. I guess I find myself being unreasonably envious of these women whom I’ve never met.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m envious at how they’re able to explore their sexuality without…being judged or looked down on. Like, I’m definitely not in my 20s anymore, you know? The concept of dating or even going out to get a drink doesn’t seem appropriate for someone like me.”

“Someone like you? You mean a woman?”

“Someone who has a full plate,” you counter.

“Is it full, though?” He asks skeptically.

You scoffed. “Well, yes! I have my job, then my kids—“

“But your kids aren’t here. You just said that they’re spending the weekend at their dad’s.”

“Right. Still, I don’t know if I have the time—“

“I’m sure you can make time now that you and your ex have joint custody. Don’t you think he enjoys himself when you have your kids while he has his own me-time?”

“Yes, but he’s a man. It’s different for women.”

“Surely you still have desires or fantasies? There’s no gender or age limit for that.”

You shrugged. “Isn’t there? Sometimes, I feel like I’m past it.”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “What do you mean to say, ‘you’re past it’? You don’t like sex anymore?”

His incredulity stings you a bit, maybe because he seemed young and had sex with several people often. “It’s possible! And you know what, maybe it’s just been too long for me and you know, they always say, you either use it or lose it.”

Yoongi stares at you, mouth agog, and utterly dumbfounded by your ridiculous theory.

“Can you do me a favor and humor me, just a little? I think that’s only fair, right?” After your interrogation, it did seem like a fair exchange so you nod your head, prompting him to continue.

“Tell me what you loved about sex. It could be the lead-up to it, a specific action, or the experience as a whole. What is it?”

You paused at his question. Your lips puckered as you thought about your answer. After a few more seconds, you finally answer, “Weirdly, it doesn’t have anything to do with any kind of penetration.”

He laughed so hard his shoulders vibrated. “I thought penetration was everyone’s favorite part?”

You tutted. “Nuh-uh. Not me.”

He eyed you quietly while he awaits your answer. “I’m at the edge of my seat here,” he chuckled.

You laughed in return. “Okay, okay. It’s kissing.”

His lips and eyebrows quirked in curiosity. “Interesting choice. Doesn’t ‘kissing’ still technically involve some kind of penetration?”

“I guess,” you laughed, rolling your eyes at the same time. “But to me, kissing means more than just getting it in.” You pause again to think of the correct metaphor. “It’s like the prologue and the epilogue to sex.”

His eyes flickered with renewed interest while you elaborated. “You know, when you like someone or find them attractive enough, you imagine what it’s like to kiss them, right? The thought consumes you until you finally get that opportunity to do it.”

He continued to regard you intently, hanging onto your every word. “You start off feeling and tasting…and then you slowly melt into it. Your hands start to explore, clearly wanting more of that person.” You smiled wistfully, “One of my favorite things to do is finding out how long I could keep my mouth sealed to my partner’s while we undress each other. And then the thrill of breaking that kiss–for just a few moments–so you could strip that last piece of clothing off them–then you get right back into it.”

You watched his chest rise and fall, his gaze still hot on you.

“After all is said and done–after you both ride out your highs and your bodies are trembling from intense pleasure, your only source of calm and comfort is falling into those kisses again.” When you finish, you press your lips into a hard line and stare back at him.

“Wow,” he choked out after a few beats.

You wave your hands dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. I know it sounds crazy and delusional,” you scoffed.

He disagreed. “On the contrary, I think that you make a very compelling argument for kissing.”

You sighed ruefully, “It was just something that my ex and I stopped doing many years ago. I felt like that was the beginning of the end.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he remarked sincerely.

“Yeah, me too.”

You looked away to take another sip of your drink while his gaze remained on you. When you turn your attention back to him, he asks, “I’d like to do that for you, if you’ll let me.”

You cocked your eyebrow in suspicion. “Do what?”

“I want to give you that feeling again.”

You frowned in confusion. “What feeling?”

“The feeling you get from a kiss.”

Your eyes bulged in amusement before laughing. “What? That was like, some desperate wish from a sad lady.”

“If that’s how you want to see it, fine. But I am here, sincerely asking if I could kiss you.”

“Oh my god, Yoongi–” Your forehead creased, trying to make out whether he was for real or just pulling your leg.

“I’m not bullshitting you, I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Then you must be drunk,” you countered.

“Not that drunk,” he demurred. “I am still very much coherent.”

You continued to eye him skeptically for a few seconds.

“It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. If you say ‘no’, then we’ll move on from this subject and continue on with our night. And I think I’ve made it deliberately clear that I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable at all,” he reassured you.

“I…” The answer was at the tip of your tongue. However, before you say anything else that you feel might be too impulsive, you feel the need to step away to cool off.

“Oh, look at that!” You remark at the empty bottle of wine and reach for it. “I’ll be right back with another. Red, right?“ You hastily make your way back into the kitchen, not waiting for his answer.

******

After retrieving a bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge, you puff your flushed cheeks out and fan yourself. It was definitely the alcohol…coupled with the fact that Yoongi’s presence was lowering your inhibitions further.

All that bullshit you spewed about not having the desire? Being ‘past’ sex? Right. You internally smack yourself.

He wasn’t charging you anyway, what was the harm in a little taste? The problem was what could happen after the fact. What if you turned out to be insatiable? Could your alimony checks pay for these meetings?

“Shut up, this is crazy!” you mutter to yourself.

And yet, even as you made your way into the kitchen, you were already feeling that familiar tingle in the pit of your stomach. A feeling you thought was long gone, walking out the door along with your ex.

You put the bottle of wine down and center yourself, splaying your fingers onto the counter then lean on it for support.

You try desperately to calm your fluttering pulse.

“Hey.”

You turn your head around to see him entering the kitchen.

Shit, were you taking too long?

“I thought you might need this.” He held up the corkscrew in his hand and then slowly advanced toward you.

You laughed. “Oh…uh…silly me!”

“I got worried so I thought I might check in on you to make sure that you were okay.”

You turn around and attempted to take a step but your knees felt like jelly. So instead, you lean your back against the counter. “I’m fine,” you try to say as evenly as possible. “Also, seems I’m all out of red wine and this is the only one I have left.” You gestured at the bottle on the counter.

Seeing your apprehension in serving it, he asks, “Do you like it?”

Your eyes bulged at his question.

“The wine. Do you like it?” he clarifies.

“I do.”

He gives a small nod. “Well if you like it, I’m sure I’ll like it, too.”

“You said earlier that you preferred to drink red. Do you always adjust your preferences based on whatever your date likes?”

“Mm…so we’re on a date?”

You giggle nervously at your presumptuousness then start blubbering. “I mean–I’m just saying.”

“It’s just a preference,” He interjects cooly. “...but I generally like to keep an open mind about things. I’m not the type who limits myself.”

“Because ‘limits’ are an occupational hazard for you?”

“I may not limit myself but knowing my clients’ limits are helpful for me. I want to know what they want; want to know how much I can give it to them…until they tell me to stop.”

“And how often do they say ‘stop’?” Your question was barely a whisper.

“All the time, actually. Except…” he hissed through his teeth, “…it usually comes after the word, ‘don’t’,” he punctuated.

Your lips seal tightly as if bracing yourself. At this point, you’d made up your mind and wanted to know what it would be like to be intimate with him.

But you still haven’t said the words.

He smiles and takes a few more steps, closing the gap considerably but still leaving room for you to push away from him if you want to. At this point, you didn’t want to push him off but instead felt a visceral need to pull him closer.

He inhaled deeply, like he could smell the want thrumming from your body.

He swallows, leaning in so his face is in your hair. The sound of his breaths sets your body alight…this would be the moment you’d give in to your impulses.

He’d pressed himself against you and you didn’t stop him. You shift, knowingly brushing your thigh against his crotch, his cock stiffening at the contact. He bit into his lips in an effort to suppress a growl but fails at it.

Your skin is hot to the touch and your heart feels as if it’s thumping out of your chest. With his lips still narrowed into a hard line, you lock eyes with him, and he detects that dormant lust lingering in their depths. You gulp and drop your gaze to his lips. Your bodies, now pressed against each other; mind racing, you continue to stare at his mouth. You want to taste him.

“I want you.” His words reverb around the room like an echo.

He moistened his parched lips with his tongue and let out a shaky breath. And maybe it has been that long…but you’d never seen anyone look so desperate to take you. Never felt so paralyzed by desire.

"Can I please... have you?" You can’t imagine he’d ever worked this hard for a fuck.

You never thought of yourself as sexy. You always thought you looked average. But when you're with him, he made you feel unbelievably irresistible. You haven't felt this confident in a while.

His mouth gently grazed the side of your jawline. "Please...tell me I can have you."

Curiosity consumed your body, leaving you no choice but to surrender. Finally, you permit yourself; and in turn, permit him. “Yes.”

You slowly tilt forward until your lips gently meet his but he doesn’t take the lead. Instead, he decides that you should still take it at your own pace, and he’s more than happy with it. It’s slow. Soft. Tender…everything that you hoped it would be.

He presses his hand onto the small of your back, making you arch against his hold.

“Bed?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum your agreement against his mouth.

“Where?”

You fist at his shirt and pull him down the hallway and into your bedroom.

His back hits your door, which slams against the wall, jolting you into his arms. He can do nothing more than keep up with your pace, all while silently demanding you start ridding him of his clothes.

Your tongue circles his mouth, your heads tilting constantly, taking other angles, pulling back, only to crash together once again. It’s wild, messy, yet absolutely incredible.

“You’re so sexy, you know that?”

“You’re just obliged to say those things.”

“I’m not obliged to say or do anything I don’t want to.” He peels off the wall and walks you both farther into your bedroom. “And neither are you.” He backs you in until your legs feel the mattress against them. He turns you around, zipping your dress down. “Do you understand?”

You nod and remain still as he unfastens you and then pushes the dress downward, his eyes falling to the material that pools around your feet.

His hands reach for the clasp of your bra. One flick of his deft fingers releases it, and he notices your shoulders lift. He moves in close and slides his forearm around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We can do this however you want. You have control, okay?” He whispers, trying to ease your nerves. You were tense, but not from fear. It was from anticipation.

“Yes,” you respond.

“You’re beautiful and I want us to take our time.” He drags the straps of your bra down your arms until it tumbles to the floor. “We don’t need to rush through this.” Kissing your cheek lightly, he relishes the feel of you pushing closer to him. “I want to remind you how good it can feel.”

You turn and lift your chin to look at him. Without a word, you start to unbutton his shirt, one by one, slowly and purposefully, with a whole range of of thoughts and emotions running through your head.

He lets you undress him at your own speed, resisting the urge to rip his own clothes from his body and toss you on the bed. “Want some help?” He asks to find out what options you’d be open to.

You peer up at him, and he sees apprehension in your gaze. You smile and shake your head ‘no’ softly.

He realizes that even though you’re desperate for him to take you, you have no idea how this will all play out. It’s been so long, and he was the first partner you’d been with in a while. You didn’t know if you wanted it raw and fast or slow and loving.

“Don’t be nervous.” He takes your wrists, instantly feeling you tremble. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“But I want to.” Your gaze drops from his, down his bare torso, your teeth sinking into your lip. “I really…really…do.”

Pulling away from his hold, you push his shirt from his shoulders and place your hands on his pecs. His body feels like it’s just gone up in flames, and his hands twitch, desperate to grab onto you. Ravage you, kiss you…ruin you. The look in your eyes tells him you’re aware of all this because you want to do all of those same things to him.

You reinforce this with a hard kiss on his lips, and he’s instantly overwhelmed by it, his palm going to the back of your head, gently pushing you closer, his mouth opening, inviting you in.

Your hands are everywhere. Your kisses turn sloppy. His actions convey a sense of urgency, making him want to take you hard and fast, show you how good he could be for you. He can feel his control slipping but somehow manages to maintain his hold on those last few strands. He knows this isn’t the time for him to get carried away. He was giving up control to you.

Holding your head in his hands, he slows the tempo of your kiss. Suddenly, it was all coming back to you now. Your hands snake down to the fly of his pants, you undo it and slide them off him, all while keeping your lips locked. He takes you down to the mattress, your tongues dancing slowly, breathing each other’s breath.

You never thought he’d taste this good, even with the hints of alcohol mixed between you. He comes down to rest over you, taking his arms up over your head, leaving your hands free to roam his back, his ass, and eventually his face. You’re both lost and consumed by each other.

He forcibly breaks your kiss to test a theory.

You let out a whine, hating the loss of contact. You lunge at him, wanting to capture his mouth again but he teasingly pulls away. You lean in again and he retreats with a soft chuckle. Finally, you let out a growl, clasp your palms on either side of his face, and aggressively pull him back to you.

His chest rumbled in arousal, and he kisses you back with just as much fervor.

You pant against his mouth, your hands grabbing at his hair, legs locking around his waist, telling him that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Your lips purse, your hands sliding past the waistband of his boxers. You push them over the rise of his ass. “Are you worth every penny?” You cheekily pinch his butt, making him flinch and grin at the same time.

“Yes,” he says simply.

You giggle, then sink your nails into his flesh. He grits his teeth, enduring the sharp pain. “And I’m supposed to just take your word for it?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He raises his eyebrows in warning as your hand glides softly through his dark strands. “But yes, you’d better take my word for it. Let me make you feel good?”

Your lips press together, your hips flexing up, pushing into against his hardon. “Yes,” you breathed out.

With your consent, his lips crash into yours, the slow and steady pace all but forgotten. Wild hands feel down his thighs and start pulling impatiently at his boxers. He fully appreciates your eagerness, taking his own hands to your panties, pushing them down your legs just as impatiently.

You inhale sharply but quickly adopt his method, tugging and squirming to break free of your last bits of clothing.

Until there is nothing but skin on skin. Nothing but the friction of his flesh rubbing all over yours as your bodies entangle, lips and tongues clashing, your moans and hungry gasps filling the room.

His hand grazed your clit lightly, stimulating the sensitive nerves there. Your breath caught and you tilted your head back as he moved down your body, kissing and licking downward until he was past your torso.

His thumb swiping at your soaked folds sends an unexpected shiver up your spine, making you gasp. He’d anticipated a slow build, but after a few light strokes, he realized you were already primed for him.

His fingers continued to work you, pumping at a slow, even, and purposeful pace that increased both the pressure and area with each stroke. His digits were gliding up and down your folds in a slow circuit, coming up to your clit, then down…easing in and out of your aching cunt. Your breaths started to turn ragged, and he took it as his cue to change his pace in bursts, shortening each motion while your orgasm built.

“Oh shit, I’m close,” you choked out as your muscles seized. “Keep going…”

His strokes became shorter as your climax neared. Dipping in and pressing up against the roof of your core, sending you over the edge. He kept the pace until the sensation became unbearable.

The second you felt the first shudders of your orgasm rip through you, you let out an aggressive, high-pitched gasp. You gripped at your sheets, back arching off the mattress as you trembled with relief and satisfaction.

You barely notice him getting off the bed to grab a condom from his pants, which were on the floor. He tears open the foil and carefully rolls the condom down his length.

It doesn’t take much guidance to get his cock resting at your throbbing entrance. You suck in air and hold it, pulling back to get him in your sights. His eyes on you, he nudges his hips a fraction, resisting the urge to pound straight in. “Ready?”

“God, yessss!” You can hardly talk through your desperation so instead, you roll your hips up and take a bit more of him.

He pushed into you, eliciting a small cry from your lips as you adjusted to the stretch.

He swivels his hips, grinding deeply. He flexes his hands over your hips, keeping you pinned against the mattress, withdrawing from your pussy and gliding gently back in.

He watches you melt beneath him, but the slight quiver on your lip worries him. He pauses his movements and loosens his hold on you.

“Are you okay?” His fingers gently brushed your forehead.

With a swift kiss to his lips, you nod. “I’m good.” You sink your nails into his ass and roll your hips onto his, telling him wanted more.

You fist your hands in his hair, moaning in invitation as your body goes into autopilot. You feel his palms squeeze your thighs again, bracing himself as his hips grind against you once more.

You don’t know how you’ve managed to resist him this whole time.

He nips at your bottom lip and releases it, pulling his face away and looking you straight in the eyes. He rolls his hips again, grinding hard against your pelvis, making your core clench tightly. Your head lolls on a deep moan, giving him free access to your throat. He takes full advantage of it, licking and sucking at the hollow.

You could cry with pleasure at how good it felt.

Nuzzling your cheek, he takes your hands and thrust them up on the pillow, he elevates himself a little to get a good look at you. You’re panting in excitement and need. Loving the feel of him inside you. He rolls his hips teasingly. “You like it slow?” He licks his lips, savoring the sight of you breaking into a sweat.

“I don’t really care,” you utter.

“Please, tell me what you like.”

“And I’m telling you I don’t care,” you insist. “Just don’t stop–”

At the sound of your words, your eyes immediately dart up to Yoongi, who was now sporting the cockiest smirk. Flustered, you end up muttering, “Ugh, just keep going, okay?”

“As you wish,” he says with a chuckle. Lowering his face, he catches your mouth gently as he continues the measured, delicate rock of his hips, making sure his drives are slow and exact, his tongue following suit. He releases your hands, allowing you to feel him.

He lets you control your kiss again, only breaking away from time to time when you lazily throw your head around on the pillow, sighing, moaning, eyes rolling to the back of your head from arousal.

You’re caught in the moment and floating in mid-air. He keeps his rhythm steady, ensuring that you’re kept in a consistent state of pleasure. He’s amazed by how responsive you were to him, finding himself enthralled at the sight of you losing yourself.

He peels away from your chest as he lifts and balances his weight on his forearms. Your eyes follow his, your hands reaching for his face, holding him. Your hips are in perfect sync, his rolling down, and you undulate upward to meet his, each plunge taking your breath away.

In one swift move, he rolls you both over until you were on top. He gives you a look, reminding you that you were in control. With a gentle nudge from him, you sit up, shifting your legs on either side of him for leverage.

You ease into your movements. He closes his eyes and flexes his hips to meet yours, filling you to the brim as he exhales. You lift off slightly, feeling his length slide out. His mouth falls open with a sigh when you sink your hips to take him in again.

You were feeling drunk with the power you currently had–watching Yoongi coming apart beneath you. You place your hands on his shoulders for support until your ass rests atop his thighs.

You sway your hips and he matches your rhythm, maintaining that perfect synchronicity. You increase the speed and it didn't take long before you were fully captivated in pleasure again.

He slowly lifts himself off the mattress and sits up, his face right in front of yours. His hands move from your hips to your arms, maintaining a firm grip to hold you still. He then withdraws slightly before thrusting sharply into you, causing you to cry out.

Your head lolls sideways and back, as he fucks in and out of you. You open your eyes, stare down at him, your breathing ragged, and he’s staring back at you, eyes blazing.

“Fuck…don’t…stop,” you mewl pathetically as he pounds into you.

He groans loudly, closing his eyes again, tipping his head and leaning it against your forehead.

He feels you inching closer to another orgasm. He reaches between you to massage your clit, circling it in the most optimal rhythm, applying the perfect amount of pressure, enough to send you over the edge.

You both calmly roll through your own waves of pleasure, a stark contrast to the frantic hammering in your chests.

“Are you okay?” He asks against your misted neck, still catching his breath.

You giggle softly, rolling your forehead against his forehead. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

His lips curve into a smile before he gently places soft, leisurely kisses on your lips. At the same time, his fingers caress your cheek and neck. He didn’t need to do all that, but it felt good.

You pull away and regard him intently. “That was nice.”

“Aftercare is important.” He plants another soft kiss on your lips before he gingerly lifts you off him.

He asks for permission to use your shower, and you direct him to the linen closet where he can find some towels for himself.

“Yoongi?” You call out to him. He turns around and hums his prompt for you to go on.

“You know, if I could afford you, I’d pay twice whatever you’re charging.”

He grins at the compliment, nodding before turning back towards the door. “I can give you access to the app if you’re serious about it,” he says over his shoulder in jest.

His laughter sends gentle currents coursing through your body. The thought amuses you, as you sink back into your sheets while the sound of your shower tap turning on echoes through the room.

******

For somebody whose work revolved around sex–it sure didn’t feel like it from your perspective, nor his.

Everything felt natural and organic. Every touch, every kiss felt real. Every movement you made was in response to his–an even exchange, never missing a beat. The whole act itself flowed like a great conversation, one that you didn’t want to end.

It wasn’t that he had magical skills in bed. There were no special rituals or elaborate positions. His strength was in genuinely understanding that sex went beyond the physical aspect. He knew how to build anticipation and actually deliver.

Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi had spent the entire night setting the mood for the moment and the result was extremely satisfying. He made you feel so comfortable and relaxed that it made the sex that much better.

And it was mind-blowing! Even then, that adjective felt inadequate in describing the experience.

As he was getting ready to leave that morning, you let him know that you didn’t feel the need to call him again even after he offered to meet up off the clock.

“Look, I’m flattered, but you don’t need to do me any favors. Besides, I wouldn’t want to take any business away from you,” you say to him.

“Don’t think of it that way,” he shook his head. “It’s just that I really enjoyed our time and I thought–”

“Then let’s leave it at that,” you interrupt him calmly. “I had a really great time, too.”

He sighs in defeat but asks again for good measure. “Are you sure?”

You nodded in response.

He took a step closer. You chuckle softly, butterflies tickling as he snakes his arm around your waist. “If you ever feel lonely, call me. I’ll be here for you. As a friend.” He gave you a smile that had the slightest hint of mischief in it.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Please do,” he says emphatically–almost begging. “And you know where to find me.”

You laughed.

“We can grab a drink, or something.” His eyebrows twitch and his teeth catch his lower lip while he stares at you.

You looked at him wryly, but deep down, you had to admit that his insatiable desire for you stokes your ego. “You know, you’re making this really hard–”

“Good. Glad I’m not the only one finding this…hard,” he rasps.

You slap of his chest playfully, eliciting a laugh from him. You roll your eyes but are unable to stop yourself from smiling. “Oh my god! You’re a menace!”

He throws his head back, laughing some more, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “I’m teasing, of course. But I’m serious, though. If you ever want to talk, I’m a phone call away.”

You offer a small smile of appreciation in return. “Thank you.”

“Would it be alright if I kissed you goodbye?”

You shook your head softly. “That’ll be nice.”

He dips his head and pauses for a fraction of a second to brush the tip of his nose against yours, before fully capturing your mouth in a lush, deep kiss.

And it was nice, just as you thought it would be. It was also nice to feel wanted and desired–even for one night.

Main Fic Masterlist

You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

Tagging: @itdoesntmatterwhy @internetjunkdrawer @purplewhalewrites @shesoldbutcute @yoongukie-ff

#bts fanfiction #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi #myg smut #bts smut #min yoongi #bts min yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #TheBFE x myg

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adaginy · 7 months

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The Big Guide to Humans: Mating — Reproduction, Sexuality, Genitalia, and Sexual Contact

In its basic unassisted sense, human reproduction requires one male and one female (see sex and gender; it is recommended to read that entry first). Each partner contributes half of the genetic material to create a new human, and that genetic material is roughly half of a copy of their own genes.

A male's internal genitalia produce millions of mobile packets of genetic material in a protein-rich nutrient gel, and the external portion serves as a tool to introduce it deeper into the female's internal genitalia. A female's internal genitalia produce a single packet of genetic material with a starting supply of cell building blocks, and offers a space for the male's mobile packets to meet and fuse with it, a process called fertilization. If this happens, the combined genetic information will latch into the female's circulatory system via the wall of this meeting place, and proceed to grow over the next 3/4 of a year into a human baby (see lifespan and development), enclosed within the female, who will become obviously distended. At the end of this time, her body pushes the completed baby out via the path between the internal and external genitalia. The female's external genitalia serve as a gate to this passage. There is a small window of time in which this fertilization is possible; only a few human sleep cycles. If this time is missed, the meeting place will cease preparations to contain a baby and remove its existing preparations, falling briefly fallow until preparing for a new fertilization window. This process takes approximately 28 human sleep cycles, depending on the female and how she has adapted to the local day/night cycle. The preparations-removal time can be uncomfortable for the female; do not be alarmed if you smell blood. In humans, both male and female external genitalia are also connected to the excretory system.

Humans categorize their within-species sexual attractions as being attracted to the same gender as themselves, a different gender (most common), or multiple genders. For some this may be an absolute barrier to an attraction outside of that category; others may consider themselves certain until they feel an unusual attraction to a particularly compelling potential partner. (It is also possible to have no attraction in this way at all.) This is usually, but not always, the same limitation applied to their romantic attractions; though the exceptions and sometimes-not-at-all applies to those as well. Whether a human requires/prefers romance to be involved with sexual contact varies by individual. See flirting for more on determining a human's romantic and/or sexual attraction. For humans whose attractions extend to other sapients, the "gender" barrier may be ignored, or they may (usually unconsciously) estimate how a non-human would map into the human gender chart and find their attractions limited by this assumption.

The rest of this chapter will assume you and a human have agreed to sexual contact. While this is not intended as a sexual manual, it is within this guide's mission to prevent surprises and ensure safe, successful interactions.

Process:

Human reproductive mating requires inserting the male's external genitalia (penis) through the female's external genitalia (vulva) and into the internal (vagina). However, nearly anything that can safely produce similar physical sensations can be enjoyable, and humans will also use their hands, mouths, and specially designed objects for the pleasure of non-reproductive mating.

The penis hangs relatively soft and small between a male's legs when not in sexual use; arousal will cause it to stiffen, enlarge, and stand approximately perpendicular to the body. It is sexually sensitive along its entire length, but particularly at the distal end, which is rounded and may be a different color. The internal genitalia are in a pouch underneath the penis. The pouch is also sexually sensitive, but delicate. The vulva is a series of skin-folds that reveal the entrance to the vagina when separated. The folds, particularly the inner ones, are sexually sensitive, as is the entrance. Arousal causes slight swelling of this area, and the skin here will produce lubricating fluid; do not attempt insertion of anything until adequately slippery. Slightly above the entrance to the vagina is a small, hooded protrusion called a clitoris; this is extremely sexually sensitive to the point that rough contact will cause it to retreat under the hood.

All of these sexual areas can be stroked or lightly pressured (squeezing for the penis, filling/outward pressure for the vagina) for sexual pleasure; the human may request more, less, firmer, faster, etc. In addition, humans also often enjoy stimulation of the nipples (the paired protrusions on their upper torso). Individual humans may also have other sexually-stimulating zones, such as the backs of the ears and neck. Human aggression may or may not extend to sexual contact, some enjoy pinching/being pinched, biting/being bitten, striking/being struck, etc, even to the point of injury. This is something to discuss beforehand and in the moment.

Continued sexual pleasure will eventually cause the human to "climax", which for the male produces that jet of nutrient gel and genetic material, and for the female involves involuntary clenching of muscles in and around the internal genitals. After this, the penis will become soft and possibly painfully sensitive, requiring recovery time before it can stiffen again; whether a female will want to continue (and whether she will climax again) varies.

Humans often enjoy "cuddling" after: a period of quietly resting together skin-to-skin.

Risks:

Hybridization and prevention: Either sex can take reproduction-preventing medication, but it is very rare for human females to produce human/non-human hybrids, owing to the scientific details of reproduction and the immune system. Hybridization is usually the result of a reproduction-capable non-human mating with a human male. If this would be a risk for your species, and the human male is not on preventive medication, he can wear a "condom," a penis-sheathe designed to prevent the dispersion of his genetic material.

Disease: Although inter-species disease risk is low, it is still important for the human to be screened for anything dangerous to you, given the sheer volume and aggressiveness of Terran-native microbes. Humans have a microbiome of bacteria, viruses and fungi on their skin — and, for females, within their internal genitalia — all of which are usually harmless to them. They also have a separate oral microbiome that is considerably more dangerous and should be avoided unless medical has screened and approved it specifically. (Humans can also spread pathogenic microbes to each other by sexual contact, but the non-human risk from those is not particularly more than from the others.)

Fluids: The human male's sexual fluids are usually slightly alkali and the human female's are usually slightly acidic. A condom or similar device can be used for protection from this risk as well. Their mouth fluid is acidic and corrosive regardless of microbiome, belonging to their digestive system.

!! Always, always talk with medical first. They can answer questions about your species-specific risks regarding hybridization, dangerous fluids, or Terran-native microbes. They can do this well in advance of sexual contact or even attraction to specific partners; only the disease screening is specific to individual humans. !!

There is considerable variation in human genitalia: In length and thickness, in curves and angles, in hair presence, in color, in sensitivity. There is also considerable variation in what a human may enjoy or be capable of sexually. And, as the universe has learned, humans are creative. If there is mutual interest but your body cannot do the things described, or if medical has given you dire restrictions, talk to the human about it. Humans live by the Terran saying, "where there is a will, there is a way." Do not assume that mutual enjoyment is impossible.

#addie writes #big guide to humans #humans are space orcs #long post #this is intended to be matter-of-fact not naughty #but the read-more is early for delicate sensibilities #sex education #genitalia is plural but since you can't have “a genital” I'm giving everyone Professional Language Nerd permission to use it as both.

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teeheemarie · 2 years

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How I imagine König to smell, taste and feel:

Innocent Version:

-Smell (this will be similar to non innocent version) : Coffee…Austrians love their coffee (beer is also very popular in Europe but I think he is more of a coffee drinker). The scent is strong (thats how he likes his coffee). Imagine walking into a coffee shop, the scent slaps you but its an addicting kind of smell. One you can spend hrs smelling. Thats how he smells. Mix it with a hint of sweat (due to anxiety) and a tiny bit of laundry detergent and deodorant, you have the smell of König. He doesn’t wear cologne usually, but he always smells good. He takes pride in cleaning himself and his clothes especially after missions.

-Taste: COFFEE!! His lips are semi rough due to continuously biting them but the coffee is so overpowering that you don’t even notice. When you do see his lip though, you ask him if you can apply chapstick for him so his lips are soft and to try to help him from biting them (chapstick tastes like shit..you can’t tell me any different).

-Feels: His skin has many scars but its smooth. His chest is solid and his chest hair is almost nonexistent. He tells you that he doesn’t really like his chest hair because the tactical gear has a way of pulling on it even through the shirt. His abs are semi noticeable when he is relaxed; you can feel them but they are not rock hard. He keeps his happy trail because you like it. His back is wide and muscular. His thighs are thic. Overall he feels nice. You can’t keep your hands off him when he is around you.

Not for the Innocent:

-Smell: Coffee but more intense..like he is giving off a sex aroma. Its so intense that when he starts breathing into your neck and leaving kisses your body send chills and your head begins to feel dizzy.

-Tastes: Mostly salty and slightly bitter. But its a taste that you have become accustomed to. You want to suck his cock but he personally prefers to eat you out and when he is about to cum he asks to open your mouth so you can get a little taste. The rest of his cum is all over your body…he cums A LOT!!

-Feels: Thick, Big and Rough. Not going to lie, the first few times having sex with him stretches you out and isn’t comfy. But he tried his best to first foreplay with his hands. His hands have callouses on them & he knows this so he makes sure to lubricants your clit and vagina first. Sometimes with his spit or a gel you want to use. This also helps him to slide in better. When it comes to thrusts he prefers slow. He knows his size so fast and crazy may hurt you but if you ask him he will obey.

“Princess, I’m about to…to cum..open that pretty mouth of yoursss”

#konig headcanons #konig x you #könig call of duty #könig x reader #konig smut #cod mw2 #konig mw2 #könig cod #cod mw2 headcanons

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 2 years

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(TW: Sex, genitalia mention)

My dear lgbt+ kids,

Sex isn't supposed to hurt. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying.

That includes all kinds of penetration: vaginal, anal, with a penis, finger or toy. "Entry pain" with penetration isn't normal and neither is pain during or after sex.

There are sadly still people out there who tell vagina-owners that it's normal to feel uncomfortable during sex, that penetrative sex isn't supposed to be enjoyable for you, only for your partner, or that you need to bear the pain (either for your partner's sake or "until you loosen up" - which is not how the vagina works!).

The idea that “you are born tight and need to be loosened up by a penis” (and that you therefore need to lie down and take the pain until you are loose enough) is a complete myth. It is easily debunked by basic biology: your vagina is a muscular canal. That means its tissue is elastic! It can stretch when it needs to, and then it bounces back (just think about childbirth! It can stretch to fit a whole baby) - and it can do that because that’s how muscles work, it doesn’t need some magic penis to come along and teach it to do that. It’s actually a pretty sexist idea that you’d need that!

Pain isn't (and shouldn't be!) a normal, regular part of sex. If penetration hurts, it's a sign something is wrong. It's a good idea to talk to a medical professional who can help you pinpoint the exact reason.

Here are a few common causes:

Not enough lubrication. This means you are not "wet" enough. The vagina self-lubricates when aroused, the anus doesn't. So, for vaginal sex it can help to just include more foreplay to make sure you are really aroused and ready to go! Foreplay can be anything that feels good and gets you in the mood. Additionally you can use lube (this is a kind of gel or cream specifically made to reduce friction during sexual activity which are safe to apply to genitalia - please do not try to use face cream, shampoo or anything like that. If it is not made to be used vaginally, it can really irritate your skin and make the problem worse!). For anal penetration, you always need to use lube.

Certain medications (like antidepressants, birth control pills or high blood pressure pills) can decrease lubrication as a side effect. If you suspect this plays a role, please do not discontinue your meds without your doctor's approval. Ask them for advice, maybe you can switch to a different brand or dosage. Lube can also be helpful in those cases.

Urinary tract infections can cause a burning sensation during or after sex. Talk to your doctor, you may need antibiotics or other medication to treat your UTI.

Skin problems in your genital area (like eczema) can cause pain during sex. If your skin looks red or feels itchy, raw or swollen, talk to your gynecologist.

Vaginismus causes involuntary spasms of the vaginal muscles. This may be the case if you can't insert anything at all (not even tampons) without experiencing severe pain. Talk to your gynecologist. (They usually do not need to perform an internal exam to diagnose vaginismus, if you are worried about the exam being too painful). Treatment can include physical therapy (such as pelvic floor exercises) and psychological therapy.

Depression, anxiety, high levels of stress or past traumatic sexual experiences can also contribute to pain during sex. This does not mean “The pain isn’t real, it’s all in your head”! Emotional health and physical health are interlinked. For example, depression can make it harder to feel aroused (and therefore lubricated).

This is not an exhaustive list. There are other temporary situations, chronic conditions and acute illnesses that can make sex painful - if you are unsure or worried, it’s always best to consult a gynecologist.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+

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aconflagrationofmyown · 2 years

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That lil house, between your legs, where all my dreams wait

A Sarge & lil Mama fic -the Proposal

Summary: Elvis informs a certain girl of his dreams that she’s gonna marry him…she’s got some concerns and conditions, one includes him making sure his babies will fit in her lil house

Warnings: Umm, the mild usual with this universe? Themes of breeding, housewife and innocence kink, ill informed consent regarding a pussy inspection and said pussy inspection and descriptions of a vagina (ok, it’s Elvis being a creep and looking up her skirt on her request, but made cute ok?) mentions of Gladys’ death

-February of ‘58 timeline change

“It’s been decided.” is the first thing out of his mouth that morning as he strides up to Elaine where she stands in the shade of her father’s porch.

She’d been over at Graceland all day yesterday and the evening, too, -most days here lately- trying to make him eat, trying to keep him company, trying to get him out of his mother’s closet. It had been in the reverse order of all that, but she had done it. She was the only human that Private Elvis Presley would take orders from, though he reckoned she didn’t guess that. Sweetly, softly, efficiently, she’d gotten him out and gotten him calmed down and gotten him fed. Probably would have put him to bed if he hadn't given her a weak smile and told her to run on now, he wanted to discuss something with her father.

And now he’s here on her porch, looking like maybe he did sleep after all, judging by the rumpled state of his usually pristine hair. It’s growing out a little since they shore him of his prized locks. She thinks he looks better this way, prettier and sweeter without the gel and the sulk. He looks older, too, the way his arms bulge from push-ups and bootcamp, highlighted by the way they bracket the porch posts as the heavy weight of his gaze flicks over her.

“What’s been decided?” Elaine asks him from the gloom of the porch, squinting at his looming silhouette as it’s outlined by the white, bright, February sun.

She’s unable to recall a single loose end regarding the funeral arrangements he had charged her to oversee. It’s over and down with. Miss Gladys is six feet below the sod in Graceland’s backyard and the fans and family have been hosted with impeccable hospitality by herself, the obituaries and memorials written, the flowers preserved as long as possible. Elaine noticed a few petals had started to fall from the Peace Lilly spray when she was over yesterday. She’d picked them up hastily, hoping he didn’t notice that even those were dying. The decisions are all over and done with, he’s due back to the army in a month. And she’s back to teach and produce at RCA.

“It’s been decided and don’t you go objectin, it’s for the best.” he repeats insistently, but his jittering leg gives away the bold act. He’s nervous, she realizes.

“What is it, Elvis?” she asks, voice soft and encouraging as it’s been all week.

“You’re gonna marry me,” he says, “talked it over with your daddy an’ everything, it’s settled. Graceland hasn’t got a mistress no more, and you belong there. Saw it all week, you’re perfect for it.”

He informs her -not asks, ask would imply some free will on her part- like it’s her required duty to the nation or something. Marry him. Like taxes or the draft.

“You outta your ever lovin mind?” she whispers, genuinely worried he’s snapped under the weight of his publically analyzed grief. She’s seen how useless Vernon has been in comforting him, she knows how lonely it gets when one’s mama isn’t there to comfort you for her dying on ya. Elaine really feels for him, she does.

He was there for her when it happened to her, so she’s been there for him. But she knows this can’t be more than a half baked idea.

“I’m dead serious.” he growls, his ferocity taking her aback, she shifts her weight from foot to foot and eyes him warily, “I told ya, it’s all settled, your daddy said yes, you ain’t got anythin to object to.”

“Don’t I just?!” she laughs, “Elvis, you’re just sayin this cause I’ve been with ya during these last few days, and you’re hurtin and you’re lonely and it’s understandable and I’ll be there for ya, always. But you just had a girl, and this’ll pass sure enough. You’re Elvis Presley, your life’ll go on after this. And, and I-well, I’ve been wanting to get married and I want babies and I’ve wanted it for awhile now. I’ve waited on ya to help me like ya promised but I won’t be played with, I won’t! Not even by you. Not even when you’re sore.”

“You want babies?” he asks, his voice low and a sweaty hand leaves the porch post and cups her cheek, calloused fingers digging into her scalp when she goes to pull away, “I’ll give ya babies.”

“I’m being serious, Elvis!” she complains, neck craned away from his assessment of her lips. She never jokes about children, and she won’t let him.

“So am I.” his soft, boyish face looks hopeful suddenly, and rather capable. “I’ll give ya babies, far more than most men could manage.”

“How?” she whispers, his persistent sobriety throwing her into confusion.

“How?” he repeats, copying her quiet tone, distantly hearing the faint squeak of the porch swing chains as the breeze lazily rocks it.

“Yes,” she hesitantly goes on, “how do you know you can? How does anyone know if they can?” It’s something that's bothered her for awhile now. The idea of marrying a man who fails to give her children like Mrs. Myers husband down the street. Five years married and no kids, it’s the talk of the neighborhood. Or those starlets who manage to never have a child and disfigure their waists, no matter the amount of masculine company they keep.

Elvis cocks his head to the side, a puzzled glimmer in his eyes as Elaine’s bashfully inquiring eyes plead with him to understand her burning curiosity. And when he does -fully understand her naïveté, that is- he feels his cock twitch beneath his belt.

“Wellll,” Elvis draws the word out and she is swaying towards him now, that boiling hunger to learn coiling her tight as she hangs on to his every syllable, “I’m pretty confident, it’s just a thing that a man can tell, ya see, it’s a guess, but an educated one. But, we could make sure.” he’s winging it at this point, and shaming his heavenly mother while he’s at it, but he can’t seem to stop himself, not now that he knows he’ll be her teacher and her claimer if he can just make her agree, “We could check and make certain I ain’t overpromisin’, make sure the furniture fits the house, if ya get my drift.”

She doesn’t get his drift. That’s plain to see by the quizzical furrow of her eyebrows and the gape of her plump mouth as she tries to make sense of his euphemisms. Clever and bright Elaine Phipps looking a bit dumb as she blinks up at him in the shade of her front porch makes him smirk wickedly.

“You want children?” she asks, instead of taking him up on his offer just now.

“Most certainly do, we talked bout this before, Elaine.”

“You were complainin bout Anita, back then. Anything to find fault with her, doesn’t mean ya like children.” she crosses her arms and it pushes up her girlish bosoms, pale and promising beneath her gingham check house dress. He’s gonna make those bigger, so plump they’ll spill over that merely adequate neckline.

“Look here you got it wrong, Anita and the rest, they were nice gals, yeah?” he concedes, but it’s just to launch his next explanation, “But they weren’t mama material, ya see? My mama, she told they weren’t fittin, and she told me you were. Just as all the twiggy boys and sleek doctors and the artists fellers ya hang round, they either want your money or they’ll only make decent beaux -but they ain’t gonna make good daddy’s. Mark my words.”

“And what, you don’t want my money?” she teases.

“Now, ‘Laney honey, I’m the one who makes ya your money.” he laughs, tweaking her nose with his fingers and she bats his hand away with a giggle. “And conversely ya own my voice, you’re on my label as a producer, right next to your ole man.”

“Speaking of,” she grows earnest, “ya know Sam Cooke? Signed onto RCA right after ya?”

“Yeah, what of ‘im?” he frowns, impatient this conversation has gotten derailed from its original purpose -to the topic of another man, and a swanky one at that, “You gonna marry him?” he balks.

“No, no! though if he asked…” she winks and he squeezes her waist in warning, feeling the soft flesh give under her girdle from his pressure. That’s how it’ll feel to hold onto her when she rides him.

“What bout him?”

“So, he’s gonna start another record company,” she looks so earnest and invested in the topic he has to let her go on, “one where the artists will have control and rights to their music! And he’ll stay at RCA in the meantime but he’s tryin’ to find supporters and other to join him, a few have already this first month. And, well -“

“What?” he asks again, and it makes her lashes flutter as she gets shy under his stare, “Ya want me to join?”

“Well yeah! Though I doubt Parker would let ya. But that isn’t what I was gonna tell ya.” she bites her lip, “My point is, the point is -that Sam has offered me to be a producer! I mean -Elvis! We’re talkin Cooke, Redding and Smokey and well Burke and- lord it would work for you! But the point is, I’m gonna be doin that, I’m thinkin of taking him up on it.”

“Now hang on a second.” he shakes her gently by his hold on her waist, “One minute you’re objectin to marryin me cause I’m ‘Elvis’ and you say that as if babies an’ me don’t go together like cookies and cream -and now here ya are all talkin bout hangin with cool cats and producin and climbin the laddeh. Which ya want honey? Thought you wanted to be a mama?”

“I’m just saying,” she stamps her foot in the little bit of floor space his crowding has given her on the porch, “You’re talkin bout marryin and Graceland havin a missus and meanwhile you’re gonna be gone across the ocean! How’s that make any sense? Ya don’t need a wife for that, I could be house sittin for ya just as well, while producin with Cooke in the meanwhile and when you get back, I’ve no doubt you’ll fall in with some starlet or other. See? There, fixed. Sensible plan now. And I agree to it, yer welcome.”

“Little girl, yer not hearin me at all.” he raps his knuckles against her oh so sensible yet silly head, her startled indignance the cutest thing he’s ever seen, “I want me a woman to marry before God, to give my children to, to raise those children to a right legacy, to help me make a change for good in all this mess. And I want that to be you.” he articulates the last sentence clearly and prods his index finger against her chest, like the finger of fate marking her out for this.

“Elvis i-“she shakes her head adamantly, and he thinks it must be a little hard for her to understand that his every daydream, every evening prayer, every midnight spill into the sheets these last two years have been about making a family outta her. But she will get the vision, she’s gotta. She has to. Or else. Else he’ll do somethin rash and unchristian if she doesn’t relent to bind herself to him before he goes back to Fort Hood.

Somethin real rash, like wring her neck or admit he’s a goddamn slave for her. Embarrass them both. She probably can tell, the way he’s gripping her and nearly salivating over such close proximity to her lips and body and everything. He has to remember his mama, has to remember how to treat the gal she pointed out to him in the manner befitting a new Mrs Presley.

“You want babies? Hmm?” he’s breathing in her exhales he’s so close, as she’s bowed backwards as he leans in, her little head almost bumping her fathers front door in an effort to keep their lips apart, “I’ll give ya babies. You wanna make good music? The best in music is holdin ya right now, baby. You wanna make a difference? I know ya do, ya want power and ya want security and money and ya want love, don’t ya? Way I see it, I’ll give ya that. Better and more of it than anyone. Sensible plan, ain’t that what ya called yours? Well, here’s one, damn sight more sensible than yours and tryin all this solo.”

Her pretty lips are puffing with each labored breath she takes to steady herself and her eyes track over his face intently, and he knows she weighing the pluses and the minuses, his fame verses money and his moods over his devotion and his appetites over his loyalty and anonymity over influence. The hands she has pressed to his chest to keep them apart soften with each passing moment.

“But -do ya even love me, Elvis?” she asks, a note of something very sad but a little hopeful lingering in her voice. Like she’s mourning the fact that she’s considering this for all the reasons that make her so wonderfully practical, but the girl in her can’t help but wish for a little romance.

A gust of a breeze whips her hair around her in a swirl of brushed out curls and her eyes sparkle even in the porch’s shade. He cups that precious, brave little face in his hands and presses her against the screen door, neighbors and street traffic be damned

“Oh honey,” he gushes then, cool demeanor abandoned and all that lovely passion she adores in him coming out at last, “I have for a long while now. And I can’t think of a stronger way of showin ya than to give you my babies. To make a life with you, give ya mama’s house and my name. Please say yes, Elaine. Please, please I need ya to say yes.”

“Oh Elvis,” she breathes, feeling him hold her and promise to her and want her is every bit as naturally compelling of obedience as that night of the funeral, but she never once imagined it as his wife, “I just don’t wanna be alone Elvis,” she tries to make him see her true fear, “I’m real honored by this but, but I’m so lonely and I want all this so I won’t be! And you’re gonna be gone. Gone to Germany and then gone to make music and movies and-“

“I’m gonna take ya with me! Always, always together, I swear!” he closes the distance and presses his lips to hers firmly despite her lack of response, “I need me a wife, Elaine,” he pants against her mouth and she can smell the spearmint of his gum, “I need a good woman, and you’re the one mama pointed out to me. Shouldn't of put it off so long but I-I was a fool. I need ya with me everywhere I go, don’t send me across the ocean without you! Don’t, you wouldn’t be so cruel, please baby, please!”

He’s not sure how it happens but he’s slumping down the length of her body, hands sliding along the gorgeous outline of her and suddenly he’s on his knees, painted boards hard against his knees, begging like a groom oughta, his face is pressed to her womb. This womb he’s got such plans for and such right to and he has to make her see that in his head they’ve been married for years already. “I’ve taken care of ya, haven’t I?” he begs her to remember, “You trust me to take care of ya, to love ya, to cherish you, don’t ya, Elaine?”

The kicker is she does. And she’s not sure why she worries more is needed. All she wants right now is to be needed, and the crying, grieving young man clinging to her right now needs her badly. She runs her fingers through his hair soothingly and likes the way that makes him shudder. “Will you always need me, Elvis? Really? Even when good times come round again?” she asks what really worries her.

He pulls his face away and looks up at her, lips puffy and his dark lashes clumped from tears, “Always, Elaine, always.”

“And you’ll give me Graceland?”

“Yeah, course baby, you’ll be my wife, it’ll be yours!”

“I mean...legally, you’ll give it legally.” she doesn’t ask this time, she’s stating conditions.

“I-I-if it matters so much, sure. What’s some more papers?” he laughs. “Why?” he adds with a flicker of dread.

“You won’t divorce me if I’ve got Miss Gladys’ house, will ya?” she explains and has the audacity to grin.

It hurts deeply that she still doesn’t get just how badly he wants her for all eternity. “Why you talkin bout divorce, honey?” he asks wounded.

“So many people get them.” she says mournfully, “And mostly entertainers.”

“That's cause they marry icy bimbos and are selfish bastards.” he states, rising up to his own two feet again, the topic back on safe ground -ground he has the upper hand in. “See, darlin, there’s plenty of men who want wives, and cause the wives want children they tell the poor girls they want kids, too. But they don’t, so once the wives have got the kids they move on. Real dastardly thing to do and more common than you realize. And with your money and your looks, you’ll have a line of such good for nothin bastards linin up with fake promises. You understandin me?”

“Yeah.” she swallows thickly, knowing he knows far more about all this than she does.

“So it’s important to marry someone ya trust, right?” he prods.

“Yeah.”

“More so than even someone ya love, dontchu think?”

“I suppose so.” she nods, care creasing her face, “You don’t mind that I don’t love ya Elvis?” she asks worriedly, “Because I am really fond of ya, and I enjoy you I just -I don’t think I love ya.”

“I’m willin to bet that’ll come.” he says solemnly, “And I’m willin to put in the work to make it grow. Just as I will our babies.”

Her face softens at the mention of the longed for babies. A smile even plays around her mouth, beginning to plump up her cheeks. “Will ya check, then?” she whispers.

“Check what?” he asks, absently thumbing the beautiful line of one of her collarbones.

“If it’ll work.” she blushes, ignorance both emboldening and shaming her all at once, “Make sure we can make babies for sure, you and I.”

“Gotta do that before you say yes?” he laughs, disbelieving and feral at the prospect.

“Yes, it’s important to me, Elvis.” she remonstrates against his humor. “Most important thing of all.”

“A-a-alright, I-I-I’ll check.” his mouth runs dry at the prospect of seeing, smelling, maybe even wetting his fingers in that place he’s wrung himself dry imagining night after night and morning after morning. And the fact she’s asking, offering -under ill informed pretenses as it is. “Can’t do it out here.” he whispers, the depravity of his taking advantage like this actually taking a toll on his bravado.

“Come in then,” she whispers in turn, though from a different motivation, “but be quiet, daddy’s still sleeping, ya kept him up so late.”

She opens the creaky screen door with painstakingly slow care, and the large wooden one, too, with its familiar stained glass windows. It is cool and dark without a lamp on or blind raised inside their den, she’d barely gotten dressed and come downstairs to start breakfast when she heard his car peel out in the front drive.

She spins around just short of the coffee table, her circle skirt swirling and swooshing tantalizingly, no stockings on yet as she wasn’t prepared for guests.

“Where should I….” she trails off as she surveys the different flat spots upon which to perch for this examination, her devout ignorance of the socially condemned nature of it all giving her a chipper confidence that Elvis finds throbbingly attractive in an unschooled virgin.

His voice sounds gravelly and about three octaves deeper than usual when he croaks out, “Anywhere's fine -how bout here…” he picks her up by her waist to sit her on the high top, Oriental imported side table, a gift her father gave her mother as an anniversary present.

It’s taller than the couch and it lets her legs dangle apart naturally. He could easily take himself out and slide right into her at this level. It makes him dizzy when he hears her shaky exhale as he seats her, belying a real, deep seated nervousness on her part that he’ll find some abnormality with her that will crush her dreams. The fact he’s certain she’s not as nervous over a red blooded boy lifting her skirt and looking at her bare cunt makes him so painfully hungry to devour her that he has to gnaw on his bottom lip to keep from groaning. -And taking advantage of what’s not yet his. For his mama's sake, for his mama's dream of this, he’s gotta keep ahold of himself and refrain from anything God might find fault with. For them to be punished with barrenness because Elvis couldn’t hold back before the proper time would be too cruel. He can’t do that to Elaine or himself. He’s gonna be the man in her life, has already been so for awhile now, and he’s gotta do right by her. He thinks this even as he gives her lips another peck and sinks to his knees to give her pussy an inspection that is as futile as it is arousing.

He rubs at her thighs over her dress soothingly, though by her quick breaths he suspects she’d rather he hurry and give a verdict. Her eyes that have been turned towards the staircase, making certain father is still asleep, drop to his face expectantly.

“Here I -let me, I should probably-“ she says determinedly and suddenly she’s pulling at her skirt, the thin fabric sliding from beneath his palms as she lifts it and then he’s holding onto warm flesh instead as she gathers the fabric to her waist.

He chokes on his own spit at her innocent brazenness and has to glance away for a moment from the blood stirring sight of graceful thighs bracketing plain white panties, a wet patch visible on the crotch and a few stray wiry curls sneaking out from the seams at her groin.

“You ok?” she asks, and the genuine concern in his voice tells him that the agonizing need he feels is visible on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just so goddamn pretty.” he admits, truth the only thing he can manage to blurt and it serves him well.

She looks relieved and gives him a pleased smile and chooses to spread her legs wider. So wide in fact that she has her heels propped on the sideboard beside her hips. Who needs stirrups for an examination when a girl can bend like that? Bend…oh god he can’t wait to bend and bury and dump inside her…

Elvis has never wanted to dive face first into a muff so bad in all his life. The wedding is gonna have to be next week. He can’t wait longer than that, he doubts he’ll sleep a wink until he knows what she tastes like.

“Can you tell like this?” her soft voice reminds him he gave her a fucking excuse for this perverted cock tease torture and he reels through the options of backing out now or pushing this a little further. “Or do you need to move these?” she voices the second option for him, the barrier of her panties implied if not mentioned.

“Yeah, gotta look at the lil house.” his voice comes out wavering and wrecked, “Lemme just-“ he tentatively raises his hands to her precious place and hooks his fingers to the cotton panties and pulls them to the side.

She’s so goddamn pink. Glistening and swollen like she’s been freshly teased. Something about him excites her, without her even knowing. Her curls are sopping wet, they slick up his fingers as he holds her apart, and in their strands they’re trapping the most delicious essence he’s ever smelled in his entire life. She hasn’t shaved, she hasn’t primped, she hasn’t stretched herself out, she’s exactly as God made her and he’s the first man to see it.

It causes him to whimper, long and gut wrenched, his whole throat throbbing as he wiggles on the floor.

“Oh…Jesus.” he wheezes.

“What?” she demands peering down at him, and she’s the authoritative one here, now that he’s all but humping the floor in his delicious misery of viewing Elaine Phipps’ perfect, unused cunt. “Will it work? Is something wrong?”

“No no no.” he garbles out, one hand slipping from her slick folds and gravitating to his own lap out of natural instinct, crushing his twitching bulge into submission, “You’re perfect, Elaine, absolutely perfect.” he wants to cry, maybe because he's so horny, maybe because he loves her so damn much. He’s really not sure, nothing makes sense except that he was meant to live inside that perfect little haven of hers that is honest to God trickling before his very eyes. His thumb involuntarily swipes up and spread it to her clit, making her buck towards his attentions.

“It’s achey, Elvis, it’s always achey.” she informs him, “Does that mean anything? Is it wrong?”

And he knows she means wrong as in humanly abnormal, not morally incorrect. He’ll never let her know anyone would think differently. As long as he possibly can he’ll keep her eager and unabashed.

“Nah honey, nah that’s a good sign.” he breathes heavily, still stroking that dribbling, untried place, “Means you’re fertile, means you’re ready for a baby. It’ll keep achin till ya have one in ya.”

“Oh.” her mouth rounds childishly and she nods as if this were a sudden epiphany.

“We should give ya a baby, then, shouldn’t we?” he prods now that he’s got her attention and her arousal.

“I’spose so.” she agrees, tentative, her lip drawn between her teeth, still contemplating this marital bargain with the fabric of her hem crushed in her palms. “Your babies’ll fit?” she asks once more for good measure.

His babies. She’s no idea it’s his cock she should anticipate. “Yeah, perfect fit. Don’t think anyone else’s would.”

“Oh….good.” she lets out a massive sigh of relief she has been holding in for most of her teenage years.

“Gotta marry me, first.” he reminds, swirling his thumb faster and she keens a little before remembering her father upstairs, “I can’t go round givin babies to someone who ain’t my wife, ya know.”

“Alright.” she agrees to marry him in a soft whisper, her hand coming to cover his own tenderly as it works between her legs, stalling his distracting movements.

“What’s that?” he asks again, breathless with hope.

“I’ll marry ya Elvis, if you’re sure we’ll work.”

“I’m sure.” he swears, watching the way her pink hole flutters, “I’ll give ya a baby and fix the ache, darlin. Won’t have to fret over anything again your whole life.”

The floorboards upstairs creak and Elvis nearly yelps in shock, so far gone was he in their own little world he’d forgotten that he’s got her spread bare in her father’s den. He stands up abruptly and pulls her skirt down gently, making her proper again.

Wedding night. He’s gotta wait till the wedding night before trying anything, or even explaining the mechanics of it, he thinks. He doesn’t wanna spook her, and he wants to have her stuck with him before he drops that final little detail about the necessity of a man going inside and blowing his load in order for the miracle of life to occur.

Yeah, that’s not something you tell a skittish little girl who just barely agreed to marry you for your mansion and security.

He’s pulled from this scheming by the feel of her arms winding around his neck, drawing him forward gently and to the immense relief of his battered heart he realizes she is about to kiss him. It’s a sweet kiss, gentle and tentative and growing in surety as she decides she likes it, and it’s the loveliest one he’s ever had, made so by the relief that she must care for him somehow, even if it’s no match for the insane obsession he harbors for her. It’ll do, it’s a seed he can water and grow.

“You’ll stay for breakfast?” she asks him as they pull away, drowsy and a little cross eyed from how long they’ve smooched.

“Love ta.” he murmurs, pulling her off the table and drawing her close so he’s holding her to him, swaying gently and savoring the feeling of his soon to be wife as she nestles into his chest.

Father comes down shortly after.

“It’s settled, sir.” Elvis informs him, a respectful title tacked on to a declaration that leaves no room for argument from either of you, “She’s agreed. And I’m the happiest of men.”

Most fathers might tell him, “congratulations” or “welcome to the family” or if it were someone besides Elvis Presley they might venture a “be true to her.”

Father says not a word, all advice and remonstrance and conditions already expended on this headstrong young man the night before. He surveys the young people as they embrace with a genuine smile on his lips and a world of melancholy in his eyes. Elaine wonders if he is mourning the loss of his own bride, or mourning her future as Elvis’.

For Elvis, though, that day is remembered as the most joyful and blessed of days when he lucked out and snagged the loveliest creature living. And how he came to eat French toast and cantaloupe beside her father without having washed his hands.

#sarge and lil mama #most wholesome breeding kink you ever did see #proposal #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis presley #elvis x you #Elvis one shot #mine #elvis x reader #Elvis x Elaine #elvis austin butler

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resowrites · 1 year

Text

Rolo - oneshot.

Summary: Henry takes learning about his wife’s pregnancy a tad too far…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Wife!OC

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, language, dialogue heavy, graphic descriptions of labour/childbirth, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 3002

A/N: Remember, this is pure fiction (as in completely made up) and not in any way meant to reflect reality. My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Rolo - oneshot.

"Oh my God, this reads like Stephen King…"

"Will you please be quiet? I'm trying to watch tv—"

"Oh stop, you can watch the A-Team any time. Now listen to this, a 'show' is the act of the mucus plug that seals the opening of the cervix, falling out as either a blob or smaller pieces of pinkish jelly—" she threw the spoon she was holding back into her pot of yoghurt.

"Henry shut up, I don't want to hear this while I'm eating!"

"It looks a bit like that apparently," he pointed to the pot in her hand, much to her chagrin. "It signals the start of the cervix beginning to soften and thin ready for labour, though this can take anywhere from an hour to several days to begin…" She hoped Henry was finally finished and tentatively took another mouthful of yoghurt. "Sometimes the colour of the plug is red or brown—"

"Henry, stop it!"

"What? I'm just trying to share with you the miracle of creation!"

"No you're not, you're being an annoying little shit because I had the last yoghurt and you don't want to let me enjoy it!"

"Don't be ridiculous, we've got our first scan coming up soon, don't you want me to be prepared?"

"Henry, it's not a fucking quiz, and anyway, it's me who has to answer any questions, not you!"

"Well, excuse me for wanting to be ready just in case, God most women would give anything for their husbands to be this involved!"

"Henry, why is it you need to know about the 'show,' or anything else that happens at that point in labour? You're not the one delivering the baby!"

"Well, who knows? You could go into labour on the bathroom floor and the paramedics might not make it to the house in time, we are a bit out in the sticks here."

"That won't happen, most women have to be induced—"

"What does that mean? Hang on let me look it up," he flipped further ahead in the baby book. "Ah, induction means to bring on the start of labour artificially. Before this is done, a membrane sweep is performed first. This involves a midwife or doctor sweeping their finger around the cervix via internal examination. This should help separate the amniotic sac surrounding the baby from the cervix—"

"Henry, I'm really getting annoyed with you now!"

"What? This is fascinating! To continue—" she gritted her teeth.

"If labour does not then occur, an induction will be offered next. This procedure involves the insertion of a pessary or gel into the vagina. If contractions do not begin after six hours, a further tablet or dose of gel will be used. Please be aware that induced labour is usually more painful and can require assistance via ventouse or forceps. What the hell's a ventouse?"

"Henry, I'm giving you until the count of five to put that book down. One—"

"A ventouse is a vacuum cup attached to your baby's head via suction—"

"Two—"

"It's pulled gently by the midwife or doctor to aid in delivery—"

"Three—"

"However, this method comes with several risks including a third or fourth-degree vaginal tear. This means the wall of the anus is ruptured—"

"Four, five! That's it, give me that right now!" She snatched the book from Henry's hands and chucked it aside.

"What the hell did you do that for?! We were just getting to an interesting bit!"

"Really, you find the instance of vaginal tearing even remotely interesting, do you?"

"Look, I have to learn about all of this otherwise I'll be clueless to help!"

"Is that right? And what help do you expect to be?"

"… Well, I can tell the doctor what it looked like before, it'll help him put everything back in place!"

"That's it, I'm going downstairs—"

"No, wait! I'm only joking, jeez lighten up will ya? I'm just trying to have a bit of fun!"

"Yeah, but it's easy to do that when you're not the one who has to give birth!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm already shit scared about all of this without you telling me my rectum could be torn asunder!"

"Oh for God's sake, that isn't going to happen!"

"Oh yeah? How do you know?"

"Because I won't let anything like that happen, alright?"

"Henry you're not going to have that much control over the situation, neither of us will!"

"Well maybe not but at least I'll be there to advocate for you, and I'll make sure everything is done correctly. That's why I have to learn about each stage of delivery."

"Well, can you at least stop reading aloud? I honestly don't want to hear all the grisly details thanks very much!"

"It's not grisly! It's a beautiful process—"

"Henry, birth may be many things but it's hardly beautiful—" he ignored her and continued.

"Just think, you'll be able to squeeze a whole person out of an opening that's only a few centimetres wide! Well, actually your cervix has to be ten centimetres dilated before you can safely start to push."

"Oh, God help me…"

"What? I can't wait! Being able to watch my baby being born will be the happiest day of my life! Even if it also means having to watch my favourite place in the whole world become like a Stretch Armstrong…"

"What do you mean? You're not going at the goal end, are you?!" Henry snorted.

"Well of course! Otherwise, how do I know that it's actually ours and not one that they've swapped?"

"Henry, trust me, no one is going to take our baby. So you're really going to watch the whole thing? Even as I start to crown?"

"Wait, what does that mean?" He tried to reach for the baby book which was still resting at the bottom of the bed.

"Oh no you don't, I'm not hearing any more blow-by-blows of birth thanks very much."

"Fine! I'll just look it up on my phone."

"Yeah, you might not want to do that—" suddenly Henry shrieked aloud.

"Jesus bloody Christ! Did it have to show me pictures? God, it's like she's being ripped in half!" He held his phone up close to her face.

"I did tell you not to look it up! Anyway, you wanted to see it, are you still so keen now on watching it live?"

"Well, I had no idea it was that graphic! Christ, I hope I don't end up with performance issues…" Henry looked down plaintively at his crotch.

"Oh, typical, you have to make it all about you. Did you honestly think the baby just appeared? Like all I had to do was sneeze and out it popped?"

"Well no, but now I must admit I'm getting scared as well - me and all of my brothers were big babies, I don't think it's gunna be that easy…"

"Oh well great, thanks for warning me."

"What? I'm just being honest! You could end up having one of those record babies, you know like how you see on the internet?" She breathed in hard.

"Henry, if you do that to me I will actually never forgive you—"

"Well, it's not my fault! Weren't you a big baby as well?"

"No I bloody well wasn't!"

"Maybe that'll balance it out then, besides it's not like they can't stitch you up afterward!"

"Oh God, kill me…"

"What? I can always get you a little rubber ring to sit on!"

"Henry, if you don't button it right now—"

"They use stitches darling, buttons would hardly be appropriate—"

"Carry on sonny boy and you're gunna be the one who needs stitches!"

"Alright, alright. God, I was only trying to be helpful!"

"No you weren't, you were just trying to scare me!"

"No I wasn't, I would never do that! As I said, everything will be alright—"

"You don't know that! This will be my first time giving birth, literally anything could happen..."

"Well, I'm sure there are lots of things we can do to prepare. Just let me have my handy guide back—"

"No, you're not reading any more baby books!"

"Fine, I'll just consult Google then instead. Let's see, how do you prevent tearing during pregnancy?" She took a deep breath. "Ah, see here it says an ep-is-iot-omy, a cut made in the perineum, is performed to make the vaginal opening wider where necessary—"

"Right, I’m putting on my headphones—"

"This cut is typically made diagonally… wait so they don't just cut downwards? You know so it's like one big hole?"

"Oh bollocks, they're out of power!"

"Are you listening to me?!"

"I'm trying not to, no."

"Well you'll be glad to know there's also such thing as 'perineal massage—'"

"Oh, well that's a relief…"

"This can be performed from thirty-five weeks onwards as a useful tool to help prevent tears. It even says I can perform the massage for you—"

"Yeah, no thanks."

"Well, what do you expect me to do then? Just wait outside and leave you in the delivery room all scared and alone?"

"You can stay here, in fact. I'm not sure I even want you in the building anymore…"

"Oh now come on, you know I was only trying to make you laugh talking about all this stuff!"

"Henry I don't need a bloody comedian, I need a birth partner who's gunna take it seriously and actually be useful—"

"Yeah and that's why I'll be right by your side, cheering you on, and you can scream and yell and hit me as many times as you want."

"Can I do that right now?" He gave her a mischievous smile.

"I tell you what, why don't we change the subject and try some birth positions instead? Look, you can even lay like this with your arse in the air," Henry kneeled on both legs and let his face fall into the pillow. "Actually, on second thoughts, it was this position that got you into this situation..." She choked on her cup of tea. "What about like this then," he jumped out of the bed and propped one leg up on the edge of it. "It's called the 'leg-up lunge,' really helps open up the pelvis apparently and relieve back pain," Henry looked over to see her holding her face in her hands. "Or you can just do this," he rolled onto his back and pulled back each leg with his hands. In doing so, he landed on the remote and accidentally changed the channel.

"Oh for fuck sake, Henry! It was just getting to a juicy bit!"

"Tell me about it, I need you to check how far along I am—"

"Henry, I really am starting to lose my patience!" She leaned between Henry's legs and tried to manoeuvre him off of the remote.

"Hey, it's me who's meant to push, not you!"

"Will you bloody stop it?! And move out of the sodding way—" she carried on rooting around, not seeing the bottle of water he'd quickly grabbed from the bedside table. Seconds later, a jet of water hit her face.

"OH NO, I THINK MY WATER JUST BROKE!!!"

"W-WHAT THE FUCK!!!" She coughed and spluttered while Henry collapsed into a pile of giggles. "That's it, I'm done." She scooched off the bed and headed for the door.

"WAIT, wait!" She stopped and turned round to face him. "You've still got water on your face—" she tried to storm off, only for Henry to catch her by the wrist.

"Get off me, you arch idiot. I'm so angry with you I could scream!"

"Oh now come on! I was just trying to give us a bit of practice. I don't want you to think you've wet yourself—"

"HENRY, THAT IS ENOUGH!"

"Mmmm... I love it when you get mad. Come on, let's have some fun—" he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You must be joking!"

"Well, what’s the harm? I've already knocked you up!"

"Henry—"

"And don't think I haven't noticed how big they're getting…" Henry pointed towards her chest.

"Listen to me you little turd, they're not the only things getting bigger. Very soon I'm going to be up to fifty pounds heavier, with an arse that could flatten even you - so don't piss me off!"

"... But I'll be able to hear you coming."

"Right, that's it! I'm sleeping downstairs. Seeing as this is all just some big joke to you—"

"Whoa, hang on, that's absolutely not the case. I'm sorry, alright? I was just trying to make you less worried about giving birth. Honestly, I don't care if you scream, cry, puke, or even shit everywhere—" her nostrils flared. "Take it easy! Come on, let's get to bed, all this stress isn't good for the baby." She batted his hand away and folded her arms almost as soon as she was back in bed. "Okay, so you don't want to lie on your back. That's probably for the best seeing as the baby could then shoot across the room if you push too hard... I wonder if that's ever actually happened? Lemme see." She snatched the phone away.

"Henry, this is your last warning—"

"Fine, fine. Can we talk names then?"

"Oh, but we can never agree! Everything you like, I hate! Besides your mum used up most of the decent boy's names…"

"Well, let's think, what about Jack?"

"See, I like Jack but it runs into your surname because of the ‘k’ sound at the end. So it sounds like one long name, 'JackCavill.'"

"Okay, well what about Jake?"

"That's the same problem."

"Alright then, Jacob?"

"Nah."

"Caleb?"

"Nah."

"Callum?"

"Callum Cavill? Isn't that a bit of a mouthful?"

"Okay well, let's park boys' names for a minute and try out girls' names instead. What about Amelie?"

"Nah, I don't want too many syllables."

"Okay, Amy?"

"Mmm, no I don't want anything too cutesy."

"Ugh, what about Olivia then? That way she can be named after you—"

"Except my name's not actually Olivia is it?"

"Well, it's still a nice name! Why don't you come up with some instead of just criticizing me?"

"Actually, I'd rather just sit here and watch my programme in peace, seeing as how you've robbed me of that opportunity for the last half an hour!"

"But we've got to come up with a shortlist of names, otherwise, we'll struggle nearer the time!"

"Well, my sister said it's sometimes better to wait. Often you pick a name and then find that it doesn't actually suit the baby at all."

"... How about Hollie?"

"Hollie?"

"Yeah, I mean, she'll be born around Christmas time and it's a nice combination of both our names."

"Mmm… maybe."

"… And for a boy, we could always have Rudolph." She sighed and switched the tv off so she could turn over and go to sleep.

"Hey, hang on, we're not done yet!"

"Henry, we've got months to decide and if it's okay with you, I'd like to get to sleep before I'm given any more reasons to have nightmares."

"Oh darling, there's really nothing to worry about. I mean, the chances of it having a conehead or a vestigial tail are actually very minor…"

"What the hell are you talking about now?!"

"Oh, didn't you know? When a baby is born its skull compresses so that it can squeeze its way out of the birth canal—"

"Okay, got it."

"But don't worry, it'll eventually round out in a few weeks—"

"That's good to know. Goodnight Henry."

"Wait! I haven't said goodnight to the baby!"

"Oh don't worry, they've been listening to you all evening and would now like some peace and quiet as well."

"Aww come on, roll back over so I can kiss them and you goodnight." She sighed and reluctantly turned onto her back. This was their new nightly routine and Henry wouldn't let her rest until he got to perform it. He scooted down slightly so he was level with her waist, and placed both hands gently on her stomach. He then lowered his head and spoke quietly.

"G'night bubba, Mummy and Daddy love you so, so much - only a few more weeks and we'll get to hear your heartbeat for the first time!"

"You know the lucky sod can't actually hear you just yet? It won't be able to until I'm at least eighteen weeks—"

"Will you please stop being such a spoilsport! And stop calling our baby 'it!' We at least need to come up with a placeholder name. Something sweet and memorable—"

"So that's a no to conehead then?" Henry clucked his tongue.

"Ignore her bubba, she's just cranky cos you're making her hormonal and retain water." She thumped him on the arm. "Ow! That hurt!"

"That wasn't me, that was my hormones…" Henry rolled his eyes. "And can you go get me some Rennies? I've got heartburn again."

"Hey, that's an idea, what about Rennie?"

"You want to name our baby after an anti-acid?"

"Well, can you come up with something better?" She considered it for a moment.

"How about Rolo? I mean that's the only thing I've been craving since I've been pregnant."

"Is it really a craving if you ate them lots before you were pregnant? And how come we can't name it after indigestion tablets but we can name it after your favourite chocolate?"

"Well, why not? I think Rolo's cute! It's about the size of one at the moment as well."

"Fine, although there's also the option of Henry Junior…" She gave him an annoyed look. "Alright, alright. Rolo it is. And don't worry, to me you'll always have a beautiful vagina—"

"Right, just for that, get your arse down those stairs and get me some Rolo's as well. Now, mister!"

"… Are you sure there's any left?" The look on her face made Henry shoot out of bed but not before he gave both her and her stomach a kiss.

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