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paladin--strait · 8 months ago

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soulmates part 2

luke hughes x reader

part 1 here! series masterlist here!

tw!!: some language, mentions of sex, verbal arguements, use of y/n, reader can be depicted as any body shape/size. this story moves kinda fast, since I want it to only be a couple of parts long.

warning: this is a complete work of fiction. I am no way saying or implying that these people act the way the do in the story. as always, this is really cringey as I'm still figuring out my writing style! I am open to any sort of constructive criticism! thank you for reading and enjoy!

y/n's pov;

the chatter of the lake house game room was loud, just as expected considering the amount of players and their partners that are packed into the smaller room. I was nestled in the corner with a drink tucked in my hand, watching jamie and trevor play a 'friendly' game of pool.

the boys bicker and laugh while they play, joking around with their friends. but the rumble of my hungry stomach is enough to bring me out of my trance of watching the game. I walk to jack, and ask if I can get something to eat, to which he says yes before I make my way to the kitchen.

the kitchen is packed full of yummy foods that can either be cooked and prepared or can just be enjoyed the way they are. I eventually settle on some chips and dip for my small meal, enough to fill me up but enough to leave space for me to eat dinner later.

I soon hear the sound of footsteps traveling down the hall that leads to the kitchen and it catches my attention, pulling me away from my food to see who it is.

its kaitlyn.

and if looks could kill I would be dead right now.

her arms cross against her chest as she stands with purpose. "I don't appreciate you flirting with my boyfriend." she says, slowly. even though her voice is soft, with the tone and the way she says her statement, I know she means business. "I see the way that you look at him and talk to him. he's not interested in you so I hope you can get that through your fat skull quick enough to know not to mess with me." she states, slowly getting louder and closer to me before she laughs and pokes her finger into my forehead.

I stifle back a laugh before I push her finger off of my forehead. oh how I wish she could see that look on her face right now.

her face is red, boiling with anger and jealousy while she breathes huffs of hot and boozy smelling air in my face. I soon can't find the strength to hold back my laugh any longer, and the cackle that escapes my throat is like no other laugh that I've heard leave confines my mouth.

if its even possible, her face turns a deeper red the more I laugh. I can physically see her body twitching and trembling with fury while I'm attempting to calm my laughing fit.

"oh sweetheart, I'm honored that you think I'm fake enough for jack. it seems to be his type considering all the girls he's been with all look like you. plastic."

I'll apologize to jack for that one later.

"listen here you dumb fuck! I could beat the shit out of your fat ass. don't even test me." she yells, not aware of the growing crowd of people behind her, including all of the hughes brothers. "I've been with more guys than you can even think of! and most of them are celebrities. nobody seems to mind that I supposedly look like plastic because I get more dick than a pornstar does anyways! why do you think I'm here? I've hooked up with soccer players, football players, volleyball players, basketball players, and now I'm about to hook up with a hockey player and I will not let you get in my way!" she yells, the grip she has on her brand new iphone getting harder.

"I don't think y/n be the one getting in your way of getting into jack's pants tonight." quinn yells out and kaitlyn freezes, her eyes going wide as she slowly turns to look behind her, seeing that she has attracted everyone in the house. and they all saw her little outburst of jealousy.

"seems the only one stopping you from that is yourself. it looks like you were to busy only thinking about yourself that you can't even pay attention to your surroundings. I bet that you wouldn't even know it if a snake bit you just then." I say with a chuckle. "I also hope that you know that i don't care anything about fucking with jack. I barely know the guy and he's not even my type. but I hope you can think over your life choices in your ride home, bitch."

I barely have time to think over what I'm doing before I 'accidentally' spill a cup of lemonade all over her phone and expensive clothes, causing her to drop it. "oh no...oops!" I say with a smile. her mouth drops open, while she bends down to pick up the phone to see that the screen is completely cracked, sticky from the lemonade, and it won't even turn on. "I guess you can't call an uber. looks like you''ll have to walk home..." I shrug, refilling my cup and looking her while she screams her lungs out at me before running to the door. "make sure you grab your STDs on the way out!" I yell out at her, smiling.

jack came over and thanked me for saving him from in his words, 'such a crazy bitch' and quinn came over to cheer me on for winning my little fight.

"there's the y/n I know!" quinn says, hugging me tight and shaking me.

I laugh and pat him on the shoulder after he pulls away fro. the hug. "thanks for chiming in, quinnifer. I was getting a little worried since I didn't really know what to say." I say with a lighthearted laugh.

we chat a little more about it then decide to let that be in the past and continue to enjoy the rest of our night at the lake house.

people end up leaving to go to their own hotels or air bnb's for bed and the people staying here slowly navigate to their rooms. eventually leaving me and luke in the game room. "wanna go outside and sit on the dock, luke?" I ask with a sigh. it's been awkward between us since we met and I wish that would go stop.

"sure. we can go out on the boat if you want?" he says, and I agree while he walks over the key and coat rack. "you can wear my devils jacket so you don't have to dig through your suitcase to find yours. I usually get it a size or two larger than usual so it's not tight. I don't like tight jackets." he explains while he hands me the jacket. I look at it in my hands and see the devils emblem with his name and number on the chest area. I smile and I feel my face heat up slightly so I look away, trying to hide my blush.

luke and I slip on our jackets as we walk outside onto the dock and closer to the boat. he jumps in and then holds out his hand to help me get in. I thank him and take a seat on one of the built in benches while luke drives the boat out into the lake. "you should come out here with the guys and I sometime. sometimes we bring the jetski's and we just mess around a lot. but other times we just sit and talk. it's a lot of fun." he says, stopping the boat and coming to sit beside me.

"I bet. quinn has already begged me to come out here with you guys tomorrow and I think if I don't come he'll probably kill me." I say with a laugh. "but it sounds like fun so I'll most likely come with you guys." luke laughs along with me and we sit in scilence for a few minutes. just looking around at the stars and the beautifully lit docks from other people's lake houses.

"hey y/n, I'm sorry about earlier. when you came onto the dock to introduce yourself to me? I was really nervous. I'm gonna be honest with you, you're the prettiest girl I've ever met and I was worried that I would fall for you and I was scared about that since I thought you were quinn's girl. he's my brother and if I fell for you while you two were together I don't know what I would do or what quinn would say about it. until he told me that y'all weren't a thing and that he thought we would be perfect together...sorry for being so rude and awkward." luke says, looking up at the stars before looking back down at my wide eyes.

"luke, quinn and I aren't a thing. we never have and never will be. I've always seen quinn as an older brother type of friend. when I met him, I was scared and alone in a club that my friend left me at while she went to hook up with some guy. this man that was way older than me was hitting on me and he wouldn't leave me alone until quinn and brock came up and scared the guy off. he found out I was new to the area and kinda took me under his wing. he's always talked about you and jack so much and I was super excited to meet you guys. he told me not to tell you this when I met you but since it seems he told you the same thing, I guess I'll just say it. but he said that he can see us becoming the perfect couple and that he really wanted for me to meet you so 'he can be right'. those were his words by the way." I explain to luke, watching his eyes go wide. "quinn moved me out of my apartment that I lived in with my ex best friend, moved me into his apartment with him, and got me a job in media with the canucks. he really helped me out and the more time we spent with each other, the more we became best friends. "

luke nods and then asks me some questions about how life was living with quinn and whether if he was a good roommate or not.

"luke. let's get back to what we both said earlier. we both said that quinn told us we would be perfect together, right? I hope you don't think that I just came down here so I could meet you and become your girlfriend and become famous and all that. that wasn't my goal and I hope you don't feel that way because that isn't what I meant for it to seem like." I spit out, rushing my words because I really don't want him to feel that way.

sure, I wanted to meet the person who is my supposed 'soulmate'. but I also wanted to spend time with my best friend and meet all of his friends and family. my fingers twitch and my leg bounces while I wait for his response.

"I didn't think of it that way at all." he responds. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. "I just thought you came down here to be with quinn and to meet us. and don't worry about it, I didn't think about you like that at all." he pats my shoulder and laughs.

"okay good." I say with a laugh and look up to look at the stars, "the sky is so clear. it's like you can see every star in the galaxy out here. it's so beautiful"

luke chuckles, "yeah, I agree. the view is beautiful." I turn to look at him while he talks and I realize that he's been looking at me the whole time.

I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks but I pull the jacket tighter around me to keep my body warm. my eyes widen when I feel luke's arms reach around my waist and pull me into his chest.

"we can go back to the house soon. I just want to stay out here with you for a bit longer." he mutters into my hair, and I wrap my arms around his waist too, getting more comfortable.

I hum and close my eyes, the feeling of sleep overtaking me.

I wake up to luke saying my name and shaking my shoulders. I sit up and stretch, opening my eyes and its bright, the sun hitting my face.

"y/n, we fell asleep on the boat! we need to get back to the house now before quinn kills me." luke yells, turning the keys and starting the boat, driving back to house while I fall in and out of sleep in the seat.

when we get back, luke gets off of the boat and helps me out.

"luke warren hughes! I can't believe you!" quinn yells out, speed walking towards us, his little posse behind him. luke and I's eyes go wide and we look at each other with fear. "I can't believe you two fell asleep on the boat. I called both of you and your phones went off on the couch. what if you ran out of gas last night? how would we have found y'all?" quinn goes on and on about how dangerous it was but luke and I don't listen.

luke gives me a mischievous look and I smile back while giving him a nod. he grabs my hand and runs with me straight past quinn and the rest of the people who followed him and back into the house, running straight for the front door and out to luke's car. we laugh and jump in, taking off down the driveway while quinn is yelling at luke behind us.

"well since he didn't kill me then, he'll definitely kill me later." luke's laughter fills the car and soon mine does too. "so, where are we going? breakfast?" he says, looking over at me, but still keeping his eyes on the road.

"yeah, breakfast sounds great. where though?" I ask. we talk about it and soon settle on a local cafe. one that doesn't get a lot if attention so luke wouldn't be bothered while eating his breakfast.

"I'm scared for you when we go home." I laugh, "you would think that since he wants us to date so bad that he would be okay with us spending time with each other."

luke agrees and we continue chatting while we eat. we talk about what he and jack do in their free time, and what quinn and I do in our free time. I ask him about what type of drills they do during practice and whether or not they skate suicides when they mess up and I ask him lots of other stuff too.

our conversation is going really well and I'm getting to know luke really well. but its all cut short when I make eye contact with a new customer who just walked through the door. its quinn. and he's pissed.

#nhl #hockey #new jersey devils #luke hughes #nj devils #luke hughes x reader #paladin's soulmates series #quinn hughes #jamie drysdale #trevor zegras #brock boeser

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aliaology · 10 months ago

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SO AMERICAN (short)

SUMMARY: in which holtzy and you are dating, and you are very much in love with him

PAIRINGS: alexander holtz x fem!hughes!reader

WARNINGS: none just fluff :)

driving on the, right side road. he says im pretty, wearing his clothes. and hes got hands that, make hell seem cold. feet on the dashboard, he’s like a poem i wish i wrote. i wish i wrote.

you were the prime example of ‘passenger princess’ but in your very own car. i mean— it wasn’t necessarily your fault that you weren’t the best suited to drive in the city. no no— it was jacks because all he did was drive you and luke around.

but your brother was not the one driving. no, it was your boyfriend who was. you also never understood why he loved to drive your car. but the actual reason was because it was so… you. and he loved that.

your feet were propped on the dashboard, notebook and pen in your lap and hand as you mindlessly scribbled words together. alex’s hand was on your thigh, the warmth from his hand spreading throughout your body like a wildfire.

his fingers traced lightly on your bare thighs, pinky almost sliding up and hitting your shorts with every move he made. the bumps in the road made it so his hand would lightly hit your skin.

your eyes were averted to the pen and paper as you eagerly wrote down word after word, his hand squeezing your thigh every few minutes.

as he squeezed your thigh one more time, you looked over to him. he was the epitome of a love poem and you wished you were the one to write it. with a soft smile on your face, you leaned closer to him and placed your lips onto his cheek.

and he laughs at all my jokes, and he says im so american! oh god, its just not fair of him to make me feel this much. go anywhere he goes, and he says im so american! oh god, im gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up. i might just be in la-la-la-la-love.

you two were at a restaurant, smiling at each other. you spoke, hushed and quietly, almost with embarrassment. your words caused him to burst with laughter, hand slapping over his mouth as his shoulders shook.

his reaction caused you to giggle, a bright smile on your face. the smile would quickly turn to one of embarrassment when you ask a waitress for a meal— one that you have trouble pronouncing. and he laughs as the waitress leaves.

you had a frown on your face— not one of sadness but one of ‘are you kidding me?’

alex snorted as he spoke, “you are so american.”

feigning a look of offense, your eyes narrowed slightly, giving a look of hurt. this just caused alex to chuckle more before grabbing your hand and pressing a small kiss to it.

“how about we just get out of here instead? i think i’d very much rather eat in.” he suggested.

and so you went wherever he did. you ditched the restaurant. you ditched the fancy dinner, and you went home. when you got home; you both eagerly sat on the couch and just watched a movie.

god im so boring, and im so rude! cant have a conversation if its not all about you. the way you dress and, the books you read. i really love my bed but man its hard to sleep when he’s with me. when he’s with me…!

you sat with your friends, picking at your nails as they spoke. their conversation being something about style— something about clothes. you weren’t too interested, you weren’t even talking.

“anything to add, y/n?” one asked.

you shrugged. “i don’t know— style wise i really like alex’s and maybe i’m just biased but it seems super comfy. shockingly he also has a great taste in books and—“

“girl all you do is take about your man!” your friend cut you off.

another friend piped up, “can’t say i blame her. i mean we’ve been friends for what? seven years? in that time frame shes had one boyfriend and he kinda sucked. if i had a man treat me the way hers does, i’d be plastering that everywhere.”

your last friend shrugged. “i get it— honestly i want to hear more about this guy. she talks about him but its never enough because someone interrupts her.”

“its fine— all you really need to know about him is that he treats me very well, and i love him.”

after your little get together with your friends, you made your way to your apartment. the sun was setting and you wanted to lay in bed. but as soon as you got home, locked up and went to your room and saw your boyfriend, you knew for a fact you wouldn’t be going to sleep.

i apologize if its a little too much, just a little too soon. but if the conversation ever were to come up i don’t wanna assume this stuff. but aint it rough? think im in love!

#hockey #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #new jersey #new jersey devils #jack hughes #alexander holtz x y/n #alexander holtz x reader #alexander holtz imagine #alex holtz #alexander holtz #holtz10 #10

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hazybisou · 1 year ago

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❛ OH BABY, BABY ❜

🎧 🎸 every single little moment, every single little sunshine

summary - when walking the streets of Michigan, you never know what to expect. maybe that’s why y/n never expected for a little boy to literally run into her with his fine ass cute father behind him.

pairing - f!reader x single dad!quinn hughes

side note - dad quinn 😻😻 that’s all i got to say as of now. my mans so fine 😍😍 (this takes place during the summer so about right now)

✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫ ✫

the slight breeze blew through her hair as she hugged her zip up closer to her body and grabbing the hood, putting it on over her head slightly. y/n had decided the weather was warm but windy enough to go outside and take a walk and get some fresh air. she had the day off from her job as a social media photographer for the Detroit Tigers.

y/n loved her job. she knew the second she saw her sister take part in sports photography that’s what she wanted to do. she took an internship during her junior year at the University of Michigan and once she had graduated, she had applied for the job as one of the photographers for the Detroit Tigers. two days after her interview, she had gotten an email form the organization saying she had gotten the job. since then she had been working with the MLB organization.

the young woman had just turned the corner and made her way into a local park in Michigan. her hand made its way into her pocket and pulled her phone out. she grabbed her earphones out of the other and connected them to her phone before placing them in her ears. she quickly swiped and clicked on spotify before she began to hear the lyrics to ‘Stay Ready’ by Jhene Aiko as she slid her phone into her pocket once again.

the music seemed to block out the noises of the children’s laughter and giggling as they slid down the slide or swung on the swing, being pushed by their parents or siblings or other children. the noise of the cars passing by and their honking were muffled.

she began to think about her life here in Michigan and if she were to stay her the rest of her life. find the one, have kids, grow old. the idea seemed nice in her head but she knew things may never go her way as god had other plans for her.

y/n suddenly felt something hit her leg. she heard a little ‘oof’ and a thud and looked down to see a little boy with brown, wavy hair on the ground. she took her earphones out and placed them in her pocket where her phone was.

she kneeled down to the little boys height and helped him get up. “are you okay?” her eyes scanned his small figure to check for any injures.

“i sorry.” the little voice made her melt. she always had a soft spot for kids. “i didn’t mean to.”

y/n smiled. “i know you didn’t, it’s okay.” she looked around for his father or mother or anyone who might’ve known him. “where your mom?”

he shrugged.

“your dad?” she tried and the boy turned around and pointed towards the way he came from.

“he’s over there.” he told y/n and she looked behind him to see a man with a slight subtle and neatly styled hair looking around frantically.

he was cute.

“what’s your name?” she asked the little boy who looked up at her with big doe eyes.

“roan.” he stated proudly with a grin on his face. “what’s yours?”

her smile turned into a small laugh. “y/n.”

she saw the little boys hand extend. she placed her hand in his and he placed a quick kiss to it and let out a ‘mwah’ as he did so.

“aw how cute.” y/n cooed as she let out a small giggle.

roan leaned in forward. “daddy says when’s pretty girl is around, to kiss her hand when you meet her.” he explained. “you a pretty girl.”

“your dad seems like a wonderful person.”

roan nodded. “he is.”

she looked at him and finally wondered if his father had figured out he was over here with her. her question was answered when she heard the padding of feet get closer but slow down as they neared. she saw the legs of a person behind roan and looked up to find the man she saw earlier looking down at his son. he kneeled down to be eye level with roan.

“roan, i thought i told you to stay next to me.” the man scolded the little boy who looked up at the man while squinting his eyes at the sun.

“i sorry daddy. but i wanted to go play! you promised.” roan exclaimed with his arms up.

quinn shook his head. “don’t do that again, okay? you scared me.”

“ok.” roan whispered as he wrapped his arms around his dad. quinn took the little boy into his arms and y/n watched with adoration in her eyes as she stood up.

the pair pulled away and quinn stood up while roan went and stood by y/n’s side, grabbing her hand and holding it. “daddy i made a friend!” he exclaimed, excitement evident in his voice.

quinn looked down towards her. holy was she beautiful. her smile was warm and gave him a welcoming feeling. he never experienced that from anyone other than his own mother.

“hi, i’m y/n!” she held her hand out for quinn to shake with a smile on her face.

he took it in his own and shook it slightly. “quinn.” he let go of it and watched as she put it down. “it’s nice to meet you.”

“nice to meet you too.” she looked down at roan and shook their hands that were still held together . “roan here happened to run into me.”

“did he now?” quinn looked at the young boy who smiled sheepishly. “well i hope he said sorry.”

roan just nodded his head. “ i did. like you told me to.”

y/n laughed. “he was such a gentleman.” she looked at quinn. “roan’s a sweet boy.”

quinn’s eyes softened. “i’m guessing i raised him right if he was called a gentleman by a pretty lady like yourself.” the words left his mouth before he could even stop them. “i didn’t mean it like that, well like i did, but not like that. you’re very pretty-”

y/n let out a small chuckle. “it’s ok, i know what you meant.” she stood there for a second. “you’re pretty hot, you know that?”

quinn felt himself blush and turn red. “oh, um, thank you.” he looked down at his watch and his eyes widened as he noticed he would be late to dinner with his family if he didn’t leave now. “oh i am very sorry but we have to go and get ready.” quinn reached down and picked roan up before settled him on his hip. “do you think i can i get your number?”

“no, i’m sorry.”

quinn’s smiled faltered slightly. “oh it’s fine-”

“but can i get yours before i go?” y/n asked.

“oh, of course. uhh, can i-” y/n pulled her phone out and opened to her contacts before clicking on the add sign. quinn smiled and typed in his number. “here you go.”

“i’ll see you around then.” y/n said and she looked at roan. “bye roan! it was very nice meeting you.”

roan leaned forward in his fathers arm, wrapping his own arms around y/n and she did the same back, “bye bye!” he turned his head and placed a open mouthed kiss on her cheek with a loud ‘mwah’.

“cute kid.” y/n told quinn as she saved quinn’s number and put her phone away in her pocket. “bye quinn.”

“goodbye y/n.”

she turned around and began walking back to her apartment with quinn and roan on her mind. he was very attractive.

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it was 10:13 pm and quinn has just put roan to sleep in his bed after coming back to the lake house from dinner with his family. he walked back quietly to his own room which next to roan’s and got into bed, pulling the sheets over his body. he grabbed his phone, in hopes he would get a text from a certain person. with no luck he sighed and put his phone on his nightstand, ready to drift off to sleep.

*ding*

he grabbed his phone and saw an unknown number had sent him a text. he opened it and quickly saw who it was.

*** *** ****

though i forgot abt you or what?

roan’s daddy

just a little bit

y/n 💞

well goodnight quinn

send my love to roan

roan’s daddy

what abt me??!

y/n 💞

🫢🫢

maybe later

roan’s daddy

goodnight y/n

quinn turned off his phone and placed it where it was previously on his nightstand before he turned around and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep with y/n on his mind.

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turned out way better then expected. anywyas daddy quinn got me feeling some type of way. isn’t roan the sweetest little boy?? ☺️☺️💕💕 first post ever since my last one

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #nhl imagine #vancover canucks #nhl #nhl hockey #hockey #isa’s works 🦭

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faghubby · 1 year ago

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FIRST TIME RIDE

I looked over at my wife Jen. As this man pulled down my pretty pink panties. I was rock hard but he ignored it. I looked back down at him as I trembled. My penis trobbing didn't even look bigger then one of his fingers. His hands slid up the back of my smooth legs and cupped my ass. He looked up at me.

'Tell me you want this" he said in a deep but soft voice. I looked again at Jen. His friend had pulled her into her lap. Her dress open and his fingers massaging her clit. I looked back at this man as his hands roamed over my ass and thighs.

"Yes" I whispered. He sat back exposing his huge cock. Jen had been fucking my ass for months with her strapon. But this was even bigger then that. I positioned myself straddled over him and slowly lowered myself. He held his cock against my hole. I slowly eased myself onto hos cock. But suddenly my ass opened allowing the first three inches to suck inside, i gasped andI looked over to see Jen fully naked riding the other man's cock cowgirl style. Jen looked at me slowing she matched my pace. We watched each other as I worked more and more of this man's Hugh cock into my ass. He reached up and slid his hands under my satin camisole and teased my nipples. I lost focus on Jen and started to hide him. I was lost in extasy a mix of pain and pleasure. Pride and humiliation. Desire and disgust all ran thru me . As I fucked him. I needed him. I collapsed against his chest. He rolled me over and took control my legs on his shoulders as he rammed his cock deep into my bowels. I was his. As he pulled out I felt empty. He got off me his weight gone I somehow felt cold and alone. I looked over and saw Jen was gone the man she had been fucking just laid there. I wondered I'd she had enjoyed him as much as I had enjoyed his friend. I felt coolness on my stomach and realized I had cum on myself. I felt very ashamed suddenly and tried to cover myself. I got up my ass. Sore and his cum running down my leg I ran to the bathroom. To find it had no door. I sat on the toilet and pushed his cum out. Then got in the dirty shower. As i closed my eyes and let the cold water flow over me I was suddenly pushed against the grimy wall.

"Get on your knees cunt" he growled in my ear. As the water was turned off.i dropped without a thought. A thick short black cock was before me and without even looking up I took it in my mouth.

"Yeah bitch suck cock" he told me smacking my head slightly. He was very verbal kept cursing and shoving his cock down my throat making me gag.

"You better fucking swallow faggot" he swore as he pumped his load down my throat. When he was done he just turned the water back on and left. I found a small towel barely able to wrap around my thin waist and tried to find my clothes. Instead found myself in a large bedroom.

"We aren't done with you yet" another black man said pushing me into the room. I saw Jen on the bed. As a large bodybuilder type white guy climbed off of her. She looked exhausted.

"Now faggot its your turn" the black man spun me around and he held me bent over a table as I watched another man climb on top of Jen. He wasted no time in driving his cock into my already stretched ass. It felt even bigger if that was possible. He just pounded away. The man fucking Jen stopped and pulled my hair lifting my head he shoved his cock in my mouth.

"That bitch is passed out cock overdose" he laughed. I tasted Jen and cum onnhos cock as he shoved it down my throat. The guy in my mouth came rather quickly. And left. While the cock in my ass took his time. He smacked my ass. And called me dirty names until he pulled out and came all over my ass. Although sore I rushed to Jen as soon as he let me go.

"Baby did you get enough cock" she said sleeply. Pulling me close to her. We both fell asleep. We didn't wake till the sun punched thru the sheet hung as a curtain over the window.

"We need to go" Jen told me. We managed to find our clothes we didn't talk until we where in the car.

"It was so hot when I saw you take your first cock" Jen smiled. I looked at her she was a mess. Her makeup smeared dried cum in her hair and yet she reached over and rubbed my growing hardon.

"You loved it didn't you?" She teased reaching into the tiny shorts she had made me wear and pulling my panties to the side.

"You are a full fledged sissy now" she told me just holding my throbbing dick. "I bet you suck any guys cock I told you too" she continued. "We can go back next week one of the frat houses is always looking for a few good whores."

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be-my-ally · 2 years ago

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Big Bunny

Playboy Bunny Reader x Elvis on the Playboy jet request

it might be 3:30am here, i may have work today at 9 and i may have to proof read over this again tomorrow but still, here, have a bunny themed fic - very apt for a slightly (at least for where i am) belated good friday gift (for those who celebrate and a spring themed passover/ramadan/weekend gift for everyone else) !!

I genuinely did not expect to end up doing nearly as much research for this as I did - and therefore there ended up being significantly more back story than I anticipated for what I had planned to be a short smutty one shot lol so… here’s a p ridiculous 9.8k fill xx

pairing: jet bunny reader x 1973-4 elvis (yes we are going that specific this time) - early big daddy era.

summary: freshly hired shy new playboy bunny reader and elvis get up to some fun away from the other passengers on Hugh Hefner's private plane, the aptly named 'Big Bunny'.

warnings: 18+, 18+, penetrative sex (p in v), oral (v receiving), lil bit of fingering, gratuitous use of the term 'bunny' and all accompanying euphemisms, elvis (as always in my writing) refers to himself as daddy.

wc: 9.8k

You nervously adjust your scarf around your neck; it’s windy, and you’re worried about your hair—that its carefully styled easy look might be ruined by the breeze. You roll from one foot to the other in anticipation; you can already feel the leather of the new, tall boot starting to rub behind your knee, and you’re hopeful for the chance to switch it out for your regular heels on board. The other girls are quiet, and that’s how you can tell that they too are nervous or excited—anticipatory perhaps. Usually, they would be chattering away right now—at least, that’s your experience from the last few flights you’d worked. But for some reason, the knowledge of this special guest had made them all fall silent, worrying their scarves or hair, and checking one another’s lipsticks, even more so than when Hugh was on board. Perhaps it was, like the Bunny bible said, because there was the knowledge that you were all representatives of the brand, and that was even more true for someone who wasn’t the owner of the brand, or perhaps it was simply because it wasn’t just any boring old investor but Elvis Presley flying on board today.

You’re all too young to remember much of him in his early prime or his dizzying launch to success, but you know that every girl in this line-up had watched the ’68 special, probably at a similar formative age to you, and had an experience; it had been impossible not to. You had been on the cusp of being 16 and were utterly gobsmacked and captivated by the television set as you watched him gyrate in a full black leather suit. Your mind had gone blank, and you couldn’t have told anyone what your father had said about it—you honestly couldn’t hear him because you were so shocked and excited by what you were seeing. Suddenly, you understood. You’d all discussed the marvel of the possibilities of the use of the satellites for the Aloha show only a few months ago, and you knew you weren’t the only bunny in the group who still found him almost alarmingly attractive. The concept, therefore, of being loaned out to him with the plane made you more than a little nervous. Another fragment of your anxiety for this flight also revolved around your new uniform—you weren’t comfortable in it yet; a teeny leatherette dress that somehow seemed far more revealing than your corset had ever seemed. Perhaps because it felt less like a costume in some way, perhaps because it simply was so unlike anything you would wear in day-to-day life—the over-the-knee boots were uncomfortable still too.

It’s unclear how you’d become so attached to the little corset costume when you were still so new to the plane and to this life as a whole. You’d been well-trained and ready to use your newfound, extensive bar knowledge while working as a table bunny in the club in LA. Although you had hoped that you might be spotted and bumped up to a more senior position in a little while—that one day you might be able to work your way up to the mansion or maybe even be handpicked to be a playmate—it all seemed so glamorous, and the attention was so exciting. You’d never dreamed you would, after only working a month, be handpicked as a jet bunny. It had been one of the most exciting moments of your life. Since then, you’ve not been flying for very long, although the training had been intense and your first flight had only been two weeks ago. And it had been a pretty slow start, with just Hugh and a couple of colleagues on board. They had their favourites, and while you had been chatted to and flirted with—treated well—you had also been mostly ignored.

Elvis, as far as you could tell, didn’t have favourites; he hadn’t requested anyone in particular from the thirty or so girls on regular rotation for the jet, and it made you relieved to think that you were on a mostly even keel with the other girls. You’d gossiped about it as you packed your bags onto the plane before you’d all ended up where you were now: standing in a row waiting for him to pull up, having been given word that he was mere minutes away. When you looked down at the other girls, you couldn’t help but wonder why, as one man with a small entourage for the flight, he really needed the bunny equivalent of five stewardesses. But, you think to yourself, at least he did because, as the most junior of the bunch, you definitely would have been the first to be bumped from the flight.

It’s only another few minutes until his long, sleek, white Cadillac pulls up in front, another car close behind, and his long legs are immediately sliding out of the car, almost before its even come to a complete stop. He seems eager to be away. He’s arguing with someone and barely acknowledges any of you as he starts to storm up the stairs towards the jet entrance—clearly familiar with the plane already. It becomes pretty clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t arguing with someone physically with him but was instead recounting what had been discussed on the phone in the car—you could hear him swearing as he went inside,

"I fuckin’ asked her to come out here with me, and now she’s being all cold, just then she was sayin’ she don’t wanna see me -" You can’t hear anything more, and you look down the row before Darla in front shrugs her shoulders and starts greeting the other couple of men still coming out of the car, and in the car behind, there were around a dozen guys in total, no women other than you five, which wasn’t unusual on the jet but wasn't entirely expected either.

A moment later, Elvis is hurrying back down the stairs, panting slightly as he comes. He arrives back in front of you, the last in line, with a series of apologies.

"Lord, where are my manners? I’m so sorry, girls. Hello, nice to meet ya; well, aren’t you all pretty little things?" You blush, and he catches your eye, winking at you as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He smiles at the rest of them, and Darla launches into her ‘Welcome to Big Bunny’ spiel as she directs him back up the way he just came. Your mind is racing as you follow them all up the stairs, and you’re more than a little distracted as you close the door and conduct the safety checks. Does that mean something? That he singled you out?

You weren’t meant to be his main assistant; of course, the main focus for today was keeping him happy, but you’d been specifically told that your purpose was to make sure the other passengers felt that they were getting similar attention. You didn’t have the experience, as Darla had told you, to understand how to deal with men like him. Those that think they’re special or that just because you’re wearing a bunny outfit they have some sort of claim on you, that you’re all the same and your centrefold is owed to them. And also, she’d flippantly added, you were still very inexperienced, and first and foremost she had to consider the brand. Now as you watch her take his arm up the stairs, you think you might be understanding her motivations a little more; her hips swaying more than they usually would. But you can’t say you blame her or that her other observations were wrong. You were inexperienced, both in flying and with men. But, as you’re locking the door shut and heading around to fetch towels and drinks before the pilots engage the engine, you can feel his eyes on you, and you think, I know what that means.

It’s a pretty long flight for a domestic flight—four or five hours, depending on the route the pilot takes—so you have plenty of time to get to know the passengers and ensure they’re all well taken care of. You’ve heard rumours from some of the other girls that this kind of flight can often go one of two ways: either the men are rowdy, raucous, and handsy, or they’re quiet, appreciative, but distant. You had assumed Elvis and his entourage would be the former, but from the way he quickly gets himself situated and settled in the forward compartment, you’re inclined to believe it will be the latter. You can’t help but notice he’s sequestered himself in the back; a couple of the men are with him, but the rest are a series of seats away. It seems like even the inner circle has an inner circle.

Before serving the drinks, you have a chance to look over at him. Trying to be inconspicuous, you’re surprised at how large he is. You’ve never realised how tall he really is, but he’d remained a few inches taller than you even in your heels, and while the plane is more spacious and furnished less compactly than the average, it still serves to make him seem bigger in contrast to the environment. He seems to take up more space than his body needs too, like his presence needs allowance; he looks incapable of staying on one seat, and the way he spreads his legs, his knees falling open, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he might be taking up more than his fair share of space.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been standing there, peering behind a partition wall, pretty much directly at his spread thighs. Until you move your eyes up, tracking up his body past his famously large belt to his open collared shirt, through which you can see tiny wisps of chest hair peeking through. You assess how his shirt is lying on him, clinging but well-tailored, and his trousers too, tight around his thighs and well-fitted on his waist but equally well-tailored, looking comfortable and well-fitted. Your eyes continue to roam over him until they come to rest on his face, and you realise he’s been watching you look at him. He’s smirking at you, clearly used to the attention but perhaps still flattered that he inspires it, and winks through his lavender-coloured glasses. You immediately duck back, taking a moment to gather yourself from the embarrassment of being caught out, before heading back out with the first tray of drinks.

It wasn’t your place to be, but you couldn’t help but be pleased when he showed himself not to be the type to start demanding wildly complicated cocktails—in fact, rolling his eyes when one of the men, Red, perhaps his name was, asked for a mai tai—and at his clear desire to remain sober, simply requesting a Pepsi. You take a breath, plastering your customer service smile on, determined to ignore any embarrassment, and swing around with the tray. Praying you don’t trip or spill anything in front of him.

Thankfully, you make it around without consequence, your thorough club training coming into play and keeping you steady even when there’s a mild bump as the plane engines start to roar. He grins up at you when you hand him the drink, and you can’t help but return it, beaming at him, forgetting your practised coquettish expression. You have to head back, sit down for a moment while the pilots announce your takeoff, and try not to grimace, knowing that your face can be seen from the compartment, at the feeling of taking off. You’re fine in the air, but that whooshing feeling of the plane jetting forward and up, the moment where you can feel the balance of the wings against the air as the engine battles its way up, still sends a wave of anxiety over you. Maggie brushes her hand over yours where it lies on the little armrest between the steward seats, and you thankfully grasp it, taking deep breaths. Once the pilot has announced you are officially flying and will be for approximately four more hours, you’re pleased you can finally stand up again and relax somewhat.

You’re not really needed for much for a little while, so you bounce about, chatting and keeping them company, talking with some of the other girls as you help to serve more drinks and food, and setting up the games tables when asked. Elvis has demanded the theatre be set up, so you arrange that, praying that when you return to the room he’ll have picked one of the latest cinematic releases and not, as you feared, one of the many adult releases available. You’re not sure you could keep a straight face if you had to watch him watch Deep Throat; it would just be too much to bear.

So you’ve avoided the lounge by staying in the forward compartment and helping the men there. Before you were sent on a mission to see if there was any peanut butter on board, a special request had apparently been made, but whether it had been complied with was yet to be seen. When Michelle, one of the more senior girls, suddenly appeared beside you, grabbing your arm and speaking in a hurried, hushed tone, she told you that you really ought to change. You panic for a second that something was wrong with your dress, but she’s quick to assure you that it was nothing like that. But Elvis had taken her aside and mentioned that although he "love[s] your yittle skirts, like yer spies or somethin’," he was "missin’ them little bunny outfits" and had left that with her. He hadn’t specifically requested anyone should change, but she’d successfully read between the lines of the very obvious hint and was, therefore, suggesting that you, Daisy, and Maggie change into your bunny corsets. You’d all planned for this possibility, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but you were still slightly surprised. You’d not been given the impression that Elvis had been that bothered by the theme of the plane, of you, but rather was utilising the plane for the luxury and convenience of the travelling experience. But if he was requesting your bunny outfits, clearly he was more into it than you thought.

It’s not long after that you do as requested and emerge from the powder room in your little patented corset teddy, the black silk highlighting your complexion and the little collar and bow emphasising your neckline. You were slightly annoyed that despite your careful packing, your little cottontail puff had been flattened, and so you’d had to spend way too long fluffing it to bring it back to life. This also meant that you were the last to emerge, and there was no way you could deny noticing that Elvis himself was sitting back in the forward compartment, turned so that he was practically facing the powder room door, watching you exit with a satisfied smirk on his face. You try to ignore him, listening to the conversations happening around you and trying to anticipate everyone’s needs. In your absence, more substantial snacks have been served, and you can see the remnants of some sort of peanut butter sandwich situation dotted around the room, so clearly that had been found too. There’s now a discussion happening about whether you should turn on the lights in the disco room or wait a little while to eat first. Eventually, it’s decided a proper meal is imperative at some point in the flight, but that right now? They wanted music.

So you all move down the plane. You end up walking directly behind Elvis, and when the plane bumps up and down briefly in the tiniest spot of turbulence, you trip into his back. You right yourself with help from one of his arms, apologising, but you’re flustered. It’s only worse when he turns to you.

"No need to be sorry, doll; you can fall into my arms whenever you like." It was one thing to imagine how he felt, but to be able to remember the feel of him, even from behind, even from just a brief moment of contact, was a heady feeling. Especially when he felt just as you’d imagined he would—soft but firm and broad. So broad. Walking behind him like this also made you nervous for another reason: it made you feel as if your movement down towards the intimate bedroom quarters at the end might be signalling something. The cosiness of the rooms between -- the disco and the lounge, perhaps reflective of the internal struggle you’re facing; the disco the butterflies in your belly.

You know you won’t be able to prevent meeting his eye again. The thought worries you; you’ve been around attractive men before, of course, but never one that, just by looking at him once, has made you feel like you would risk giving up everything for a few hours of fun. Lose everything you have simply for the pleasure of touching him. Maybe this was what Darla was concerned about; you can see her glance over to you every now and again, checking in, and you can tell she’s a little bothered by something.

Once you’re in the disco, the girls and you are well-practised at setting it all up, making sure there are enough tracks ready to be played and that there was easy access to free-flowing drinks and bar snacks. You’re also all very used to essentially having to start the dancing yourselves, having to encourage the others to join in despite their enthusiasm in suggesting the disco. You hang back slightly, holding a tray, when Elvis lightly grasps your elbow. You jump, having not seen him come to your side, and look questioningly at him.

"Dance for me, baby?" You’re not a stripper or a go-go dancer or anything like that, but it’s not a request that’s unheard of in the clubs. And you enjoy it; you wouldn’t be in the job if you didn’t get a slight thrill from being looked at, watched, wanted. So it’s easy to agree, especially when you’ve always found it hard to ignore a man when he adds a pet name, and besides, you want to. So you do. Elvis sits himself down, and a few of the men join in, and you and Maggie and Daisy all dance around them. You prance and shimmy, and soon most of the passengers onboard are dancing around to the music that plays from the surround system.

The group cheered and laughed when Burning Love was played on the 8-track, and Elvis sang along, laughing and joking when he missed one of the high notes ("God almighty, that’s high"). You notice that after a while Elvis has disappeared back into the living area and looks like he might be close to nodding off; sat there with his head back. You suppose he must be tired—you don’t know what he was doing prior to the flight this afternoon, but you do know he was coming off of the back of a week straight of shows and heading towards another one. You again know it’s not your place, and yet you still can’t help feeling like you ought to check on him.

You head over, leaning over, and crouching in the way you’re told to, almost in a bunny dip. He blinks up at you when you touch his shoulder.

"Lord, you’re a vision." You’re taken aback and can’t do much more than crouch there, stuck in place. "Talk with me, honey?" He pats your arm, and you nod, standing upright again and looking for a place to perch. There’s nowhere for you to sit down, or perch, few seats as there were in this living area, attached to the disco, and with the other men and girls also collapsing around you, you awkwardly look around for a moment before Elvis’ hand comes out and wraps around your thigh, pulling you down onto his lap.

"Oh!" You gasp, "Oh, I—I, uh, don’t think you’re meant to touch me, sir."

"Bunny, for the next three hours, I own you." He chuckles but removes his hands from your legs, although he makes no attempt to shift you from his lap, instead sitting further back, causing you to fall more securely onto his lap. You avoid what is sure to be judging looks from the other girls as they hand him drinks and chat with the other boys on board. You’re wrong about them watching you and judging you; of course, all the other girls are distracted, and even when they do glance over, it’s mostly to check that you, as the new girl, are still doing okay. Despite any jealousy they may be feeling about the attention he’s giving you, they still know how shocking and abrupt all of this can suddenly feel when you’re being confronted with men like him.

He’s surprised when you look shy, and you know the rumours abound—about how you’re all able to make extra cash—the private parties for the number one keyholders. But it’s not something you’re forced into just by virtue of being a bunny, and it’s not something you’ve been interested in finding out more about. Still, being perched on his firm lap, the seams of his suit rubbing against your silk tights, you can’t help but wish that you had asked more about it; found out if there were expectations. You wouldn’t want to let him down. You awkwardly sit there a moment before opening your mouth,

“So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?” He smiles,

“Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself honey.” So you do, giving him the basic information of your life, while he hmms and uh-huhs in all the right moments to show he’s listening to you. You’re starting to run out of steam and you’re about to ask him to tell you something when you’re distracted by him reaching to the side of you, jostling you a little.

He lights a cigar, and you can feel the heat of the tip. You shift the tiniest bit; you don’t know why it’s getting you so hot. You’re suddenly grateful for the subtle but multiple layers you’re wearing. Thankful for the fact that you’ve never listened to the few girls who swear it makes more sense not to bother with panties; you’d never been convinced that it wasn’t asking for trouble—something was sure to slip or become exposed. But you also always wore a double layer of pantyhose. He grunts the tiniest bit as you bump back into his stomach, and when you pause for a moment, you can feel a dampness growing between your legs. Through all the layers, he can’t feel it, thank God, but he does murmur to you: "Lord, are you a hot little Bunny." He strokes the small of your back, and you somehow know he doesn’t just mean it in the attractive sense, but that he can feel your heat.

You wriggle back against him, thinking, - don’t waste your chance, girl; don’t do it; you may as well go for it. All of your sense of propriety is lost, and you’re suddenly completely ignorant of the happenings around you. You can feel where the rubber around the edge of the leg bands of the teddy is starting to roll, being unable to stay put on the slippery tights and causing it to fall further away from your thighs riding up. You know he can feel it too, as close as you are. And while you’re still theoretically clothed, you can feel his trouser leg better on your thigh after it rolled up; he said you were hot, but he’s burning, it feels like. You push back onto him, feeling his tummy nudge against you, and under your tail, what felt like a growing erection. You don’t know what’s come over you, where this sexual confidence, this determination, this lack of self-consciousness, has come from. You wonder if it could just be the adrenaline of being so close, but you still go with it, and you nudge your ass back to him, grinding a little.

"Don’t baby," he pushes you forward a little, with his one free hand, blowing smoke past the side of your face, and you giggle, putting on a faux deep voice.

"Don’t procrastinate; don’t articulate…" You can’t even get the words out of your mouth you’re giggling so hard, wiggling in his lap, and it sets him off too, shaking his head and murmuring against your ear.

"Lord save me, girlie, you’re trouble, ain’t ya?" He holds you still. You try, but you’re practically incoherent because you’re laughing so hard.

"If you're lookin' for..." But your laughter cuts off when he hooks a finger in the corset and strokes it down your inner thigh—somewhere that you would have slapped anyone else and whispers,

"You came to the right place." You gasp, head going back, and his own tucking into your shoulder - he holds out the cigar, and, despite having barely lit it, rests it in the tray to the side of you so that he can use both hands to grip your waist. It’s ridiculously cheesy, and you don’t want to think about how many times and with how many girls he might have used similar lines, or how easy it must be for him.

"You want me, Bunny?" You still don’t know if you should be playing hard to get or if you should just give in to the inevitability of it all. "Can feel your little tail pressin’ into me - little puffy thing. Twitching ‘gainst me;" You wrinkle your nose cutely at his words, and he smiles into your neck: "Even a little twitchin’ bunny nose!" he presses a finger to it, and the strokes down to your lips. He rests it there for a second, "Do you wanna do this, bun?" You decide you may as well give in and nod—there's no point trying to play it cool when you’re sitting on his lap. You open your mouth, trying to catch his finger in your teeth as he fools around with you. He pulls you around, so one of your bent knees is now pressed against him and your other is resting on the seat, facing him. You shiver, loving how his sturdy hands manhandle you. You lean forward, as if to kiss him, when he stills you,

"Baby, we’re surrounded." You glance up, confused expression on your face, and a question in your eyes: Why would it matter? They all know the score. He shakes his head. "It’s your job isn’t it? You can’t - we shouldn’t?" You shrug your shoulders, he’s technically right and mere minutes ago you’d been worried about it yourself, but... It’s also not completely true to say that you would be discouraged from doing this with him.

"Say doll, how’d’ya - how’d’ya feel about joinin’ me?" Your heart flips, you glance around, but it appears the other girls are either preoccupied or purposefully avoiding looking at you. Plausible deniability. You’re frozen, and he stands up, pushing off of his lap, and leaves without looking back at you, only stopping at the door to the bedroom to call back,

"You coming or what?" So sure that you’ll follow him in. You glance around, and only Darla catches your eye. You’re wide-eyed and panicked at being caught, but she looks at you for a moment before nodding slightly and winking as she turns away. Somehow, it untangles the ball of anxiety that you didn’t realise was holding you so tense. Seconds later, you stand up, clearing the empty glasses from the tables around you, when Michelle swoops in, taking them out of your hands and nudging you with her hip towards the bedroom. Right then. You follow where Elvis had gone only a minute or so ago, and you cross past the little faux wood door into the bedroom. You look around but find that he’s already in the bathroom—perhaps so certain that you would follow that he didn’t even need to check that you had come in.

You sit anxiously on the big, round, fur-covered bed as you wait for him to reappear. You cross your legs before immediately uncrossing them and standing up—wondering if it was too presumptuous to be sitting there waiting for him. A moment later, leaning against the wall, you change your mind, deciding to sit on the edge again. It really did make the most sense. And while you didn’t want to make it seem like you were assuming something, you doubted he’d invited you back here to play checkers. He comes out and watches you for a brief second before coming over to stand in front of you, mere inches apart, so you’re forced to crane your neck up to look at him.

You’re a little skittish, and he can tell by the way you tremble when his hand comes up to touch your shoulder; he leans forward as if to kiss you, and you pull back. He pauses.

"What’s the matter, little Bunny? Why are’ya so twitchy now?" He doesn’t want to force himself, but he also can tell you want him, even before you willingly followed him here. He also knows that you must know the score—you can’t be that innocent in your role—and you must understand what he’s asking of you.

"I’m, I’m just -- it’s just a little surreal, you’re Elvis Presley. I don’t know how to, I've never been with anyone famous." He smiles, thankful that he hadn’t misread the situation — god forbid what the newspapers would have said about that if it had leaked: Elvis forces himself onto Playboy Bunny, BANNED from Hefner’s jet. It doesn’t bear thinking about. So he does the one thing he knows he can do well — can do so well that most women forget their worries and tilts your chin up to kiss you. He brackets your body with his thighs and cups your face in both hands. He’s masterful at it, knowing all the right moves, just the right amount of tongue forced into you, mapping your mouth. His lips are so soft, and his little nibbling bites on your lower lip hurt just the right amount for you to be totally consumed by his actions. He nudges you to move further up when you break apart, and you shimmy up a little, your legs coming up so that only your ankles are not on the bed. He presses one knee between your legs, balancing so he can move forward enough to kiss your cheek, his own high cheekbones rubbing against your face, and whisper,

"I’m just a man, hon, just like any other — don’t, don’t worry ‘bout it." He leans over and you’re forced onto your back, his hand catching you and lowering you down gently onto the fur coverlet. You lean up to kiss the exposed part of his neck, your nose nudging against his high collar.

"I, uh, god, I haven’t been around that many men in general — not like this, so that doesn’t actually make me feel a whole lot better. " You respond quietly. He pauses where his hand had been starting to fiddle with the zipper on the back of your corset. Pulling himself up to look you in the eyes.

"You, have - you have been with a man though? Right Doll?" You nod, frantically, you might be nervous but god don’t let him stop now.

"Yes - yes, just, just only the one." He moans on top of you, clearly liking the answer. You feel the zipper come down, and your chest is finally allowed to expand properly again, free from the restrictive boning. You suddenly panic, holding the garment close to your chest as you force him back a little. He rolls sideways, onto his elbow, to watch you;

"What’sthe matter baby?" He looks concerned as you force yourself up into a sitting position,

"Uh, could you - could you just close your eyes or something while I take this off?" He frowns,

"Well, sure, but… I don’t think you need to worry ‘bout modesty right now." You smile nervously back, trying for a blasé air —

"No, no, I know it’s just — it would just make me feel better." He looks at you, clutching the corset teddy to your chest. He nods, starting to close his eyes and you let out a sigh of relief, immediately standing up and wriggling out of it. You’re bent over, folding the fabric over itself when he starts to talk,

"I ain’t got a problem making you comfortable, babe, but if it’s about them little cottontails stuffed down your top I already know." You pause. Whirling around to see him peeking through his lashes at you. You forget to be shy, stood there topless, braless in nothing but your pantyhose and heels and you put your hands on your hips.

"How on earth —“ He laughs at you, opening his eyes properly,

"I’m not new to this game sweetheart." You can tell he’s teasing, but now he’s made you slightly worried that it's always been obvious thatyou weren’t quite as endowed as you were claiming,

"How’d you tell though?"

"You’re not the first girl meeting me with something stuffed down their shirt, darling, you just, sometimes you can just tell— I don’t know what you’d be stressin’ over though," He takes a moment to very obviously look you over, "they’re some pretty little tits." You’re pleased, but annoyed that he’s still decided to use the term little.

"Well - isn’t that why! Little!" He laughs at your indignation, reaching a hand out to pull you back to him, but he can barely speak through his giggles.

"No, no, no I didn’t mean it like that." You frown, but his amusement is infectious and you find yourself also giggling - "See, see, there’s a good girl - no reason to be sore about it, much more than what you’ve got’sa waste anyway mama, you’ll see."

He puts you back where he wanted you to start with - on your back, as leans over you. The feeling of him still being fully clothed against your chest, your near nakedness, makes you tremble - the soft silk of his shirt rubbing against your nipples. You can smell him, the slight musk of the day masked by cologne - perhaps reapplied in the bathroom a moment ago. His hair is looser than you expected it to be and it’s already starting to flop forward, it unnerves you slightly because it allows you to somehow forget who it is lying over you - the loss of that trademark making you forget that he’s practically a patented figure at this point. Until you catch sight of his blue eyes or his little curled lip and you’re reminded all over again. He strokes up from your waist to your neck and then back down, gentle fingertips dancing over your skin. He leans down to kiss you and your arm winds around his neck, pulling him closer. You’ve never felt a hunger like this. Desire like this before. You’re suddenly desperate to be closer, forgetting to play it cool you’re tugging at his shirt,

"C’mon get this off!" He laughs at you again, but stands up, ignoring your request. You lie there on your back looking up at him as he assesses you. You can’t help but puff your chest out a little and curve your back. Then he bends to grasp your left ankle, slipping your heel off. You yelp at the unexpectedly quick motion but the relief is almost immediate. He grabs your other ankle to take the other heel off, flinging it against the wall of the plane. Then his hands are immediately going to your black tights, he tries to pull them from the ankle but quickly realises that’s getting him nowhere, unable to get a proper purchase on the slippy material. So he works his way up to the waistband, grasping it and tugging it down. His finger catches by your knee, the rough bitten edge of his nail snagging and you hear the tell-tale ripping sound of them laddering, He laughs as you groan,

"Oh, no! Those were my last good pair; they cost me nearly seven dollars!" It only makes him laugh harder as he tears them off of you.

"Tell you what, honey, I’ll make sure you have ten new pairs by the time we land." He throws them somewhere near the rest of your clothes and turns his attention back to your stomach, only to be surprised when he’s met with another pair of pantyhose — this time in a sheer nude.

"Lordy! How many layers’is there?" You laugh at him, as he begins the process of rolling them down too — lifting your hips to allow them to come down easier than last time; it’s not that you don’t believe he would replace them, but just in case you’d prefer not to rip these too.

"Not meant to be being touched am I, Mr Presley?" It’s like, as he exposes more of your skin, he can’t help himself from pausing — the tights stay rolled around your knees to allow him to kiss your thighs, or the patch of skin between your belly button and your panties. You lift your leg, allowing him to roll down the last of the hosiery. He rubs over the arch of your foot and you moan at the relief — you may be getting used to the heels now but it didn’t mean that your feet didn’t still ache as soon as they came off. He gives the same attention to the other foot, rubbing firmly, before physically pushing you up the bed.

"Oh darling, call me Elvis." He strokes up your calves, before he stops again at your feet, "God, has anyone ever told you you’ve got real pretty sooties, Lordy these little toes are gorgeous." You wiggle them at him, you’ve never given much thought to your feet other than deciding what colour to paint your nails. He pulls your foot towards him, lifting your leg up. He kisses along the ball of it, before taking your big toe into his mouth.

You had never, ever, been turned on by the thought of someone playing, or sucking your feet, but suddenly it’s like electricity zapping up your legs to your tummy and core — you can feel yourself growing damp just from his gentle tongue lapping around your toes and you can’t help little moans falling from your mouth. You’re normally ticklish but this time the sensation forms little jolts through your tummy, making it flip slightly, and butterflies form. He lets go with a little pop, his lips forming the perfect round little ‘O’ of suction and the warm wet heat is suddenly released, causing the air to feel colder and your feet more sensitive than ever before. When you look at him standing there, holding your ankle, caressing your calve you have a sudden flash of what it must be like to be a man — and suddenly you think you can understand why men love being sucked so much. The sight of him, his lips red, your toes wet, is overwhelmingly erotic.

He keeps going - right up your foot, before he holds your leg up, kissing up it before he put his knees on the bed again, lowering your limb to allow him to kneel over you. He places little kisses up your thighs, and you can feel his chin rubbing against your stomach as he kisses his way up there, he uses one elbow to lean on, keeping himself somewhat horizontal, but his other hand is following his lips.

"Time to prove it to you, little bun-bun." He whispers against your sternum, before turning his head, licking a line across your breast and capturing your nipple in his mouth. His hand reaches to squeeze your other, pinching the nipple until it hardens into a little nub. He pulls off of where he’s been sucking and blows onto you. The cool air over your wet nipple sends a jolt straight to your pussy — it’s clearly an education for you tonight since you’d also never before known how sensitive your chest really was. He laps at the other side, giving it a similar treatment, palming the breast around it. While you gasp and wiggle underneath him you can feel his length straining in his trousers, and the slight feel of his lowly buttoned shirt, allowing you to feel a slither of the hairs on his chest and tummy is enough to send your arousal into overdrive. You start tugging at his top and trying to feel around his waist to undo one of the belts that had become synonymous with his image, far more insistently than before. Demanding he takes it off, even as the words fail to make it out of your mouth alongside the moans and gasps caused by his ministrations. He pulls back, planting one last kiss on the side of your chest and laughs at you when you beg.

"Please, gotta see you, wanna see all of you - please Elvis, dreamed about this, gotta see it." But still, he complies with your request, sitting himself up to strip off his shirt; unbuttoning the last few buttons and then standing to kick off his trousers, pulling off his belt. You stare at him. Incapable of doing anything else. He’s carrying more weight than before, especially around his middle, although he’s still clearly a man of generally slim build, padded tummy over muscle. But regardless of his weight, or maybe because of it, he’s still beautiful. You reach for him when he lies back down, stroking the hair on his head - the hair that ensures you recognise that this is no longer the slicked-back hair of his Hollywood days and that he’s no longer a boy in anyway but a man and you need only look at his chest to remind you of that. The few sparse hairs that used to be there have been joined by a collection covering his chest and stomach in a soft carpet.

His hands move back down the sides of your body and he whispers to you, "Lift up baby," as you would while trying to undress a child to pull your panties down and off of you — throwing them god-knows-where also. You wriggle, nervous and self-conscious as he stares at you. He’s flushed pink down his face and chest, and he looks you over, assessing. He nods, clearly satisfied and smiles when you breathe a sigh of relief. You bring a hand down, and he follows with his own, going to stroke you.

"God Bunny, you’re dripping." And it’s true, your inner thighs were already sticky with your own slick and you’re genuinely not sure you’ve ever felt this wet without having even touched yourself. He brushes over you lightly, circling your clit, before going to press a single finger into you. Your own hand rests on top of his, ostensibly as if you were guiding him, but really being dragged by him. You let out a moan as he pulls your hand down to join his, directing and tugging your finger to join his, pulling them both out and pushing them back in together as if your two hands made one. It feels wild, it’s so out there, your soft hand intertwined with his rougher fingers pressed against one another as they delve into your most intimate place.

You’re not unused to the sensation in general but his singular finger alone was similar to two of your own and so you can feel a slight burn at your entrance, a barely-there sting that cuts through the pleasure. Like a pinch of salt atop a cookie, it only enhances the flavour — the feel andyourhips circle around as his thumb finds its way up to rub at your clit.

"Gotta make sure you’re nice and loose for me huh baby, just like a new set’a wheels gotta grease you up." You moan at his words, the objectification for some reason really doing something for you. He uses his other fingers to stroke gently at you and the tickling sensation is almost enough to tip you over the edge. He seems to hold you there for a miraculously long time, and you realise you probably ought to be trying to return the favour so you reach down to tug at his hard cock. It’s a different feel than what you were used to, you’d never been around an uncut penis before, and you didn’t really know what to do with it other than pretend that it was exactly the same as the two others you’d touched. He winces slightly when you roll your palm over before his foreskin has retracted back causing you to roll the skin around, pinching him as you try. He bats your hand out of the way, pumping himself. You take note and recreate his actions as best you can, and you know you’ve hit the sweet spot when his own hips jerk and his hand tightens around your wrist. He pulls his fingers out from you, dragging your hand back with him and flings your arm away, before going back down with three fingers, he prods them at your entrance, testing the boundary before slowly sinking them in. You whine at him, panting,

"Please, god, Elvis, you gotta, I’m ready for you, I swear I’m ready for you," he pulls his fingers out, and pushes your hand away from his cock, rolling you firmly onto your back and kneeling himself up again.

"Ok, Ok, Bunny, ok, I hear ya, I can feel you’re ready for me, just, just didn’t wanna hurt you, just wanna make you feel good little Bunny." He pulls your hips towards him and lines himself up.

He thrusts into you, pulling you onto him and you whine as you feel his sticky head stretching you open. Despite your claims of being ready for him it has been a while. His stomach is resting on yours, his tummy pressing down on you. It’s almost like he’s smothering you, he’s entirely enveloping you. His hands are holding your waist, bracketing you to him. If it were anyone else you think you might find it claustrophobic, so close together that your breath is mingling, you can see his pores, feel his belly button. But for some reason it just makes you want even more of him, getting as close as humanely possible, desperate for however much you can get. His taste, his smell, his everything.

"Oh god," as he pushes in further, devastatingly slowly, "Tight as a fucking virgin aren’t ya… you sure you haven’t still got your cherry? Sure I’m not about to - ah - pop it ‘gain?" You moan, trying to relax your breathing from its quickened state as you adjust to him inside you. He moves one of his hands to touch you, feeling where you’re spread open and up to press your clit, and you buck up involuntarily at the contact, forcing a few more inches of him in. He groans at the unexpected tight pressure and heat. You clutch at his shoulders as he responds with his thumb speeding up on you. He drives into you, and you clench down as you start to feel his fingers doing their job, along with his cock jabbing against your internal walls. You don’t recognise the noises coming out of your mouth, they’re not the practised noises that you might expect from a woman of your occupation, but the very real moans and groans from a woman surprised at how this could feel.

He’s breathing heavily, and you can see the sweat starting to form, but he keeps the pace — clearly, his near-constant performances have maintained his stamina. A bead of it starts to form on his brow and you watch it drip, slowly, down his cheek towards the little patch of sideburns. You suddenly yearn to taste it, it’s sure to be salty, and maybe a little sweet, but his musky smell is already filling your nostrils and you can’t help but want to lick it. You try to distract yourself, don’t want to embarrass yourself like that, how unbecoming that would be. You try to look at a point beyond his shoulders, but you fail when you feel his hot, large, heavy, hand on you - cupping your cheek and drawing your eyes back to his face.

"Where ya going little Bunny?" He huffs, "Stay with me." He’s pleading with you and it immediately catches your attention. You nod, frantically, as his hips rock back and forth into you. He grips your waist and hips tight and leans closer, pausing in his rutting to press into you, deep, and catching your mouth with his. When he pulls off of you, he goes to kiss the side of your face, curving over himself to kiss your neck and you can see another drip of swear forming. It’s too much to take and you reach with your hands, both of them cupping his head, pulling him back up to your eye level from your shoulder. He looks up slightly confused at why you’ve stopped him but his eyes quickly roll closed as you lean forward,

"Wanna taste you, let me taste you daddy." He nods, and you hold his head in place, kissing the side of his mouth, before licking his cheek, little kitten licks before a broader stripe up to his temples, where the sweat is forming. You were right; it’s sweet and salty, manly. His hips stutter a little and you can feel him twitch inside you, your own walls fluttering and clenching a little in response to his feel and taste. He pulls back a few inches, about to thrust back into you but you put a hand on his chest. He frowns down at you, disappointed that you were blocking his movements.

"Let me, let me — can I, wanna ride you." His eyes roll back and his bitten, pouty, lips fall open in pleasure as he doesn’t say anything but starts to remove himself from you. When his cock pops out, bobbing between you he rubs it against your folds, cockhead bumping your clit. You grind against him, before moaning at the loss as he sits himself at the head of the bed, sliding down to be in a semi-reclining position.

"C’mon then doll, have at it." He gestures with both hands at his crotch. "Hippity hop little Bun." You grin, you don’t normally love the bunny jokes and comments — you’re not ashamed of your job and in fact, you’re normally quite proud of your career, but you do like to keep it separate from your private life; it’s still your work, and you’re more than just a playboy bunny. But coming from him? If Elvis wants to call you Bunny, he can call you a bunny — hell you’d hop about the room, eating a carrot, until he was satisfied if he asked.

You sink down onto him, your slick and his precum have lubricated your entrance enough by now to make it far easier than his first push into you, although your mouth still falls open at the feel of the stretch. You moan at the feel of the different angles, hitting different parts of your walls as you bottom out before rising back up, only to rock yourself back down again. You try to pay attention to his face, work out what feels the best for him but honestly you’re too distracted trying to get the angle right for yourself. He seems content, though, to let you do the work, offering you a near-constant stream of praise;

"Uh-huh that’s it, good girl, good fucking girl.” You circle your hips in response, grinding down and he’s moaning at you, telling you that you’re "treating’ me so nice, oh god, oh yes." You bounce on him until your thighs are shaking and you’re so close, but you just need a little more something. You’re about to say so, and you’re reaching down one of your hands that had been on his shoulders to touch yourself when he says,

"It alright bunny if Daddy takes over again now?" You feel yourself clench, his slightly condescending tone for some reason heightening your arousal even further, and you nod rapidly. He lifts you off of him, his forearms flexing, and manhandles you into turning around - pushing you down onto all fours. Your arms are a little shaky and you lean down onto your elbows to compensate.

"Arch your back baby, that’s it." You comply with his request, feeling a little like a whore and how strange it was to feel, as fucked open as you were, the air running past your pussy. He grips your hips and lines up again, one hand staying around your hipbone while the other strayed around to hold you close to him, palm splayed across your lower stomach as he pushes into you again.

He slides in, the stretch lessening each time — you can still feel him, of course, but it’s less of a burning sensation and more of a gentle pull now. He’s constantly talking — praising you, telling you you’re "so goddamn fucking pretty" that "you were born to take this," and that you were "such a good girl." You’re not used to the noises he pulls from you, and you probably should be more concerned about how thin the walls are - he reminds you a few times that you "gotta be quieter baby, gotta quiet down, be a quiet little Bunny for me", but when his balls are slapping against you, his tummy knocking into you, and his cock is stretching your hole you lose the ability to stay quiet.

A stream of swears and words of approval coming from your own mouth, "C’mon, please Daddy, please, that’s it, that’s it, give it to me Daddy."

He reaches around, stroking you and rolling his fingers over the little silky soft patch between his cock and your clit, feeling around where you’re joined. It’s filthy - and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and when he reaches down with a hand - rubbing his fingers over you just so you’re reminded that you’re not the second person he’s ever fucked. He seems to know all the right moves to get you where he wants you, your head turned against the bed, gasping. You’re knocked momentarily silent when he pulls out, rubbing his cock up and down your folds, jabbing it against your clit before he presses a hand agaisnt your back, forcing your ass up higher and presses back inside you. This time he’s aiming, going deeper than his shallower thrusts before, and he knows he’s aimed true when you wail as he hits the bumpy little spot inside you. He breathes a laugh like your reaction is amusing to him — perhaps because of the sheer shock in your tone and he continues at the same pace. Hitting that same spot and focusing his fingers once again on your clit.

He circles his middle finger and thumb around, moving closer and closer before eventually, finally, brushing directly over it. It’s enough to make you cry out, thrashing around a little, legs jerking, as you come — your hole clenching around him causing him to groan in time with you. Your body goes slack against him, as he continues to pummel into you, although he does slow down, letting you ride the waves of your orgasm back down. He shifts slightly, pulling you up, and holding you by his grip on your waist and pussy as he kisses the sweat on your collarbone. Before abruptly shoving you back down onto the bed. Your face rubs against the fur as your arms give way, and you grab fistfuls to hold onto as he grips your hips, so tight you’re bound to bruise, and starts to pound away at you. You’re oversensitive and his rapid pace is a little uncomfortable, but as he starts to swear, and you can feel him drawing near he reaches down with his left hand, and nudges your folds open again. He rubs your clit at a pace that would normally have made you shove the guy off of you, so little attention given elsewhere, but that matches his own hips perfectly and is apparently just the right amount of abrasion to send you careening to the edge again. You convulse on his cock at almost the exact same moment you can feel him rapidly pulling out, to shoot his own cum across your ass and back.

"Now you got your own little white tail Bunny." He doesn’t let you rest. As soon as he’s stopped spurting he’s pushing you over, rolling you onto your back and diving between your legs. He tongues your sloppy, open, hole and he licks his way up and down your folds, before tongue-fucking into you. His fingers coming up to replace his tongue, scissoring into you, so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on that little nub and sending your oversensitive self straight through to a third orgasm. You scream, unable to remain quiet any longer, clutching at his hair and holding him tight to you as you writhe against his mouth. He licks you out like a man possessed, like he’s been told it’s essential for the good of humanity, and you’ve never had someone do this to you before; you had no idea this was how this felt, but to have someone so dedicated to the task was a feeling almost as heady as the orgasm itself.

He flops back, resting his head back onto your inner thigh, and you pat gently at his head, still breathless and unable to speak as you blink away black spots in your vision. He’s breathing heavily and you can feel his sweaty forehead on your fingertips. You can’t believe it’s his soft, sweaty hair in your hands. God, you wished this plane would never land. He sits up, and looks down at you, patting at your pussy lightly, as you would a pet, affectionately. You look over at your clothes, wondering if you’ll even be able to contain your puffy folds in the tiny gusset of the corset teddy when he distracts you by leaning down and pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"If it’s alright with you, darling, I think I might request you on my crew every time I fly."

#elvis fic #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction

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eyesthatroll · 1 year ago

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NOBODY'S LOVE

pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: your best friend is getting married, this is supposed to be a happy day, right?

warning(s): sad shit, idk

word count: 1.7k

author's note: would first like to give a disclaimer that i am not meaning any ill will toward any blondes who meet the beauty standard, it's just a plot line within the story. secondly, here are the songs that i listened to while writing this, that you could also listen to, to better the experience:

-Nobody's Love by Maroon 5

-Can I Be Him by James Arthur (acoustic version!)

-Everything You Want by Vertical Horizon

really hope you enjoy. sort of ends on a cliffhanger but i kind of like this a lot for the moment. as per usual, reblogs + feedback / constructive criticism are always appreciated. sending my love —mari

You can't help the sour expression that twists your features as your gaze remains fixed on Luke and Lacey. They're entwined in an intimate dance on the crowded floor, more akin to grinding than traditional dancing, with his hands gripping her waist as she moves against him.

Luke, as always, looks gorgeous, his white dress shirt slightly unbuttoned to reveal the glimmering silver chain nestled against his neck, and droplets of sweat glistening on his chest. His hair had at last emerged from the clutches of that dreadful mullet, now a lush cascade of curls artfully styled, with their length nearly reaching the nape of his neck.

She looks absolutely stunning, adorned in her sleek, form-fitting, white lace reception dress that gracefully accentuates every curve of her figure. Her blonde hair, meticulously blown out, showers down her back like a silken waterfall, its length elegantly concluding just below her waist. Of course, Luke had to marry a girl who was the epitome of the beauty standard.

You savor another mouthful of your White Russian, the sweet liquid sliding down your throat in a single, indulgent gulp. The empty glass collides with the table, emitting a sharp clink that punctuates your mounting inebriation. The responsible choice at this point, would be to balance it out with some water to regain sobriety. However, the longer you fixate on Luke and Lacey, the more you find yourself making repeated trips to the bar for another round.

Drinking, aside from providing a numbing effect to shield you from the emotional turmoil of observing Luke and Lacey, also effectively distracts you from dwelling on the rather disheartening image you must present: a solitary figure at a table in the back corner, solemnly nursing your drinks amidst the vibrant celebration of your best friend's wedding.

In this moment, regret gnaws at you for not scrounging up a plus one. Granted, you wouldn't have genuinely cared for the guy, but at least it would have spared you the pain and humiliation of sulking alone the entire reception. You could have been dancing with him, providing a buffer against the impending flood of tears as you watched Luke dance with Her.

Finishing off your glass, you stand up from your seat, and begin an unsteady journey back up to the bar, your gaze fixated on the ground in hopes of not having to make conversation with anyone. You slump on one of the barstools, and the bartender sends you a look of pity, shaking his head before you can even open your mouth to ask for another refill.

"Boss man says you're cut off, sorry." He apologizes, his hands efficiently polishing an empty glass.

Your mouth drops open, bewilderment etched across your face. You rub at your eyes, hoping to shake off the daze. "Boss man?"

He nods affirmatively. "Mr. Hughes."

Your face goes blank at his words. The revelation that Luke had noticed your excessive drinking at his wedding and even went as far as instructing the bartender to cut you off, feels like another dagger to your already wounded heart. An overwhelming sense of embarrassment envelops you, clinging to you like a suffocating second skin. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, and with a heavy heart, you make a hasty retreat to the nearest bathroom, craving the solitude it offers for your impending emotional breakdown.

You rush into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind you with a resounding thud. Your back meets the cool, unforgiving surface of the door, and you sink down to the floor in despair. Sobs wrack your body, escaping your quivering lips in a heartbreaking symphony of agony. Your elegant dress, once a symbol of celebration, now clings to you in disarray, its baby blue fabric gathering at your ankles. Unchecked tears stream down your face, creating dark rivulets against the pastel material, as you draw your knees up to your chest, a fragile attempt to find comfort amid the chaos of your sentiments. Snot drips from your nose, and you make no effort to wipe it away, too lost in your own despair to care about appearances.

The pounding music from outside serves as a veil, muffling your cries and offering you a small refuge, shielding you from the judgmental eyes of the reception as you succumb to this moment of pathetic, emotional turmoil.

You shouldn't have come. The realization hit you like a sledgehammer to the chest the moment Luke's voice choked out his vows to Lacey. It was in that poignant moment that you understood that attending this wedding had been a grave mistake. A searing pang of bitterness and longing seized your chest, an agonizing blend of emotions that consumed you entirely.

Luke poured his heart out to Lacey, and your own heart burned with a fiery jealousy you couldn't extinguish. You wished desperately that it was you standing at the altar, facing Luke with the warmth of family and friends as witnesses. You yearned for the opportunity to exchange vows with him, to profess your love openly and honestly, but it was a privilege that belonged to Lacey. Beautiful, intelligent, and sweet Lacey.

You searched relentlessly for a rational reason to despise her, an explanation that could somehow justify your feelings towards her, but she remained an enigma of kindness and grace. Lacey always went out of her way to strike up conversations with you, treating you with unwavering honor and consideration. She respected the cherished traditions you shared with Luke as best friends, even went as far as asking you to be a bridesmaid in the wedding. She truly was the epitome of an angel in human form, embodying virtues and qualities you felt outperformed your own shortcomings by a mile. Even so, you hated her. You didn't show it, but you felt it in your chest every time she was around, or Luke mentioned her.

You're unsure how much time passed as you sat there, silently weeping. A soft knock on the bathroom door, however, jolts you back to reality, and you unsteadily scramble to your feet, trying to compose yourself in a quick manner. As you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, a bitter, mirthless laugh escapes your lips. The person staring back at you is hardly recognizable.

Your once-radiant makeup is now a smudged mess. Black mascara and eyeliner have streaked down your cheeks, giving you the appearance of a disheveled raccoon. Your eyes are swollen and red from crying, and your foundation is ruined, marred by tear stains that have traveled all the way down to your neck. The reflection staring back at you is a stark contrast to the composed, put-together version of yourself you had intended to be at Luke's wedding.

You hastily tear off a few sheets of paper towels from the dispenser, letting them soak under a stream of warm water for a few moments before setting to work. The damp paper towel becomes a weapon against the lingering evidence of your emotional breakdown as you scrub mercilessly at your skin, each harsh stroke a testament to your turmoil. You ignored the stinging pain that accompanied it, and only when the paper towel had become a shredded, saturated mess, rendering it unusable, did you finally cease your relentless efforts.

Exhaling a series of deep breaths, you wipe at your eyes one last time, a sudden exhaustion mixed with the overwhelming desire to be alone, washing over you.

The night was far from over, and the lively atmosphere of the party still pulsed through hall. Family members of both Luke and Lacey, along with a scattering of friends and NHL players, mingled and celebrated. Your eyes scanned the crowded space, contemplating the possibility of making a discreet exit through the back door, escaping without notice.

As you inch closer to the side exit, your heart skips a beat when a sudden hand lands firmly on your shoulder. Startled, you instinctively clutch your chest, the adrenaline from the surprise coursing through your veins. You turn around, your breath slowing at the relief of seeing it's only Jack. His intense gaze locks onto yours, his hand still resting on your shoulder as he asks, "Leaving without saying goodbye?"

Your voice quivered, barely rising above a harsh whisper, as if the music's deafening volume could somehow amplify your confession. "I can't be here."

Jack's gaze softens with a deep understanding as he witnessed the raw emotion you could no longer conceal. His gentle touch finds its way to the small of your back, effortlessly drawing you into his comforting embrace. Your body quivers with dejection, and you give in to your overwhelming afflictions, sobbing uncontrollably into his collar.

"I shouldn't have come, Jack. It hurts too much," you stutter, your sobs punctuating each word like an unwelcome intruder within a happy home. He stays silent, his hands tenderly massaging your back in a desperate attempt to offer solace. Though it's a mutual understanding that the one person who could truly comfort you in the situation, could never know the reason behind your pain.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he says, his apology carrying the weight of an unspoken truth. Jack shouldn't be apologizing for his brother, but he can't help it. He was there throughout the entirety of you realizing your newfound feelings for Luke. He truly believed that the two of you were destined to be together, especially after you had confided in the him about what happened between you and Luke that one night.

He was there when the light dimmed in your eyes, the day when Luke introduced everyone to Lacey just a week after meeting her, claiming immediate love at first sight. You are like the little sister he never had, and he found himself standing at a crossroads, torn between the pain his little brother had caused you and his desire for both of you to find happiness. But the realization that it might not be with each other changed the dynamic within everything.

"What's going on here?"

#luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfiction

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leaentries · 2 years ago

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Bad day

luke hughes x chubby!reader

a/n- hey y’all! so guess who’s not dead 😋 i’m so so sorry i’ve been so inactive this past month! i’ve been dealing with college starting back up and my new job. but now that i’m back to semi-normal schedule, im hoping to start posting more! so please don’t be afraid to send in any thoughts or requests you may have! also, im so sorry if this is shit, i didn’t really know where i was going when i started writing. i just wanted to get something out for y’all to read😭

p.s- gif is not mine, credits to the owner!!

some days truly never seemed to end.

even though it was only a wednesday, the bleakness of the sky and air ruined every seemingly good thing coming y/n’s way. her day started off great. waking up next to her boyfriend who gave her plenty of good morning sleepy kisses and “i love you’s.” luke even went the extra mile and warmed up her morning shower, paired with a fresh towel straight out of the dryer.

as she stepped into the shower, she felt confident that she was going to have a fantastic day. her classes were easy on wednesday and only lasted till early afternoon. although she knew that luke would be gone for practice by the time she returned home, she was excited to lounge around and be lazy for the day.

only, her day took a turn for the worst.

walking to her first class of the day, the coffee she held in her hand, that luke put so much effort into, somehow managed to slip from her grasp. the cup went tumbling into the pavement, leaving ugly light brown splotches in its wake. frustrated, she picked up the soaked cardboard.

y/n took a deep breath and quickly disposed of the cup, before continuing her journey to class. even though she felt bad for wasting the coffee, she was still set on having a great day. her class went by decently fast, ending when the professor decided to go on a tangent about his recent disk golf tournament.

on wednesdays she only had two classes, her next one being the longest. sitting down for her next lecture, she noticed the thigh portion of her jeans had begun to rip. y/n couldn’t help the feeling of dread that filled her body. those were her favorite jeans and the store in which she bought them, had discontinued this style.

sighing, she placed her head down on her arms. she decided to close her eyes, since she got to class early anyways. what seemed to be a few seconds, quickly turned into her feeling a jab to her side. she lifted her head, eyes squinting due to the bright lights. she looked over to her desk partner. julie looked back with concerned eyes.

“dude, are you okay?”

puzzled, y/n replied, “yeah….why?”

“you just slept through the entire lecture. which, by the way, prof decided to assign some stupid essay on. he said it’s gonna be due friday.”

with wide eyes, y/n stared at the clock on the wall.

i slept through the whole thing?

hitting her like a train, she turned back to julie.

“wait wait wait. an essay? shit, i don’t even know what he talked about today.”

worry gripped her like a vice. how the hell was she ever gonna get an essay done about a lecture she didn’t even listen to? there goes her plan on being lazy for the rest of the day.

“don’t worry, i got you girl. i made sure to take some major notes for you.” julie handed y/n the purple notebook, “just make sure to bring it to class on friday.” with that, julie gathered her things and left the classroom.

still stuck on the fact that she slept through the entire lecture, y/n slowly began to pack up and make her way home. rushing to her car, she made the drive as fast as possible.

not to her surprise, she was greeted with an empty apartment. she would normally be a little sad at this, but she took it with grace. the quiet will give her time to go over julie’s notes and start her essay.

❥.

by the time luke found his way through the door, it was easily past six.

“angel?” luke called into the open apartment. “y/n?” he called again. when he still received no response he walked to their shared bedroom, only to find her hunched over a desk with headphones in her ears.

he walked up to stand behind her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders and a kiss to the top of her head. her body jumped slightly, startled at the sudden touch.

“what the fuck, lukey?” she turned to him.

“awww, im sorry baby.” luke responded, chuckling slightly.

though his smile began to fall from his face when he saw the deep line of worry and distress around her eyebrows. luke felt his own furrow.

“what’s wrong, angel?” luke felt his own worry begin to set in. he could have sworn she was in a great mood this morning, recalling when she told him her plans for the day.

frustrated tears began to fill her eyes, “today has just utterly been shit. first, i spilt the coffee you spent so much time making me. then, i fell asleep durning my lecture and missed the entire thing. and to top it all off, my professor decided to assign an essay on said lecture. so now i’m having to bullshit this assignment, which means i’ll probably get a horrible grade.”

by the end of her rant, hot tears found their way from her eyes and down her cheeks. luke’s hands quickly reached to wipe them away.

“don’t cry, pretty girl. it’s okay.” luke said in a hushed voice. he swiveled the chair around, crouching to look up at her down casted face. he placed his hands on her plushy thighs, not failing to appreciate the warmth they radiated under his palms.

“hey, hey. look at me, y/n” at the sound of her name, she tilted her head up slightly, meeting his concerned filled eyes.

“you did nothing wrong. that coffee took me all of about 30 seconds to make and i can help you with your essay. i promise you, you are doing great, baby. you’ll do fine on this essay and it sounds to me like you needed the sleep anyways.” his hand reached to cradle her damp, round cheek.

“i’m sorry. i don’t know why i’m upset. it’s not like anything horrible happened. it-it’s just today was supposed to be so good. a-and,” a small sob cut through the air. taking a deep breath she continued, “and i’ve been doing this essay for the past 4 hours. i feel like i’m getting no where.”

luke’s heart hurt at the sight of his girlfriend so drained. it was a complete 180 from the cheerful attitude she had that morning. he slowly stood up, reaching over to close her laptop. she opened her mouth in protest, but was quickly cut off. “before you try and stop me, you need a break, sweetheart. you’ve made plenty of progress on your essay for today. come lay down with me. we can call in some take out and watch a movie.”

luke’s eyes gazed pleadingly into her own.

“but what if i can’t get it finished by tomorrow? it’s due at the beginning of class friday.” luke was fast to ease her worry, “i promise i will help you finish it tomorrow. i don’t have practice, so we can spend the whole day making this essay a+ material. now, go change and meet me in the living room.”

with a smile and another kiss to her head, luke walked out of the bedroom. attempting to brush off the last thoughts of her essay, y/n got up and walked to the closet. she grabbed a pair of sweats and one of luke’s big sweatshirts. putting it on reminded her of how thoughtful he is, always making sure to get them a size bigger so they’ll be extra oversized.

she smiled as the scent of his cologne filled her nose.

now completely changed, she walked out, only to be met with what seemed to be every blanket in the house set up on the couch. next to it laid plenty of her favorite snacks, along with her favorite drinks. with wide eyes, she turned to meet luke’s nervous form.

“w-what’s all this?” she gestured toward the couch. luke walked up to her, placing his hands on her full hips.

“i just wanted to do something for you, make your day a bit better. do you like it?” luke’s eyes were hopeful.

“of course, i love it.” she looked up at luke’s face, “thank you. for everything.” luke flashed his beaming grin.

“anything for you, angel,” he whispered. luke leaned down to press his lips into her soft ones. his hands pulled her hips to meet his, deepening the kiss. y/n found her own hands finding home in the curls on the nape of his neck. she gripped his hair, slightly pulling at the intensity. luke’s light groans filled the apartment.

forcing themselves apart, y/n placed her hands on luke’s shoulders as he tried to chase her lips. a whine escaped his throat, “whyyy? i want to kiss you.” a laugh bubbled out of her mouth, bringing a smile to luke’s face.

“as much as i would love to keep kissing you, i want to go lay down. and that movie isn’t going to watch itself.” with this, luke took liberty of going to lay across the couch first, opening his arms to welcome y/n into them. she didn’t hesitate to find comfort in his arms, laying her head on his chest.

luke grabbed one of the many blankets, covering them both. he placed his chin on the top of her head, grabbing the remote lying next to him.

“alright angel, what do you want to watch?”

#luke hughes x chubby!reader #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes headcanons #nhl x reader #umich hockey x chubby!reader #umich hockey x reader #luke hughes oneshot #luke hughes imagine #leawrites🍀

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motocorsas · 10 months ago

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okay i actually do have a hottake re: marc hater in unhinged confessions. as a marc disliker i think i see where they're coming from but disagree with the delivery. this is gonna be a long one.

they're correct about everything, like from a factual standpoint. marc did win an absurd amount of races in the 2010s, he did push honda to build a bike that favored his style, he did leave for ducati and he does still get tows.

but i think they're overinflating how much those facts affected his career. like, 2013 still happened; that wasn't a bike that favored him and he was riding on tracks he'd never even seen before. he's naturally talented, there's no way around it. and i see how that can be frustrating too -- i started watching motogp in about 2017 and i didn't like marc from the get-go. frankly, no matter how many exciting overtakes or impressive saves there are, if you can predict the outcome of a race before it starts, it's not a very entertaining one, or at least it adds up to a pretty boring season. that's how i felt.

as far as the concept of "overcommitment": this is a very niche term, also called overconformity, used in sports sociology. the idea proposed by some sociologists is that sportsmen subscribe to the ethic of the sport -- the pervasive ideas on what the sport should be, and what it means to be participating in it -- but some take it too far, and it becomes self-sabotage. sociologists jay coakley and robert hughes describe the core tenets of the theory:

overconformity is not just about wanting to win or be superior to other competitors, it's an uncritical belief in the mythology of a given sport.

coakley and hughes' framework was developed to explain deviance, or a deliberate action that breaks the rules or norms of a sport. they use multiple examples, but focus on the use of PEDS.

here's the problem: is marquez deviant?

he's certainly sacrificed his own wellbeing to get ahead. i think this is a functional analysis when looking at marc's injuries, multiple of which have temporarily or permanently disabled him. he internalized the messages of the sport, that winning is the only option and injuries can or even should be sustained to achieve it. but he's not breaking any rules by riding injured, he's doing something glorified as heroic. same thing with hitching tows, which is perhaps closer true deviance; a tactic disliked by many other riders that benefits one participant at the cost of another. a ban on towing would be difficult to enforce, so the practice goes unchecked, even if it is typically outside the boundary of acceptable behaviors. where anon's analysis really falls apart is in his off-track decisions, like choosing to switch from honda to ducati. he made an informed decision to switch manufacturers to improve his performance. that's just the way the game works.

when speaking about the ways he contributed to the development of the modern honda project, my opinions start to get a little messier. because i do think that bike was made with his specific style in mind, and i think that's selfish. but i also think just about every rider is selfish, because that's how the sport works.

there have been outliers, teammates dedicated to the craft, the altruists ready to defend their garage-mate's championship hopes at the price of their own. consider jack miller's defense of pecco bagnaia when they were teammates. but even his opinions changed:

the above quote was published in 2021, just before the misano grand prix, which pecco did end up winning while miller finished fifth. the next year, he had this to say:

not all riders are going to sacrifice their career for another's. that's just not the way it works, especially if, as i discussed above, said rider has fully internalized the sport's ethic. though marc's prowess on the honda did come at the cost of more riders' success than just one teammate -- the independent teams leasing hondas also have to contend with the bike and its quirks, leading to plenty of nasty crashes. marquez himself acknowledges it.

the honda of the mid to late 2010s was the sharpest of the v4s, took a very angular line that required absolutely godlike reflexes in order to turn correctly. you had to know exactly when and where to shift, brake, release the brake, and open the throttle again, and you had to do all of this with milisecond-perfect accuracy. just about only marc was able to make it work. if you disagree, don't listen to me. listen to jorge lorenzo, who said this in an interview with Motorsprint earlier this year:

the exception to this rule was pedrosa, who was able to adapt to the honda build, but still didn't win a championship.

i've spent enough time building my argument. what all of this amounts to is that yes, your honor, marc marquez is guilty of being too good at motorcycle racing. he has sacrificed his body and plenty of other riders' in the name of creating the perfect team, the perfect bike, the perfect career.

it's up to you to choose how to feel about all of this. personally, i don't care for him, but more than that i worry about his safety and his mental state. i think if he sustains another head injury, it may be time to make the executive decision to retire. brain damage is serious, and though he recovered from the vision problems that plagued him in 2021, they have the potential to return if re-injured. i may buy into the villain narrative from time to time, but i recognize that it is just that, a narrative. a story i tell myself to make sense of the sport. we are all in charge of our own interpretations. in summation: marc fans are not "brainless". let's make sure marc doesn't end up that way either.

#i see a 3 paragraph anon hate message and think hah. i could write more than that #motogp #marc marquez

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starleska · 3 months ago

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Omg I've been wanting to ask you if you've seen Heretic! I became obsessed as soon as I saw it, recommending it to all my friends like a missionary 😅 I've seen it twice and it gives you so much to think about; the three main performances are brilliant, the story is unpredictable and the psychological horror is so well done! Sister Paxton is also one of my new favourite characters from anything; I just think she's wonderful. I have so many thoughts I should probably make my own post b/c I could go on and on 😅

On a more superficial note, I must ask... Do you have a crush on Mr Reed? (Should I be embarrassed to admit that it's the first time I've ever found Hugh Grant hot, after a lifetime of having no opinion on him and barely registering his presence in films? I feel like I've finally awoken)

hell YEAHHHH all the love for Heretic, i was completely blown away!!!! what a masterpiece of a movie, holy shit - i couldn't agree with you more. Hugh Grant, Sophie Thatcher AND Chloe East all gave such tremendous performances - those first thirty minutes were some of the most tense and uncomfortable exchanges i've ever seen!!! so tightly written and had as many twists and turns as Mr Reed's fortress-like home...you keep on recommending this movie to everyone, i certainly will be too 🙈💖 BEFORE I GO INTO SPOILERS AND HEAVY RELIGIOUS/ATHEISTIC/PERSONAL DISCUSSION UNDER THE CUT: although i am not presently blorboing Mr Reed, my partner is down so astronomically bad i thought they were going to explode in the theatre 😂💖 i totally understand where y'all are coming from, and if spreading the 'gorgeous old man Hugh Grant appeals to your religious trauma and daddy kinks at the same time' propaganda, then so be it!!! here, hot grandpa be upon ye!! (come back to me in 3-5 business days, maybe my opinion will have evolved 😉)

so for context: when i was a child, like. ages 7-14, i was a militant atheist. i was raised in a very lax Christian household, but i fell down the rabbit hole of Richard Dawkins-esque 'reasonable' takes on religion via books and online circles that i equated with being intellectually superior. in retrospect i'm horrified by what a nasty, ignorant person it made me, and am very lucky to have had good religious figures in my life to gently ease me out of that (ironically) cult-like mentality. i'd argue that atheism, theism, theological debates and scientific ideas about the nature of reality constituted a special interest for me for a good chunk of my life...so this movie really scratched a long-forgotten itch 🙈🙈🙈 the thing about Heretic was how equal its messaging was. going in, you'd assume Mr Reed could've been some spurned apostate punishing missionaries for daring to have unshaken, unproven faith. but instead, we see something else: Mr Reed, Sister Barnes and Sister Paxton battling and even collaborating in trying to discover the truth of their respective (including lack of) faiths. that final scene with Sister Paxton hallucinating the butterfly rammed it home: does it really matter whether religion is correct or not? isn't it enough that faith provides comfort and meaning, even if we're wrong when we leave this mortal coil? i think as an ex-militant atheist i find Mr Reed horribly relatable. the way he made himself into this self-styled god by deeming 'control' to be the structure of all religion and using it to act on his own selfish desires reminds me so much of the figureheads of the atheism movement...i know that Heretic was in part inspired by Contact (1997), based on the book by Carl Sagan, which explores the implications for humanity if we made contact with extraterrestial life. the scientific language which people in the atheism community used to dress up intolerance and personal biases is just as flawed as the religion they were criticising. Mr Reed dazzles as an "intellectual", but he's no more informed than either of the Sisters. the way this movie skilfully portrays all parties as reasonable, informed, relatable people all trying to seek meaning is magnificent. it would have been so easy to make either side into a scapegoat: to make an anti-religious movie, or an anti-atheism movie, or even to turn around and call us all idiots for thinking about religion, but it doesn't. it leaves us with this off-kilter but honest message: we don't know, and that's okay, as long as it matters to you. that's why i agree with you on Sister Paxton being such an amazing character: regardless of Mr Reed's theories (or hypotheses 😉) he was unable to subjugate her. what a fucking champ

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viennajoell · 1 year ago

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Can you make an imagine about a younger Hughes sister (like 13-14) feeling left out or just unappreciated by her family. Something like the song Matilda or little freak by harry styles or yoyok by Taylor swift??

also I love your work

Matilda

Notes: inspired by Matilda by Harry styles

Also I hate this

It's 10 pm and I'm just getting home from my volleyball game.

Of course my parents didn't come. They never do, their to "busy" watching my brothers.

My teammates and coaches notice that every time i look into the stands i get quiet and in my head. I act like I don't care.

"So you tie up your hair and you smile like its no big deal"

But in reality I'm more mad than sad. They went to every single one of my brothers game why can't they come to one of mine?!

Ever i since I quit hockey and my brothers all went pro I've been pushed off to the side.

My brothers didn't care about school what so ever so they got praised for just barley passing classes while I have A's in all my classes and all i get is a "good job"

Where's my hug and ice cream??

My friends say I'm being dramatic and that they love my parents.

It's not that I don't its that I'm being treated differently and not being appreciated.

So you know what i did...

I stopped caring.

I stopped trying to get their attention.

I didn't answer calls from my brothers because they just stand behind my parents and act like nothing is wrong.

"Y/N! You have to answer your brothers calls" my mom Ellen yells. "Why?" I scoff. "Cause you haven't answered any of them for months" she replies. "Okay" I reply, rolling my eyes and walking out the door for school.

I had a test and i aced it. But instead of telling my parents to try and get some sort of validation i kept it to myself and continued doing that.

I continued getting better at volley ball after my parents repeatedly told me I would regret quitting hockey and would hate volleyball.

But here i am four years later playing volley ball for OSU.

"You don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up"

I didn't tell a soul where i was committing to.

Of course people knew i had offers but i never announced where i was going.

The day I turned 18 i packed my stuff and left without a word.

My phone was blowing up from my parents.

Why do they care now when its to late?

"You don't have to be sorry, no”

#luke hughes #jack hughes #umich hockey #luca fantilli #mark estapa #ethan edwards #adam fantilli #new jersey devils #quinn hughes #Hughes reader

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thestarkerisobvious · 6 months ago

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Demon Lover

art by the always-amazing @starker-sorbet

Demon Lover

Rated NC17

It was moments like these that College Student Peter Parker was so grateful he didn’t have a dormmate.

And only partially because that meant he didn’t have a bunkbed.

Because if he DID… well… that meant he’d be having to take it doggy-style on the floor… a thought that made Peter smile to himself.

“What’s so funny?” the jock grumbled, pulling away (again?!) and Peter looked back over his shoulder with a sweet, winning smile. His hook-up, who had been all swagger and bold talk at the frat party, was suddenly nervous. Possibly because Peter’s ancient dormhall creaked and groaned in a way that seemed particularly menacing tonight. Mr. Jock had even mentioned the rumor that this particular hall was haunted, but Peter had dismissed that with a mention of the age of the building (and a very quick shedding of clothing.)

“Just so glad you’re here, handsome,” Peter said gently, pushing his ass backward toward Mr Jock (who’s name might have been Hugh?)

“Now how about getting back to work?” he added coyly, and Mr. Jock seemed to take the hint. As he groaned in pleasure, Peter smiled all the more. He was getting better at this.

His first few college hookups had been marred by his awkward shyness, and even by his all-consuming need to please. This led to weekends spent with equally shy, equally awkward lovers who, while educational, simply didn’t satisfy. (Plus they always wanted to hang out afterward, for deep & meaningful talks about sexuality or possible relationship-building activities or at least repeat-hookups. Peter was interested in neither. Peter was interested in experience.)

And experience was the best teacher.

Just like tonight. He had developed a sweet-but-frank persona, a way of talking to his nightly conquests, both the kind-of-nervous and of-course-I’m-not-nervous types, that both put them at ease and kept things moving at the pace he enjoyed. The persona was one-part authentic and two-parts act, but it seemed to work most of the time.

And it seemed to be working now.

“God you’re a horny little piece of ass,” Mr. Jock jested, grabbing Peter’s narrow waist with two huge hands, his fingers digging to Peter’s white flesh hard enough to leave bruises on a normal person. Peter shivered at the thrill and spread his legs even wider, dropping his head and arching his back, moaning in need. He didn’t care if Mr. Jock made fun of him for it now (or talked about him later.) He was too hungry to care. He whimpered involuntarily at the first sweet burn of penetration.

And then yelped involuntarily and bowed his back. Damn this boy had no finesse.

“Okay, okay, let’s try that again…” Peter said quickly, breathlessly, trying to smile and soothe and readjust and keep their two bodies connected all at the same time.

A task that was not made easier when his framed Valedictorian certificate, and his framed Science Fair medal of honor and his framed acceptance letter all slipped off the wall simultaneously and went crashing to the floor.

“Nonono its fine, don’t worry about that…” Peter gasped, reaching behind him to take Mr. Jock’s hand, probably too tightly (dammit it was so hard to do this and remember his super-strength at the same time!) “Damn thumbtacks never work, just do it like this,” he breathed, shamelessly moving his hips and his ass backward, trying to show this dumb ox how Peter wanted him to use his dick. Fortunately, even this dumb ox had a sense of rhythm. Moving with Peter he seemed to get the rhythm right (even if he couldn’t get the angle right to save his life. Maybe math nerds would be better at this, Peter mused.)

It worked. Maybe-Hugh grabbed Peter’s hips again in that bruising grip and started thrusting mercilessly and Peter stopped thinking altogether.

For just a few moments, it was perfect. Those demanding hands. That demanding cock. Feeling full and controlled and taken.

He was far stronger than Mr. Jock, of course. As huge and broad-shouldered as Maybe-Hugh was, Peter could have pinned him down with one hand. And that just made it better, somehow. Being powerful and willingly handing that power over, completely, to another man.

Of course, that other ‘man’ didn’t know how strong Peter was. Hell, that other ‘man’ probably didn’t know Peter’s name.Peter distracted himself by sneaking a peek back at the powerful body behind him, all broad shoulders and smooth muscles and sweat. Tonight’s conquest was huge and beefy and rough… also pretty dense, but Peter had learned not to be picky about hookups. Especially ones that smelled as manly, as salty as this one.

And god just the sight of those sweating, straining muscles was turning him on beyond measure. If only Mr. Jock would lean over his back just enough for Peter to feel the drops falling onto his back… but changing their position only a tiny bit might end the perfect rhythm of thrusting and Peter wasn’t about to risk it.)

Peter closed his eyes and opened up his senses. Not the enhanced kind that let him know what people were eating in the dorm rooms down the hall (GOD he was so glad the rooms right next to him were empty. It was hard to be quiet when you were getting a good fucking) but brought all the sensory input from this single room in to super-sharp focus.

The scent of sex and salt and urgency filled his nostrils and his brain and made him so very, very glad he had gone through all the trouble of convincing Mr. Jock back to his room. And the body heat… even though it was only the boy’s legs pressing against the backs of Peter’s legs… it was like being burned by an oven. Once again Peter grinned with gratitude, this time about the excellent thermostat that controlled the temperature in his room. Keeping it just a hair above comfortable (and then swearing it was broken and there was nothing he could do about it) made sure that his partners sweat, and right now his current partner was sweating beautifully. It filled the room with the heady, sweet perfume that made Peter’s head swim. If only it were possible to get pounded from behind AND keep his mouth attached to that warm, moist skin… maybe Mr. Jock wouldn’t mind a few tender, lingering kisses against his neck or chest after the sex was over. Not every lover did.

Peter loved the taste of human male skin, but if he couldn’t get a taste, he would certainly enjoy the aroma. He arched his neck, raising his head, breathing in the moment, letting his senses record everything. The beautiful scent of two human bodies working together, the constant, steady vibration of the bed moving against the wall, the throaty moans of the boy behind him…

“Gonna’ fuck you to death… I’m gonna leave that hole busted open from my dick…”

Peter ducked his head quickly before Maybe-Hugh could see him roll his eyes.

Sometimes he wished he could turn his hearing off completely.

But now Maybe-Hugh was whimpering with a high-pitched, needy urgency that told Peter his perfect moment might already be over. He turned his head to say something… maybe not something completely people-pleasing, maybe to actually speak up and ask for Maybe-Hugh to slow down a bit, to try to draw out the moment, even for a few seconds longer…

…then Maybe-Hugh reached out and grabbed Peter by the left arm and yanked it backward.

This sent Peter sprawling face-first into his own bed. Which was not a bad sensation by itself, but sent Peter’s ass into a right-facing slant which meant Maybe-Hugh’s dick went in at a painful angle.

Peter yelped.

Then the lamp at the night table flung itself into the air and across the bed, clipping the other boy across the face.

Maybe-Hugh screamed.

—————————–

“It’s okayit’sokayit’sokay it’s nothing!!” Peter pleaded, reaching out as Mr. Jock jumped up from the bed, looking frantically around for his attacker. “You just knocked the lamp over, it’s okay…

“It’s okay!” Peter said louder, not the other boy but to the room in general.

“What the fucking fuck was that?!” Mr. Jock finally managed, not even noticing Peter’s hands on his, trying to pull him back onto the bed.

“You just knocked the lamp off the night table… it’s not expensive it’s just from the goodwill store…”

“It went flying across the fucking room!”

“Well you were being really vigorous dude…” Peter smiled, or at least tried to, fighting to find that tone again, the tone that would make his partners relax… to keep them in the mood… or at the very least, keep them in the room.

“You were amazing… and pulling me face-down on the bed was hot… you just gotta keep it at a 180 degree angle and…”

“What the fuck is wrong with your dormroom, man?!?!”

“Oh come on, baby, you were so close!” Peter begged, trying to smile and look soothing, all at the same time. Come on…”

He moved up to his knees and risked flinging his arms around Mr. Jock’s neck, letting his hands dangle behind the large, square head delicately. “I promised you my ass was tight, and wasn’t it? You were so close… come on baby… just because you broke my lamp doesn’t mean we have to stop…”

“Dammit they told me not to go with you, they told me this damn place was haunted…”

“My dorm room is not haunted!”

Mr. Jock looked down at him, surprised. But people always looked surprised when Peter raised his voice. He had quite an unexpected tone when he was trying to keep things under control.

Peter wasn’t sure if there was any point in trying anymore, but still, he tried. Mostly because they had only been at it for about seven minutes, and it had taken twice that long just to talk Mr. Jock into wearing the damn condom. For an city boy, Mr. Jock sure hadn’t been too informed about safe sex.

“Hey… come on… are you really going to let some stupid, inane Tri-Delt ghost story keep you from getting laid? Seriously?” He joked, softening his tone the tiniest bit, but not letting go of his lover’s hands, still pulling him back onto the bed.

“Now get back over here and get back to it!” he said, semi-playfully. It seemed to work… they were moving back onto the bed in any case. Mr. Jock’s eyes were wide, but he seemed to be obedient. Especially when Peter turned his back and pressed it against that hard, muscular (sweaty!) chest, hooking one arm behind them both and combing his fingers through his lover’s sweat-soaked hair.

“You just broke my lamp,” he teased, grinding his body against his lover’s suggestively. “The least you can do is finish what you started…”

“You spooky little shit,” came the growl from behind him. “I’m going to fuck that candy-ass until your knees bleed…”

The lamp exploded.

———————————-

Peter continued to argue. He might have pulled it off - in addition to super-strength and extra-sensitive hearing he also had a an uncanny gift of persuasion. He might have even convinced the panicked boy for a few minutes longer - yes, said boy’s discarded shirt currently flying around the room but Peter had managed to keep his arms around Hugh’s neck and thus his face pointed it the opposite direction.

But then Hugh caught a glimpse of the aerial laundry show in the mirror and it didn’t matter.

Then the heavy rotary phone on the other night table began ringing and Peter gave up.

It wasn’t a normal telephone ring, because of course it wasn’t. It was a long, terrifying continuous wail, loud enough to drown out the stammering and swearing as Maybe-Hugh frantically yanked on his pants and attempted to retrieve enough of his clothing to escape. “At least you’re not trying to yank the cord out of the wall,” Peter muttered, mostly to himself, as he sat, defeated on the bed. The last lover who had done that in an attempt to make the phone stop making the ungodly noise had just found that it made the phone ring louder than ever…

…which, come to think of it, was probably how Peter got the reputation of living in a “haunted dorm hall.”

“You forgot your shirt!” he called out half-heartedly as his panicked hook-up ran out the door, slamming it behind him. Not that it mattered. Apparently Maybe-Hugh had decided that pants and shoes were enough to make his escape.

Peter signed heavily. He waited.

Finally, the phone stopped its clamor.

Finally, the windows stopped rattling as the walls ceased to vibrate. One by one, the floating laundry dropped, item by item to the floor.

They even piled themselves right next to the hamper.

Still Peter didn’t speak.

The thrift-store lamp meekly lifted itself up from the floor and floated, humbly, back to its original position. Peter leaned over to one side to let it pass. It was still hopelessly broken, but he said nothing.

It wasn’t the first broken lamp he had to deal with. That’s why he got them from goodwill in the first place.

He sat with his mouth closed for some time. Forehead creased. Considering carefully. The silence filled the small dorm room.

Finally, he spoke.

“Tony, we have to talk.”

#Starker #Peter Parker/Tony Stark #Demon!Tony #thewitchway writes stuff

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