#my wife he is so handsome but so so hard for me to draw | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satorusugurugurl · 4 months ago

Text

Til’ the Day that I Die (Chapter Three)

Summary: You’re a popstar in need of a bodyguard when you find yourself with a stalker. That’s how you meet Fushiguro Toji, you’re insanely hot bodyguard. Who knows how to push your buttons, and get you feeling flustered. Just how far is he willing to go to protect you? And how far would you go to protect him?

Pairing: Fushiguro Toji x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: mentions of, stalking, panic attacks, language, violence, character death, tiniest mention of blood

Word Count: 3K

A/N: Now were getting into it! I love me an enemies to lovers story! 😮‍💨

Part One Part Two Part Four

“I-I’m going to stay with you? I don't even know you!” Your cheeks burned as you took a step back. “B-Besides, I don't want to put you out!”

“If you were going to put me out, I wouldn't have suggested it.”

“I-I—!! Satoru!” you turned your head towards your PR manager. “T-This isn't good for publicity, right?”

Much to your horror, your managers looked at each other, sharing that annoying silent communication look. How their eyes communicated told you everything you needed to know. Deep down, you knew you didn't have any other options. The best way to keep your friends and loved ones safe is to stay away.

Which is how you found yourself in a small SUV with your bodyguard. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his navy eyes focused on the road. You swallowed hard, gripping your leggings as you tried to think of something. Even though he assured you weren't imposing, you still felt the lingering anxiety of being a burden.

What was his wife going to say?

He was bringing home some popstar, a girl who had a psychotic stalker. A stalker who was obviously dangerous, and Toji had been kind enough to invite you to stay with him, even when he had seen the damage that your stalker had done.

But in a strange way, you also felt comforted. You hated to impose, but for Toji to tell you to stay with him meant he was confident in his skills to protect you. Maybe Nanako wasn't exaggerating when she told you the Shiu Kong Security Company was the best.

“If you keep biting your lips like that, you'll make it bleed,” Toji spoke up finally, breaking the thick silence.

“Huh?” You prodded the tip of your tongue against your bottom lip, wincing at the sensitive spot you had made raw with your teeth. “I didn't even realize I was doing that.”

“Yeah, you’ve been chewing on your bottom lip like it's jerky since we got in my car.” he snickered, “am I that scary doll?”

Your cheeks felt like fire as you sank lower into your seat. “I don't think you're scary; I’m just nervous.” Which was the truth: staying with a family you didn’t know had your entire body tied in knots.

“You’re nervous?” Toji laughed, leaning back in his seat as he stopped at a red light. “If anyone should be nervous, it’s me. I mean, you heard what your manager told me, right?”

“Oh, I heard.”

The streetlights overhead illuminated his handsome features. His scar stretched out as he laughed softly, and his dark brows knitted in confusion and humor. Seeing him like that made you realize he was quite pretty, especially when he wasn't making broad assumptions about you or barking orders.

“He was very colorful—”

“Yeah, I don't know how he'd take a chuck of your side out.”

A visible shiver rushed over Toji, drawing out a giggle from you. “Yeah, well, good thing I'm not an asshole.”

“Hmm, debatable.”

Toji turned his head, mouth slightly agape as his eyes met yours. His navy eyes glittered with disbelief before a smirk tugged at the corner of his scarred lip. You sank back into your seat, biting your bottom lip, not driven by anxiety, but to hold back a laugh from the shock on his face.

“Oh, you suddenly have a voice and an attitude?”

“Hey~ you thought I was a pampered spoiled brat.”

“Yeah, well, you're still a brat.”

You weren't going to argue with him on that because, in a sense, he was right. Instead, you focused your attention on the road. “So,” you swallowed, feeling the need to keep the conversation going instead of wallowing in the silence. “Is uhm—your family isn't going to have an issue with me staying?” The street lights above illuminated the inside of the car as Tojo turned right on a street.

“Nah, my kid won't mind.” Toji glanced from his peripheral vision. He was good at reading body language and how your back straightened, and you quickly looked over at him before turning your attention back to the road, clued him into what you were thinking. “What? Is it that hard to imagine me being a dad?”

“W-What?! No, I-I didn't say that!”

“But your body language did.” Your bottom lip got sucked between your teeth again. “You’re pretty easy to read. Makes my job easy.”

“I am not easy to read.”

“Oh, you are.” Toji grinned, watching as you crossed your arms over your chest. “See, it’s all in the body language.”

Your head shot back in his direction, and Toji could feel your eyes practically burning holes into his skin. “Okay then, Mr. Expert. What am I feeling right now? If you’re so confident in your skills.” The car made another left as Toji pulled into a parking lot in front of an apartment complex.

“You aren't going to like it.” He said in an almost singsong voice as he parked the car.

“I already don’t like this whole situation, so let’s just put the cherry on top of the fucked up sundae that is my life right now.”

The air in the car felt thick as Toji unbuckled his seatbelt, allowing him to turn slightly to eye you thoroughly. His chest rose as he took a deep breath, his shirt straining against his chest as he draped his arm over his seat. As his eyes roamed your body, you could feel the trail they left, like a gentle caress over your skin. You swallowed hard, clearing your throat as you shifted, keeping your arms crossed.

You were beautiful but also very tense. You kept shifting your weight in the seat, and your eyes looked anywhere but at him directly. In a way, it was kind of cute seeing you like this. Where you weren't masking or giving him attitude, he was begging to realize this was some of your natural personality—not some persona you made, apart from playing in front of cameras and an audience. The sharp tongue, stubbornness, and anxiety seem to be the real you.

But he had a feeling he was only grazing the surface of you.

You had gone through so much lately that you probably layered yourself in different coats of wax. Hiding the version of who you were before, you became an Internet sensation. Toji was only seeing the top layer of who you were, and he was given time, he would be able to peel back the first layer of wax to reveal a new color, a new trait of yours. But even if he didn’t know who you were or what you were like before the fame, you were still relatively easy for him to read.

“Okay, you keep crossing your arms; that could be due to several things. It could be that you are uncomfortable, feeling slightly defensive, or insecure. Or it could also mean that you’re subconscious is telling you that yoy need to protect yourself because you have a certain distrust in me, which is fair because you don’t know me.” From the way your eyes widened, Toji knew he was right. “Then there’s the lip.” Promptly, you released your lips from your bottom teeth. “Biting your lip is a nonverbal gesture. And it could mean a couple of things. could be that you have something to say, but you’re preventing yourself from saying it, or it could also mean that you secretly want me and you’re trying to be flirtatious.” You barked a laugh, your eyebrows furrowing together as a faint flush dusted your cheeks. “But I know that it’s because you’re having anxiety; that’s one of the most common reasons. People bite their lips like that. Anxiety, stress, overwhelming emotions.” He leaned back in the driver's seat. “And from the way you’re furrowing your brows at me, which usually means that you’re annoyed in deep conversation or thought I can cross you being flirty with me off my list of options.”

“Oh yeah, go ahead and mark that off several times with a marker.”

Toji shrugged a shoulder as he turned towards the door, opening it. “No skin off my nose; I don't care.” He got out, headed to your side of the car, and opened the door for you.

“Wow, you proved your point; you can read body language. Congratulations.”

“It's all part of the job.”

A job that he was now bringing home. Toji carried your bag for you and led you into the apartment complex. With each step you took, your mind reeled more. What did a pop star tell her brand-new bodyguard’s family? Sorry for imposing on you all; I'll take the couch. Would they be cold? Feeling like you were pitting them out? Or would they be overly fanatic with you, persistently making you feel at home and treating you like a celebrity?

No matter the outcome, one thing was sure: you hated being a burden to others.

Aside from the tests and clinical work, things were easier when you were a nursing student. When you were in school, you didn't have to stress over putting on a face for the cameras, dealing with a stalker, and not worrying about the safety of your loved ones. You would rather take vials of blood from a senile patient rather than have someone destroy your home.

A twinge of pain shot through your lip as you sank your teeth into the raw spot on your lip you had made. Toji watched as your hand shot up, delicate fingers brushing against blood that dribbled to the surface—pulling your hand back to look at the crimson-stained tips of your fingers.

“I told you you were going to bite it so hard it would make it bleed.”

“I know—I just—I hate this.”

Toji’s gaze focused on the numbers blinking as you headed to another floor. “Unfortunately, you don't have many options.” His tone was soft, almost hesitant in a way, one you hadn't been expecting to come from him.

“I just hope your wife isn't too upset.” When the elevator reached the third floor, it dinged before the metal doors slid open. “I'm really sorry for imposing you both.”

“She’s not gonna mind.”

“Oh, and what makes you so sure of that?” You question incredulously, following him out of the elevator down the hall. “I’m a stranger. I would have issues letting a stranger with a stalker into my house.”

The tall man didn't say anything as he unlocked the door to one of the apartments. “Trust me, it ain't going to be a problem. This is something she would have supported.”

Toji held the door open, allowing you to step inside first. The television was playing somewhere inside, leaving you feeling awkward as you stood off to the side. Clearing your throat as Toji took his shoes off, you followed his lead, inching close behind him as he yawned, walking through the entryway.

“Megs? Hey, I'm home.” The pitter-patter of feet against the floor had you looking around Toji as a young girl, maybe sixteen, and a small boy hurrying around a corner. “Hey Tsumiki, sorry I’m late.” he reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a wallet. “I’ll pay ya’ dou—”

“Oh no! You're okay, Mr. Fushiguro. I live a few doors down, and Megumi’s a good kid.” The teenager beamed politely as she ruffled the head of the younger boy. “Plus, my mom made us dinner.” Her eyes drifted behind Toji, and she met yours. She tilted her head slightly to the side before you could see the realization hit her like lightning. “O-Oh—wait! Wait! I-Is that?! Are you?!”

Toji hissed through his teeth, pushing you back behind him. “Tsumiki—don’t.” His words went wholly ignored as she screamed.

You couldn't help but smile; seeing your fans react to you was one of your favorite things. Tsumiki jumped up and down, grabbing hold of the little boy who stared at her in confusion and annoyance, which was nearly comical on a young boy's face. But not a lot of six—and seven—year—old boys came to your concerts.

“You're too loud, Tsumiki.”

“I love you! I love your music so much!!”

Without so much as a word, you stepped out from behind Toji, taking your baseball cap off. “Thank you; I appreciate your support.” You opened your arms, but Tsumiki hesitated, looking up at Toji, who just huffed a sigh before nodding and motioning toward you with one hand.

“Go ahead.”

Tsumiki squealed, throwing herself into you and hugging you as tightly as possible. “Oh my god, it's you!! I can't believe it!” She pulled away dark strands of her hair falling in her face. “What are you doing here? And with Mr. Fushiguro on top of that? Are you two dating?!”

Much to your surprise, you and Toji barked a laugh before glaring at each other. “Hello, no.” Your bodyguard remarked with a sneer as he walked towards Megumi, lifting him. “She ain’t my type.” His words didn't sting; if anything, you felt slightly relieved that he thought the same way you did.

“Ditto.”

“Mr Fushiguro, every guy wants to date her!” The wildly enthusiastic Tsumiki shouted, finally breaking away from her hug with you. “Look at her! She's gorgeous! How could she not be your type?!”

“Well, for starters, I don't date my clients, and secondly—”

“He’s married.” You added, winning a surprised look from the younger boy whose navy eyes mirrored his father’s.

“Since when did you get married?”

Toji ruffled the boy's hair, blatantly ignoring his question before focusing on Tsumiki. “Hey, you can't tell anyone about her being here, okay? It’s for her safety, so don't go blabbing off to your mom or your little girlfriends, okay?” You felt some ease settle over you as Tsumili nodded her head enthusiastically.

“Of course! I won’t tell a soul!” her big doe eyes darted back at you, her fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. “I know the line of work Megumi’s dad is in, so you’re in good hands.” Her words trailed off as she bit down on her bottom lip, much like you had done throughout the night. “But, uhm—”

It was clear that she wanted to ask you for it, but it was also clear that she wasn't going to ask for it straight out. “Tsumiki, right?” You asked, drawing her attention back to you. “Would you like an autograph? A thank you for keeping my secret?” Her eyes sparked as she nodded her head up and down. “But that doesn't seem fair enough.” you pursed your lips together in faux thought. “How about two backstage passes to my next concert?”

“For real?!”

Toji huffed a sigh, watching to see that mask you had perfected slip on. But it didn't. You were nice but not overly perky and bouncing with energy like you had been at the concert. No, this was just you being genuinely nice to a kid. You were smiling softly, taking in Tsumiki’s reaction, savoring the joy and shock on her face.

It was that look that had Toji in a sort of haze as he walked Tsumiki back to her door. All her excitement was like white noise to him as she hurried inside her apartment, bouncing on her feet as she bid him goodnight. You were something. You couldn't handle being in a car with a stranger you barely knew, but you had no issues giving out backstage concert tickets to a stranger who was a fan.

Toji shook those thoughts out of his mind as he returned to his apartment. He found you standing in the kitchen, looking around. “Do you Need something?” he asked, sitting Megumi down on the counter.

“Oh no, just looking around.”

“Ah, well, I’ll give you a proper tour later. But first,” Megumi groaned as his father's large hand ruffled the top of his head, making his unruly hair even messier. “This is Megumi, my son.”

The little boy puffed his cheeks out, running his hands through his hair as you smiled, introducing yourself. “It's nice to meet you, Megumi. Thanks for letting me stay with you and your family.” Megumi shrugged a shoulder, his cheeks slightly flushed, as he looked up at his dad.

“Yeah, you're welcome.”

“When does your mom get home? I want to thank her properly, too.” A heavy silence fell over the kitchen as Megumi’s features softened his attention, focusing on his father, who rubbed at his neck. “Oh, you haven't told her yet?”

Toji shook his head, lifting Megumi off the counter before placing him down. “Nope, but I'll let her know now; come with me, and I’ll introduce you while I’m at it.” His words were strange, but you followed him to the living room. Toji walked towards a corner and slowly got down on his knees, his eyes focusing on the incense floating up in the air as he reached out, straightening a picture of a beautiful woman with dark hair. “Hey honey, this is our house guest for a while. Do me a favor and don't get all possessive poltergeist on me.” Your bodyguard turned back to you, watching the flush in your cheeks fade as he tilted his head toward the altar. “This is my wife, my late wife.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree

Til’ the Day Tag List: (AGE MUST BE IN BIO MDNI)

@justagirl-with-aphone @flowerpot113 @elitesanjisimp @fandomtrash5092 @zoroisminty @imoutofpot @your-mum3000 @lemonmoonmochi @heymickyy @waterfal-ling @thickemadame

187 notes · View notes

horrorchicxoxo · 2 years ago

Text

The Perfect Morning

Jake Sully x Human!Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the adorably short wife of Jake Sully who receives mind-blowing morning sex.

Warnings: Smut

Notes: I had to make an adjustment to the height due to concerns that were expressed to me.

Requested by @jsuli

The sunlight streamed through the windows, painting the bed where you and your husband lay with a soft glow. The warmth that it emanated gradually pulled you out of your sleep. You were cuddled close, your legs wrapped around his midsection. You were very small compared to your 10-foot-tall man, but you made it work. He found your 5’2 1/2-inch height adorable, which only made him fall in love with you even more.

As you opened your eyes, you were met with the stare of your true love. His locs spread were spread wildly on the pillow, giving him an adorably silly look.

You smiled and moved closer to rest your forehead against his own.

"Good morning, handsome," you uttered, nuzzling your nose against his.

"Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?"

"I slept very well. You completely tired me out last night. Where did you learn some of that stuff?"

He smirked, recalling last night's activities.

"I didn't have to learn anything. I just know exactly how to please my woman."

As if on cue, he grabbed your ass and pushed you even closer against him, rubbing his bulge against your core.

You mewled quietly, trying in vain to pry his hands off you.

“Jake, we can’t do this right now. The kids could be up any minute.”

A hint of mischief crossed his eyes.

“Well, I guess you you’ll have to stay quiet then, huh?”

You moaned quietly as he turned he laid you on your back. His lips found yours, passionately sucking on your bottom lip. He then trailed kisses down the side of your jaw and down your neck.

You moaned and grabbed his huge head as he licked and sucked on your breasts. His fangs nipped at your nipples, causing to jump in surprise and lightly hit his shoulder.

“Watch yourself, big boy. I do not need you drawing blood,” you scolded seductively, biting your lip.

“Sorry, babygirl. It’s not my fault that you have such a hot ass body.”

Once he said that, he continued trailing sloppy wet kisses down your body.

It wasn’t long before he arrived between your legs. He looked in awe at your glistening pussy.

“Already so wet for me.”

He immediately began devouring you, wasting no time.

Your head fell back against the pillows, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. His tongue was huge, wet, and thick. It reached all best places deep inside you, leaving no spot on you neglected.

When he started sucking on your clit, your hands flew to grab his locs, giving them a tug. He groaned at this sensation, sending vibrations to your pussy.

You bit your lip, holding back your moans. Jake lifted his head from your core to look you in the eyes.

“Let me hear you, baby. Don’t hold back your little noises from me,” he said in a low voice, kissing the inside of your thigh.

You nodded, watching as he lowered his head back down.

He went back to work on your pussy, lapping at you like a thirsty dog.

Eventually, you legs started to shake and you came hard, squirting on his mouth and chin. He rode you through your orgasm, sucking up your juices.

When he was satisfied, he went back up to kiss you again, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. You moaned against his mouth, enjoying the taste of you on his lips. He then pulled back, staring deep into your eyes.

“Get on your side now, baby.”

You obeyed him, rolling onto your side while he got comfortable behind you.

He lifted your leg and lined himself up with your entrance. Without missing a beat, he slipped inside you. You hissed from his size, but soon that feeling was replaced by pure pleasure.

“Are you ready, baby?,” he asked.

“ Yes, my love. Pound me til’ I can’t walk for a week.”

He growled deep within his chest at that remark, and began to thrust into you. Your breasts jiggled from how hard he was ramming into you, something he enjoyed immensely. He kissed your neck while taking his hand and rubbing your clit in circles. You mewled and you raised you arm to grip the back of your neck as he did.

“Oh— my—God, Jake! Right th—there!,” you whimpered.

At the sound of this, he went harder.

You started moaning uncontrollably, your head falling back against him. It wasn’t long before that fire deep inside your belly became white-hot.

“I—-I’m —- gonna — cum— Jake —“

“Let go, baby,” he breathed into your ear, licking the side of your neck as he did.

You came hard, moaning pathetically as you squirted for a second time onto his cock. He helped you ride your second orgasm of the morning, with him coming deep inside you not long after.

He let himself grow soft inside you, pulling out with a hiss from you both. You looked back at him over your shoulder, giving him a dazed smile.

“Wow. I already know if I try to stand up, I’m done for,” you giggled.

“Damn straight. Now let me clean you up.”

He got up from the bed, ducking through the doorway of the bathroom. He retrieved a warm rag and walked over to you. He cleaned you up and once he was done, he laid back down behind you.

He leaned over you to plant a kiss against your cheek, giving you a warm smile. “I love you, my precious wife.”

You smiled, leaned you and pecked his lips a couple of times.

“I love you, too, my darling husband.”

With that, you laid back down, his chest pressed against your small back. It wasn’t long before sleep took hold once again, his soft, even breaths warming the back of your neck.

#jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar (2009)#a:twow #avatar 2 smut

4K notes · View notes

marinas-drafts · 1 year ago

Text

Honeymoon

A Sky High Lovin’ segment, the swingin’ 60’s

Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu

Warnings 18+: (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🌷🎀🌷

Repost here from my main: @precious-little-scoundrel

There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.

He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.

He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.

The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.

Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.

You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”

He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”

Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.

He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.

He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.

“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.

It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.

“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.

He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.

“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.

You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.

If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.

“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.

“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”

“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”

You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.

It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.

“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.

“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”

That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?

He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.

Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.

And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.

He earned your trust.

“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.

“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.

“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.

“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”

You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.

His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.

His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.

“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?

“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,

“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”

The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-

“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.

You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.

You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”

He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.

You flush red hot at the sight of him

lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.

He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.

“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.

“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”

He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.

“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.

He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.

You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.

“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”

You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.

You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.

“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.

He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.

“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.

The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.

His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”

You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow

“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.

It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.

Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”

You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.

“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”

Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.

“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”

The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.

“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”

“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”

You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.

“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”

“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.

He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”

You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.

“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.

“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.

“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.

“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.

“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”

“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.

He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.

“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”

With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.

You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.

You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.

You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.

He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.

The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:

“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”

It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.

Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.

“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”

It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.

“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”

His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.

“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.

“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.

Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.

Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”

You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.

“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.

“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.

You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.

Married life, he could get used to this.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels

“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.

This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.

Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.

Hope y’all enjoyed. This is a repost from my (currently censored) main blog @precious-little-scoundrel and in turn it’s a repost from the original written over a year ago on my deleted OG Elvis blog@aconflagrationofmyown I want to start collecting my fics here in case anything happens with my main. Xoxo

795 notes · View notes

dried-mushroom · 6 months ago

Note

Please provide us with some Harlan fic 🙏 anything you want!!

Teach me

Summary: Harlan was known to like shooting pool so how could he not teach his pretty wife how to play it with him?

Harlan Ellison x Fem! reader

Warnings: Suggestive themes, slight dry humping

You both sat there, curled up together on the velvet tawny couch, your head resting against Harlan's shoulder as his head was buried deep in one of his favourite books. You had begun to draw small patterns on his bare arm with your finger when he looked over at you curiously, smirking at the action. He placed the book splayed open on his lap and grabbed his smoking pipe and lighter from the table beside the couch and lit the pipe, blowing a cloud of smoke into your face laughing. You rolled your eyes and hit his arm lightly.

"Are you bored, my love?"

Sarcasm dripped in his words as he looked at you, eyebrow quirked, from above where his glasses rested on the bridge of his nose.

"As much I adore your company, Harlan, a girl can only sit still for so long hmm?" You mumbled against his bicep. Harlan dog-eared the page he was on and placed the book on the table and swiftly got up, dragging you with him by the hand throughout his eccentric home into the basement where he had an ornate pool table set up in the middle, colourful balls nestled neatly in the rack, Harlan let go of you and placed his glasses on a nearby bench and leant against the pool table, holding two cues in his hand,

"C'mon pretty girl, play with me since you clearly don't enjoy leisurely activities."

You knew he was teasing you and you couldn't say you didn't enjoy it You smiled and rolled your eyes at his antics and grabbed a pool cue off him and sighed exaggeratedly,

"You're going to have to teach me. I've never played before."

His smile widened, and he dropped his pool cue down, eager to teach you one of the things he enjoys (and totally not excited he'll have you bent over the pool table underneath him.). You noticed how his gaze shifted, turning darker and he romantically extended a hand to you,

"It'll be an honour, my dear."

You grabbed his hand and he spun you around so you were in front of his and bent you over the table, his body leaning over yours, his warm breath fanning over your ear, you tried to ignore your obvious frustration but it got a little hard when Harlan jutted his hips against your ass when he adjusted your arms to hold the cue correctly, his hand was tight around your waist while the other, he used to demonstrate. It became unbearable when he 'accidently' ground his obvious erection into your plush thighs and ass when he helped you shoot for the first time, his gentle lips ghosted a kiss against the shell of your ear which snapped you out of your haze. What Harlan didn't expect was for you to squirm back against him,

Harlan knew how sexually frustrated you had become with his antics and it was delightfully amusing to him, but he wasn't going to let you give in so easily. So much to your dismay, he pulled away from you, grabbed his pool cue, and walked to the opposite side of the table, a grin threatening to cross his face. You glared at him, partially offended he stopped touching you and partially offended you were that desperate for his touch.

" Honey I think I've taught you enough, I wanna see how you play and maybe if you win, I'll reward you and don't worry I'll go easy on you."

God, you wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face, you thought. You desperately wanted to get back at him for all the teasing from before, so you swallowed your pride and let him reset all the balls.

"Because you're my darling wife and I love you, I think maybe this once, I'll let you start."

You couldn't help but blush at his sweet words, Harlan always had a way with words, that's why he had such great stories. That's what drew you to him, his charisma, his talent and the fact he was stupidly handsome. Driving away those distracting thoughts, you arched your back and lined up your cue in front of the white ball and shot. Luckily for you, you managed to scatter the balls and to your surprise, you managed to sink a striped ball.

It had been a quick game, and Harlan manoeuvred himself behind you with each shot he took, casually brushing a hand over the swell of your ass, sliding his fingers to brush the bare skin of your hip beneath your shirt, each contact making you jump with pleasure. You figured he deserved some payback for all the teasing so you turned into his embrace right before your last shot, your body shielding your hand as it lightly palmed the front of his trousers.

There was only the 8-ball left on the table, which sat perfectly in the middle of the green fabric and to be honest, Harlan was quite proud of you, he was pleasantly surprised that you were just as good as him at pool. It was your turn and you could feel his burning gaze on you, making your stomach flutter with butterflies. Harlan is standing opposite to you, fingers wrapped around his cue tightly in anticipation. You bit your lip (a sight Harlan thoroughly enjoyed) and lined up your cue at an angle and after a few seconds of deliberating, you gave it all and you were ecstatic when you managed to sink the ball. So was Harlan who sauntered over to your side of the table, trapping you between his hips and the wood of the table. He stroked your hair lovingly and smiled down at you, a mysterious glint in his blue eyes,

The end :) I'm sorry it's so short oml

"You want your reward now sweetheart?"

I'm sorry guys I keep saying looked down/ stood overtop, its cuz I'm 5'1 and i keep forgetting Harlan was 5'3 😭

(Also if y'all want I can continue this and write the nsfw ending)

#harlan ellison x reader #harlan ellison #ihnmaims x reader #ihnmaims

106 notes · View notes

ghostofaboy · 11 months ago

Text

Finally and Final

Pairing: Javier Peña/Steve Murphy Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only Word count: 2444

Warnings: Hand job, period typical homophobia, infidelity

Summary: At first, Javi believes Steve is angry with him, but it turns out it's something else entirely.

Note: This has not been beta read, so I apologize for any mistakes. My first time writing Stavier, but I fucking love them as a pairing. This was a request from Anonymous as part of my 100 Follower Celebration.

It was clear Steve was still mad at him. Only the week before, he'd shoved Javi up against the wall in the embassy, hissing accusations in his face before storming off. Javi hadn’t done what Steve accused him of, of course he hadn’t, but he did need Steve to be onboard with what came next in the fight with Escobar.

But in that moment, instead of defending himself, all Javi had been able to think about was Steve's breath on his face, how warm his hands were and how hard Steve had made him. Heading home, Javi had jacked off to the thought in the shower, covering the tiles in his come before climbing into bed and pushing the deviant thoughts of his partner out of his mind.

Now Escobar was out of his bullshit prison and the hunt was back on, that should have been good news. Except, Steve’s wife Connie had also returned to Miami, leaving Steve a drunken mess. He’d been damn lucky Messina hadn’t sent him home then and there. Javi had vouched for him, explained the situation, and that seemed to be good enough for their new boss. Javi had thought it would also be good enough to win Steven over. But apparently not.

Now Steve was glaring at him as they went over tedious reports filled with nothing that was remotely helpful to their goals for finding Escobar once more. As he looked up from his desk, Javi could see those blue eyes were analyzing him, watching his every movement, taking in every detail.

“What?” Javi finally snapped, prompting a smirk from Steve. “You’ve been staring at me all fucking day.”

“No law against it.” Steve’s drawl sounded thicker than usual and as he glanced to the other agent’s left, Javi spotted an empty whiskey glass sitting on Steve’s desk.

“Damn it Murphy.” Javi ran a hand down his face, dropping his voice to a whisper. “You’re drunk? Here? Are you serious?”

“I’m not fuckin’ drunk.” Steve scowled.

“Then quit fucking staring at me.” Javi frowned. “Or else people’ll think you’re sweet on me.”

It had been a throwaway line. A joke meant to break the tension. Something that Javi had said to Steve a thousand times before and gotten a “fuck you” or a laugh from. But as the words left his mouth, Javi watched in fascination as Steve’s face flushed, his eyes trained on Javi’s lips and a flicker of embarrassment danced across his handsome face.

“Fuck this.” Steve muttered, pushing himself up from his desk abruptly and striding out of the office space. “I need a break.”

Javi just sat there watching Steve’s ass as he left, the realization of the moment hitting him and twisting inside him uncomfortably. Sure, he’d been lusting after Steve since the blond had landed in Bogotá, but Steve was married. And up until very recently happily married. Lusting after someone he knew he couldn’t have was one thing, Javi was used to it whenever he met a handsome man. But the slither of possibility that Steve’s eyes had offered him just then was something Javi hadn’t had to deal with before, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

#####

Steve hadn’t returned to his desk by the time the sky went dark outside and the men of the Search Bloc were chatting about calling it a day. Glancing around as they filled out, Javi knew he had to go find Steve, but quietly without drawing attention. Grabbing his gun, jacket and pack of cigarettes, Javi set out to start checking all the places the blond could have slipped off to.

It had taken a surprisingly short amount of time to find Steve. After checking the cafeteria, bunks and bathrooms, Javi had remembered something Steve had said about an unsecured outbuilding on the every edge of the school grounds where Search Bloc, and themselves, were now based. It was filled with old boxes of files, the original contents of which were far too water damaged to make sense of. Whatever it had originally been used for, Javi had no idea, but as he quietly made his way over to the boarded up structure, sure enough there was a small light inside.

Sitting on a chair that looked like it was a stiff breeze away from collapsing was Steve, thumbing through a very beat up looking magazine. At his feet an old lantern was giving off a soft warm glow, although how wise it was to have that in a room filled with paper, Javi wasn’t sure. Approaching the slightly ajar door, Javi coughed lightly, prompting Steve to quickly roll up the magazine and raise his head to meet his partner’s gaze before dropping it back down slowly.

“What are you doing out here, Murphy?” Javi slipped inside before leaning against the door frame. The whole room smelt of damp, musty paper and sweat.

“Just thinkin’.” Steve offered a lopsided smile, still not meeting Javi’s eyes. “You were lookin’ for me?”

“Course I was.” Javi took a step forward to crouch in front of Steve, trying to get him to look at Javi. “Was worried about you.”

“Yeah?” Steve let out a mirthless laugh. “I’m ok. I just needed…” Steve trailed off, shrugging and running his thumb over the worn magazine.

“Look, about before-”

“Forget it.” Steve shook his head. “Look, get outta here, man. You’ve got better things to do than babysit my sorry ass.”

“True.” Javi gave a small laugh. “But I don’t want to just leave you here like… this. You wanna go grab a drink?”

Steve just shook his head. “Not really in a social mood.”

“Fair enough.” Javi nodded, letting silence fill the space. Not moving from his position in front of Steve, Javi found his eyes being drawn to the rolled up magazine that the other man was still clutching.

Steve had rolled it up as soon as Javi had come in, not letting the other man get a look at what it was. Small pieces of the faded cover peeked out from between Steve’s fingers, and Javi knew immediately what kind of magazine it was. He had plenty of them at home and the more he looked, the more skin he could see, then a nipple. Yeah, he had plenty of these at his apartment.

Looking over Steve slyly, Javi started to take in the details he’d missed when he’d first entered the small building. Steve’s flushed cheeks, the crumpled up pieces of paper he’d used to clean up with, and the most obvious, the not quite zipped up fly of his jeans.

“You, er, you want me to leave you for some more quality alone time?” Javi chuckled, motioning to the magazine in Steve’s hand, watching as the other man’s face grew redder.

“It’s not like that.” Steve’s eyes shot up. “I mean, I just found it and-”

“Hey, I’m not judging.” Javi held his hands up in mock surrender. “You know how many of those I’ve got at my place? Which one is it, maybe I’ve got it?”

Steve didn’t answer, his hands curling tighter around the magazine, as his eyes studied Javi’s face. At first, Javi was confused. Sure, Steve was married, but every guy jacks off, right? So what if he’d found a dirty magazine and spanked one out. But then, achingly slowly, it started to dawn on Javi why Steve was reacting like this. The beads of sweat on his temple, his large dark pupils as he watched Javi lick his bottom lip, the twitch under his jeans that not even the thick denim could hide.

“Like I said,” Javi swallowed hard, locking eyes with Steve, “maybe I’ve got that one.”

Steve nodded, understanding Javi’s meaning, and slowly loosened his grip on the magazine. Gradually, it unfurled in Steve’s trembling hand, letting Javi get a better glimpse at the oiled up ass cheeks on the man on the cover. Huh, he did have that one at home, Javi thought as he pushed down an amused chuckle.

“You got a favorite in there?” Javi growled out, locking his eyes with Steve’s again as he reached for the zipper of the other man’s jeans. “I like the one near the end. The one dressed like a cowboy.” Tugging the denim open, Javi carefully pulled out Steve’s hardening cock. “I like his ass. You?”

“Yeah.” Steven nodded, licking his lips and shifting his hips to help Javi free his dick. “Yeah, he’s… he’s hot. Nice thick… fuck… nice cock.”

“Yeah.” Javi began to slowly pump Steve, pulling a gasp from the blond. “You know, I used to watch the guys my dad would hire. There was one, when I was about 16, he’d get changed in the barn. He knew I watched.”

“You ever… fuck… you ever do anythin’ with him?” Steve moaned out, bucking his hip slightly as Javi stroked his cock steadily.

“First cock I ever sucked.” Javi chuckled, reaching out with his other hand to clumsily free his own trapped erection. “You ever done anything like this before?”

“No.” Steve’s voice was little more than a whisper as his eyes drifted down to Javi’s thick cock. “Fuck, can we… I mean… shit…”

“Not here.” Javi continued to pump both cocks, gently thumbing over Steve’s head to collect the precum that was beginning to flow. “But another time, somewhere more private. Sure. We can have some fun.”

“Fuck.” A small smile creeped across Steve’s lips as he let his head drop back, exposing his neck, while Javi began to pick up the pace.

The strokes had been slow at first as Javi tested how much Steve would let him do. So each stroke had been tender and leisurely, his fingers sliding down Steve’s shaft pulling quiet gasps and moans from the other man. But now Javi needed to come, he needed to watch Steve come. The spell might break any second, someone could come find them, anything could happen that could mean this might be the only chance Javi got.

Javi’s pumps became more rhythmic, quicker, as he stroked himself and Steve in time. Another time, if he got another shot at this, he’d want to bring their erections together, to touch them, and let the friction of the other's shaft add to the heat. But for now Javi settled for this as his skin prickled with arousal. The coiling tension inside him building with each motion as his whole body throbbed with need.

Steve’s eyes were fixed on Javi’s hands, watching as his thick fingers skirted over hot flesh and pulsing veins coated in their own arousal. His plush lips were slightly parted, flushed as pink as his cheeks, and Javi longed to plunder Steve’s mouth. The only thing stopping him was the thought that actually might be too intimate just yet. A hand job was one thing, a kiss was another. An act more sensual than sexual. Javi didn’t want to rush Steve, he wanted to savor everything he could get.

They were both breathing heavier now, the burning fire inside them desperate to explode, so Javi increased the pace again. It was time for them to finish. And so Javi began to quicken his hand until the stroke turned into frenzied jerks that had Steve clasping a hand over his mouth and Javi biting down on his bottom lip. If anyone were to come in now, he wouldn’t be able to stop, wouldn’t be able to hide what they were doing together. So Javi pushed on, frantically pulling him and Steve to the edge.

Steve came first with a muffled cry. The thick white ropes flying from his cock, coating Javi’s hand and hitting his forearm. The hot release cooling on his skin as Steve trembled in his seat. Javi had only just let go of Steve’s dick and let himself fall back slightly to give the other man a good view before he too came. Letting his head drop back, Javi pinched his eyes shut and growled out a curse as he painted the floor of the room with his seed.

For a moment, the world melted away as Javi allowed himself to dissolve into the pleasure of the moment. His thighs shook as his whole body vibrated with his orgasm, and all Javi could do was ride the brief high. Finally, as it ebbed away, Javi opened his eyes to find Steve slumped in the chair gazing at him.

“Fuck.” Javi panted out, looking around the space for something to clean himself up with. Grabbing some crumpled paper and roughly wiping his arm and hands, Javi turned back to Steve.

The other man seemed in a daze, watching Javi without really seeing, his soft cock still hanging from his open jeans. Tucking himself away, Javi watched as Steve seemed to slowly come back to reality once Javi’s dick was out of view. In a flash, Steve redressed and ran a shaking hand down his flushed, glistening face.

“I… um… shit.” Steve frowned up at Javi.

Opening his mouth to answer, Javi jumped as voices began to drift in through the still ajar door. The two voices, both speaking Spanish, were still a way off, but the effect on Steve was immediate. Leaping up out of the chair, Steve rushed over to the door and peered out.

“Relax.” Javi tried to soothe him, taking in the scene in the area. Come spattered the floor, alongside gay porn, and the scent of sex hung in the air. “Come on, as soon as they pass we’ll leave. Get somewhere more… well… more private.”

Still staring out the door, Steve just nodded. Then after a few moments waved Javi over for the two of them to leave. Walking briskly across the campus, Javi could see Search Bloc officers jogging in the distance, others were walking and chatting while he and Steve made a beeline for the bunk room and straight to their sparse room. If only they knew of what the two gringos had just done in that outbuilding.

Once safely inside, Javi slumped down onto the thin mattress of his bed, while Steve shakily lit a cigarette before offering the pack to Javi. As they sat smoking in silence, Javi had a sinking feeling that this was never going to be mentioned again by Steve. Once the sun came up, it would be as though he never happened as far as Steve was concerned. He’d go back to trying to fix things with Connie, and Javi would have to return to his hookers. And the worst part was, Javi was almost sure he could live with that.

#javier peña #steve murphy #javier peña x steve murphy #steve murphy x javier peña #stavier #narcos #requested fic

212 notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 1 year ago

Text

Sweet as Cherry Pie

Pairing: Soft Dark!Steve Rogers x Female Reader Summary: Steve comes home with great news, but you're not as happy as you should be. Word Count: Over 1.4k Warnings: Implied smut, noncon/dubcon elements (you have been warned), gaps in memory, gaslighting, coercion, creepy vibes, Steve Rogers (yep, he's a warning and a little mean) A/N: Steve and Cherry's Intro for my Disturbia AU! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You always enjoyed baking. It gave you something to do with your hands and the hobby was both simple and challenging. It required focus for measuring and following directions, but you also had fun with your creations. It seemed to be one of the only ways you could express yourself now, which clouded your feelings when you focused too much on it.

I will not feel sorry for myself. I have a good life. The best life.

Being the wife of Steve Rogers was a dream come true. The man was handsome, loving, a hero. The all American dream wrapped up in the perfect package. He worked hard to provide you both with a lovely home and didn't ask for much in return. Only that you follow his orders and be dutiful.

A good wife obeys her husband.

You idly wiped down the counter as you waited for the oven timer to go off, glancing at one of the photos Steve placed near the window. While he smiled from ear-to-ear, yours was a little more reserved. He loved drawing and taking photos of you, but there weren’t any photos of the two of you before you moved to The Haven. They were somehow lost in the move.

Not that I remember packing any of my stuff, but my old place doesn’t matter, does it?

The sound of Steve’s motorcycle pulling into the garage pulled you from your distracted thoughts. He normally called if he was going to come home early. The sound of the door would indicate if he was back for a good or bad reason. Either way, he’d take his mood out on your body. You had to look presentable.

A good wife lives to please her husband.

You threw your apron off and rushed to your room to put on the cherry scented perfume he liked. He enjoyed it because it was seductive and sensual, sweet and tart, good enough to eat. As if on autopilot, you applied it to the same four spots: behind your ear, at the base of your neck, your wrist, and behind your knee. You retouched your lips next, staring at the tube of lipstick once you finished. It wasn't a color you wore until you moved in with him.

Steve picked it because he knows best.

When you looked at your beautiful reflection in the mirror, the urge to smash it began to surface. A flickering flame grew within you, threatening to spread like wildfire as you dropped the lipstick into the sink. There was nothing wrong with looking pretty for your husband. You just wished the person staring back at you was one you recognized.

I’m Cherry. I’m Mrs. Steve Rogers. I’m happy.

“Sweetheart?” Steve called to you before he gently shut the door. He was in a good mood at least. “Mmm. Something smells delicious.”

You straightened your dress and brushed off any negativity that bubbled under your skin as you went to greet him. Not a single blonde hair of his was out of place as he took in the sight of you. The need to impress him took over your thoughts. “Hi. Cookies are almost done,” you said, pressing your red lips to his cheek. “I didn’t expect you to come home so soon.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see my beautiful wife,” he asked as he slipped off his shoes and guided you toward the kitchen. Any excuse to touch you, he did. “Why? Are you not happy to see me?”

“I’m always happy to see you,” you said as you grabbed an oven mitt. The timer went off a second later and his eyes didn’t leave you as you carefully took the sheet out. “I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Everything’s great,” he said, inspecting the cookies as you set them on the stove. You knew it was a wonderful batch without tasting them. The perfect man, he expected perfection in every extension of him. Which is why you didn’t make mistakes with any of your baking or cooking. "I have the best news.”

"Oh? What is it?" you asked curiously.

"Bucky’s married!" he said, taking you by the waist to twirl you around. “Can you believe it?”

"Married?" you repeated, not as happy as your husband. The news should’ve excited you since Bucky was his best friend, but it confused you. "I didn't know he was seeing anyone."

"No? I swore I told you he had his eye on someone,” he said with a condescending chuckle. “Makes me think you don’t pay attention when I speak to you, but that can’t be it, right?”

You went rigid in his grasp when he smiled. It reminded you of a demon, the shades of red and darkness showing in his eyes and perfect row of teeth. “It must’ve slipped my mind. Silly me,” you tried to giggle.

Like so many other things.

You didn’t relax until he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Because you’re so busy taking care of me, which I appreciate,” he praised you, his smile softer. Kinder. “And it’s better most days when I do the thinking for you.”

You bit your tongue so hard you almost drew blood, wanting to say that you were more than just a pretty face. The words didn’t come though. “You know best, Steve” you said as you plastered a smile on your face, your voice somewhat hollow after his insult. “And I love taking care of you.”

If he noticed your lack of enthusiasm, he didn’t say so. “Back to the good news,” he said, swaying with you even though there was no music. “It was a quick engagement and they didn’t want to wait. I wish I could’ve been at the ceremony, but I had that mission and I don’t blame him one bit for not waiting.”

“I’m sure he would’ve loved for you to be his best man.”

“He would’ve, but I'm happy that he’s happy. When you know, you know,” he said, tapping the tip of your nose. “Like the moment I met you. I knew you were going to be my wife."

Your smile faltered a little. It was difficult some days to remember just how you two came to be Mr. and Mrs. Rogers. You knew you loved him, but the actual process of falling for him? The build up of the relationship? It was like there was a chapter missing.

The past is the past and I have everything I need in the present.

Steve looked at you expectantly as you blinked. You needed to focus. “Just like I knew you’d be my husband.”

He hummed, seemingly pleased with your response. "We're going to meet her soon. Will you do me a favor, please? Make her feel welcome?" He suggested, but it was more like a command. He sometimes liked to phrase things in ways that made it sound as if you had a say in the matter, but his word was law. “Bucky’s my best friend and I want you two to be best friends.”

"Of course. It’ll be nice to have a new friend.”

“And once she’s settled in, I know they’re going to start trying for a family,” he went on, placing his hand on your stomach. “Which means we can try, too. Our kids can grow up together, the way Bucky and I did. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

Steve would be the best father. He deserves a family. So does Bucky.

“So wonderful,” you whispered, afraid you’d cry if you raised your voice. You wish you knew why the thought of having children with the man you loved scared you.

“Maybe we can start practicing,” he said, his voice huskier as he gripped your hips. “A bit of dessert before dinner.”

You didn’t protest as he backed you against the counter. Your body would welcome him home the way it always did. He’d please you as you pleased him.

“And Cherry?”

“Yes, Steve?” you asked as he dipped his head to inhale your perfume.

“Make a cherry pie for me to send to Bucky’s house. I don’t think he plans on leaving anytime soon and he isn’t letting his wife leave the bed. We can’t let them go hungry now, can we?”

“No, we can’t,” you replied, closing your eyes as he pushed your dress up.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered.

Happy husband. Happy wife. Happy life.

All good in the neighborhood, right? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x female!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers #soft!dark steve rogers x reader #disturbia au #steve and cherry #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers au #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x female!reader #chris evans x you #chris evans

498 notes · View notes

ijwrsmff · 1 year ago

Note

One Piece requests are open you say!? I'm going absolutely feral over Mihawk, as always, then I saw him in the live action and foamed at the mouth. If you're okay with it, can I please get domMihawk with his wife nsfw🤌

I. Got. So. Into. This. I am so weak for Mihawk. And I could never think of him as anything but a dom XD I picture him as a pleasure dom, so the story revolves a bit around that. I was a bit out of my comfort zone with this, since I haven't written much smut. So I don't know if it sounds weird, or isn't up to par with what I usually write, so any feedback or constructive criticism is welcome ^~^ feel free to send in your thoughts and opinions in my ask box! I'd love to hear it!

Word Count: 2,732

It was a relatively stressful day, trying to clean up the majority of your mansion you shared with your husband. It was massive, but so many rooms needed a good makeover. Dust and broken wood, just anything really. Some rooms were so bad it took hours to completely clean it. But if it meant making Mihawk smile, you’d do it all over again. All he had to say was redo it and you’d oblige without any hesitation.

When he came home, you were laying in bed just staring at the ceiling and trying to relax. You didn’t even get out of bed when you heard the front door open in the room beneath you. You were nearly falling asleep, and when he came in you just rolled over and smiled. One hand holding your head up as you laid sideways, just taking in his appearance. It never got old, and you were convinced you were married to the most handsome man in the world.

“Dear, I appreciate all the hard work you did to make everything look so…nice.” He walked over to the bed and played with your hair. “I haven’t seen every room, but seeing you so exhausted has me convinced you worked on the whole mansion.” He smiled fondly, and eventually removed his coat and laid down on the other side of the bed.

“It’s no problem, really! You have pirates to hunt, I’m sure you don’t have too much time for much of anything. Especially cleaning all that mess.” You laughed a bit, and rolled over to lay your head on his chest. He was always so warm, it was welcoming every time. His arm wrapped around you as the other rubbed your shoulders, making you sigh. Just feeling his touch was enough for you.

His hand wandered, rubbing up and down your arm to shoulders and back down again. It felt so nice…and as he moved to face you, he had that look on his face. That look that meant trouble…or even something more. Your theory was confirmed when that hand slowly traveled to your neck. Just one finger traced over your sensitive spot on your neck. His mark he left the other day was barely visible anymore.

Mihawk moved closer and lips were mere millimeters away from yours. “You know…I can show you how much I appreciate your efforts.” He waited for you to make the first move, or even signal you weren’t opposed to the idea. He knew you weren’t always in the mood, as everything he did was being considerate.

You leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips, closing the gap between you. Knowing he would take the lead from there, it was no surprise when he rolled his body over yours. He remained close, biting your lower lip as a teasing gesture. You could feel the heat of his chest on your breasts and stomach, as he deepened the kiss.

He pulled back, making you whine, as he whispered “You’ve worked so hard…now allow me to take care of you.” He tilted his head and leaned back into the kiss. All you could do was nod and hum, and before you knew it his hand traced around your neck. He pulled back, but only for a short time as he trailed his tongue down your neck, to where the mark was over the most sensitive spot on your neck.

You let out a small moan as he kissed, sucked, and even bit it. Never hard enough to draw blood, just enough to make the previous mark turn a brighter and more defined color. He did love to mark you, and you loved it just as much. Sometimes, when he was feeling territorial, he left marks all across your body. You had the feeling he was about to do just that.

Once the mark was properly defined, he trailed kisses down until he reached your shirt’s edge. With little effort, he tore through the shirt and discarded it to the side, along with your bra. His lips got closer and closer to your nipple, until he swirled his tongue around it, never touching the stiff peak. It made you whine once more, and you could feel his smirk on your chest.

“Baby…please don’t tease me!” You wanted to feel as good as possible, and him being such a tease wasn’t helping. He tended to do that, but it only helped you reach your climax faster once he finally got you to it. You didn’t really WANT him to stop teasing, but you wouldn’t tell him that. Even if he already knew, being the perceptive man he was. You loved that about him.

“Darling, I plan to take my time. I’ll make you feel better than you ever had before meeting me, and treasure every inch of your body.” His smirk turned into a genuine smile, before returning back to a smirk. “I will take care of you, for as long as we live. My beautiful wife, always so eager to spend time with me…to love me…to let me show you pleasure whenever possible.”

With that, he finally used his tongue to make your nipple become even more stiff, loving the feeling of his mouth on one of your most sensitive parts. You couldn’t stop the moan that came out, and it only got louder when he softly bit at your nipple. When he removed his mouth, you even whined out a small noise, already missing the feeling.

With one hand, he moved lower on your body, until it was cupping that sweet spot between your legs. He moved his hand ever so slowly, but enough to make you feel that burning pleasure you loved so much. His thumb traced over your clit, before removing it to get rid of your pants, leaving your panties on.

You whined, and moaned, craving more. When you reached out your hands to feel him, he used his free hand to pin yours above your head. “Don’t worry about me, your pleasure is far more important.” Was all he said, grabbing the rope from the drawer next to the bed. It was softer than most ropes, as he didn’t want to risk a rope burn on your arms and wrists.

He skillfully used his hands to attach the rope to the headboard, before lowering himself so you could feel his hot breath on your thighs. “Be good for me…make as much noise as you can, and tell me how good you feel. I want you to tell me how much you love it. How much you love me.” He nibbled at your thighs, leaving a few marks with his mouth and teeth alone.

He took both his hands, and spread your legs as much as he could without causing you discomfort. Sliding your panties to the side, he slid his tongue along your lips, never touching your clit or where you wanted him most. “Aren’t you my good girl? My lovely wife, and the one I love more than anything else. Each time I touch you, you must say thank you, understand?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t good enough for him. “I need to hear you say it. Use your words, darling.” Everything about the situation made you blush more and more, it was always extremely difficult not to blush. He was good at what he did, and you loved nothing more than to let him take complete control. He refused to use his tongue anymore on you until you agreed.

“Yes sir…” It sounded pathetic, but that was good enough for him. When he slowly eased his tongue into you, all you could do was let out a moan as you yelled “THANK YOU SIR!” It felt so good, and your voice dissolved into a series of moans, as you repeated the words as much as you could.

He used one of his hands to rub your clit, which only made you moan louder. You were lucky no one else was in the mansion right now, it would be too embarrassing to let someone hear you like this. Not that Mihawk cared, if anything he loved knowing people could hear at any moment, and show them that you were his and his alone.

He rubbed circles on your clit, and slid his tongue in and out of you for several minutes, until he removed both his tongue and finger. Your voice was pathetically needy, and you made sure to vocalize your wants. Even if you could barely get words out, when you went from pleasure to nothing. You tried to close your thighs and rub them together, but his grip was too strong to allow that to happen.

“Don’t worry, love. I’ll make you feel even better.” He then did the opposite of what he was doing before, and used his mouth to suck on your clit. He pulled back momentarily to ask, “How many fingers would you like? You have to speak up, I can’t hear you enough.” He used one finger to trace up and down your slit, never entering.

“I…I want three, sir. But not all at once!” You knew your limits, and he needed to slowly ease you into it. His hands were large, so both of you knew three right off the bat was too much for your body. Even if he was already aware, you knew he wanted to hear you say it. He always made sure you vocalized anything and everything you wanted.

“As you wish, darling.” He placed his mouth back over your clit, toying with it with his tongue before sucking on it. He then slowly eased a single finger inside of you. The actions made your moans get much louder, and you could feel him smile against you. “Good…you're such a good girl for me. Keep going, I know you can be louder.” He began thrusting his finger inside of you slowly, before speeding up just a bit.

As he commanded, you moaned so loud that you knew your throat would be sore later. It wasn’t difficult to put everything you had in your moans, since he was making you feel so good. Even without all three fingers, you felt yourself getting just a little bit closer to ecstasy. When he inserted the second finger it only got harder to keep that edge away.

When he inserted the third, you practically screamed. As he spoke lowly around you, you could barely contain it. “So good for me…doing exactly what I want you to. Aren’t you being such a good girl for your sir.” His thrusting fingers sped up, and you were so close already.

“S-Sir please let me cum! I want to so badly, please I need to!” All you could do was beg. “You make me feel so good, I want to reach there! I love you, only you! Always going to be you, I want to feel this good every day, please!” You could feel yourself quivering around his fingers, as you screamed louder in wanting to reach your climax.

“Hm…Have you earned it? I want to hear you say why you deserve it.” He continued his motions, making you scream and shake trying to hold it in. “I want you to feel good, baby. But I need to know you’ve been good today.” He already KNEW why you deserved it, but the jerk you loved was making you say it. As he always did.

“Please sir! I worked so hard today, I cleaned every room, I ate three meals, I’ve drank so much water, I didn’t even touch myself without your permission! I need to cum so bad, please sir I can’t hold it in much longer!” If he continued with this, you really wouldn’t be able to prevent it from happening. You would try your best, but feeling his fingers inside you and his warm mouth around your clit, it would get more and more difficult to hold it back. But you knew better than to cum before he said you could.

“You were so good today. Cum. Cum on my fingers, you can do it love.” He moved his fingers even faster, and used his other hand to rub your clit so he could talk to you through it. “I’m so proud of you, my good, good girl. You’ve earned this and more, show me how good I make you feel. How much you love me, and everything I can do for you.” His pace was relentless, and as the greatest swordsman in the world, he was capable of going harder and faster than most people in the world.

“THANK YOU SIR!” You cried out as you did as he demanded. You came hard, and could feel your fluids coating his fingers. You screamed, and thanked him repeatedly. Declaring how much you loved him, and saying how much you loved everything he did to and for you. Your words became a jumbled mess, and you felt yourself go limp as you spasmed and twitched from the pleasure.

Mihawk smiled, and slowly removed his fingers. While he made eye contact with you, he put those fingers in his mouth and tasted everything you could give him. It made you blush, just seeing the lewd expression he made while he licked and sucked at his fingers until there was nothing left. He moaned at the taste, never removing his eyes from yours.

When he was done, he untied you from the bed, and laid down on his back next to you. You were completely spent, and he lifted you to lay directly on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, and how it raced. “I didn’t get to make you feel good…” Was all you said as you closed your eyes, coming down from your high. His response was as expected.

“My pleasure matters far less than yours. Just knowing how good I make you feel is enough for me.” He rubbed your back, and muttered, “You were so good for me today…you make me so proud. I fall even further in love each time I see you.” Aftercare was always important, and for you, being in his arms for a while was always refreshing.

“Thank you sir…I love you so much.” You could feel yourself getting closer to falling asleep, worn out from how good you felt. He was always so kind and gentle with you…when you wanted him to be. He could be rough when you felt up to it, but he was more of a “pleasure dom” than anything else. Being his sub was all you wanted, and knowing he cared so much made everything worthwhile.

As you fell asleep, he muttered, “Don’t worry, love. Rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He wasn’t really tired, but he was one to keep his promises. You knew he would be there. He never left you when you were coming down, knowing it was far more comforting when you were in his arms.

He always took great care of you…and you knew in your brain and heart that he would continue to do so. Mihawk was there for you, your loving husband. Knowing he loved you made the world of difference, and you would continue to love him for the rest of your days. Just as he would to you. There wasn’t a man in the world you would rather be with than him. He would love you, treasure you, be there for you, listen to you, whenever you needed or wanted. That was all you really needed. To know he would never leave you, and travel the world just to come home to you.

You loved him with all your heart, and would risk everything just to be with him and make sure he was safe. Your husband…the words were familiar, but made you smile every time. So as you fell asleep, you smiled, just knowing he would be there when you awake. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind he would love you as much as he could. His soft spot, his soft side that only you saw. He was perfect in every way.

You would love him in life, and as your vows said, even loving each other in the world beyond. Whatever awaited you in the future, you knew it would be a future with him.

#mihawk x reader #mihawk smut #mihawk x fem! reader #dracule mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader #op mihawk x reader #sweet smut #praise #pleasure dom #opla x reader #one piece x reader #one piece mihawk x reader

377 notes · View notes

fayes-fics · 1 year ago

Text

Enthralled

Pairings: Vampire!Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader x Thomas Dorset

Summary: You and your new husband invite a handsome stranger to your rooms, but all is not as it seems...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, dom/sub undertones, bisexual male characters, slash content, oral sex (f to m, m to m, m to f) blow jobs, deepthroat w smidge of breathplay, facesitting, edging/orgasm control, vaginal sex, anal sex, simultaneous penetration, multiple orgasms, biting, bloodplay, blood-drinking.

Word Count: 9k

Authors Note: The reader remix of this story. A gothic-ish Halloween threesome with Vampire!Benedict. This is my first foray into writing slash content. If you are looking for a plot or backstory, this will likely disappoint; it's just an excuse for vaguely spooky, unrelenting smut - I cannot celebrate a holiday any other way lol. I wanted to choose a minor show character as the husband, and Dr Dorset screams secretly adventurous to me. Please heed the warnings above; this is pretty full-on. If you proceed, I hope you enjoy! <3

Credits: Thanks to @colettebronte for advice and betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for her Vampiric expertise. Artwork includes edits made weeks ago for this story by our dearly departed @bridgertontess. Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Benedict smells it long before he ever sees you.

Fresh blood, sweet young bodies in the flushes of arousal; it makes him hungry in every sense of the word. The almost painful need to feast and fuck. He inhales deep, lewdly, letting the tempting scents fill his being. He pulls on his cloak and goes out to find you.

—

Mrs Dorset.

You practice the name, sitting at the vanity table of your rooms at the inn, feeling cosy in the soft candlelight glow as the autumnal wind howls portentously beyond the window. The quill scratches the paper as you loop the letters, learning the structure of your new name as it flows under your hand.

“What are you doing, my love?” Thomas rounds behind you, returning to your rooms with steaming hot tea as promised.

“I am practising my new name,” you reply proudly, twisting to look up at your husband of merely two days as he places aside the tea tray, squeezing your shoulders lightly.

“Oh, I see, that is… well, that is wonderful,” his cadence wavering. It seems as if he is embarrassed at how something as simple as your desire to write his name could make him burn physically, the glistening, dark, looped strokes causing a primal wash of possession. His fingers flex instinctually, mapping your collarbone, your flesh irresistible under his fingertips. You squeak as he rocks his body into your back, something insistent pressing into your spine.

“Husband,” you drawl, meeting his eye in the vanity mirror. “Are you aroused?” Your question isn't judgemental, but pure curiosity and desire, leaning back into him.

“Yes, darling wife. You have my name. It is…. Appealing,” he answers honestly, a touch winded, his fingers trailing lower over your warm skin onto the swell of your breast.

Your eyes flash in the reflection, and then suddenly, you spin around on the stool and bury your face into his trousers, nuzzling his hardness. His growl is deep and wracked. So utterly undone by how forthright you can be with your intentions.

You look up at him, fluttering your eyelids as you pluck open his trousers determinedly, push down his underwear, and wrap your hands around the back of his thighs to draw him even closer. Immediately you encase his tasty warm cock in your mouth, so very keen for him.

He groans to the ceiling as if disbelieving in his luck.

—

Benedict finds himself outside the quaint country inn barely a quarter mile from his country home. No wonder he could smell it so strong.

As he stares up at a mullioned window, russet leaves swirling around his feet on this cold, crisp night, he sees the glowing candlelight signifying the room’s occupation. Indeed, it is the only one lit as such on the first floor. He surmises the couple are likely newlyweds, perhaps passing through the area on their honeymoon—the first ones who have done so since he was turned a few months back.

While he has trained himself on the scent of the people in the proximal area and taught himself they are not food, he is powerless to resist this. Them. From scent alone, they are in their twenties, and right now, they are engaging in something carnal. He can smell ripe juices swirling in the air along with the thronging of their hearts, blood coursing. It makes his cock strain painfully against the wool of his britches.

He never used to be like this—a creature of such base instinct. Yes, when human, he had his fair share of lovers of all persuasions, but it had been an occasional bacchanalian indulgence. Now. Now, he can barely contain himself. His tongue licks around the point of his fang, tasting the air, knowing without a doubt they will be under his thrall within moments of meeting and lost in a temporary reverie of how he will enjoy them.

—

“Y/n….” it’s throaty, raw, wrecked, a hand buried in your locks.

His taste is strong in your mouth as Thomas flops back upon the bed, utterly sated after he finds completion. You had pushed him backwards from the vanity table onto the edge of the bed and sunk to your knees before him, eagerly taking him into your mouth, motions wanton, brazen, your skill and enthusiasm blossoming under his few days of tutelage. Learning his body and needs; learning to use your tongue in ways that make him breathless and unerringly grateful.

You delicately wipe your chin of his seed with a handkerchief and rise to your feet as gracefully as you can as he lays there panting, staring at the velvet drapes over the four-poster bed, his mind blanked out from pleasure.

“Husband,” you coo in a light tease, “I do believe it is now time we took dinner; 'tis nearing 7pm.”

Thomas pouts, looking as if he wants to feast only upon you, not mere food. The grumble in his stomach, though, gives away his status, and your giggle makes him sit up reluctantly, tucking himself back into his trousers and righting his clothes.

“I suppose sustenance is required,” he smiles indulgently, standing up and wrapping you in his arms. “If only to provide energy for our later activities,” he adds teasingly into your ear; a light shiver runs through your being as he says it.

“Then let us eat, Dr Dorset,” you murmur into his jaw, running a hand down his waistcoat. Feeling light as air, you gigglingly tumble down the hallway and staircase to the public house below, wrapped up in each other’s arms, barely noticing the tall, cloaked figure as it slips in through the main door.

—

Benedict nods to Jenkins, the publican and innkeeper behind the bar; locals always having an open invitation to drink and dine any night of the week. Tonight, the public house is deserted save for a regular - drunkard Willie, propping up the corner of the bar as ever - and the newlywed couple now ensconced in an alcove by the roaring fireplace.

He sets eyes upon you both properly, and his insides almost feel warm. You are both beautiful in ways that make him ache. The man is tall, fair of face and built handsomely. You are just his type of woman physically with a spirited mien that looks like you would be the very best kind of challenge to tame. He longs to strip you both naked and run his tongue down your healthy contours, revel in your bodies, coursing with life.

Taking the brandy awaiting him on the bar, he glides towards you, flicking up his velvet collar as he does so, knowing of his powers and how to wield them to his advantage when needs must.

“Welcome to Wiltshire,” his opening gambit, smooth and dusky, raising his glass.

Both you and Thomas look up, startled at a handsome stranger’s interruption to your intimate conversation. Still, Benedict doesn't miss for a second how both of your eyes dilate rapidly.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Thomas Dorset stumbles, raising his glass without thought in a silent responding toast.

“Please call me Benedict. May I join you?” his ask is unfaulteringly polite, but with a lopsided grin, he has long learned is his ticket to everything he may want in this world.

Dorset immediately gestures for him to do so, despite himself, and Benedict slides smoothly onto the bench seat across from them with a dramatic swish of his ample velvet cloak.

“And you are?” he smiles at you both expectantly.

“Oh, where are my manners!?” Thomas decries as if snapping back to reality. “I am Dr Thomas Dorset, and this,” his arm wraps tighter around your shoulders, “is my wonderful new wife, Mrs y/n Dorset.”

You smile at Benedict; he can sense your apprehension at this stranger joining them but also hears your heart fluttering just a fraction harder as he meets your gaze. Can smell the uptick in your bodily response, a new tang to your natural scent that speaks of piqued interest. He knows with just a few well-deployed lingering looks and chosen words, he could throw you over the table right here in front of your husband and fuck you so well you would beg him for more. Again, he is grateful for the cloak he wears, hiding the bulge in his clothing that has barely slaked since your arrival to the area.

“It is so wonderful to meet you both,” he drawls, running a finger over his bottom lip to draw attention to his mouth. If you stare long enough, the thrall will be so easy. “What brings you to our fine village?”

“We are passing through on our way to Cornwall for our honeymoon,” Dorset confirms what Benedict already suspected.

“This is rather off the beaten path to such a place,” Benedict states dryly with a wink, knowing he is reeling you in with every word he utters.

“Indeed,” Thomas concedes, “my new wife insisted we come via this route to allow us to call upon her sister during our journey.”

Benedict smiles, subtly scenting your bodies as you and Thomas lean in without realising, falling under his spell.

“Well then, I insist I purchase your dinner and drinks this evening,” he declares, watching bemused as you both attempt to remonstrate. “I will not accept no for an answer,” he appends, victory glowing as you acquiesce, not realising this will be the first of many permissions you will grant him tonight, all being well.

—

You chew upon the venison slowly, one eye on your additional party, still unsure why he has chosen to join you and, indeed, pay for your meal when he apparently is not eating himself. Engaging you in conversation that seems peculiarly beguiling and dangerous all at once.

He is undoubtedly attractive. Hazy blue eyes under a mass of chestnut hair, a pale-skinned face with exquisite sharp lines. Feeling guilty to admit it silently, you find him just as attractive as your husband, maybe more so—something so hypnotic in how he holds himself, moves, and speaks. Finding yourself drawn to him, a stirring in your underwear that you swear he can sense. Every time a little frisson runs through your body, his head unerringly swings towards you, a slight curl in his luscious lip, like he is smelling your arousal and thinks it the tastiest treat in the world.

You could swear he is trying to steal you from your husband - and to your horror, you realise you would absolutely let him - except… his attention is just as rapt upon Thomas. Benedict’s gaze is just as covetous when he speaks. His tongue flicks the corner of his mouth as your husband casually leans back and crosses his legs—as if Benedict is scenting his body, too. It's confusing but intoxicating, as if your wine is laced with a far more potent substance.

—

Benedict knows he has won you both over before you put down your dessert spoons, now hanging on his every word.

“Let us repair to somewhere more intimate for a nightcap,” he suggests, and your joint responding consent is instant. “How about your rooms here at the Inn?”

Were you in your sound, sober minds, it seems unlikely you would invite a stranger to your rooms, but as it is, you enthusiastically do. Benedict snags the remainder of the brandy bottle from the bar as he settles the bill.

“Friends of yours?” Jenkins frowns, vaguely intrigued.

“Everyone is a friend yet to be made, Jenkins,” Benedict answers, intentionally vague.

Jenkins rolls his eyes. “Bloody poets…” he is heard to mutter under his breath, but Benedict lets it pass. If the man invoked the name Byron, perhaps he wouldn't have. Might have stolen a chicken or two from the coup outside to exsanguinate in revenge.

Benedict trails behind you, both pleasantly inebriated now, holding the wood panelling as you negotiate the narrow corridors of the inn to your rooms, inhibitions lowered. He knows you are just in that sweet spot where you will be so open to suggestions but not so out of your minds to be a pointless fuck, unable to respond. There is nothing less appealing to him than a lifeless, limp, unconscious being. Yes, easy to feed upon, perhaps, but no challenge. The only thrill he gets these days is that of the chase. Of the crackling potential of any moment, human hearts beating wildly in his presence, blood pumping hard—that is what brings him exhilaration.

—

Dorset fumbles the heavy iron key in the lock, leaning into you as you giggle along with him. The attractive, imposing man stood patiently behind you, seemingly sober, which is impressive given he drank more than you both. Still unsure what is possessing him to allow this, Thomas nevertheless feels compelled to do this man’s bidding, to allow this whatever he wishes.

It may be a secret he has kept from you, but Dorset is not immune to the charms of a handsome man. In his youthful days at Cambridge, he had many a clandestine encounter with his fellow students. Late drunken nights of experimentation. He knows the power of a man’s touch, enjoying the taboo feeling of being taken roughly, clawing the mattress as he is mounted without mercy. A man's body may differ greatly from a woman’s, but it is no less of an attractive wonderland.

Little does he know just how soon you will learn of that predilection.

—

You twirl around the room as the men take a seat and pour more liquor, feeling ebullient, basking in the heat of the fire on this cold autumn night, dizzy and fizzling with energy. You feel the gaze of both men, knowing both track your moments from the wingtip chairs they inhabit. Your insides feel ripe and pulpy, compelling you to be daring, a peculiar impulse to strip and dance naked in front of them.

There must have been something in my drink. Surely?

Your husband interrupts just as you think to act.

“Darling, come sit with us,” Thomas appeals, patting his knee enticingly.

He would never typically invite you to sit upon him in the company of a stranger, but everything about tonight feels different, so you allow yourself to be swept into it. To see what may arise with the handsome, mysterious visitor.

You float over and sigh as you fall into Thomas’ lap, the heat of his leg seeping through your dress, warming your bottom. He pulls you snugly into his lap, bumping a stirring hardness and without a doubt, you know this evening will go somewhere you never expected…. And yet, you can't wait for it to do so.

“Isn't my wife beautiful?” Dorset slurs, his breath hot on your ear, turning you both to face Benedict in the chair next to you as if he is seeking his approval for his choice of spouse.

“Indeed she is,” Benedict responds, dark and silky, a shiver tracing down your spine as he voices it. “As are you handsome, good sir,” he adds, and you know they are very much out of your depth as you feel the same shudder pass through your husband's being beneath you.

Oh, good lord, who is this man?

—

Benedict sees you reacting to his voice, sees the ripple in your beings, hears it in your breathing, and knows he has you fully enthralled. You are his to do precisely as he wants now. Tumbling images flash through his mind as to how he can have both of your bodies—sweat and skin, blood and bone, moving together in a carnal symphony.

His instinct is to take you and then your husband. He can see the willingness there, but he’ll need more enticing to allow that dormant flame to be relit. Perhaps watching you, his new wife, give yourself so readily will be just the nudge he needs to submit, also.

So when Thomas turns to Benedict, offering you on the plate that is his lap, he decides this is the moment to strike. Downing the rest of his glass, he stands and tugs at the string of his velvet cape, which falls to the floor with a heavy whump… to reveal his fitted cropped jacket and tight britches, tailored in black fabric like a second skin, giving away everything about what he has to offer.

He hears your sharp inhales at the unmistakable tented outline.

“Desire is such a funny thing, is it not?” he rumbles, moving closer, and your legs fall apart on instinct, the air suddenly filled with a potent scent of your arousal that makes his tongue itch to taste.

“In what way?” Thomas hitches, his hands grabbing your waist reflexively as Benedict can hear his heartbeat in his breathy cadence.

“You both want me, and yet you offer your wife to me first,” Benedict assesses cooly, raising an eyebrow as he takes a step closer, watching you squirm as your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

“I did nothing of the sor…” Thomas’s response dies on the spot as one long, slender finger lands on his lips, hushing him, a sharp fingernail resting under his nose.

“We both know you did,” Benedict argues laconically, “And lucky for you…” Benedict almost chuckles as you gasp when his other hand cups your jaw. “…She wants me too. Right now, her thighs are soaked with delicious slickness; I can smell it,” he states casually, holding you both.

“Is that true?” Thomas inquires, side-eying you but not moving under Benedict's finger.

“Yes,” you exhale shakily, unable to peel your gaze from Benedict's face now he has tilted your jaw up to him. “I want him, husband,” you confess raggedly, not knowing why you are voicing it. “And I want you to watch, to participate.”

Benedict chuckles again. “Of course, you do, little one. You love him, even if you are tempted by the fruit of another.” He traces a knuckle down over your chin, your throat, where your pulse is beating wildly, pausing on your clavicle. You know your eyes are wide and beseeching, begging for more.

Benedict swings his gaze to Thomas, then leans in. “If you truly love your wife, you will kiss me right now,” he taunts, his lips hovering so close, “give her a good show; I need her trembling before I take her.”

Come on, sweet prince, dance with me.

—

Thomas can barely comprehend what is transpiring. But he doesn't want to fight it. The man’s finger is cool on his lip as he poses the question. You are writhing deliciously in his lap, making his cock swell painfully against the cleft of your bottom. The next decision is inevitable, fated.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He gently purses his lips and gives permission by bussing a featherlight kiss onto Benedict’s finger. The predatory smile that unfurls across the man’s face doesn't seem human, more akin to creature than man.

Then his jaw is tilted back, and his world swims as the man closes the few inches between their faces and kisses him. It's biting, hungry, desperate. A skilled tongue rolls over his, and Thomas feels a groan bubble up from deep inside. Possessed, overwhelmed, taken. Benedict tastes like sin but something odd like decay, too, at the edges of the fragrant brandy—some tart undercurrent that is wholly otherworldly and unnerving.

Thomas feels as much as he hears your moan. Feels the weight of your gaze glued to their faces, no doubt seeing a peak of their tongues entwining. Feels the weight of your body in his lap, moving rhythmically, grinding insistently, tilting your hips forward brazenly to drag your clit over the creases in his trousers. Your shameless want and desire are potent and arousing. Even as Benedict’s kiss steals his breath, a faint voice in his head gnaws about your actions being as inexplicable as his, but it's mostly drowned out by the roar of blood pumping hard in his system, seeming so loud around this man, as if he is in tune with it somehow.

As Benedict pulls back, Thomas's vision swims, awash with sensation. He watches, dazed, as the pale man turns and captures your mouth just as covetously.

—

You have only known the passionate kiss of one man—your husband. Yet a mere three days after your first mind-blowing experience of that, you have another first. Your first kiss with another, a whole other creature, not that you can likely comprehend. Unaware of the dance with death.

When Benedict turns and seizes your lips, you peep in surprise. But he swallows the noise, opening your mouth with his tongue, the kiss instantly intense. It's more of a take than the pliant dance you usually share with Thomas. A plundering that floods your senses and steals every breath from your lungs leaving you feeling shaky, unmoored, and taken somewhere dark that is metallic and brimstone. His kiss seems at once ephemeral and infinite. No wonder your husband looked dazed. As Benedict withdraws, the smile on his face is rapacious.

He suddenly pulls both of you to your feet, like ragdolls for him to puppet. Wrapping you up in a joint embrace, he whispers for you both to strip before releasing you just as swiftly, taking a seat on the edge of the imposing bed. As if in a trance, you begin undoing your own clothing.

“Nuh-uh,” Benedict clucks, holding a halting hand that you instantly obey. “Undress each other, my precious ones,” he elucidates, wanting a show.

Your heart thrums as you turn to your husband and he to you. Invisible strings seem to direct your frantic movements as you paw at each other, fabrics tearing in your swift pursuit of skin. You only stop panting wildly and staring when nothing is left, both frowning in confusion at the flurry and intensity of it.

What on earth just happened?

Uncertainty roils oleaginous in your stomach as if, on a gut level, your body is trying to send a warning signal. Still, at the same time, it feels detached and far away, as if your mind is in another realm, a place of edgy desire and boundless pleasure.

—

“Well, that was quite the brief show,” Benedict pipes up, bemused. “Not that I am complaining,” he adds, smirking, his eyes raking you both greedily as he runs a casual finger down his cheek.

Your bodies are ideal, as he suspected. The man is tall and lithe, not unlike himself, his skin pale and smooth, his cock, aroused and leaking, springing from a small thatch of hair that tapers to a narrow point under his belly button. So far, so similar. His cock is nice, sizeable but not intimidating, and weirdly he feels pleased for the woman. It is not as good as his cock; he's a Bridgerton, for Pete's sake, but entirely up for the task of bringing satisfaction to anyone who interacts with it. You are his ideal shape, your contours reminding him of a violin. And such an apt metaphor, your strings so ripe to be plucked, to be properly played, perhaps for the first time.

But mostly, what he tastes thick in the air of the heated room is your fluids. The rush of fresh blood pumping vigorously from your hearts, pulses elevated by the thrall. Sticky, sweet, and life-giving for him and you both. He is so glad he feasted on local farmstock before picking up your scent; otherwise, you would both be dead right now at his feet, lifeless and pale, every drop coursing through his mouth and swirling in his stomach like the indulgent meal your very hearty lifeforce represents. His hunger is slaked just enough that lust is his primary driver, at least for now.

He opens his mouth, engaging all the olfactory senses like a feline. Since he passed, his ability to pick up scents has been both a blessing and a curse, but right now, the best possible outcome from the dreaded experience.

Thomas’ precum is deliciously sharp, perhaps a shade too much. Benedict makes a mental note to offer him the luxury of some pineapple should this entanglement last longer than tonight, with them both still upon this mortal plain. You would undoubtedly be grateful for the improvement in his flavour, too.

As for you… his mouth froths. Your scent is sin itself to him, honeyed but also sharp like an undeveloped apple still clinging to the tree. A swirl of flavour in the air so plush, it takes all his willpower not to throw you to the ground and drink from between your legs. Knowing it would only take a blip, a momentary loss of careful control, to sink in his fangs, mixing your juices with your blood, what an absolute symphony of flavour that would be.

He realises he is staring at you both, panting lasciviously, lost in the jumble of scent and potential. You awaiting his next order, not even realising yourselves in suspended animation.

“Dorset, lie in the middle of the bed,” Benedict orders gruffly, drawing himself to his feet and standing aside.

Thomas does as bidden, his cock bobbing as he climbs onto the raised mattress and settles as instructed, looking at Benedict bright-eyed, awaiting any subsequent command.

“Watch me,” Benedict tutors you, then he crawls over your husband and, without preamble, takes the man's cock deep into his mouth as Thomas howls like he did for you earlier tonight.

—

Thomas almost hits the ceiling as his cock is suddenly surrounded by strong suction, vacuumed into Benedict's mouth. In fact, Benedict keeps sinking, and Thomas pants in shock as his tip slides into the man’s throat, something he has not had in many a year. The tightness, the pure depth of sensation. It seems strange the man does not need to take a breath or even fight as if there is air in his lungs, but dammit all to hell if this isn't already the most exquisite blow job of his entire life. Benedict apparently has no gag reflex; holding him deep, a mind-bogglingly long tongue unfurls to curl around his balls and lick covetously, a wet muscular stroke over his most sensitive skin that has his fingers curling into the sheets. He cannot school the booming, guttural groan. If he had not come merely an hour ago, thanks to his dearest you, he would likely be embarrassingly close to orgasm already; this man’s skill stupendous, another edge that doesn't seem human.

Thomas looks over frantically to you, his eyes bulging in shock, and he groans again at the sight of you. Your mouth hung open, lips rosy and damp, you have your fingers buried between your legs now, and there is a faint, lewd, wet sound as you invade your cunt with your fingers, just as he taught you on your wedding night. The sight before you is too beautiful and arousing to resist; you know your nipples are puckered, and Thomas’s tongue longs to run over them.

He wants to fuck and be fucked, sandwiched between you, his ravishing vixen of a wife, and this devil of a man, sucking his very life essence via his cock, intent on draining him dry. Just as Thomas feels a flush all over his body and a tightening in his sac, Benedict pulls up and away, smirking victoriously as he twists towards you, ignoring Thomas’ huffed, wretched pleas.

No! No, please, please do not leave me in this state!

—

You self-consciously whip your hands away from between your legs, and your eyes cut to Benedict as he addresses you.

“That is how you ensure your husband here never leaves you, little one,” he coos, running a thumb provocatively around his drooped lower lip, licking his thumbpad of every flavour. “Now it's your turn; show me what you can do.”

Benedict reaches out a draped hand. You take it, his touch light, helping you hop onto the bed to join them. He snatches your other hand and brings the fingers you had buried in your cunt up to his nose, sniffing lewdly.

Oh my god, this man is feral.

“I'm glad you enjoyed the show so much,” he smirks, running his nose up and down each digit. “Now I am going to taste you, darling girl,” it's low, akin to a threat. “You will sit on my face as you take his cock in your mouth, but do not let him come. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, scarcely believing what he says. Benedict scowls slightly as he drops your hand.

“Don't call me sir, call me Count,” he snaps.

“Yes, Count,” you amend dutifully, and his smile, yet again, is devilish.

“Good, now ensure your husband is mindless with need while I provide you the same favour,” he purrs and slides under you with balletic grace.

Butterflies roar in your stomach as you feel the sharpness of Benedict's cheekbone press the skin of your inner thighs, draping yourself forward into your husband’s lap and tentatively licking a strip up his weeping cock as he mumbles your name weakly and moans.

Then you scream as a muscular tongue parts your folds with a force Thomas has never subjected you to. Whip-like, lashing your swollen clit with determined spirals before plunging lower and pushing far into your cunt, further than your husband's tongue has ever dared. Your groan is smothered as you take Thomas’ tip into your mouth, needing the distraction. Benedict’s hands grasp your hips and pull you down forcefully onto his face, his nose jammed against your pubic bone. Thomas has never been this engaged, devouring, a violent delight. You garble a curse around the cock, hurtling towards ecstasy as Thomas’ whole body tenses under you.

“Don't let him come,” Benedict reminds, words gusting hot over your slit, sensing what the man’s body signifies better than you do.

You pull off and breathe raggedly, staring up at your husband’s wrecked pleading face, where he leans on the headboard.

What is this? You mouth at him, nearly scared of how good it feels to ride Benedict's face so brazenly.

—

“Do not stop; use him, darling,” Thomas practically snarls through gritted teeth.

He is utterly enthralled by seeing another man taking you somewhere wild and untamed. The look of equal parts shock, fear and bewildered pleasure on your face is a picture he wants to remember forever.

He groans as you follow his advice, wrapping a hand loosely around his cock, a tease that makes his brain itch, as you concentrate on riding Benedict's invasive tongue, biting your lip, moaning vocally.

Yes, this is the best kind of sin.

Thomas mutters words, barely cognisant of what but compelled to urge you on. To take from this mysterious man so willing to give to you both, so far asking nothing in return, still fully clothed himself.

The jagged edge of his denied orgasm licks insistently at his mind, begging for release but paradoxically wallowing in the jangling ache of being so close but denied. Making him unable to think straight. As a doctor, he usually prides himself on keeping a cool head when all around may lose theirs, but tonight…. Tonight feels so peculiar. Out of the ordinary, out of control, out of his mind. And somehow craving carnality like a bestial creature, clawing at the bed, watching you be debauched by the same man who made him equally mindless.

—

Benedict cannot get enough. This wondrous pair. The husband was so responsive to his throat, and now you are bewitched just the same. Writhing your nub shamelessly over the tip of his nose, your juices trickling copiously down his nostrils to coat his throat as he plunges and twists his tongue inside you.

He wants you both so close to ecstasy, so close you can almost taste it, but not let you just yet. The thrill of how utterly base a human can be when dangling over the edge of lust fascinated him before… but now? Now, it’s his primary driver—to make a beast out of man, woman, any human, for them to feel one ounce of what he can. That heightened state when you crave something—so frenzied every base instinct emerges, shows your true nature: growling, greedy, hungry.

So when he feels the telltale ripplings in your cunt, he rapidly withdraws, and as predicted, you cry out, the sound ringing up the walls. He smirks, grazing your inner thigh with his fangs, the urge to sink into your soft skin and drink your other crimson nectar thronging in him.

Not yet, not yet.

The calm voice centres him, even as you keep moving, attempts to frottage yourself vigorously over his face, whimpering, desperate to push over the edge you are circling.

“Shh shh, sweet one,” he soothes, pulling out from under you as you pant wildly.

His hand rests on your lumbar spine to quell you. You slow, whimpering, collapsing forward, burying your face in your husband's lap, his cock leaking on your cheek, your hips swaying in the air. Both of you are shaking, sweaty and overwhelmed.

That’s it; we are getting there now, my darlings.

—

This doesn't feel right.

That voice is whispering again, but Thomas brushes it aside, ravenous, rooted in his body. Yearning to know what is next, a willing marionette in this sinful theatrical.

His mouth goes dry as he watches Benedict slide off the end of the bed and tug at his clothing, buttons popping open until lithe alabaster skin glows in the soft, flickering firelight. Shadows play over lean, muscled torso. He is beautiful: lean, virtually hairless, carved like a marble statue, just as pale and smooth. In fact, his beauty seems too ethereal, like his skin is no longer capable of tanning in sunlight. Still, Thomas longs to touch him, run his tongue over the sharp lines, and kiss every stunning contour.

“Y/n…” Thomas softly shakes your shoulder as you are still whimpering facedown in his lap. When you weakly raise your head, he nods for you to turn over and see the show you have been missing, Benedict now reaching for the buttons on his britches.

Lethargically, you flip over, your head cradled in Thomas’ lap as your eyes fall upon the man, and you inhale sharply. Benedict seemingly stares you both down as he lowers his britches, a smirk on his face entirely immodest. And when the material relents, you understand why.

Thomas’ cock pulses against your neck at the sight. He knows you have seen precisely one cock in your life, his, and this may come as a shock. It's larger and prettier, objectively than his own. You nuzzle him, biting your lip as you twist to look back up at him, eyes wide with concern.

“You can take it, darling,” he reassures, intuiting your apprehension as his knuckles brush calmingly over your cheek.

”As will you,” Benedict adds darkly, addressing Thomas. You watch your husband visibly gulp. Then you do the same, tongue feeling too large in your mouth, as Benedict mounts the bed and crawls predatory over your body, a sinful, crooked smile that is at once gorgeous and scary, that cock bobbing ominously as he draws nearer.

—

You feel butterflies under your ribs, unable to look away from his cock, suddenly nervous about the idea he might fuck you. Thomas is a perfect fit; it never hurts and feels designed to bring you gratification, but that?

It might be too much.

“Don't pretend you don't want me, little one,” Benedict boasts, edged with a darkness that is almost chilling.

“I-I do,” you stutter, unable not to speak the truth, your legs falling wider open reflexively.

“I know, I could smell you from 500 yards away; it drew me in like a clarion call,” he sighs wistfully, and it doesn't sound like he is exaggerating.

Benedict roughly grabs both of your legs and pushes them up and apart, making you gasp. Leaning over, he draws Thomas into a sinful kiss above you, making you mewl slightly at the sight, a burn in your tendons from the position, head now pulled out of Thomas’s lap onto the mattress.

“Hold her ankles,” Benedict orders over Thomas’s lips, gesturing to take over the hold. “Keep her wide and open for me, my prince,” he purrs as he leans away to slide a pillow under your shoulders, your head tilted backwards.

“Why like this?” you ask falteringly, feeling odd staring at Thomas's thigh upside down.

“So your husband can easily use your mouth as I fuck you, little one,” he explains calmly, hands now raking your flesh as he pulls you into position.

Nerves flare brightly in your belly, Thomas’s grip around your ankles harsh as he holds you so wide open. Then, there is intense pressure around your weeping hole. You whimper, your body quivering at Benedict’s attempted entry. He reaches up and touches your temple with two fingers, and the strangest thing happens; a preternatural calm soothes your mind, breath slowing, body pliant, racing now with nothing but want.

“Good girl,” Benedict tutors as he slips inside your body, the invasion blunt, the stretch as thrilling as it is raw.

He keeps pushing, the heat and size so much you can think of nothing else, even as Thomas shuffles closer, his cock nudging your chin, also demanding entry.

For someone innocent merely days ago, you willingly, excitedly, let both men slide into you at either end, your husband stealing your breath as he invades your mouth deeply, Benedict pushing you so wide you can feel him moving below your belly button as he bottoms out.

You feel them lean in towards each other above, Thomas sliding deeper as the sound of them kissing fills the air. You ache to see them, their mouths hot and entwined, but all you can do is close your eyes, swamped in sensation, so much hypnotic heat and scent. Fingers, you don't even know whose, pinch your nipples as both whisper your praises as they start to move in tandem, rocking into and out of your body in the same rhythm. They start slow, allowing you to draw breaths around Thomas' tip before he slides deep.

The drag of Benedict’s cock makes you moan; you can feel every contour and vein, your channel clinging tight to him, a noise of slickened suction as your body struggles to accommodate him.

But they begin to move faster, and you have to breathe through your nose, the insistent press of Thomas’ balls giving you limited air. The struggle makes it heady and soporific, like you can’t get enough and wants to die right here with both men buried deep inside you. You writhe as pleasure courses in your veins. Already pushed so close to coming, pliant and obedient to their use.

—

Benedict looks down upon the filled body of the woman beneath him and groans. Your cunt, such a tight wet vice surrounding him, delicious squelching sounds as he plunders you with increasing speed. Your plush lips wrapped around your husband's cock, your throat exposed and dewy with sweat, his teeth itching to sink into the vein bulging prominently as you fight to take him as well as swallow and breathe. He can’t help but reach down and run a sharp-pointed fingernail over your diaphragm, fascinated by the play of delicate muscle and bone as you ripple under his touch.

“Such a good little thing, and only recently plucked; you are a lucky man,” Benedict opines, his voice gravelly even to his own ears, looking up again to the man in front of him.

“Yes, I am,” Thomas agrees, and Benedict sees the imploring look in his eyes, begging for another kiss.

“Come here, sweet prince,” Benedict murmurs, feeling a spike of victory as Thomas effusively leans in, lips glistening, flushed and plump.

As they kiss anew, Benedict runs a fang over that juicy lip, wanting to sink down and bite, feeling his life force pulsing so strong right there underneath ripe, fleshy fibres. Thomas's hands twine around Benedict’s neck, his tongue tentative, asking for entry, and Benedict swirls and sucks upon it greedily, only breaking when he hears your attempted gurgling of words, your hands wrapped around your husband’s fuzzy thighs, requesting reprieve.

“Slide deeper; make her take it just a touch longer,” he growls into Thomas's ear, teething his lobe. “She will be feisty, but the lack of air will deliver her so close to rapture,” he counsels as Thomas thrusts and holds still. You start to struggle with muffled calls of increasing urgency. “Now slide out,” Benedict advises moments later, and Thomas follows his bidding.

Benedict moans as your whole body judders as you gulp deep breaths. “Perfect. Oh, my prince, you should feel how tight she gets when she’s fighting to breathe; dear god, it’s the best kind of pain.” He stutters, tone deep, wrecked, stupefied by the grip of your convulsing cunt.

What a perfect little thing. I want her as mine.

—

Thomas is also panting, the tightness of your throat squeezing him so close to orgasm for what feels like countless times tonight. He falls back against the headboard instead. To watch. To watch you, his once angelic wife, be taken, wrecked, destroyed by this gorgeous creature.

Your eyes shoot open as you realise he has withdrawn.

“Husband,” you reach a shaky hand up above your head, glad when he takes it, watching your body roll with each punishing thrust Benedict takes, his eyes seemingly fixed upon the hammering pulsing in your neck as you ratchet higher, his tongue slipping out of his mouth in a wanton glistened point.

Just as you are pushing your hips into each thrust, screaming with ecstasy, Benedict pulls out, and Thomas feels your anguish as you suddenly cry out, your whole being heaving with unmet needs, eyes pleading.

“Do you miss my cock already, little one?” he preens, trailing your own musky juices over your belly as he teasingly passes his cock over your heated skin.

You nod viciously and growl, Thomas barely recognising you—a creature reborn of pure lust and submission. Craving this man in a way that makes jealousy and want war uneasily in Thomas’ gut. You have never been this feral for him, your husband, but yet he completely sympathises, feeling the same pangs of want to be taken, wrecked, destroyed endlessly by this thing resembling a man.

“Alas, that is your misfortune, my beautiful thing, for ‘tis your husband's turn now,” the cold glint in his eyes and the harsh lines of his razor-sharp cheekbone glowing as yet again he leaves you a whining, whimpering mess, your body leaking, your voice hoarse, more wild animal than woman. As Thomas lifts his gaze from you writhing to Benedict, one thought haunts his very being with a growing disquiet.

What exactly are you, if not man?

—

You feel inhuman, something clawing at the edges of your mind that feels like madness. A desire to be possessed by this man. Your insides branded as his. So when he withdraws just as you are fluttering once again, it feels like insanity, like sandpaper drags over your brain, your toes and fingers stiff from flexing so hard in utter wretchedness.

This is ecstatic torture.

“Please, my Count,” it’s forlorn, ragged, almost not recognisable as your own voice, your throat still sore from the harsh tip of your husband's cock.

“No, little one, it’s only right you should take your husband's seed, not mine,” he clucks, even as he rakes his hands covetously over your sweaty body, his tone sounding reluctant as if trying to convince himself as much as you.

“Sweet prince, claim your wife,” he calls, clamping a hand around Thomas's neck, compelling him to slide over you.

He does as bidden, and you groan as the familiar stretch of your husband's cock overtakes your senses. Not nearly as punishing or brutal as Benedict, but curved perfectly to glance at that spot inside that makes you clamp down and scream with every pass.

“Darling,” Thomas's familiar voice whispers in your ear, and it’s a balm you need, centring you on him and his lovely face, moving over you in a surging wave.

“Thomas, my love,” you call, wrapping your limbs around him and taking comfort in his embrace, his body, familiar and musky, a flavour you know well dripping on your tongue as you kiss his salty neck, mumbling encouragements, your heels digging into his bottom.

Benedict watches you from behind, and when you look beyond Thomas, you see eyes inky black with desire, fingers ghosting Thomas’s back as if wanting to flay his skin open.

“Are you ready for me, my prince?” Benedict purrs in a way that makes even you shudder, unable to look away from his tongue as it slides into Thomas’ ear.

—

Benedict reaches for the vial before Thomas even moans his weak assent. The smell of clove swirls as he unseals a small vial and pours it down Thomas’ crack.

He can taste how much Thomas wants this, a heavy fug of desire in the air that is his pheromones begging more than his words ever might.

Thomas shudders, and his movements falter as Benedict slides a finger between his cheeks and swirls the oil over his heated skin, over his puckered hole and his balls.

Benedict can feel the weight of your stare over Thomas’s shoulder. Intrigue and desire. You have likely never seen a man fuck another man. Certainly not your husband. Certainly not while he is inside you.

Little one, hold on tight.

—

Thomas is staring into your eyes when Benedict’s cock slides between his cheeks, demanding entry.

He knows he has stilled his movements, and his breathing is ragged and uneven as that long-forgotten breach occurs. He groans loudly; it's the largest he has ever had inside him, and the burn is intense.

“Are you alright, my love?” you call, holding his face delicately and stroking his cheek.

“It’s intense, my love,” he answers through gritted teeth and a shaky exhale as Benedict keeps inching slowly into him.

He’s never had his cock buried in someone while being fucked before; intense exhilaration and so much stimulation. To fuck and be fucked simultaneously.

When Benedict bottoms out, Thomas collapses onto you, his elbows sinking into the mattress under your armpits, his hands clenched in fists over your breasts.

You reach for one and pries open his fingers, silently bringing the hand to your mouth and kissing then sucking his fingers as if his cock, a tease that titillates and distracts as Benedict starts to rock in and out of him. Thomas cannot look away from your mouth, your pleading eyes no doubt telegraphing your devotion and lust.

My darling wife…

—

You feel the moment Benedict moves within your husband, his motion a catalyst to the slide of Thomas's cock within you.

He has found a way to fuck us both.

It is all your mind can think as you watch your husband's face contort a thousand ways, rapture and fear, his whole body becoming a puppet stuck between you and the Count.

“Can you feel that?” Benedict growls, staring you down, eyes black now.

“Y-Yes,” you stumble, seeing something wild in him that genuinely scares you now, your tummy oily even as your clit twinges with pleasure, your husband's cock being driven into you at a pace that you know will make you come within moments.

“Good… don’t you dare look away from me,” Benedict growls when your eyes stray to Thomas.

You obey but watch with growing disquiet as he smiles wickedly wide. Two extended ivory fangs glow in the low flickering firelight. His tongue licks over them provocatively, drawing your attention.

What in God's name?

“God can’t help you now, little one,” Benedict sniggers ominously, and your heart pounds that he can read your mind. “Indeed I can,” he winks, making you gasp.

You are trapped. Trapped under your almost rag doll-like husband, his groans gusting hot into your neck now as he is slumped over you, being fucked so harshly by Benedict, hips snapping as he stares you down, pointed nails scraping down Thomas’s back, his entire mien a sinister seductive leer.

“You are mine, both of you,” Benedict declares. It’s dark, possessive, unearthly.

Confusion rips through your being as, for the first time, you see something other than man—a creature. Utterly terrifying, beguiling, erotic. A shadow moves over his face that is all menace and not of this world. Yet, at the same time, your body is so close to ecstasy, a taut thread holding all your muscles so close to breaking. Horror, fear, lust, and want are a continuous swirling loop in your very being.

Time slows, treacle-like, as you start to convulse despite yourself, taken over the edge by the carnal push and pull of Benedict fucking your husband into your body. Clinging tight to Thomas, you watch in slow-motion as Benedict leans down, those fangs looming large. Then, you feel a searing, sharp pang as they make contact with the meat of your arm, where it is wound around Thomas’s neck. Utter terror grips your heart, even as a flood of chemicals so strong courses into your bloodstream. Strong suction over the wound has you screaming, pure unbridled ecstasy, euphoria coursing in every fibre even as it dawns on you far too late precisely what he is.

VAMPIRE!

—

Benedict has only known immortality for a few months when he tastes his forever. Your blood floods his mouth, and it is the nectar he has been seeking since his turn. The thing that calms and sates him. The sweet delight that means he will never leave your side: he is yours. He will feed from others, for sure, but he is imprinted upon you forever now. He shall always be careful never to drink too much to kill you; he needs this taste more than anything, and just a few drops will be enough to keep him sustained.

“My goddess,” he moans, making your eyes pop open, fear but something else, too, swimming in your depths. It's not revulsion; it's anything but–it's yearning, even from your trance-like bliss.

He stops sucking before you lose too much blood; it’s just enough to make you light-headed and extend your rapture. He can feel you convulsing, Thomas’s limp body a conduit for your intense orgasm. Buried deep in Thomas, closing his eyes and feeling the pulses as you milk your husband’s cock, him just awash and pliant, sandwiched between you.

Benedict feels from inside the moment Thomas breaks, feels his balls contract and his pelvis ripple as he groans loud and long, his seed forcibly painting your insides. It’s futility to resist the urge to feast again. Meeting your hungry, consuming gaze as you crest a secondary wave, he sinks his fangs into the nape of Thomas’s neck, the man calling out lustily. And as he sucks greedily, Benedict falters and moans hard. It's like Thomas’ flavour is the other puzzle piece he needs. The ying to your yang. Together, the taste in his mouth is a symphony. A magnum opus, what feels like the very reason he now exists such as he does.

“My prince, my king,” he garbles, roughly suckling from Thomas's neck, watching the crimson line of blood ooze down his spine and licking it covetously, wantonly, his very purpose.

And it's the catalyst that flings him into the cauldron too, a shuddering snap that consumes his whole body and has him coming so hard he cannot hold himself on his knees anymore, slumping onto Thomas, panting as he empties, a visceral unloading that feels like the very best catharsis.

—

You have never known paradise like this. A continuous loop of thrill; every time you think it is over, you feel first your darling Thomas and then your beautiful nightmare Benedict come, and it pushes you over another precipice. Each is as precious and encompassing as the last.

The weight of them both slumped upon you as the shudder is something you cannot withstand, and you have to call out in protest. Somehow almost preternaturally, they rearrange around you, a tangle of limbs, sweat, cum and blood entwined like a knot of vipers as you all find a comfortable hold, panting hard from the exertion.

“What are you??” you demand, ragged, staring Benedict down around Thomas, who seems to be hovering semi-conscious, his face a picture of complete rapture.

A finger traces down your cheek as he does the same to Thomas, which you track askance.

“Darling precious, you already know. I’m your worst dream masquerading as your perfect fantasy,” he chimes. “And I am yours forever.”

“To which of us do you speak?” you gulp, barely able to form the words; your whole world tilted and forever changed.

“You see, therein lies the beauty,” Benedict smiles, running the edge of his incisors first over Thomas’s neck as he groans drowsily, then yours, making you inhale sharply. “I speak of both of you.”

Thomas twists and places a sleepy, sated kiss on you and then Benedict.

“Enthralling, is not, my love?” Thomas slurs, nuzzling you both. “We have our very own creature of the night.”

“You knew?!” you stutter, disbelief warring with every other emotion alive in your body.

“Mmm,” he hums peacefully. “I knew on some level from the moment he kissed me. And yet here we are. Hearts still beating, bodies utterly sated. This is the best possible outcome. I, for one, cannot wait for every adventure with our delicious Vampire,” Thomas lazily pats Benedict's cheek, who smiles and kisses his temple.

You are rendered speechless.

“Come on, y/n, my goddess,” Benedict goads, his tone dusky and irresistible as his lips ghost your husband’s, his long pale fingers smearing a droplet of blood into your breast, spidering over your flesh in a way that already has your cunt swelling again. “I am yours. And I can give you such pleasures every night,” he promises.

Well, that is perhaps the most enthralling prospect of all.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #vampire fanfiction #thomas dorset #thomas Dorset fanfiction

260 notes · View notes

lemonykoo · 2 years ago

Text

let me get my husband for you! - diluc

Pairing: Husband!Diluc x Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff! Female reader.

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: You decided to visit Diluc at the tavern as he worked – somewhat a rare occasion – and a new Mondstadt resident has to learn the hard way that you’re not available. Warnings: guys are weird lmao and they say out of pocket things sometimes (also the ending sucks lmao)

It was a typical night at Angel’s Share tavern. It was definitely busy, as expected from a weekend with many of the knights and guild members coming in and out after a long day of work, as the same with regular citizens as well. It wasn’t even close to closing, so everyone was loud and in good spirits and drinks were handed out by, what seemed like, the dozen. You were one of those patrons, though you didn’t exactly spend all day fighting off hilichurls or taking care of problems that were more of a topic for the knights. Much like your husband, you yourself was somewhat of a business owner as you had taken on your parent’s family business that had, of course, been handed down to them many years ago. Today was busy for you, as you had to get up early and deal with meetings and other tasks all day long. With that being said, you also needed a breather from the stress of the day! Not only that, but you hadn’t seen Diluc at all today except for when you two departed in the morning, so you just couldn’t wait until late tonight to see your handsome husband. While you weren’t usually one for loud drunks or even alcohol itself, you did make rare appearances in the tavern just to surprise your husband and say a few hellos to people you knew that frequented the establishment. And even if you didn’t know many of the customers personally, they all knew you as the tavern owner’s wife – or better yet, just that you were married to the Diluc Ragnvinder – so a spot at the bar would be cleared just for you, no questions asked. So when you walked in tonight, your nice clothes still on from your earlier meetings, a barstool that had once been occupied by a member of the Adventurer’s Guild opened up with your name written all over it.

You’d always start off with a glass of wine and it would always been the finest (and on the house) because Diluc would always been delighted to see you. (The shine in his eyes and warm smile would always make an appearance as soon as he noticed you.) Even if he couldn’t always talk to you since he was busy, having your presence was enough. You’d normally chat with someone else, like Rosaria who was seated next to you tonight, so you weren’t alone or just awkwardly sitting and waiting for your husband to find the time to say something to you. And in hindsight, you guess that was why newcomers didn’t always catch on that you and the winery owner were married. The drink he’d slide over to you could just be because you were a frequent customer, right? At least, that’s what the guy that sat on the other side of you thought, because once he saw an opportunity pop up, he struck up a conversation with you.

“I don’t normally see a pretty lady like you in here alone,” he greeted, drawing your attention away from your friend on your other side.

To be fair, you knew it was best to not play along with these people. However, when your husband was just across the bar, lost in his own world of serving and cleaning, you couldn’t help it. After all, it was a little amusing to see the looks on people’s faces when they realized that not only were you already taken, but you were taken by the uncrowned king of Mondstadt. “Well, I decided it was time to finally make an appearance here,” you joked, your voice a little louder than normal so the man could hear you over the other rowdy patrons. You would never explicitly flirt with them or lead them on, but instead answer their questions and engage in what little chit-chat you could before having to play a damsel in distress and have your husband make them aware that you weren’t available. (As if the wedding ring on your finger didn’t already say that, but who was paying attention to it, anyways?)

“Let me guess,” the guy started, very obviously checking you out before smirking. You could tell he was already teetering on the edge of being completely drunk. “Your husband’s out of town? Because any guy with you would be smart enough to keep you at home, ya know?”

You looked off in feign thought, humming. “I’m not sure I do know, actually. Enlighten me.”

He smirked. “Well, obviously. You’re beautiful so every guy is going to want you. Or, are you trying to get away from him? That’s it, isn’t it?” He took a sip from his glass before gesturing toward yours. “Let me buy you drink.”

“Oh, no thank you, I haven’t even finished this one,” you said, showing how your cup had over half still. Besides, even if it was close to being empty, you could only manage about one full glass before becoming a bit too tipsy yourself.

“Listen,” he stated, turning more toward you. “I’d be more than willing to let you out of whatever situation your old man at home has got you tied up in, whether it be for tonight-” he hiccupped, “- or for however long you want it to be. In fact, if you want me to tell him how it isn’t fair that he’s not letting you get out and let yourself go as a pretty lady like you should, I will!”

“You will?” you asked, placing a hand to your chest, giving him a kind smile. “That’s so kind of you. Actually, my husband is here tonight.”

The guy blinked before quickly looking around. “Really?” he asked, his eyes returning to yours. “Well, point him out to me and I’ll give him a piece of my mind and then you and me can have a great night together.”

You smiled bigger, your eyes twinkling. You could feel Rosaria giving you confused looks as you faked searching for this mystery husband of yours before exclaiming a silent “oh!” and leaning toward the bar. “Hey, honey! This guy wants to talk to you!”

And this is exactly why you liked being a little meanie and playing with flirts like this. Because as soon as Diluc turned around from his task at hand, a look of question on his face as he made his way over to you to see what was going on, all life seemed to drain from the man that once really wanted to take you out two seconds ago. “What can I do for you?” your husband, who actually treated you very well, asked innocently, unaware of the interaction you had just been having.

“Uh, I just uh, wanted to you tell you that your wine is fantastic. Best wine I’ve ever had, really,” the man lied, his face beginning to turn a shade of red similar to your husband’s hair. “Unfortunately, I think I might have had just a little too much tonight and I have to go home.” Before Diluc could say thanks and wish him a safe return home, the man abruptly slipped out of his seat and took off out the door. The pyro user turned to see you and Rosaria snickering like someone had told you two the best joke in the world. He suddenly caught on and sighed.

“Y/N, you have got stop scaring my customers like that,” he chided, moving to stand more in front of you. He placed his elbows on the countertop and held out his hands for you to take, which you did immediately. It was a little habit you two had whenever Diluc had enough time to talk to you while working. He’d rub his calloused fingers over the soft skin of your knuckles as you two would talk, dreamily gazing into your eyes as if he couldn’t get enough of you (because, really, he couldn’t).

“I’m not scaring them away. I’m sure he’ll be back,” you giggled. “He’ll just know better than to hit on me next time! If I left it up to you, then they would be scared away and there wouldn’t be a next time.”

Well, Diluc couldn’t argue with that logic. In fact, the customers he had gotten onto himself for flirting with you hadn’t been back since. There were only a couple of them, and those time had been when you had gotten a little drunk yourself and weren’t too aware of the intentions of others. Besides, he found it amusing how much enjoyment you got out of showing off your spouse. But, he wouldn’t outright admit to that, of course.

#lex’s writing 💫#Genshin #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin diluc #diluc #diluc x reader

729 notes · View notes

harrowedknight · 6 months ago

Note

OC info and lore m’lord? Brave knight… please they’re both so handsome… I’d take Hancock in a knife fight for just one date fr…. Bleeding on the concrete outside kle0s shop rn….

Omg,,, thank u for the ask, I’ll take this as an opportunity to introduce all of my fellas since i have multiple saves/ocs for fallout 4. Right now they’re all in separate aus but I wanna connect them, I just haven’t decided who I want to be the sosu yet, if i even want one at all.

Starting with Ranger, my newest character. He’s the charismatic leader of the Minutemen. He likes making light of every situation, but he knows when to take things seriously. He just puts on a laidback attitude so he appears less intimidating. He’s trying very hard to make the commonwealth safer, but he has some doubts and insecurities about his position, which he bottles up and keeps to himself. He wants to be the person that everyone can rely on and look up to, even if that means putting his own problems aside to appear put-together and strong. He’s the one I draw Edward Deegan with, and I wanna do more with the two of them since I love me some eldritch horror vibes. I imagine Ranger and Edward go on relic hunts for Jack Cabot after their questline, getting into hijinks and fun spooky, horrifyingly traumatic adventures. Maybe kissing along the way. Who knows.

Knight on the other hand, is an anxious, paranoid little glorbo; and I say this while he stands at like 6’4”, he’s BIG, the tallest of all of my guys. He’s got severe PTSD and he really doesn’t like living in the apocalypse. He had a wife! They were in a queer platonic relationship; they got married for the benefits but they’re both gay. He’s devastated after losing her, since she was his best friend. He has a very hard time adjusting to the new commonwealth, he barely scrapes by, has to force himself to function because everything reminds him of war and suffering. He eventually stumbles into Goodneighbor, gets hooked on chems to distract himself from bad memories, meets Hancock one bad night and ends up getting drunk/rambling to the poor ghoul. They end up hitting it off despite the ridiculous introduction. Hancock manages to ground Knight, gives him a purpose again; helping good people, and hurting bad people. Knight travels the commonwealth doing odd jobs, trying to do what he can, even joins up with the Railroad to help out the Synths. Just trying to make up for all the time he’d lost, doing what he thinks would’ve made his best friend proud.

Now for Paladin. Yes, he is named Paladin, and yes, he WAS Paladin Paladin before being promoted to Sentinel. It’s probably obvious by now that I have a Dnd/medieval theme for my character’s names. Anyway, Paladin here is— of course— a part of the Brotherhood of Steel. I made him to be a big dickhead because I don’t play mean characters in video games enough. Unlike my other sosus he’s actually thriving in the apocalypse. Before being frozen he was very dissatisfied/disconnected with the ordinary life he was trying to live, he felt like a husk of himself and he couldn’t understand why. After waking up and being met with a destroyed world, his soldier mentality immediately kicked in again. He adapted fast, and when he learns about the Brotherhood and its US military-esc operations he quickly latches onto it. It’s familiar to him, and he excels at his duties. He rises through the ranks quickly, earning his place as Sentinel and developing a massive ego along the way. The Brotherhood makes him feel powerful, and that sort of becomes an addiction of sorts. He just wants more and more power, he wants to be respected; and if not respected, feared.

And as a bonus unrelated to fallout 4,

This is Monty, aka Montague. He’s a prewar ghoul living in the Canadian territories, or Little America as it’s referred to in the Fallout universe. He was a proud mountie back before Canada was annexed, kept his uniform in a locked safe for years. When the bombs fell and he was ghoulified, he pulled it out and dedicated himself to helping those who get lost in the nuclear winter. I’m still learning things about Fallout lore so idk how Canada is depicted after the bombs in canon, but the idea I had is that Monty lives in a massive, snowy wasteland which he’s learned to navigate with a lot of hard work and dedication. He earns caps by guiding people through the tundra, since few know how to avoid all the dangers it poses.

39 notes · View notes

anavilante · 1 month ago

Text

@bottomab asked me for a story about their first kiss, so here’s kind of a prequel.

Age difference modern AU

Student John Egan / Professor Gale Cleven

Gale would have liked to lie and say he hated spending nights in the library, but that wouldn’t have been true. He enjoyed the darkness and solitude of this haven—a quiet retreat in an age where the internet reigned supreme. The long shelves of books, the soft glow of lamps in the dark—it all felt like his fortress, especially in the evenings when the last overachieving students had gone home, leaving him to wander the space alone. After all, he wasn’t particularly eager to go home.

Thoughts of home—of Marge, of the hollow, suffocating comfort of their life together—only weighed heavier on his shoulders. Work was his excuse. Behind the cluttered desk, under the dim yellow glow of the lamp, he could hide from it all. At least, until he showed up.

John was here again. Loud, self-assured, a tall, dark-haired menace who acted as if the world revolved around him. Gale heard the confident footsteps before he saw him, and his entire body tensed like a drawn bowstring.

“Do you live here or something?” John’s voice came from the side, casual and teasing. Gale looked up, already crafting a biting retort, but then he saw him. John was, as always, too much. Too brazen, too irreverent for this place, for this silence.

“Unlike some people, I work,” Gale replied evenly, turning his gaze back to the papers in front of him. He tried to appear cold, unbothered.

But John smirked, leaning against a nearby shelf with the ease of someone who didn’t care about boundaries, “And where’s your young wife, professor? Shouldn’t you be at home with her? Or do you prefer burying yourself here in old books instead?"

Something twisted painfully inside Gale. John had already flirted with him more than once, jokingly—or maybe not so jokingly, Gale could never quite tell what was on the guy’s mind. Gale had used his marriage as a shield, hoping it would put an end to the audacious teasing and keep this bold troublemaker at bay. It was nothing—just an innocent jab. But the tone... It felt loaded, as if John was hinting at more than he could possibly know. He can’t know, Gale’s mind screamed. No one knows. No one can know.

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to speak evenly, “Is crossing the line something you do on purpose, or does it just come naturally to you?”

John’s smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming like a predator’s locking onto prey. “Oh, crossing the line is my favorite pastime,” he said smoothly, his gaze unwavering. Gale swallowed hard, tension coiling in his chest. “Or maybe I’m just curious why someone as… handsome as you is hiding out here at this hour. I mean, what are you? Thirty? Shouldn’t you be having fun at your age? Although… maybe it’s your wardrobe. Why do you dress like a retiree?”

Gale’s eyes instinctively flicked to himself. An ill-fitting jacket in a dull, lifeless color, baggy trousers—nothing remarkable. He’d never cared for drawing attention. What would be the point? But John’s offhand remark struck a spark somewhere deep inside him, one he hadn’t felt in years.

“What do you even want?” Gale asked coldly, standing up with an edge of defiance in his voice.

John stepped forward, cutting the distance between them. Now, he was too close. Too close for comfort.

“Want?” John repeated, his smile a maddening blend of charm and insolence. “Maybe I just want to figure out what makes you so closed off, yet so convinced the world owes you something.”

“You—” Gale started, his voice rising with anger, but he never got the chance to finish.

John moved closer still, and before Gale could react, he was pressed against the bookshelf.

“You’re crossing the line,” Gale said hoarsely, his voice faltering as he felt the heat of John’s presence. “I don’t—”

But John silenced him. With his lips.

The kiss was rough, almost brutal, stealing the air from Gale’s lungs. He froze, his body rigid, his mind spiraling into panic. This is a joke. It has to be a joke. He’s recording this. He’ll show everyone. He’ll…

Images of past humiliations flooded his mind—professors destroyed by cruel pranks. Viral videos of scandals that ended careers. He’d seen it all: teachers caught smoking weed, groping students, taking bribes. And now, was this his turn? To be exposed as a fool, undone by some reckless, arrogant boy?

Gale shoved at John’s chest with all his strength, but John didn’t budge. His hands were unyielding, gripping Gale’s waist like iron. The heat from his palms burned through the fabric of Gale’s clothes, sinking into his skin. But it wasn’t just heat. It was something darker, something more insidious, spreading through him like a slow-acting poison.

But it didn’t burn.

It warmed. Intoxicating and unfamiliar, the sensation seeped into places within him that had never been touched. No one had ever held him like this. And that realization sent shockwaves through him. It was a feeling so raw, so devastatingly tender, it left him breathless.

When John finally pulled back, Gale was gasping for air, his face flushed.

“You… What are you doing?” Gale managed, his hand gripping the bookshelf for support as his legs threatened to give out.

John’s smirk softened into something almost gentle, “Exactly what I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

Gale shook his head, his thoughts a frantic jumble as his knees trembled. He wanted to say something sharp, something that would cut through this moment and let him escape. But instead, he stayed silent, acutely aware of the strange warmth spreading in his chest.

This isn’t a joke, he realized with startling clarity.

#clegan #john egan #gale cleven #eganven #masters of the air #mota #austin butler #callum turner #bottom gale cleven #top john egan #age difference

19 notes · View notes

aconflagrationofmyown · 2 years ago

Text

|| Honeymoon ||

-THE 60’s- A Sky High Lovin fic

Authors Note: Here at last is the long promised second installment of my Elvis Mile High Club fics, :) As this series is an anthology and not chronological, there are multiple references to the persona and style of 60’s Elvis where the other was of Big Daddy

Warnings: 18+ (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🥂 I’m a sucker for Elvis acting like an animal while talking like a true southern gentleman, so here we all are. Proceed at your own discretion

Copious thanks and credit for numerous lines and suggestions to my incredible coauthor @eliseinmemphis