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obsessedvibee · 6 months ago

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Temptress

MDNI, 18+

Pairing: Austin Butler x Evelyn(reader)

Summary: Austin and Evelyn are on vacation in Hawaii and a little teasing game begins. Who can get the other to crack first?

Warnings: teasing, sex against a wall, neck squeezing? i don't wanna call it choking, unprotected sex, p in v, masturbation reference, dirty talk, what's a smut story without a little awkward boner?

Words: 2.5k

Authors Note: When I tell you I had such terrible writers block when trying to come up with the scenes where they tease each other. I don't know why that was so hard for me?? But I know a lot of you were waiting for this (I've never had so many notes on a teaser before! I'm so beyond thankful but now the pressure is a thousand times more I truly hope I don't dissapoint-oh gosh) story to be put out, so alas- here it is.

As always comments and reblogs mean the absolute world to me, so feel free to write your little hearts out or even message me!

But enough from me...enjoy!

The hot Hawaiian sun blanketed her body as she laid out on one of the white beach chairs. The sound of the nearby waves lapping at the sand lulled her buzzing mind. Only thoughts of her husband Austin were present. She was on vacation after all, he SHOULD be the only thing on her mind.

Austin soon returned with two cocktails in his hands, handing the cold glass to her. She took it in her hands, the condensation dripping onto her thighs, causing goosebumps to form.

She took a generous sip, savoring the sweet flavor on her tongue, the alcohol warming her throat as she swallowed.

“Mm, you’re so hired,” she moaned, taking another gulp.

He chuckled, sitting to face her on the chair beside her. “Does that mean you’ll keep me around for another night?”

A smirk danced on his lips as she pretended to consider her options.

She eyed him through her glasses, taking in his newly toned body. He’d always been thin, but he bulked up in the last month for his upcoming role. His shoulders were more rounded and his biceps held more shape. The lines of his abs were subtle beneath his skin with a bit of hair topping the waistband of his swim shorts. Her thoughts quickly began to fill with desire. A sudden little playful idea formed in her head.

She waited until his eyes made their way back to her before swiping her tongue along the rim of the glass before going in for another gulp.

His eyebrow twitched in response.

She straightened her posture, “that’s not a very respectable thing to say to a guest, now is it?”

Beneath her confident gaze, her heart pounded in her chest as the words left her mouth.

He had to crack first.

“My apologies, ma’am.” He stretched his arms above his head, his biceps flexing.

He didn’t miss a beat.

He was on to her.

Let the games begin.

Although, she wasn’t sure if any kind of game had started when neither of them made a move in the last hour. But she did know she wanted to cool down and get out of the sun for a bit, feeling a bead of sweat roll down her back.

“You gettin’ hungry?”

“A little,” she admitted.

He sat up, groaning as he stretched his stiff limbs.

“You go ahead,” he encouraged, “I’m gonna take a quick dip before I head in.” He nodded his head towards the ocean.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his back as he walked right into the water, sinking down just enough to dunk his head before walking back up to shore. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair to slick it back like he was Fabio on some cover of a romance novel.

She was eating up every second of it.

He looked her way right as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

A cool shower sounded incredible. For more reasons than one.

She abruptly stood, refusing to look in his direction, already knowing he had a smirk that was awaiting her gaze. Making her way to the outdoor showers, she gratefully slipped behind the wooden paneling.

She briefly wondered if he’d follow in behind her.

Flipping the water on, she jumped aside with a shriek as a sudden spray of freezing water hit her.

If her nipples weren’t pebbled up from a moment ago, they sure were now.

She waited a bit hoping the water would warm some, but quickly realized there wasn’t going to be anything remotely tolerable coming out of the shower head any time soon.

Turning the spout off, she stepped back out into the heat again, almost welcoming the warmth if it weren’t for the dried sweat that covered her skin.

“Was that water a little too cold for you?” Austin chuckled as he toweled himself dry.

“Straight from an iceberg- that's what that was.” She grumbled lightly, watching as his hands moved the towel over his body.

Everything’s always hotter when it’s wet.

“Is that why you’re..” he stuck his pointer fingers out from his chest, nodding to her breasts, “pokey?”

She blushed.

“Or is it just cuz of me?”

“Careful,” she warned, pausing in the doorway.

He wanted to talk about her boobs?

She could work with that.

Reaching for the strings of her bikini top, she pulled them loose letting the bottom fall free.

He visibly swallowed watching her hands, his throat bobbing.

Oh the power of a little peek-a-boob.

She turned, not able to contain her cheeky grin as she made the snap decision to rid her top as a whole, keeping her back to him as she dropped it to the floor.

“Hey, that’s not-“ he trailed off as she turned to face him with a giggle, his eyes drinking her top half in. “…fair.”

“Anything is fair game, but the first to touch the other person loses.”

He reluctantly brought his eyes back up to hers. She could almost see the tug of war that was going on in his brain of where to look.

“You were going to order dinner for us, weren’t you?” She teased, scooping up her top before beelining it for the shower.

*****************************

It was after dinner, and he had just turned the water off for his own shower. He called her over to him from the bathroom.

She walked over to find him with just a towel tied low on his hips, standing in front of the clouded mirror. Steam was still hanging in the air from the hot shower, adding to the mood.

A dark new tan colored his skin from all the time spent on the beach the last few days. Her mouth almost watered as his muscles flexed beneath his skin while he spread shaving cream over his face.

“Hi,” he greeted, a playful look in his eyes.

A nervous smile pulled at her mouth, “hi?”

“I need your help.”

She raised a brow, “with shaving?”

He nodded, patting the counter with his hand, “come sit.”

“But I can’t touch you?”

He chuckled, handing her his razor, “you’ll have to be careful then.”

She stood frozen for a moment contemplating the challenge. Not wanting to back down she hopped up on the counter, sitting tall.

His eyes sparkled mischievously, watching as she brought the razor gently to his face. The air seemed electrified as she scooted a little closer, their faces now only a few inches apart. Pressing the blade to his skin, she made the first swipe. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip in concentration as she focused on not slicing his sensitive skin. Her arm almost shaking by the end from the exertion.

Making the final swipe, she finally realized how close they were, feeling the exhale from his nose. She’d never craved to kiss him so badly before, she could practically feel the warmth of his lips on hers.

She sudden feel of his towel brush against her inner thigh snapped her out of her lustful haze. Looking down she noticed she wasn’t the only one getting affected.

She pulled away rather abruptly, quickly hopping off the sink. Straightening her shirt, she looked back at him. The tips of his ears were red, but whether that was from the shower or if he was actually blushing she wasn’t sure.

“That doesn’t count,” he defended, clearing his throat.

“No?”

He took another towel to his face, “I can’t-“ he looked at her, “control it.”

Taking one more glance down to see the obvious sign of his arousal she was almost light headed with desire just knowing he wanted her just as much.

She fled before she could lose control and yank him back into the bedroom.

Were there any rules against taking her own pleasure into her own hands?

**********************

Later that night, well after the sun had set, the bonfire crackled weakly as it began to die out between them, only the moon casting a blue glow on the sand. The breeze caused a chill to shiver up her spine, and of course Austin noticed.

“You cold?”

She reluctantly nodded.

He picked up a stick and poked around in the burnt logs trying to coax a new flame, but only a few extra sparks fluttered up into the air.

“There's some other ways we could keep warm.” The words fell out of her mouth before she could think.

He paused. “Are you forfeiting?”

Her fingers tingled with the desire to touch him.

“Is the temptation too much for you?” She quipped.

They were both fighting for their lives.

“Only ‘cause it comes from you.”

Fuck.

Damn him and his way with words.

His eyes were like a magnet pulling her to him and she was too weak to pull away. His tongue swiped over his lips, his eyes darting behind her.

“If you put that towel down, I’ll take you right here.” He said, his voice dropping an octave.

She bit her lip, failing to hide her smile as a new warmth spread through her veins for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day.

“Didn’t know you were an exhibitionist.” She slowly reached back for the towel, spreading it open on the sand.

She hardly had time to situate herself down before he was on her.

He hovered his lips over hers, teasing just a bit more. She could feel his breath on her lips. Every inch she moved back, he inched just as far forward.

“Aus,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“As much as I want to do this right here-“ she inhaled sharply as his lips nearly brushed hers, “-what if there’s paps?”

He pulled away with a heavy sigh.

“C’mon,” she stood, before she took off running as best as she could in the shifting sand, a laugh bubbling past her lips. She just made it past the front door when Austin's arm snaked its way around her waist, “not so fast, baby.”

Her soul cried out in joy as she felt the weight of his touch on her, his warm skin making her nerve endings sing.

He pulled her into him, his front pressed to her back, his head lowering over her shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She laughed some more as his cheek brushed against hers.

“Where do you wanna do this, hm?” He spun her around.

A full grin spread across her mouth as his hands found hers, and he began to toy with their fingers.

“You wanna do this right here?”

She nodded, her heart skipping a beat when he gently pressed her back into the wall of the hallway, his forehead pressed to hers, his blue eyes swirling with lust.

Like a dam that breaks when the flood waters come, so was his desire for her, breaking through in a heavy long awaited kiss; his mouth finally devouring her own.

His hands fumbled with her shirt, his fingers almost trembling. Quickly discarding it to the floor, his hands began to explore the newly exposed skin, earning a moan when his thumb swiped over her nipple.

His desperation was contagious. She tugged at his shirt blindly, his mouth the only thing she could focus on.

He took a half step away to pull his shirt over his head, “tell me what you want, Ev.”

She whined, reaching for him, “Aus.”

He raised a brow with a little smirk, “hm? You’ve mentioned it before.” His fingers slotted into the belt loops of her shorts tugging her closer to his warm chest pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Take me against the wall,” she all but whispered.

“There's my good girl.”

His fingers reached down, popping the fly open on her shorts and yanking them down over her hips, landing at her feet. His cock twitched realizing she had been pantyless the whole evening.

Ridding himself of his own shorts, he quickly hoisted her up, gripping her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, his already stiff length brushing teasingly at the inside of her thigh.

They both fumbled for a moment trying to get him in her, the angle proving to make things difficult, “put your leg down for a sec-“

Lowering her leg carefully back to the floor, freed up his hand and he quickly positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside. She inhaled sharply as her walls stretched to accommodate him.

“God, I don’t think I can ever get used to that,” she breathed as he eased in, gripping his bicep for dear life.

He gave a few slow strokes, testing the position.

Once he was sure they were stable, he hiked her thigh a little higher around his waist, spreading her open just that much more. Slotting his mouth over hers, he reached a hand up to squeeze her breast, coaxing a moan out of her. His hips began to piston faster, jolting her into the wall with each thrust.

“Can you-“ a particularly hard thrust caused her to stutter. “A-Aus.”

His eyes darted to hers, his hips stopping. “You okay?”

“Don’t stop,” she whined, pulling at the hairs at the bottom of his neck, “-need you deeper.”

“Shit- yeah?” He reached down, getting her to wrap her other leg back around his waist.

A wanton moan danced in his ears from her mouth as he sunk even deeper into her, “fuck, yeah.”

He pressed her harder into the wall, hips working double time, panting heavily in her ear as he held her, his fingers digging into the skin of her thighs. Sweat began to form across his forehead from the exertion, dampening his hair. Little groans began to fall from his mouth as their passion progressed, unable to contain it all inside.

A sudden impulse came over him and his hand reached up to her neck, squeezing gently. Her eyes widened as he locked his eyes to her, pressing their foreheads together. He slowed his thrusts, taking his time making her writhe with every push of his hips into her.

“Baby-“ she mewled, clawing her fingernails into his shoulders.

He could feel her tightening as her climax quickly approached. “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

She squeezed tighter with her legs, her fingers tugging harder at his hair, pulling a grunt out of his throat.

“Give me a good one, c’mon.”

She held her breath as her high took hold, her walls spasming around his length.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled as he felt her squeeze every part of him as her climax hit. He quickly fell into his own orgasm, his blue eyes rolling back. His cock spilled heavily inside of her, painting her walls white with a low moan.

As her limbs loosened, her walls continued rhythmically milking every last bit from him until he was completely soft, quickly slipping out of her as he carefully let her down.

“Just so you know,” she said between breaths, “you lost.”

Tags: Want to be added? Let me know! @ughdontbeboring @btsisinmyheartue @myles-production @purejasmine @shockercoco @sunsetsturniolos @denised916 @richardslady121 @austinbutlerslovers

#austin butler #austin butler smut #austin x reader #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine

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valhallaas · 2 years ago

Text

That’s My Girl

pairing: bradley rooster bradshaw x sunshine!reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: SMUT (18+, minors dni) vaginal fingering, p in v, cream pie (wrap it up, pals) jake stirring the pot like the shithead he is

summary: when everyone but rooster sees it, there’s always a texan willing to step up to the plate.

a/n: not me cackling while writing this like some crazed woman. ya’ll can blame @glen-powells for this. the text messages can prove it.

Part 2

Part 3

It surprises you every time you come back to the Hard Deck how it hasn’t changed. At least the atmosphere. Civilians and aviators alike. Penny grins at you when you walk in. Elbowing your way through the crowd, you take a seat at the bar, leaning far enough over to let her kiss you on the cheek. Her and your mom had been best friends. Penny’s known you since you were in diapers, helped your mom through the divorce, and helped you when she passed away. You always did your best to come visit her when you could. You’re on leave for the next two months and you aren’t wasting it anywhere else but here.

“Long time no see.” Penny says as she grabs you a drink.

You only grin. “You’ll be seeing so much of me, you’ll be sick of me.”

“Is free labor included in that?”

“Always.” A two toned whistle catches your attention. Turning to look behind you, you sigh at the sight. Holy shit. They’re all here. Your eyes narrow at the blonde, his grin widening when he catches you staring. “Maybe not tonight, Pen.”

Penny shakes her head. “I didn’t think so. Go on, then.”

Throwing her a grateful smile, you’re up and heading towards the pool table. It’s a reunion, no doubt. You’d been overseas the last few months. Seeing everyone here is a blessing. You can’t help the splitting grin on your face when Bob wraps you up right in his arms. How the two of you hit it off, you’ll never know, but you aren’t complaining.

“Look who it is, folks. Our Sunny girl. Did ya’ll see it get brighter in here when she walked in?”

Your eyes roll so far into the back of your head you’re surprised they don’t get stuck. Turning, you come face to face with the blonde who’d called for your attention.

“Hangman,”

He pulls the toothpick out of his mouth and winks. “Sunshine.”

“What’s got y’all here?”

“You.” Phoenix answers, standing from where she knocked two solids in at the pool table.

You turn to look back at the bar. Penny’s already looking at you with a smirk. What a little sneak. You should’ve known she let you go too easily. Shaking your head you step forward and snag the pool stick from Hangman. He smirks, but doesn’t say anything. You quirk an eyebrow. Lieutenant Jake Seresin keeping his mouth shut? It’s a goddamn miracle. His eyes never leave you as the game finishes. Phoenix grumbles at her loss, you were three shots behind when you started. It’s not your fault that you’re good, that you’re very good. Handing the stick off to Bob, your eyes scan the bar. It’s been almost thirty minutes since you got here. It’s a Saturday night and the bar is busy.

No Hawaiian shirt in sight. No porn mustache spotted anywhere. Your shoulders deflate. If everyone else is here, why isn’t he?

“Who you looking for, Sunshine?”

You glance sideways. “Wouldn’t like to know.”

Jake only grins. “Your bird boy ain’t here yet. Had a meeting with Maverick, I believe.”

Fucking Christ. Are you really that hopeless when it comes to him? So exposed that even Bagman can tell that your head over heels for Rooster? It’s not like it’s your fault. If you had it your way, you’d be happy with your own company. But the heart wants what the heart wants.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do. Because as much as you pine for him, Bradshaw is a dumbass.”

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t noticed, Sunny. You’re still that kid from down the road. You need to do something to make him see you.”

The thought has crossed your mind. You’ve known Bradley so long that he probably didn’t think of you that way. Your teeth bite into your cheek, hands fiddling with the hem of your dress. You don’t miss the way Hangman’s eyes take you in. His gaze lingering on your bare thighs. You huff out a small laugh, pulling his attention back to your face.

You and Jake have a weird relationship. He annoys you to no end but you trust him with your life. Pretty sure you’re the only one in the bar that does. Jake’s been protective of you since you met at Top Gun. A relationship without the relationship, you suppose.

“Can always stir the pot,”

You blink. “What?”

“Make him jealous, Sunny.” A snort escapes you and you slap a hand over your mouth. Jake’s smile is wide, his head falling back with a deep chuckle. “Oh, Sunny girl.”

“I have no one to make him jealous. Even if I did, that’s a stupid idea. What am I, in eighth grade?”

“Honey, look at who you’re talking to.”

Green eyes devour you when you look up at him. He is right. No one gets under Rooster’s skin more than Hangman. You bite your lip, unsure. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But there’s a fire in Hangman’s eyes, like he’s got a point to prove. Playing with the hem of your dress, you scrape the toe of your shoe against the floor. Fuck it, really, what do you have to lose?

“What are we going to do, exactly?”

Jake raises his hand, cupping the side of your face. His thumb lightly drags over your bottom lip before pulling it down. He pulls it away and looks down at the faintly smeared mauve color now on the pad. He lifts it up to his mouth and rubs it in.

“What are you doing?”

His lips tilt into a knowing smirk. “Teasin’.”

He’s going to get you in trouble. Lifting a hand to your own mouth, it’s smacked lightly. Sharp eyes glare at him.

“Go pick out a song. Let’s dance.”

“Dance?”

“Yeah, Sunshine, dance. Now go, and pick out a good one.”

You roll your eyes but do as you're told. Eyes follow you the whole way to the jukebox. You lean over, just a bit, the bottom of your dress rising up to tease. Was that why you wore it? Maybe. You wouldn’t tell. Flipping through the songs, you pause a few pages back, a knowing smile taking over your face. Putting the money in, you twirl back to face Jake. When the song starts playing he laughs.

“Honey, you are playing dirty.”

“You started it.”

“Well, you do have your boots on.” He says toeing your Ariats.

“Come on, Texas. Show me how to boogie.”

“You are asking for trouble.”

An eyebrow raises. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Jake doesn’t say anything else. His hand grabs for yours, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you tightly to him. You can’t help but gasp when his thigh slots between yours. Tightening your grip on his shoulder, he twirls you both out and makes room to have a dance floor. The other patrons cheer while watching. A few cat calls thrown your way. A carefree laugh makes its way from you. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this way. It’s silly, really. To think that teasing a grown ass man made you feel this way.

“Just a heads up, Sunny girl, Bradshaw’s been watching since you went to pick out the song.” Your heart drops. What now? You go to turn your head, to try to find him, anything, really, but are stopped short. Jake slides his hand into your hair keeping you still. “Stop. You’re going to ruin it. I can see his fucking vein bulging from here.”

This is a good thing, right? This is what you wanted? His attention? Jake knows what he’s doing. He’s never led you astray before. Hopefully he won't start now. Jake lets you go, hanging you out with one hand before twirling you around. You’re facing away from him now, and you come face to face with Rooster. You inhale sharply, the smell of him overwhelming you.

“What’s going on here?” He asks, no preamble.

“We’re dancing, I know you have eyes, Bradshaw.”

Bradley looks from Hangman down at you. Head to toe his eyes blaze over you. A fire touching your skin. Licking at the top of your exposed breasts and down your thighs. You can see his lips twitch. The man knows you. His hand reaches out, pinches the fabric of the dress, rolling it between his fingers. It’s his favorite color, and by the look in his eyes you know he knows you wore it just for him.

“Hey Sunshine.”

“Hi Rooster.”

“Couldn’t wait for me, huh?”

You frown. Opening your mouth to talk, you’re promptly cut off. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Rooster shrugs. You follow after him to the table where all your friends are. Most of them try their hardest to look as if they aren’t watching this scene play out like a movie. You jump up to sit on the table, grabbing your drink and taking a sip. You hand Hangman his beer, his glare still on the man beside you. Neither of them say anything for a long time. They just stare, having a silent conversation that you don’t know how to decipher.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for Bagman, Sunshine.” Rooster finally says.

You snort, ignoring Jake’s smirk. “He wishes.”

“That why your lipstick is on his mouth?”

“Who’s mouth should it be on? Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” Jesus Christ, he’s trying to get you into fucking trouble. Widened eyes look at Jake, his face more stoic than you’ve ever seen it.

“What does that mean?”

Hangman huffs, taking a pull from his beer. “All I’m saying Bradshaw, is that you’ve got a hell of a woman hanging off every word you say. Waiting on you to finally do something. So, you better fuck her before I do.”

Did he know you could hear him? You’re sitting like two feet away. Neither of the men back were backing down and it’s making your anxiety spike. They’ve always been at each other's throats. You’re not sure when their little feud became about you.

“Did she say that?”

“Say what?”

“Did Sunshine say that she wanted you to fuck her?”

There was no hiding the smugness in Bradley’s tone. Hook, line, and sinker. A muscle twitches in Jake’s jaw from how hard he’s clenching his teeth. Suddenly, he glances over at you and you know you must look like a deer caught in headlights. He sighs but it doesn’t sound like one of defeat. More like he’s losing his patience.

He steps towards you, thumb trailing over your bottom lip. “If it doesn't work out with him, Sunny. You know where to find me.”

Hangman turns without looking at either of you again and makes for the jukebox. Your lips quirk up when you recognize the song.

***

The sound of the door closing is your only warning. Hazel eyes meet yours in the mirror as you roll your neck. Your body relaxes when you feel him press up against your back. He’s so warm it sends chills running down your spine. The bathroom isn’t all that big. Bradley stands behind you, invading your space and swallowing it whole. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. It’s easy to see that Hangman’s words have gotten under your skin. Your heart thunders in your chest at what’s going to happen next. A small prayer is sent off that Penny never finds out.

“You look good, flower.”

You smile at the nickname. “Thanks. It’s always fun when you can dress up in civvy clothes.”

He huffs. “The dress is really something,”

You grin at him through the mirror and you see Adam’s apple bob, hazel eyes fixated on your lips. You swallow, your throat thick. Tearing your gaze from his, you smooth your hands down the soft material, fingers playing with the hem of it. You took a chance with it, and you’re grateful it’s working out in your favor.

The tension is thick and heady. It clings to your skin, his callouses catch on your skin, gluing themselves to you. The music from the jukebox beats against the bathroom door, it’s the only thing accompanied by your heavy breathing. Your eyes shut when his hand pulls your hair to rest over one shoulder. A light yank of your hair has them snapping open. You meet his eyes in the mirror. One eyebrow quirks up at you. With a shaky breath you nod. Bradley leans in, lips lightly brushing against the expanse of your neck. His gaze rests on the soft spot right next to where it connects to your shoulder. You tilt your neck not only to give him more access, but permission too. Your lips tilt at the groan he lets out before his lips are on you.

Slowly his hands pull your sleeves down your arms. Goosebumps rise on your exposed skin. It makes you feel a little vulnerable. But then Bradley pushes himself even closer. He’s got his Hawaiian shirt on, jeans, and his boots. You can feel him breathing, his chest warming your back. It’s when he pushes his hips against you—you can feel him. All of him. A whimper escapes you and you see him grin in the mirror.

A hand trails down your side while the other moves to your chest. Your head falls back when a nipple is taken between his calloused fingers. You’ve only dreamt of what his hands would feel like. Your imagination didn’t do him justice. The heat coming from him is intoxicating. You’ve been so caught up in him that you haven’t realized a hand has been slipping down, down down. Fingers toiling with your dress, pushing the skirt up slowly. A hum rumbles from him when his fingers finally find your core, slipping between your folds. You’re completely soaked. You’ve been this way since he appeared right in front of you. Your breath locks in your throat when he slips a digit in.

“Christ,” he mutters, voice thick like honey. “No panties, flower?”

You whine, you can’t help it. You push your hips back into him, arching your back. His voice, the accusation in his tone. You knew what you were doing when you left your house. Maybe he’d come home with you, fucking you good and proper in your bed. Not pressed up against the sink of the Hard Deck. Bradley pulls his finger out only to push it back in with another. He does this, warming up your body, until you’re moaning, your own hand wrapped around his wrist and guiding him. You can’t stop your hips from grounding down on his hand. Desire has taken over. Bradley has left your nipple, hand now wrapped around your throat, holding you hostage to watch yourself in the mirror. He grunts when you clench around his fingers. You’re close, so close.

“Bradley,” you whine, fingers digging into his arm.

“I know, flower. You want it real bad, don’t you? Let me feel it. Let me feel you gush all over my hand sweet girl. Would you like that?”

You’re going to come off his words alone. A moan falling from your lips as the pressure tightens. It’s only moments later when the band snaps, hot liquid flooding throughout your body. Your head falls back against his chest, another moan filling the small space.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.”

You can feel him moving behind you. The distinct clinking of his belt being undone. Your whole body grows hotter in anticipation. Searing heat hits you, a hand stroking himself while the other is spreading you open. Heat pulses between your legs. There’s no doubt that he’ll split you wide open. After what you just pulled with Jake, you’d be surprised if he was forgiving at all. It’s a little fucked up, but it warms your belly all the same. Lifting your head, you gasp when his eyes meet yours. Bradley’s pupils are blown, lust and primal desire have taken over. His lips pink and full, he bends down and kisses right between your shoulder blades. Traveling up your spine, over your shoulder, he digs his teeth in where it meets your neck. You don’t miss his smirk when you moan.

He slides a hand across your ass, slapping you just hard enough to leave a red handprint behind as he thrust deep, bottoming out. A hand clamps down around your mouth, muffling the scream trying to break free. He’s big, so fucking big. He’s filling you up like never before. It hurts, a pain that you will never get enough of. Your knuckles turn white with each rough, lazy thrust. Bradley slides a hand along your spine, up the back of your neck and into your hair, your breath catches as he pulls your head up and you’re meeting his gaze in the mirror. He’s watching you come undone around him. Each stroke pulling more and more pleasure. Your cheeks are flushed, pupils blown with lust, and lips parted as each of your clipped breaths turn into whimpers.

“Flower,” he grits, hand tightening in your hair, “you feel so fucking good.”

You stare back at him, feet spreading wider to let as much of him in as you can. His teeth dig into your skin again, this time leaving bruises behind. It makes you whine. Little secrets that litter your skin. He thrusts harder, rougher until your hand is pressed against the mirror just to keep you balanced. He’s fully claiming you. Cock punching into the deepest part of you. Neither of you are too worried about the sounds escaping you now.

“Bradley, I–” you're cut off by a whimper when he reaches that spongy spot deep inside you. Over and over again, you feel it approaching, your orgasm is going to come crashing down and you’re ready to bask in it. Your face lifts up, like a sunflower searching for the sun.

“Flower? Are you going to come for me again? Are you going to let me feel you come around my cock?”

“Yes! Yes, I–Rooster, fuck,”

You come on his cock like a tidal wave, and when you collapse against the counter, your body trembles, heaving desperately for air. Bradley groans, pulling you up until you’re flush against him. His lips meet yours in a messy kiss, bucking his hips harder until he’s chasing his high right over the ledge with you.

“Good girl,” he praises, wiping the sweat off the back of your neck. “Good fuckin’ girl. That’s my good girl.”

The jukebox is still blaring when you exit the bathroom. Slowly you make your way back to where your friends are. Ignoring all of their knowing stares you reach for your drink and down it. When Bradley finally makes his appearance beside you, a possessive arm thrown over your shoulders and a quick kiss to the crown of your head. Hangman’s watching the both of you, a knowing look in his eye.

“So, Bradshaw, how was she?”

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw one shot #rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw one shot #bradley rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfic #rooster bradhsaw fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic

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freelancearsonist · 8 months ago

Text

in shades of gray and candlelight

➔ Marcus Pike x fem!Reader - 7.2k

➔ Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.

➔ Rated MA for artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily [please let me know if i missed any at all :)]

➔ this is my (first 😈) submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! i really did mean for this to be a drabble especially since i didn't know anything about marcus before receiving this prompt but he has my whole fucking heart and mind now 😩 thank you so much for the challenge lovely kel, and special thank u to my baby @fhatbhabie for betaing and screaming with me ily <3 (dividers by the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics)

You meet Marcus Pike on a Friday night and it’s obvious from the start that he’s going to change your life forever.

He looks a little disheveled when he enters the gallery–brown hair ruffled and standing up in places, tie loose, top shirt button undone. There’s an alluring five o’clock shadow burgeoning across his jaw and cheeks. He looks like he’s had a long day, and it’s only going to get longer. It’s all part of the plan, of course. He’s supposed to look like a standard blue collar worker, and he pulls it off with ease.

It’s the exhibition’s opening night, so it’s a little more packed than the gallery normally would be. It works in his favor–he’s able to collect a plastic cup of champagne from the refreshment table and blend seamlessly into the crowd.

His eyes are diligent as they scan the faces that come and go. He tries to commit them all to memory–the tall woman with the slight limp, the short guy wearing the Hawaiian patterned shirt. There’s dozens of people that pass by, and so many of them are forgettable. It’s exhibitions like these that make him dread undercover work.

The art on the walls isn’t exceptional, but it’s not bad. Nothing that seems worth stealing, that’s for sure. But his source is good, and his source said that this place was getting hit tonight. So he keeps his watchful eyes vigilant and pretends to sip the champagne in his hand.

Until he finds your exhibit.

There’s a depth to your art that he’s come to be familiar with–something he sees often in work of high value. Anyone can make abstract art, it’s as simple as flicking paint at a canvas. But few can charge it as emotionally as you have. To convey feeling and passion and heart through abstraction is a separate art form all its own, and it’s one you’ve mastered.

He’s seen original Rothko’s, Van Gogh’s, Kandinsky’s; he’s held their frames in his own two hands. But nothing’s ever made his breath hitch in his throat quite the way yours does.

He stands in front of a canvas simply labeled “Waves In Motion” with your name printed neatly underneath, brow creased with a concentration that seems a little unnecessary given the subject matter of the painting. It’s all shades of blue and violet, swirling together in a way that seems partly sensuous, partly violent. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he takes a step closer. That’s when he notices it: a single dot of red paint right in the middle, a focal point of all the swirling cobalts. So small that he wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t close; so small it could almost be interpreted as a mistake.

But he knows without having to ask that it’s not an answer. He wonders who that dot represents: you, the artist? Most likely.

Without meaning to, he smiles. It’s been a long time, years really, since a piece of art provoked such thought.

“Hi.”

The voice Marcus hears next to him is soft, dulcet. He doesn’t turn to the noise quickly–from the tone in that word alone he senses a hesitance, as if you’re a fawn that’s lost its mother and you’re bound to run if he makes any sudden movements.

And, truth be told, part of him thinks he might not be able to look away even if he tried right now. There’s something so beautiful about this painting–and underneath, something so ominous. There’s an air about the work that says he might unlock the secrets of the universe if he just keeps looking.

“Hi there.” He keeps his eyes trained on “Waves In Motion” as he responds–playing the game. He’s here to brush shoulders, after all; to be the right amount of forgettable yet memorable.

“This is my best, I think,” you murmur while taking a step closer. “It took the least time of all of them, surprisingly. But… I think when you know exactly what you’re trying to convey, it just comes to you easily.”

“These are yours?” There’s admiration in his eyes and an air of something akin to disbelief in his voice as he takes in the group of canvases proudly displayed on the plain white gallery walls.

And then he turns and lets himself take you in. More specifically the curling strand of hair that falls out of your updo to frame your face, the deeply plunging neckline of your dress, the way your calf muscles work even standing still in your high-heeled shoes. You’re a work of art in your own right; the most beautiful piece he’s seen in a long time.

“Yeah.” You duck your head–shyly, modestly–and he’s hooked. There’s one thing in this building that deserves awe and reverence more than your painting, and it’s you. “You know, you’re only the second person who’s come over tonight.”

“No way. They’re all just working their way back here,” he whispers before he can calculate a more articulate response.

But it works in his favor–your giggle is gorgeous, if a sound can be described that way. Sweet and syrupy, it seeps over him as if he’s standing under a cracked honeycomb. He hasn’t actually taken a drink of his champagne, and yet he can feel his nervous system tingling. You’re just that intoxicating.

“The gallery closes in half an hour,” you tell him–a little wistfully at that. “In my defense, I don’t have any family or friends in the area. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show, not with so many other talented artists here.”

It seems so indignantly unfair to Marcus. That you’re shoved into the far back corner of the gallery, that people haven’t come in droves from all over the country to see your work.

“Where are you from?” He asks as his mind finally starts to clear from the haze it’s been in the past few minutes. With only half an hour left on the job, he allows himself a small sip of the drink that he’s been cradling all night.

“New York. This is actually only my second exhibition,” you explain, and you almost sound shy about it; as if you need to be embarrassed about being young and fresh-faced in the art industry, as if you aren’t the most talented artist Marcus has ever met in person.

He hums in response, eyes unconsciously dragging over you once more. “You came a long way for this.”

You smile so prettily up at him, and in that moment he sees something in your eyes. He can’t describe it–maybe it’s something akin to longing. Something incomplete, unexplored. It’s familiar; it’s the red dot from your painting. Solitary amidst the swirling, lost yet not hopeless.

And just like your painting, he finds himself wanting to get lost in your eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day a gallery wants to host you,” you say after another sip of your drink. “Plus, I’ve never been to Texas before, and I needed a change of scenery.”

There’s something so charming, so boyishly intoxicating about the smile he graces you with. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s hotter than I’m used to,” you say with a chuckle that he echoes. “And I haven’t been able to do any exploring yet, my flight only got in a couple hours before I had to be here.”

“That’s a shame,” he hums in a tone that reveals deeper meaning. “How long are you here for? Do you have any plans?”

“A week,” you murmur. Subconsciously he leans in closer, on the edge of his proverbial seat. To seal the deal, you lean in too. “And not a damned one.”

There’s no air between you and Marcus. You exist in a vacuum for this moment–unable to breathe, choking on anticipation. He’s so close, yet way too far away. You want to be consumed by him–for him to be swirling blue; and you, a single speck of red in his midst.

The moment shatters with an audible sound–a deep, penetrating voice. “He’s still not here, huh? I don’t think your boyfriend’s coming. If he even exists.” There’s something strange in the raspy voice that drawls these words–something strange enough to immediately put Marcus on the alert.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion into your vacuum, but you recover quickly. You have to, because this intrusive stranger is standing way too close and has way too much alcohol on his breath.

And then something strange happens–you worm your arm around Marcus’s waist and press yourself firmly into his side.

“Actually, he’s right here,” you say. There’s a quality to your voice that wasn’t there before when you were just talking to Marcus–it’s firm, clipped, bordering on hostile. “He just got held up at work. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Thankfully, Marcus has always been one to think quickly on his feet. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, unconsciously moving an inch or two in front of you. Protecting without really meaning to. “I’m sorry, honey. I got here as soon as I could.”

The man–burly and balding, probably a good twenty years older than you–scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Is there a problem here?” Marcus draws up to his full height–towering a good few inches over this strange intruder.

Whoever this guy is, he’s not completely stupid. He senses this isn’t going to be a fight he’ll win, so he backs off. “Not at all, man. Just didn’t want little miss standing here all alone the whole night.”

“Thanks,” you say with bitter reprehension. You wind even closer to Marcus–closer than this sudden farce demands. “But we’re fine now.”

He nods once–curt and unhappy, but seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to get what he wants. “Have a good night, ma’am. Sir.”

Marcus takes a mental inventory of the man as he storms off, committing his physical description and his outfit to memory. He doesn’t look like a casual art viewer, and he doesn’t look like a collector. He’s exactly the type that Marcus came here to look out for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you step out of Marcus’s personal space. “He’s been hovering all night, asking me who I’m going home with and shit.”

“That’s the other guy who came over to talk to you?” It brings a deep frown to his face, a crease forming between his brows. It certainly raises a red flag–if the guy has any eye for value, of course he would be drawn to your exhibit. And if he has an eye for value, he could be the guy Marcus came for.

“Yeah.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and avert your gaze, as if you should be embarrassed for drawing that guy’s attention. “It’s not been the greatest night.”

Marcus hates that. He hates that you came all this way to be let down, that this is only your second exhibition and you’ve had such a bad experience with it. More than anything, he hates that he can still see the spark in your eyes when you look up at him, and he can tell that it’s dimmed.

“Gimme just a minute.”

He doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but he wants to make it quick. He hustles to the single-stall men’s room and tugs the radio out of his inside jacket pocket to call in the man’s description. Then he turns it off, tucks it back into its concealed pocket, and goes over to the sink.

He thought he looked perfect for the part he had to play when he left his house to come here. Now, he’s too disheveled. He wets his fingertips and tries to tame the mess on top of his head; he re-buttons his shirt and tightens his tie. He looks flustered, and he’s not even surprised by it. You’ve got his heart pounding with anticipation in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before.

Butterflies fluttering on in his stomach, he emerges from the restroom to resume his position by your side.

Except you’re not by your exhibit anymore, and the crowd has thinned considerably. He checks his watch and realizes there’s only five minutes before the gallery closes for the night. Maybe you’ve decided to cut your losses and leave early.

He hates the way his gut twists with disappointment, but then he reminds himself that he didn’t come here for you. He’s working, and he needs to stay vigilant. No distractions, no complications.

“You’re still here.”

There’s a wave of relief that washes over him as he hears your voice, and this time he’s not too timid to turn towards you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought I might’ve scared you off.” There’s a fresh cup of champagne in your hand and a hint of vulnerability in your voice, and it makes his heart pick up pace just the slightest bit. You duck your head–that shy, modest gesture again. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that without permission.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, more earnestly than he’s ever said anything in his life. “I didn’t mind at all, I swear. Just had to hit the head.”

You look so deeply into his eyes he almost wonders if you aren’t looking through him. But whatever you find, you must like it.

He clears his throat and tries to not show how thoroughly unraveled he is by your gaze. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.” You pause for a moment, and he can tell that there’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue–so he remains silent in hopes of drawing it out.

“Do you have someone to go home to?”

There it is–the invitation he was both dreading and hoping for. He should really lie. He’s here on a job, after all–he’s supposed to avoid complications, and some instinct tells him you’re going to be much more than a simple distraction. But he’s told you the truth so far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.

“No. No, I don’t.”

This is everything that Marcus has never even considered doing. It’s late, it’s dark, it’s a little chilly for spring in Austin. The alley is grimey and drafty–your hair blows in the breeze even as you kneel down before him.

All he can do is stand there, dumbstruck with his back up against the rough brick wall, and stare down at you.

He’s still breathless from the way you’ve been kissing him–all heat and passion, fire and brimstone. Your hands ran through his hair and undid the effort he put in while in the bathroom, and his hands clutched your waist in a futile attempt to ground himself. Your lips are so soft; he thinks he could kiss you forever and never get tired of it. He was certainly planning on finding out, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“You… you don’t have to–”

But the way you look up at him through your lashes makes his throat close up around whatever protest he was going to try.

“I want to,” you assure him–more of a purr than a spoken statement.

And this really isn’t the place. He shouldn’t let you do this here. But he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him harden in his boring gray work slacks.

Marcus has never been about excitement. He’s always strayed to the comfortable and familiar–he falls into the sweet, caring companion role with grace and ease.

And tonight doesn’t have to be that different. If you’re going to suck his dick in a dark, dingey alley, he’ll let you. But he’s going to lay his jacket down on the ground so you don’t scrape up your knees first.

You keen at the thoughtful gesture and grace him with a grateful smile as your adept fingers work his belt open. He’s straining against the seam of his pants now, begging for the attention that your gaze promises him.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re every bit as eager to get his trousers and boxers down as he is.

And Lord help him, he delights in the gasp you emit when his cock springs free from its confines.

“Fuck, Marcus.” Your lips actually part as you freeze for a moment, just taking him in. He’s thick, maybe an inch longer than average, swollen head peeking through uncut skin as if begging for your waiting mouth. He curves to the left just a little bit, and you can almost see his pulse thrumming through the prominent vein that runs along the length of him.

“S’not that impressive,” he mumbles, and you know that he knows that he’s full of shit.

Your fingers almost don’t wrap all the way around him, and suddenly you’re second-guessing this back alley stint, too. You want him in bed. You want him deep inside you, kissing your face as he fucks you, hands all over your body, thrusts hard yet slow. You want it languid, you want it desperate, you want it any way he’ll give it to you. You don’t want to blow him and say goodbye.

He calculates your hesitation as something other than pure unadulterated lust, and he lifts your chin gently with his index and middle fingers.

“Hey, we don’t have to–”

Again, you cut him off–this time, by dragging your tongue from the seam of his balls all the way along his length to swirl messily around his tip. You taste every heady inch of him and then moan at the salty foreshadowing on your tongue when you catch a droplet of precum leaking from his slit.

Your hand springs into action with a long, slow stroke along his cock, and then you sink your mouth around him and he moans. Without caution or pretense, like you’re not in an alley that anyone could walk down at any moment. It’s a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be and his head thumps back against the brick wall hard enough to hurt, and even still he’s never felt so overwhelmed with pleasure before in his life.

Your nose meets the neat patch of hair at his base and your free hand comes up to his hip, effectively pinning him against the wall when he tries to buck greedily even further into your mouth.

No one’s ever taken him so relentlessly before. You’re insistent, pressing onward even as you gag on his length, and it makes his balls tighten in a way he’s never felt before. It’s like you’re hungry for him; like you’re doing this more for your own pleasure than for his.

Marcus Pike has been a giver his whole life. Tonight, with you, he finally decides to take.

He’d be embarrassed about how fast he comes if you weren’t so eager for it. You moan around him and push yourself as deep as you can, throat working around him desperately not to choke on the size of him. Before he can warn you he’s spilling into your mouth, maybe more than he’s ever come before, thick and salty but undeniably sweet too. You allow yourself a moment to savor him as he pulses in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head of him in a way that makes him shiver and whine.

He’s panting, nearly light-headed, when you finally pull off of him and press one last gentle kiss over his slit.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, because there’s nothing else to say.

You giggle, and he realizes with a strange wistfulness that he would do anything to keep this girl–a girl he’s just met, a girl who’s leaving to go back to her home on the other side of the country in just a week–smiling and laughing the way she is now.

“My hotel is only a couple blocks away,” you tell him as he helps you to your feet. “Would you like a nightcap?”

You pick up his jacket and dust the grime off it–it makes him chuckle. Everything about this encounter has flown in the face of what he’s used to.

He’s never felt so alive.

“I would love a nightcap.”

Your senses wake up slower than normal.

First it’s your eyes–they tune in on the bright mid-sunrise light streaming through the open balcony blinds on the far wall. It falls in slivers and shards over the rumpled white hotel-standard bedding–the second thing your senses tune into. Everything is so soft and light, but it’s a little cold too. Especially the other side of the bed; there’s no heat remaining there at all.

You push yourself up with a grunt and let the sheets fall away from your bare torso, tired eyes scanning around the room. You notice clothes scattered all over the floor while your ears wake up enough to hear water running in the bathroom, and you can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads over your face. He’s still here.

Marcus lets the too-hot water wash over him in scalding waves, muscles still a little sore after a long night tangled together with you.

He checked his phone first thing this morning, and the gallery was quiet all night. They think the suspect he radioed in was the guy they were looking for, but they weren’t able to apprehend him. The running theory is that he might’ve recognized Marcus and decided low-value art wasn’t worth the hassle, but one guess is as good as the next until they can bait and catch the guy.

It’s the weekend now, and Marcus is thanking his lucky stars. Not only does he have a successful mission to celebrate, but he has the most beautiful woman in the world to celebrate it with.

He emerges after a few minutes, wet hair messily scattered over his forehead and wide hips straining against a low-slung hotel towel. He’s a languid Saturday morning wet dream on two legs.

“G’morning,” he hums with a smile–he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down to hungrily take in your naked torso.

“Good morning, Marcus.”

He stalks towards you slowly, eyes darkening with each advancing step. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize he didn’t get his fill of your body last night, but you’re certainly not complaining.

He’s already starting to harden as he drops his towel and crawls over the foot of the bed, surging forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. If last night was desperation and passion, this morning is syrupy and sweet. He explores your mouth slowly, tongue sweeping between your lips and tracing every curve and ridge he can–almost like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

There are universes in the depths of his dark eyes. He may not say exactly what he’s thinking, but you can see it playing out in those baby browns of his. There’s something simmering underneath the surface–something more than just lust or desire.

Something dangerous.

You tug him closer and cup his face in your hands, enjoying the gentle scratch of morning stubble underneath your palms. He surges forward and presses you into the pillows as he settles himself comfortably between your spread legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs through kisses scattered along the length of your jaw.

You know you probably look like you got run over by a bus–you toss and turn in your sleep, and it always leaves your hair a matted mess. And that’s not even mentioning the slight tremble in your thighs, left over from Marcus’s enthusiastic attention last night. But there’s so much sincerity in his voice; you don’t think he would waste his breath saying it if he didn’t mean it, and that fact alone makes your heart pound with desire.

There’s a syrupy slowness to the way he moves down your body, lips leaving behind heavy wet kisses as he works down your chest and over your stomach.

And it’s almost like he senses the protest working its way up your throat when you feel his hot breath on your thighs, because he looks up at you and there’s sternness in his gaze. You got your fill last night, and now it’s his turn.

“May I?” He looks up at you from the apex of your thighs with big, round puppy eyes that are impossible to refuse–so you nod eagerly and don’t even try.

If you were eager to have him in your mouth last night, he’s desperate.

There’s no hesitation, no build-up. It’s almost aggressive, the way he buries his face in your heat. He laps like a dog at a bowl, hips canting into the mattress involuntarily as your taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls into your sopping cunt. “You taste incredible.”

You keen at the praise and card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the damp, spiky strands when his tongue laves heavily over your sensitive clit.

Marcus’s greedy hands grip underneath your thighs and push them as far as you can comfortably spread them. You’re still so sensitive after at least three orgasms last night–you lost count after a point–and it serves to wind your nerves tighter than they’ve ever been wound before.

One hand slides to the junction of your thigh and his thumb comes to take over the pressure on your clit as his tongue plunges between your soaked folds. It’s even more overwhelming like this, and there’s not a thing in the world that you want to do more than let him have his fun. Especially when that hand and his tongue switch spots–his lips seal and suck around your clit while he presses two achingly thick fingers into your waiting entrance.

It actually makes your muscles tighten and your back rise off the bed as he curls his fingers just right to find that spot that makes you fall apart for him.

He can tell you’re getting close–he’s already so intune with the way your muscles twitch, the change of pitch in your moans. You whine and cry for him the tighter he winds the rubberband, and he’s eager to make it snap.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says over the overwhelming flutter of his fingers scissoring and curling inside you. “Let me have it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly as pleasure wracks through your body that you can see constellations. Large hands come to pin your thighs open as his tongue keeps working, lapping and gliding against your cunt with ease as a wave of arousal gushes from your entrance.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, and he’s just getting started.

He trails open-mouthed kisses up your body as you catch your breath–his slick-soaked lips coat your skin with your own arousal as he works his way up to allow you a taste of yourself.

The first wet lick of his tongue into your mouth makes you moan. It’s not the first time you’ve tasted your own slick–you’ve had a moment or two of curiosity–but it’s never been quite as enjoyable as it is on his tongue. It pairs so perfectly with the minty tang of toothpaste left on his breath and makes you hungry for more.

He moves fluidly under your direction as you push him onto his back and roll to straddle his lap all in one graceful movement. It’s perfect like this–he doesn’t have to support his weight so he can run his big meaty hands all over every inch of you, and you can kiss him as deep as you want while you grind down on his aching length.

“Shit, baby,” he pants against your lips. Those aforementioned beefy palms grasp hard at your asscheeks to guide your hips, pulling you into a slow, long grind that bumps the head of his cock against your clit deliciously.

Your pulse thrums with desperation until you’re seeing white–no more teasing, no more preamble. You take his girth in your hand and give him a firm stroke; if you had a little more presence of mind, you might be embarrassed at how wet his dick is simply from grinding against you for a few seconds.

“Go ahead, baby, take it when you’re ready.”

He gasps at the first press of his cockhead against your entrance, head flopping back against the pillows as his hands squeeze your asscheeks with bruising force.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he murmurs, throat working around a thick gulp. “You can take it baby, I know you can. Did so good for me last night.”

You think you would honestly do anything he asks of you so long as he just keeps talking like this.

It takes a moment for you to work your way down his length–he’s so mouth-wateringly thick and the curve of his cock hits the most delicious spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Atta girl,” he praises breathlessly as your hips settle flush against his. “Just sit there for a minute. So pretty on my dick.”

God, he makes your entire body flush with heat. He turns your blood to molten lava with his words, lighting every inch of skin on fire. You’ve never felt a sensation like this–so overwhelming yet so intoxicating.

You start with slow movements as his hands trace up and down your sides sweetly–it’s more like you’re grinding on him than anything else. His thumbs rub abstract little patterns into your skin as his hands work up to your tits; when he finally takes them in the palms of his hands and squeezes all pretense of soft, sweet morning-after sex flies out the window.

You drop down hard on his cock and it nearly punches the wind out of him.

“Yes!” He growls darkly. His eyes flash with something dangerous–it’s the only warning you get before his hand slaps the meat of your ass and grabs a greedy handful. “Just like that baby, use my fuckin’ dick.”

And maybe, if he was someone else, you wouldn’t be nearly as eager to follow instructions. But with Marcus, you’re nothing if not obedient.

Last night was exploration and discovery–hours into the early morning spent learning each other’s bodies, finding what makes the other squirm and whine and beg. This morning is in perfect juxtaposition to that sweet, soft, probing sex–you know what drives each other crazy now, and you each use it to your advantage. Aggressively.

He surges up to suck a pert nipple into his mouth as you set a hard pace on him, long fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He lands another sharp smack to your ass when your thighs start to shake–a reward for using his cock exactly how he asked.

”M-Marcus—”

”I know, sweetheart,” he purrs through a guttural moan. He cants his hips up to meet your thrusts at just the right moment—he hits something so devastatingly pleasurable that your vision prickles white around the edges. “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can let go. Come for me.”

There’s a condescending note to his voice that only makes you squeeze harder around his cock, and within seconds you’re hurtling uncontrollably into ecstasy.

He fucks you through the telltale fluttering of your cunt even when your hips stop moving; strong hands hold you in place and work you through the ebbing waves of pleasure that wrack through your entire body.

”M’so close, honey,” he grunts with a particularly sharp thrust upward. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Where do you want me?”

”I-inside,” you gasp. “Come inside me, Marcus.”

He fills you as soon as he has your instruction—hard thrusts punctuated by breathy moans as he pumps you full of his release.

There’s a long, silent moment where Marcus pulls your bare chest tightly against his own and you pant into the crook of his neck while trying desperately to even-out your breathing. His fingertips dance across your skin-feather-light, soothing.

The sun is higher in the sky now and meets your eyes with blinding rays through the balcony shutters when they finally open again.

”That was amazing, honey,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s caught his own breath now, but he doesn’t make any attempt to let you go. “How’re you so perfect?”

”M’not perfect,” you mumble into his shoulder; but even to your own ears, it sounds half-hearted. The truth is, he’s so earnestly honest that you believe him.

He hums his dissent with a kiss pressed to your hairline. ”You are to me.”

And you so desperately want to believe him that you don’t even try to argue.

You bask in this warm, lovely afterglow for a few moments longer before Marcus gently taps your hip. ”Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You pull off of his softened cock with a whine and try not to get worked up all over again at the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. ”Th-there’s a free continental breakfast downstairs.”

”Oh, then I’ll definitely pick up the tab,” he jokes with a smirk—all you want to do is kiss his goofy, stupidly handsome face.

He pulls you into the bathroom and starts the water running to fill the tub—he’s never really been a bath guy, but your legs are a little too shaky to endure a shower. He’s so attentive—from running a damp cloth between your legs to helping lower you into the water. He doesn’t complain in the slightest when you catch his hand and ask him to join you; he just shuffles you forward and slides in behind you like it’s a casual act that he performs with every hookup.

It’s intimate. That’s really the only way to describe it. You sit between his spread legs, back to his chest, head rested back against his shoulder while his fingers ghost idle paths over your skin. You don’t talk; you don’t really need to. Somehow, you fit together like souls who have known each other for years. Like all you’ve been missing is each other.

You drift off in his arms as he traces soap over all the curves and ridge of your body, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.

It breaks his heart a little bit to wake you—the fact that you’re so comfortable with him, that you trust him with such vulnerability, makes his head spin a little bit. But the water’s turning cold, and the last thing he wants is for you to come down sick or something.

He rouses you with gentle, feathery kisses scattered over your rosy-scented shoulders and neck.

”Mmm… what time is it?” You grumble, pressing your sleep-addled face further into the crook of his neck.

”Just after noon,” he whispers into your hair after glancing up at the clock on the wall.

He can feel the way your mouth shifts into a pout. “Shit. We missed breakfast.”

The adorable downward tilt of your frown as you lift your dad to look at him makes his heart flutter. “Let’s go out, then. The first farmer’s market of the season is going on downtown. I’m sure we can find something good for brunch.”

”Kinda sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” you hum with a slight smirk dancing at your lips.

”Maybe I am.” His tone is light, his meaning clear—he knows this goes beyond a one-night stand, and there’s no harm done if you’re not wanting to cross this boundary. He’d understand not wanting to get too serious about someone who lives thousands of miles away from your home, of course. He’d never blame you.

You give him your best appraising look, staring deep into those constellation-filled brown eyes. ”You’re not sick of me yet?”

”I have a feeling I couldn’t get sick of you if I tried.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. He genuinely wants to spend time with you, even if there’s nowhere for this to really go.

You hum thoughtfully. “I do love farmer’s markets.”

You’re with Marcus more often than not over the course of the next week.

He takes you sightseeing to some of his favorite spots around Austin, brings you to his favorite restaurants, shows you his favorite movies. But he multitasks—while teaching you about himself, he learns as much as he can about you and picks activities he knows you’ll love, too.

He’s a pragmatist; he knows your time together is short, and he wants to make himself unforgettable. If he never sees you again, he wants you to think about him every once in a while and look back on this time fondly.

You spend your days while Marcus is at work painting or drawing or lingering around the gallery, and you fall asleep in his arms every night. With shades of gray moonlight and candlelight cast over your hotel room, it almost feels like this could go on forever.

He tells you to wear something nice before he picks you up on the last night–he wants to celebrate in style, which starts with reservations at an up-scale restaurant.

He’s so achingly handsome. He’s in a matching gray suit over a white button-up, top two buttons undone and no tie to be seen. His face bears the slightest five o’clock shadow and your eyes gravitate to the curve of his lips–the instant smile that takes over his face when those gorgeous brown eyes of his land on you.

If you never see him again, this is exactly how you want to remember him.

“Wow,” he whispers reverently. “You look amazing.”

It’s not the most impressive dress you own, but he looks at you like you’re wearing something worth millions–like you’re worth millions.

You lean up and kiss him, and everything feels right. His hands rest on your waist and it’s so easy to pretend that you won’t be on the other side of the country twenty-four hours from now.

The restaurant is beautiful. Dimly lit and romantic, tables spaced enough to give you some privacy. He takes your hand on top of the table and holds it the entire meal. The conversation is light and airy–you’re both stubbornly dancing around what really needs to be said.

Dessert is cleared and the wine bottle is empty by the time Marcus finally works up the courage to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“I don’t want you to go.”

You knew this would be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You avert your gaze, instead focusing on his large hand wrapped around yours and the windshield wiper motion of his thumb tracing back and forth over your palm. No one’s touch has ever sent such electric tingles through your nervous system the way his does.

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all.

“Look, I…” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine a little bit, hand leaving yours to gently cup your chin. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he breaks your heart. “I think this could really be something, if we gave it a shot.”

You haven’t lied to him yet, and you don’t plan to start now. “I… I think it could, too. If I didn’t have to go back.”

“Don’t go back then.” There’s a firmness to his voice, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that he’s begging if he actually got down on his knees. “Stay here with me. We’ll figure this out. Just… don’t go.”

And here–with his earnest eyes on yours and his gentle, loving touch on your skin–it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.

He takes you back to your hotel room and sheds you easily out of your dress. As cliche as it sounds, it’s not just sex this time. Things that it’s too early to say are buried deep within every kiss, every thrust. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes while he fills you and you’ve never felt so overwhelmingly connected.

The thud of his heartbeat is insistent in your ear as you come down from your high–so calming, so heartbreaking. You lay on his chest while his breathing evens out and soak up these last few moments of bliss. And then, once you’re sure he’s sound asleep, you carefully worm out of his grip. There’s one more thing you have to do before you go back to New York.

Loud, insistent ringing pulls Marcus from the depths of sleep. He tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but now that his senses are alert, the sound in combination with bright Saturday morning sunlight won’t allow him the luxury. He presses his face deeper into the pillow that he’s somehow wound himself around in his sleep, but that damned ringing won’t stop.

He sits up slowly and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes–and that’s when he notices the empty sheets next to him. Your side of the bed is long cold, and he knows. Before he even sees the note on the dresser and your room key next to it, he knows you’re gone.

He finds his trousers discarded halfway between the bed and the door and pulls his blaring phone out of the pocket.

“The gallery got hit sometime early this morning. They took everything. Every goddamn piece. You need to get here now.”

His body moves on autopilot as he pulls yesterday’s clothes back on, fingers numb to all sensation as they work to button his shirt. This can’t be happening. It can’t be you.

He notices the note on the dresser as he’s threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, and his gut twists with a sickening sense of foreboding.

I really did fall for you, Marcus. But nothing good starts in a getaway car.

He’s not sure if you knew who he was the whole time and this whole thing was calculated, or if you just got lucky. He doesn’t want to believe you’re that cunning and cruel. He wants to believe that this is just a misunderstanding, that you’re out for ice or something and you’ll walk back through the door at any moment.

But you don’t.

The note is enough of a confession for him. He’ll have the power of the FBI on his side to find you–and he will find you. What he’ll do when he does, he’s not sure. He guesses he’ll know when he sees you.

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#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike one shot #marcus pike x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist one shot #cece writes

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leiswxrld · 1 year ago

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⎈⎈⎈

❥𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒… “Y/N look he keeps staring at you” pt.2

❥𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Tom Kaulitz x black fem reader

❥𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Smut, P in V sex, semi public (in a house full of other people), Tom is 18+, hate sex, cute at the end, remember people protection, dirty talk.

❥𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1105 words

❥𝐀/𝐍: So decided to do part 2, I’ve been so busy with exams but I’ve managed to get this posted, love you all 🫶🏾.

Another day, another night at a party you and your friend had been invited to, it had been a week since you and Tom had hooked up and you were avoiding him like the plague.

He tried calling and texting you a couple of times but you had ignored him, you didn’t know if you were avoiding him because of the shame you felt for hooking up with someone who womanised women, the fact you gave into him so easily or that his own brother had seen you naked with his cum dripping down your thigh.

You took a drink from the table and took a sip, it was Hawaiian punch with a shot of vodka. “Y/N this is our song” your friend says grabbing your arm and dragging you toward the middle of the room where everyone was dancing . You let yourself get loose drinking, singing and grinding onto people. It was 11 by the time you were drunk but not to the point you couldn’t think straight.

“There’s no way” your friend says as she crosses her arms and looks toward the right. “What is it” you ask as you took another sip of your Hawaiian punch. “You wouldn’t believe who it is Y/N, he’s staring over here again” she replies and you look at the direction she was looking at.

You audibly gasp to see it was Tom as he stalked his way toward you through the crowd. You turn the opposite direction and practically stumble your way out, trying to avoid him at all costs.

Before you reach the front door someone grabs your arm, you turn around to see it’s Tom and he didn’t look too happy.

“We need to talk”

He pulls you toward the stairs and throws you into a empty bedroom before closing and locking the door. “Why have you been avoiding me”

You scoff crossing your hands, “I haven’t I don’t know what you are talking about”… “Y/N I’m not fucking playing with you.. you were just trying to leave when you saw me, answer my question why are you avoiding me” he yells, putting his hand beside your head trapping you on the door.

“First of all calm down, secondly I don’t know what your talking about I have to go it’s getting late, I don’t understand why you’re so mad, you don’t own me so I don’t know why your so mad about it” you reply with a hint of venom in your voice.

You swear you could see his eyes turn a darker colour as his breathing become ragged and heavy. He laughs, “so you do admit to ignoring me then” he asks and you shrug your shoulders, “even if I was why does that affect you” you slur, pushing him out of the way.

“Look Tom as nice as this little reunion was I need to get going” you say about to open the door before getting pulled back and thrown onto the bed. You wince at the impact as you bounce up and down on the mattress. “Hey what the fuck was that for-“ you say before getting cut off with Toms lips.

He kissed you like a starved man, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, feeling the fire in your core grow. “I always knew you were a fucking brat” he murmurs grabbing your ass, “it’s as if you were trying to tease me out there, your skirt barley covers your ass” he slaps your ass and you stifle a moan.

“Didn’t take you for a pain slut baby” he roughly pulls down your skirt and rips off your thong. “So wet for me” he mutters spitting onto his fingers and pushing them into your gaping hole. You whimper as he began to thrust them in and out occasionally slapping your tits with his left hand. “Fuck I’m close” he speeds up his movements, curving his fingers so they would hit your spot.

“Shit I’m coming” that euphoric feeling washes over as you cum all over his fingers, he grins pulling them out and placing them into his mouth. “you taste so good baby” you look at him flustered as he pulled out his already hard dick, “can’t wait to feel you again maybe that will teach you how to act” he says, grabbing a condom from his pocket and rolling it on.

He pulls you down to the edge of the bed and teases your folds with his red tip “hurry the fuck up and fuck-“ you say impatiently before tom slides into you with no warning and you mutter a “shit” as his cock filled you to the brim. “So tight” he muttered, waiting a moment before thrusting in and out slowly, it felt so fucking good but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“This dick filling you up baby, I’m gonna fuck you so dumb” he whispered in you ear kissing the outside of it. You refrain from rolling your eyes back as his strokes became deeper with every thrust. “That’s all you can d-do, I could find some guy here who could fuck me way better than you ever c-could” you stammer, a smirk planted upon your lips, and a fake yawn just to tick him off.

You could tell your snide remarks were getting to him as he began his brutal pace of thrusting into you, feeling his cock all in your stomach. He brings his hands to your neck as he chokes you to oblivion.

“Fuck Tom, slow down slow down” you moan out, eyes crossing, tears forming and nails digging into his back, leaving moon shaped crescents in their place, you really were going to be a fucked mess when he was done.

“Your gonna take this dick since you want to be fucking smart with me” he growls, bringing one hand to your pussy and rubbing your clit, you were overwhelmed from the pleasure as it made you shake, feeling that familiar feeling build up in your core.

“Shit- shit I’m gonna- fuck- cum” he groans speeding up his pace and his circular motions on your clit, your eyes roll back for the 3rd time this night as you squirt all over him.

“Such a messy girl”

You couldn’t even think straight, babbling words as tom whispered curses in your ear. “Look at you, fucked so stupid you can’t even talk right”

His thrusts never faltered and you whimpered from overstimulation. “Who’s dick is making you feel like this” he says slapping your face, “y-yours” you murmur feeling yourself about to cum for the second time, “louder baby” he says thrusting into you harder, “yours shit” your eyes cross and your vision blurs as you cum for the third time.

“Fuck baby I’m cumming” he moans, his grip on your neck tightening as he cums into his condom slowing down his thrusts and pulling his hand away from your neck, you just knew that was going to leave a mark.

He kisses you again before pulling out and laying next to you as you both catched your breaths. “Y/N will you let me take you out or will I have to make you” he says, giving your puppy eyes.

You giggle, “only if you take me to some nice fancy restaurant and not to the movies.

“Deal”

#smut #tom kaulitz smut #black reader smut #tom kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel #Tom kaulitz x black reader #reader #tom kaulitz #Spotify #Tom kaulitz x reader smut #leiscoven

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sissylittlefeather · 10 months ago

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How the Web Was Woven: Chapter 7

A/N: PHEW this is a tough series to write, folks. But I promise if you hang on to the end, you won't be disappointed. This is another chapter in my time travel/soulmate AU with Elvis and a fem!reader. I hope you all like this chapter. Please don't give up on us. It's gonna get so gooooood.

Need to catch up? Here's my masterlist.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, angsttttttt

Word count: ~2.5k

Will he ever see you again?

******

You sit in your bed staring at your left hand and the diamond ring nestled there on your finger. Jeff is asleep next to you snoring quietly. You knew the proposal was coming, since you've been together for almost a year and a half, but now that the ring is on your finger there's only one thought in your head: you have to tell Elvis.

Even though you ended on difficult terms, you feel like you owe it to him to let him know that you're okay and that you can live the rest of your life without him. You know he can and will live the rest of his without you. You're not sure why, but a single tear escapes and slides down your cheek. You haven't seen him in 2 years and pushing him through the portal was the hardest thing you'd ever done. Would he even want to see you? How on earth would you make a portal to get back if he hates you?

Still, you have to risk it. Something is telling you that you need to let him know. Whatever the thing is that binds you together is screaming at you to try to find him. You pull your phone out and start doing research to figure out where he is in the spring of '62. He's filming Girls Girls Girls.

"You okay, baby?" Jeff rolls over and notices that you're awake.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. I just... I need to go to Hawaii."

"Hawaii?!"

"Yeah. Just trust me. I'll be back in a couple days."

"Whatever you say, babe." He rolls over and goes back to sleep.

There's a distinct squeezing feeling in your chest and you hate to admit it, but you miss Elvis.

******

Elvis gets back to his hotel room at the Hawaiian Village in Oahu after a long day of filming and lays on his bed fully clothed. Out of nowhere, you enter his mind. He's tried so hard not to think about you over the past two years, but when he's especially tired, he just can't help it. The same old wondering about whether he'll ever see you again hits him and he wants to cry. After the way you literally shoved him away last time, though, he's pretty sure you won't come looking for him again. Still, he says a quick prayer that you're okay, wherever you are, and squeezes his eyes shut so that the tears that have gathered there slide down the side of his face into his hair. For the first time in a while, he lets himself miss you.

******

On the plane, you nervously fidget with the new ring on your finger. You think about the last two years, about graduation, starting to date Jeff, getting your job, and everything else that's happened. The six months after you forced Elvis to leave were a dark time for you. And then there was Jeff. You'd met him that same night, but you didn't expect him to come crashing back into your life like he did. He dragged you out of your depression and made you go to counseling. He helped you cut back on your drinking and really actually saved your life. You don't feel about him the way you felt, or feel, about Elvis, but you love him. He's a good man and he'll be a good husband.

But he's not Elvis. And your stomach flutters at the thought of seeing him again.

******

Another day of shooting is over and Elvis falls back onto his bed again. For some reason, he's thinking about you again and he's starting to get annoyed with himself for not being able to focus on what he's actually doing. Why are you back in his mind? He shakes his head and goes to take a shower.

When he steps out, towel around his waist, his jaw damn near hits the floor. The old familiar buzzing sound is there, complete with the wavy air.

******

You step through the portal and it closes behind you with a pop.

"Hi Elvis." He stands there unable to speak. A lump has formed in his throat and he's not sure whether he should kiss you or yell at you.

"What are you doing here?" He finally gets out.

"I-I... it's a long story." The tension in the room is so thick you'd need a hell of a knife to cut through it. He walks past you to the bed and sits down on the edge of it in an effort to keep himself from passing out.

"I never thought I'd see you again."

"I know. Do you hate me?" You ask tentatively, not sure you're ready for the answer. He's dying to run to you and wrap his arms around you, to feel your skin against his and press his lips to you finally after all this time. But he doesn't.

"I wouldn't say hate."

"But you're not happy to see me."

"How many times am I supposed to let you hurt me before I can stop being happy to see you?" His words cut through you like a laser and you feel the tears well up in your eyes. He's not wrong. You have hurt him pretty badly twice now. You look down at your feet to hide the tears that are now sliding down your cheeks. All you can do is whisper.

"I'm sorry."

He can tell you're crying and it breaks his heart. He knows it wasn't easy to push him away like you did, especially with the state you were in without him. After a few more minutes, he can't stand it anymore.

He stands up and takes three steps to you, wrapping you in his arms and holding you tightly. You cry into his chest and he strokes your hair soothingly.

But you're not just crying because you've hurt him in the past. You're crying because you know you're about to do it again. For a wild second you consider just staying with him in 1962. To hell with not changing the past and with your own future. You want him. But you can't. He matters too much. You can't take that away from him or from the world.

"Now, honey, why don't you tell me why you're here?" He backs up and takes both of your hands in his. That's when he notices your ring. "What the hell is this?"

You take a deep breath and close your eyes for a second before you answer him.

"It's the reason I'm here, Elvis."

"Y/n, did you get married?"

"Not yet. But I'm going to." He stumbles backwards away from you and sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Who is he?" You sit down next to him and he gets up and walks away. He goes to the closet and pulls out a pair of pants, putting them on a little more aggressively than necessary.

"It doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn't. I need to know who's taking my woman."

"Elvis. Seriously? Do you think I don't know about Anita? And Sandy? And Priscilla?" He stops and it's like someone has dumped ice water down his spine.

"Y-y-you know about them?"

"I know about all of them. And I know who you will marry and it's not me. Did you think I was gonna sit around in my time pining over you while you lived your life?" He pulls a shirt over his head and sits down next to you on the bed. He turns and looks at you with a sad look in his eyes.

"No. I don't know what I thought. I guess I just hoped... but no, you're right. You should be happy in your time. Do you love him?" You manage a weak half-smile.

"He's good to me."

"That doesn't answer my question. Because I couldn't let you go to anyone that you don't-"

"I love him." You want to tell him that you don't love Jeff the way you love him, but what purpose would that serve?

"So I guess this is it, then?" You look into his eyes and try to keep yourself from crying again.

"I guess it is. Will you kiss me one more time. Like you mean it?"

"Honey, I do mean it." He leans in and kisses you deeply, his tongue brushing against yours tenderly.

"Make love to me like you mean it."

His hands roam over your body and he kisses down your neck.

"I mean it more than anything. Honey, if this is really the last time, I'm gonna make it count."

He lays you down on the bed and kisses the skin he can reach on your chest. Then he runs his hand under your shirt and lifts it over your head. He undoes your bra in one try and throws it to the side.

"You're so beautiful. I love your body. I just need to say that." He kisses down your chest and licks and sucks each of your nipples. He kisses back up to your mouth and groans into your mouth. His hand makes it way down to your center underneath your pants. But he stops before his fingers slide inside you.

"Would he... can I?"

"I want you to. Please." He nods and pushes his fingers into you. You moan and throw your head back in pleasure. No one will ever be able to bring you such pleasure with just his hand. He kisses your mouth deeply.

"We need to send you home. We need a portal."

"And I want you one last time."

"One last time."

You choke back tears as he moves his mouth from your neck down to your center. He pulls your pants down and off and kisses the inside of your thighs. His tongue moves up to your core and he licks over and around your clit skillfully.

"God, yes, I need it one more time."

"One more time, baby." He whispers into you as he continues to lick your clit. You feel the coil of your orgasm tighten in your lower stomach as he works between your legs.

"Yes, baby, please." You moan, running your fingers through his hair. Nothing Jeff does turns you on like Elvis does.

"Come for me honey. One last time." It doesn't take much more for you to slide over the edge into oblivion with his tongue moving on you as the electricity runs through you from your core to the tips of your fingers.

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly as he moves up your body, unbuttoning his pants to line himself up with your entrance.

"Hey. Is this what you want?" He kisses your cheek and waits for your answer before moving.

"Yes. Yes, god, I want it more than anything."

"Then look at me." You open your eyes and meet his deep blue ones in anticipation. He puts a hand on your cheek. "I will always love you. But I understand. I know we can only have this moment and nothing more. I don't love you any less because of it."

"Oh, Elvis." He presses his forehead to yours and then pushes into you slowly.

"Tell me you love me."

"God, you know I do."

"Say it anyway, so I have something to remember forever."

"I love you with all of me. Always and forever." He moves inside you, picking up speed with each thrust.

"That's my girl." He moves faster and faster, moving closer and closer to the end. Neither of you wants it to be over, but you both know you have lives waiting for you on the other side.

You wrap your legs around him in the hope that you can keep him closer for even just a moment longer. He grunts with the change in sensation and lays his head on your shoulder as he fucks you.

"I don't want you to leave me."

"I don't want to leave you." He captures your lips in a deep kiss and continues pushing toward the end. His cock slides in and out of you rhythmically and you want to cry with the intensity of your passion. Finally, he shudders and you feel his warmth fill you. His shoulders shake with the depth of his affection for you and you hold him close as you both weep. It's not long before you hear the buzzing sound and you have the insane urge to stay again.

You push his head up off of your shoulder and run your fingers through his hair.

"What if I stayed?" He pops his head up and looks at you.

"You know you can't. He's waiting for you." You sob openly. He's right. Your fiancé is waiting for you and his life is waiting for him. He holds you tightly as you cry for another couple of minutes. Then he kisses your forehead.

"You have to go, honey." You nod and slide out of the bed. You slowly gather your clothing and dress enough to get back through the portal. He stands up and pulls you to him one last time. "I will always love you. I hope he makes you as happy as you deserve to be."

"I love you, Elvis."

"I know, honey. I know." You grab his hand and kiss his fingers one last time. Then, you walk through the portal away from him toward your future. He watches you walk through and decides it's time to move Priscilla to Graceland and move on with his life.

******

It's 1966 and Elvis is knee deep in filming another stupid movie that the Colonel signed him to. He's ready to walk off the set and never come back to Hollywood. His whole career is a farce and his life feels like a joke. He finds a bathroom and is just about to seek some quiet time inside when he hears it.

The buzzing sound.

He looks to his left and sees the wavy air. It's been 4 long years and so much has changed. Why would a portal appear now? He was pretty sure that when he saw you in '62 it was the last time he'd ever see you. Still, the portal is undeniable. It tempts him with the possibility of seeing you and getting a break from his tedious and impossibly irritating schedule of filming. Even if it is a mistake, who cares at this point? Anything is better than the mind-numbing movies and soul-crushing reality of his current life.

He walks through the portal cautiously. When he does, he's shocked to find you on the floor. You have your knees folded and your whole body is shaking as you sob.

What the hell has happened to you in the 4 years since he's seen you?

******

Until chapter 8!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog @eddiesgirlforever @helen06dreamer @returntopresley @rjmartin11

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley smut #elvis fanfiction #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfic #how the web was woven

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11queensupreme11 · 4 days ago

Note

You don’t have to answer this question if you’re not comfortable, however I saw you discussing a bit about the election. Based on your response I figured you were anti-Trump. I will admit I am right leaning (not extremely but leaning) and I will agree that I am not pro-Trump. However I am also not pro-Kamala. I wanted to know your view on both candidates, pros and cons if you’re comfortable with that! For me I wasn’t able to vote this year but I will be able to vote next election (my birthday is after November 5th). But coming from a leaning republican here’s my pros and cons

Trump cons

-he’s very extreme in republican beliefs

-doesn’t support the LGBTQ (I am not apart of the community so I don’t know much on this controversy but I have heard from my friends in the community that he’s against it)

-very sensitive about his rally’s

-his multiple charges against him (though it can be noted that the time the charges came out was during a crucial time in his run for presidency so it could have been a plan to try and make him look bad, I’m not sure how many allegations actually were proven true or false)

-foreign involvement (he tends to get involved with other nations)

Trump pros

-very good at fixing the economy (when he was president it was one of the few time my family, a middle class family, actually was making excess money, we actually saved up enough to finally buy a home and my dad didn’t have to work 2 jobs and my mom worked night shifts to make ends meet. A lot more people got employed under his presidency)

-less foreign conflict (when Trump was president last time there was a lot less rumors of wars and wars going on since Trump was very firm with foreign involvement but we already are in some foreign conflict)

-immigration (I am Mexican, my mother was an illegal immigrant, but I do have to slightly agree that we need stricter boarder control. I’ve heard stories about the Cartels and them chasing people from Mexico and into the US and that’s terrifying)

Kamala cons

-controversy (Kamala has also had her share of controversy. She had ads about legalizing weed and showed mainly black people in the ad. Also she may be, I can’t confirm but I’ve heard it from others, that she is related to a past slave owners. Kamala was also voted in my the Democratic Party and not the people. Biden was the candidate that people wanted for the Democratic Party till he dropped out the. The Democratic Party put Kamala Harris as the new candidate. She had run against Biden to be the candidate before he dropped out and lost so she didn’t originally have the people’s support. Ect.)

-extremely left (I see being extremely left and extremely right as big problems)

-“middle class” (a lot of Kamala’s speeches were about helping the middle class yet in her actual speeches the middle class she described was the lower-upper class, not the true middle class)

-economic growth (currently under democratic leadership the economy hasn’t been good)

Kamala pros

-she’s very pro-environment and that’s a problem that has needed fixing for a while

-she isn’t against the LGBTQ

I’m curious to hear your response since it’s by hearing and talking to others without hate or prejudice that we can expand our own thinking and see things from new perspectives. I always wonder how media can manipulate perception so much, how two people can consume similar media from different sources but form 2 different opinions. I love your works and thanks for reading this!

Sincerely, me, a Mexican-Hawaiian girl

everything you put under trump's pros is completely false and further proof as to why misinformation is such a huge problem so lemme address your points one by one

"very good at fixing the economy"

firstly, when trump reigned it was under obama's economy. this is actually a pretty common thing for new presidents to inherit the economy of the previous administration (obama was president and had bush's economy, trump was president and had obama's economy, and etc.). their job is to either continue building that economy (if it was a good one) or rebuild it if it sucked.

when a president is elected, the economy doesn't just restart to zero and the new guy has to begin a new economy. no, they inherit it from the previous administration and they either inherit successes or deficits and they get to continue building it or destroying it

(the "president" being mentioned is trump btw)

source: here. other sources if you wanna check out: 1

and speaking of economy, here's what things are gonna look like once trump goes back into office with his stupid tariffs idea that people stupidly thought was a GOOD thing:

(also, i love how they CONVENIENTLY decided to publish this AFTER the elections...)

"less foreign conflict"

💀💀💀

idek HOW you got that info and i'm even more confused as to why you put "foreign involvement" in the cons above that, and yet switched up to say this.... but anyway there are SOOOO MANY sources from articles, interviews, videos, HIS OWN TWEETS, that clearly prove otherwise but here's a nice lil tiktok that managed to compile a good bunch of it:

"immigration"

this part killed me especially since you also mentioned that your mom wasn't here legally BUT i noticed that you said "was" as in past tense, so i'm hoping she somehow found a way to fix that

you want strict immigration control because you heard stories about the cartel chasing people here... but i don't see why you have an issue with that? the cartel is dangerous af, OF COURSE people would want to flee to protect themselves and their families? but you say you want stricter immigration and border control??? are you worried about the cartel coming here or are you saying you think the ones fleeing are dangerous?

kinda confused ^ but regardless, trump doesn't want "stricter" border control for the safety of the people, he just wants you all gone cuz he's racist af and so are his rabid worshippers 💀

also, did you forget he had kids in cages, forcefully separated from their families with no way to get back to them and had those kids FORCED TO GO TO COURT? (sources: 1, 2, 3, 4) or the time his insanely strict immigration restrictions caused the amount of drowning migrants to increase (source: 1)

he and his team are working their asses off to get started on their little denaturalization project (forcefully revoking US citizenship) 💀

from the loving words of michael davis, trump's chief legal defender:

"We're gonna deport a lot of people, 10 million people and growing - anchor babies [that's YOU anon, since you said your mom was an illegal immigrant], their parents, their grandparents. We're gonna put kids in cages. It's gonna be glorious."

ALSO!!!

for list of cons for trump you forgot to add:

has 34 felonies

is a rapist

incited an insurrection

shrugged off the possible lynching of his vice president (mike pence) during said insurrection

his abortion ban led to the preventable deaths of thousands of women and now that he's back, the numbers will increase

got impeached twice

got thousands killed because of how he didn't even bother to handle the COVID pandemic

also caused a lot of asian americans to be harmed because of his racist comments about them during said pandemic

caused haitian immigrants to be harmed because of his stupid "they're eating the cats! they're eating the dogs!" comments

he's a racist, a rapist, a misogynist, a sexist, a narcissist, a habitual liar, and has no idea on how to actually run a presidency

and many many more

since we're on the topic of misinformation, here's this:

this here shows how powerful misinformation is for the trump administration. a lot of the people who voted for him did it solely to be cruel yes, but there's also some people who just genuinely didn't do ANY research and foolishly voted against everyone's interests including their own

the people who believed the misinformation voted for trump, the people who knew the truth voted for kamala, and some of the misinformation is actually VERY similar to the things you just mentioned

"violent crime rates are at a near all-time highs in most major american cities" FALSE, but trump voters thought it was true

"inflation in the US has declined over the last year and is near historic averages" TRUE, but trump voters thought it was false (this says "last year", implying under biden's rule, so trump voters believe that inflation did not decline under biden's economy when it actually did)

"the US stock market is at or near all-time highs" TRUE, but trump voters thought it was false

"over the last few months, unauthorized border crossings at the US-Mexico border are at or near the lowest level in the last few years" TRUE, but trump voters believed it to be false.

#👸🏻| asks #👸🏻| rambles

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norts-trolls · 9 months ago

Text

ROUND TWO OF DRINKS FELLAS!!!

The midnight menu is here! These adopts we're made by me and the lovely @shintari! Each of these drinks have been mixed to perfection AND SLIGHTLY QUESTIONABLE INGREDIENTS for our lovely customers!!! The payment is through p*ypal USD only!! For an extra 15USD I will draw an Icon for them as well!! Dm if interested and please read the rules!!

Ramune Soda(40): SOLD

Night Vision Potion(30): SOLD

Pilk(30): SOLD

Club Soda(30): SOLD

Limoncello cocktail(30): OPEN

Cinnamon Hearts(30): OPEN

Pink Drink(30): SOLD

Unicorn Tears(30): SOLD

Cotton Candy Faygo(40): SOLD

Blue Hawaiian(30): OPEN

Rainbow Paradise(30): OPEN

Tipsy Mermaid(30): SOLD

RULES!!

Please keep the design recognizable. But we don't mind changes.

Please credit us for the design when you post them DO NOT CLAIM THE DESIGN AS YOURS

IF THE ADOPT IS POC DO NOT CHANGE THAT DETAIL

Blood color and gender up to you

We don't mind if you change their species

Please do not resell. Gifting is fine.

we can hold for 3 days max

Any future commissions of adopts brought from me will have discount.

PLEASE DO NOT USE THE ADOPTS FOR GROSS STUFF ( hate messages, racism, N/FTS etc etc use common sense)

ADOPTS WILL NOT BE USED FOR COMMERCIAL USE. (you can however buy commercial use license)

ABSOLUTELY NO USE OF AI WITH ANY OF OUR WORKS

#collab adopts #alternian shore bar #shintari #fantroll adopts #norts adopts

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no1frogfan · 1 year ago

Text

Impending, part 3

Matsukawa Issei x afab reader

Word count: ~3.4k

Tags & warnings: SMUT-MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. Fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v. There is cum. Pubes exist in this world. A little angst, pining, guilt, and desperation (my four favorite flavors).

Note: Finally finished this mini-series. The word counts have grown too much each time, but what can I say? — I want him emotionally, spiritually, biblically.

part 1 | part 2

You can’t stay in bed forever.

Probably.

Not unless you can convince Hiro to bring you something for dinner, but that’s never going to happen.

A particularly angry gurgle from your stomach makes you roll out of bed and pick your way to the kitchen. The tackiness of your skin is proof you made the right choice to sleep the day away. Summers are always stifling, and the humidity lingers even after the sun has set, preventing the air from dropping to comfortable temperatures.

A cool gust from the fridge provides a welcome relief, though it’s unfortunate the shelves are empty. That’s the worst part of being at home — the isolation. The trees and hills are beautiful, even the warbling of the birds at 4am is nice, but grocery stores and restaurants are few and far between. You could walk to the ancient ramen place a few streets down, or the sukiyaki place a few streets up, but neither sound at all appealing in this heat.

“Did mom and dad leave us anything for dinner?” You shout toward the open basement door.

No answer.

“I know you can hear me.”

You can’t see the middle finger Makki holds up. “I’m getting pizza later.”

“Can we order now? I’m starving,” you pad downstairs with a whine.

Sprawled on the couch, Hiro is sporadically illuminated by some anime show on tv. While you don’t recognize it, you can at least pick out the white-haired guy Hiro likes landing a couple of (over)dramatic punches on a black-haired guy.

“How are you even hungry? You’ve just been sleeping all day.”

Your brother doesn’t take his eyes off the tv where the black-haired one finally managed to dodge, and now the white-haired one is strategizing (at length) about his next move.

“You’re one to talk! As if you’ve mov-”

“I’m hungry too,” a deep baritone chimes in seemingly from below you.

You leap back with a yelp, squinting into the darkness at your feet. Out of the shadows, Issei’s form slowly takes shape. Honestly, you’re shocked you didn’t step on him.

“That’s not what you said 5 minutes ago,” Makki grumbles, but picks up his phone to place the order.

Issei shrugs, reaching his arm out toward you.

You dodge beyond his fingertips and beat a hasty retreat back up the stairs, calling out over your shoulder, “order me a Hawaiian pizza.”

“No way in hell. That’s disgusting.”

Fake retching sounds follow you to the top.

The cold spray of the shower is calming, necessary even, to wash the stickiness from your skin and quiet your frazzled nerves.

That happened almost a week ago, and seeing him in your house every day has only made things more fraught. While you haven’t exactly been avoiding Issei, you haven’t tried to talk to him either. For your brother’s sake you should probably make clear that it was a mistake; one that will never happen again. You could blame it on the beer or the weed, but the truth is, Issei plagues your thoughts even while sober — his breath hot on your neck, fingertips digging into the fat of your hips, the utter fullness when he pushed into you.

Before that night, the image of him as a gawky preteen was all your mind could conjure up. But now… Your fingers aren’t enough to relieve the pressure anymore.

Your encounter unleashed some latent magnetic field, prickling your senses and hopelessly drawing you toward him at every turn. You welcome his attention more than you care to admit, so, unsurprisingly, it’s been hard not to make it weird, and harder not to second-guess every single interaction these days. Since when did he know your favorite snacks? Did he used to stare at you so much? Had he always been this touchy?

Or is he just hoping for a repeat of the other night?

The possibility stirs up both anxiety and relief. Except for the teeny, tiny detail of being your little brother’s best friend — you know, the one person outside of family that Hiro places 100% of his trust in — Issei would top your list of fuck buddies (and if you’re honest, maybe even more than that).

What’s been most confusing is that Issei doesn’t seem bothered, and you’re not sure why that irritates you so much. He’s never seemed like the kind of guy who would treat you like a notch in his bedpost, but then again, best friend’s sibling is a perennially popular porn trope for a reason. Surely he’s not immune.

None of that really matters though. Hiro’s been acting strange lately, like he knows something’s up. Half the time, he books it out of a room as soon as you walk in. God knows how he’d react if he found out what happened. Issei said he wouldn’t care, but how true is that? You try to imagine how you’d feel if one of your friends told you they’d slept with Hiro, and you can’t help but be…one, grossed out because you really don’t want to think about it. And two, well…protective, angry maybe. He might be an ass, but he’s still your brother, and you’d never do anything to actually hurt him.

A knock breaks into your anxious musings.

It’s then you notice you’re standing vacantly in the middle of your room. Somehow, you’d finished showering and walked back while lost in thought.

“Go away!”

Hiro is the last person you want to talk to right now; especially not before you can get your thoughts under control.

Footsteps shuffle away, but instead of the telltale creak of the stairs, they pause, then turn back toward the door.

The door jiggles and clicks open.

“What part of-”

Except it’s not Hiro. It’s Issei.

His audacity dumbfounds you, but only for a second.

“The hell?! Get out!”

Hesitation flickers across his face but he takes a step forward.

“Can we talk?”

“NO.” You wrap the towel tighter around yourself.

When he doesn’t move, you reiterate the point by whirling on your heels and stomping toward the dresser. The underwear drawer suddenly captures your full attention, and you rummage through it with single-minded focus.

The door shuts behind you with another click, and you let out a shaky breath.

The relief is short-lived.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Goosebumps break out all over your skin at his words.

“That’s not true.”

The lavender scent of your shampoo tickles his nose. With you faced resolutely away, he steps closer and allows his eyes to sweep over the droplets gleaming across your shoulders.

“No?”

His lips brush against the base of your neck, and whatever retort you had fizzles on your tongue.

“Issei,” you whimper, “you said you wanted to talk.”

You lean back into his touch and feel him grin against the juncture of your neck. His hands, big and warm and firm, slide up under the towel to knead at your soft thighs, rapidly emptying your brain.

He gives you a gentle nudge toward the bed.

“I don’t think we should do this,” you protest, but your lack of conviction is apparent in how eagerly you obey, practically tripping over yourself to perch on the edge of the mattress.

He raises one thick eyebrow. “Why?”

“Hiro’s going to find out.”

Issei unbuttons his shirt with unhurried movements, unveiling the smooth musculature of his chest. Its slopes and dips are made more dramatic thanks to the yellow-orange light of the single desk lamp. You swallow thickly, eyes drawn to the sharp cut of his collarbones and the faded scar on his right hip.

“Makki knows. He doesn’t care.”

His shorts and underwear quickly land in a pile on the floor.

Even in the harsh light, his dick is nothing short of mouth-watering. A pretty flush tip sits enticingly over its thick, veiny length. Coarse hairs curl tightly at the base, trimmed short to reveal more of him.

He kneels and shuffles forward to tug the towel from your clutch, uttering an appreciative groan before he tosses it aside.

“Fuck, just look at you.”

Your objections devolve into gasping moans when he pushes you back to lay open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down your chest, sluggishly mouthing over your hips, down the tops of your legs and back up, licking a stripe along the tender skin of your inner thigh as he splays your legs up and out. He dives in to suck on your clit and you almost choke.

Your entire body tenses with pleasure when he starts to lap at you. But it’s the way he meets your gaze with hooded eyes — intoxicated from a single taste — that kickstarts the last ounce of resistance left in your body.

“Issei, if you- fuck that’s ahhh- you’re just looking to get your dick wet…”

That stills his tongue. Even though you’re the one protesting, you can’t help but whine now that he’s actually stopped.

“That’s not…” He frowns, a mixture of your juices and his saliva glistening on his chin. In one fluid motion, Issei slides you off the bed and onto his lap. A shudder runs through him when his erection glides against your folds, though it doesn’t distract him.

“Is that what you think this is?”

You’re not sure what answer he’s looking for, so you stay silent, head turned to avoid his eyes.

He scrutinizes you for what seems like an age. How could you not know? All the times he’s tried to impress you? All the things he’s done in the hopes you’ll notice him? All the years he’s trailed behind you — to your house, to university, and even to Sendai?

“Do you remember when your parents made you start watching us after school?”

Your face scrunches in confusion at the change in topic, but he’s insistent.

“Do you remember? Right after you started high school?”

“Ok…yeah,” you indulge, “I remember. I’d just joined photography club and had to quit like a month later. I was pissed — they’d never cared about leaving us home alone before so I didn’t understand why I had to babysit you guys.”

“They didn’t actually care. I made up some lie — I don’t even remember what it was now — to convince my parents we needed a sitter. I figured they’d make you do it, and they did.”

You look up in confusion. Is he…blushing?

“And in eighth grade, when I needed help with math… I actually bombed my tests on purpose for a month because I knew my parents would ask you.”

Wait… “Was that what your fights were about?”

Hiro and Issei were thick as thieves, the only exceptions being in your first and last years of high school. Their fights got heated too, though neither ever told you what set them off, no matter how many times you tried to pry it out of them. The second time, Issei didn’t come over for almost a month afterward (you remember because you had to go to his house to tutor him) but things always eventually went back to normal.

Issei huffs a soft chuckle. “Yeah, Makki figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“It’s not obvious?” Issei drops his head onto your shoulder with something between a groan and a laugh. “I liked you. A lot. I still do.”

He admits it so casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. Like he and Hiro haven’t kept this secret for over a decade. Like it’s hardly a confession at all.

For once, you’re the one struggling to keep up.

“Wait…you like me?”

You feel a muffled snort. “That’s literally what I’ve been saying this whole time.”

“And Hiro’s…not mad? But he’s been acting so weird lately,” you point out.

“Oh that. He keeps trying to ‘give us space’ or something. I told him to cool it.”

“Oh.” Huh. Maybe it was obvious. You were just too worried about Hiro to notice that every time he flew out of a room with some flimsy excuse, you were left alone with Issei. Issei, who you like more than you expected. Who’s had a crush on you for more than a decade. Whose lap you’re currently nestled in, naked.

“Does that mean we can…” You shift, jerking when your clit catches his spongy tip.

He laughs, grinding his hips up to meet you.

“We sure can.”

You’re still wet, really wet, you’re reminded when your pussy glides against him, and getting more aroused by the second as Issei stares, mesmerized by the slick trail you leave along the length of his cock.

His hands slide down to give your ass an excited squeeze before lifting you up onto the edge of the bed.

Dextrous fingers part your puffy lips as he rests his cheek against your thigh, giving him the perfect view of your dripping cunt. He thumbs lightly at your clit and heaves a sigh of contentment when your hips buck in response.

“Didn’t get to enjoy this last time.”

You bite back a moan when he slides one long finger into you. It reaches deep, and you squirm in encouragement when he sinks a second one in. He works them nimbly, curling and scissoring them while rolling your clit, breaking you down into a whiny mess in seconds, until you’re dripping down his wrists and onto the sheets.

You’re so distracted by his fingers that you don’t notice him dive in, just feel his lips wrap around your clit with a slurp. He licks and sucks at you eagerly, and you can only gasp and writhe, trying to steady yourself with a fist in his soft wavy hair. The walls echo with your cries mingled with Issei’s enthusiastic groans and the wet suction of your cunt around his fingers.

It catches you by surprise when you cum, cresting fast and hard, pulling your body taut and whiting out your vision. Before you realize it, you’re already quaking with aftershocks, trying to twist away from the overwhelming sensation of him licking and suckling dreamily as you come down.

When he finally pulls his fingers out, he makes a show of sucking them clean, stroking himself as he smirks up at you.

He pushes himself up off the floor and god, fuck. He’s irresistible, his cock bobbing heavily between his legs as he gets on his hands and knees above you.

Issei leans down, humming happily when he wraps his mouth around your right nipple. He massages your chest with one hand and grips his cock with the other to smear his tip along your sopping pussy.

It feels good, but you squirm and push at his shoulders. “Want you in my mouth,” you beg.

He placates you with a hungry kiss. “Next time, ok? Next time. I can barely- I don’t think I can last long,” he admits wryly, “but next time we’ll do anything you want.”

Your eyelids flutter shut in anticipation when he lines himself up.

He pushes in slowly, first the fat mushroom tip, then the whole thick length of him, rocking himself in, out, in, inch by inch until he’s pressed flush against you. Issei groans when your face contorts with pleasure. The stretch is incredible. He stuffs you so full, finally hitting that place you’ve been unable to reach.

He takes things slow. Too slow. He wasn’t able to savor you before, but he’s not about to make the same mistake again. His long, languid strokes are just enough to have you grinding against him in frustration with every thrust.

“Let me enjoy this for a minute,” he rasps.

His hands trail restlessly across your body, caressing and squeezing every inch of skin he can reach. He kisses his way down your neck to roll his tongue around your nipple, biting and sucking one before moving to the other, and back again.

After what feels like hours, your patience finally gives out.

You smack him hard on the ass. “Issei! Fuck me already.”

That jolts his hips into action. The length of his body is laid on top of you, pinning your legs up against your shoulders as he pistons into you with surprising force. Wet slaps alternate with the loud squeak of the mattress.

You begin to quiver, your whole body shaking as the heat builds in your core. He reaches deep, so so deep, making you wail every time he bumps your clit and his cock hits that perfect spot inside of you over and over again.

“Ohhh- fuck, Issei please I’m-”

He barely has time to blink before you’re falling apart at the seams again. Wave after blinding wave of ecstasy crash over you, relentless.

Your pussy clenches hard, gripping his cock so firmly he can barely move. Not a second later, he pulls out with a shout. Through hazy eyes, you see his mouth drop open. He fists his cock only once before his body stiffens, convulsing as jets of hot cum shoot out to land on your cheeks, shoulders, chest, stomach, dribbling out to coat your pubes, before finally leaving him twitching.

The room fills with hoarse pants.

You laugh weakly at the mess. “Wow, you came a lot.”

“I think I almost blacked out,” he croaks.

With great effort, he pushes himself off the bed and returns with the box of tissues from your desk. He cleans you up with care, just like last time.

“I wanted to last longer,” he mumbles, pressing a sheepish kiss to your sternum before collapsing on you, pinning you down with his weight.

It does something funny to your heart to witness him like this, so different from his usual confidence.

“Next time,” you assure him.

“Next time?” He looks up, almost reverent.

“Yeah.” You smile and brush the damp curls away from his eyes.

Next time. He breaks out in an obnoxious grin. There’s going to be a next time. And if there’s a next time, there might be a time after that.

“You won’t even need to introduce me to your parents.”

You snort. “Ok, pump the brakes.”

When you finally make your way back to the kitchen (with Issei practically holding you up as you wobbled), you find one Hawaiian pizza and two-thirds of a pepperoni pizza sitting on the counter.

Issei loads up a plate for you both before heading down to the basement. You grab some cold beers and follow suit, pausing in the doorway to take a few calming breaths.

You don’t hear any yelling or scuffling — a positive sign. Hopefully, that means Hiro isn’t too angry.

You take one wary step, then another.

When you reach the bottom, your eyes hesitantly find Hiro’s. There’s an uneasy moment when he frowns at you from where he’s seated on the floor before he gives you a curt nod. It’s stiff, but definitely not angry, not even upset.

Your shoulders untense.

Issei waves you over to the couch where he settles you securely in his lap, his arms encircling your waist. You cast another wary glance at Hiro who just rolls his eyes.

“Glad you’re finally done ‘getting some water,’” Makki snipes. “I’ve been waiting forever to start the next episode.”

“I’m definitely not thirsty anymore if you know what I mean.” Mattsun wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Hiro’s face twists, revolted. “Ugh- I- ugh god, I don’t want to think about-” he sputters. His eyes flick to where Issei’s hands grope at your thighs and ass. “Whoa, ok rule number one: not when I’m right here. And rule number two-” there’s an uncomfortable pause before he mutters, “keep it down next time.”

Mattsun’s not at all chagrined. In fact, he puffs out his chest proudly.

You, on the other hand, shrink in absolutely mortification. Right when Issei opens his mouth to make another (probably vulgar) retort, you shove a slice of pizza in…with a little more force than you intended.

He chokes in surprise and your brother lets out a mean snicker. “Perfect timing! Serves you right.”

You expect him to continue bickering with Hiro, but Issei instead flashes you a dopey grin. “Thank you baby,” he says sweetly, muffled though it is by a mouthful of food.

The gleeful smirk drops right off Makki’s face and he whirls back toward the tv with a loud gag.

“You’re welcome,” you giggle. Your brain’s still playing catch-up with everything that’s happened today, but you think you like where this is heading.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa smut #hq x reader #froggy scribbles

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be-my-ally · 1 year ago

Text

Paradise: Old Army Uniform Style

A late midweek (although I suppose it’s the end of the week now) treat for everyone - finally; my fill for the prompt “Army Elvis”.

pairing: fem!reader x 1964-6 Elvis.

summary: reader walks in on Elvis trying on an old outfit in the midst of his struggles with his body image - she takes the initiative to try and convince him he’s still hot af.

I tried, i really tried. I wrote 156 words for an ‘army elvis’ fic where he’s actually in the army but I spent the whole time thinking nope I hate it I can’t get the words right, I don’t know enough…etc etc. Maybe one day I’ll finish the alternative fic I had started but for now, please enjoy how I managed to fit late 1964-6 Elvis into this prompt.

warnings: 18+, use of the term ‘fat’ as both an adjective and a derogatory term for elvis to describe himself, but briefly and very gently. Insecure Elvis, oral (p receiving).

wc: for how long this took me to get out - an embarrassingly small 3.2k

as always thank you for the help + encouragement to the girlies @whositmcwhatsit, @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @missmaywemeetagain, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @powerofelvis

“Fuckin’ hell.” You can hear a clamour from the dressing room off the side of the bedroom when you walk in, clothing strewn about and Elvis swearing. What the hell is he doing.

“El?” You tentatively creep around the doorframe, he’d stormed up here a little while ago, furious about something that had been said to him on the phone during a ‘business meeting’ - shouting that he was “Gettin’ ready to leave - gonna leave y’all here if you ain’t ready when I come down.”

He was meant to be getting ready for the Memphian, like he had been every evening this past week and you’d wondered what was taking him so long since, despite his warning, he’d been up here a while. Of course, you’re in no hurry - the shows don’t start until Elvis turns up whatever time of the night or morning that may be and the boys were happy (and expected) to entertain themselves downstairs until he reappeared.

You round the corner, blinking at the sight in front of you, trying to make sense of the trail of clothing, the mismatch of the fabrics surrounding Elvis in the centre. Your eyes finally manage to focus on him and you wince a little as you see what he’s found. He’s staring at himself in the large mirror, twisting and turning. You try not to draw attention to yourself, yet, wanting to try and decipher his feelings before making yourself known.

You know he’s struggling at the moment - to find the right things to wear. It hasn’t helped his confidence none being shafted by the wardrobe departments. The worst offender being that god-awful brown shirt and pants he has to wear for Hawaiian Paradise; the beige supposedly slimming but everyone seems to be aware it’s having the opposite effect. Any attempt at suggesting a different costume had been put down - arguing that the costuming reflects the character, it’s apparently integral to make it clear he's a pilot. Regardless of the fact that the plot makes it clear Rick has limited professionalism and would, therefore, as a private pilot be unlikely to wear such a thing. It’s worse than that too - you know, Elvis knows, Larry knows, wardrobe knows, hell everyone knows that that outfit, and the way he’s being purposefully shielded from the cameras topless, how even swimming they refuse to film him from the front is all on orders from on high.

Orders that revolve around ‘the state’ of him at the moment, of his ‘hefty weight’ as that one Variety reviewer referred to him. Scarcely could you read a review without some discussion of his recent weight gain or the word ‘pudgy’ being used to describe some part of him. Elvis himself has become a little preoccupied with these comments - he wouldn’t allow them to film him naked from the waist up even if they’d tried in what he felt was his ‘current condition’.

You think - just for a second, looking at him now, that he’s in that uniform although why he’d have brought it home from set and all the way to Tennessee you couldn’t imagine. Before you realise that it was in fact the tan of his summer chino uniform. One of his old army uniforms - perhaps the oldest judging from the badge on his arm. You can see, as he twists and turns in the mirror, tugging at the fabric, that the pants gape at the waist - too tight to zip closed, and the shirt buttons are closed but faintly straining. It’s immediately clear it doesn’t fit. But it’s also clear that it’s not far off, and you dread to think how you would look trying to fit in a dress from five or six years ago - the difference between your very early twenties and being basically thirty seems like quite the jump.

You can see he’s miserable. His hair’s undone and flopping forward - a relief from his recent desire to have it gelled into an unmoving coif - working to hide his face from yours in the mirror, but with every jerking pull of the fabric, accompanied by the swearing spilling out of his mouth, you can tell he’s feeling awful. You repeat yourself from before, interrupting him this time -

“El? You alright?” He stills, glancing up at you in the mirror. There’s a pause that feels longer than it probably is as he makes eye contact before looking away, a flush creeping up his neck.

“‘m fat.” He mumbles it, almost as if not wanting you to hear it, you can’t help but roll your eyes - you appreciate he feels this way but it all feels a bit ridiculous considering you’re looking at him all day every day, and sure there is a difference but hardly to the extent he’s claiming.

“You’re not fat.” He whirls around to look at you properly,

“I am.”

“You’re not. And if you are, god only knows what you’d call me.” You gesture down yourself, he winces - if there’s one thing he’s learnt it’s to never comment on a women’s weight -

“Well it’s, it’s not the same thing at all. It’s different for you - w’men are meant, meant to be soft, ‘m ‘m not. I’ve got,” he gestures to his hips, “handles” You frown, resting your hands in the soft dip of your waist on top of the swell of your own hips.

“So do I.” You flare your fingers out to illustrate your point. He throws his hands in the air, as high as he can with the shirtsleeves too tight on his armpits.

“Don’t know why I bother trying to ‘splain - you ain’t listenin’ to me -“ He sounds it out, “You’re. Meant. To.” You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that he’s just upset and that’s why he’s behaving like a bit of a dick.

“If you weren’t meant to be - You wouldn’t be.” You believe that for him and yourself - wholeheartedly. He huffs,

“Don’t know why I even tried.” He starts angrily unbuttoning the shirt and you wince at his roughness - it might be useless, and it might be impossible to wear but it still feels emblematic of a part of him. “Stupid idea. This is why all ‘m doing is them shitty films. Won’t be getting any Jimmy Dean comparisons lookin’ like this.” He starts to tug at the pants, it would be comical the way he has to attempt to wriggle them off of his, admittedly thick, ass if you couldn’t see the waistband scraping him on the way down, little red marks being left.

“You’re being overdramatic. I promise, babe, no one cares whether you can fit in your old uniform.” He lets out a hollow laugh, sitting on the occasional chair in the corner, shoving the pants to his thighs.

“No honey, they do. That’s what - what the Colonel was ringin’ about, wanted to tell me they won’t be using me as I am now on the albums for the film - gonna use, use some from Acapulco ‘stead.” He can’t get the pants down any further and you have to stifle a laugh - you feel sorry for him, you truly do, but he just looks so ridiculous sat there with his pants bunched around his thighs, shirt open, pouting.

“Babe - I, I don’t know why this bothers you so much - they’re assholes!” He shakes his head, crossing his arms and looking to the side.

“They might be, but they’re right. Soon enough no-one’s gonna want to buy anything from me. I’ll be a fat old man. ‘s just like Germany all over again, ‘m terrified everyone’s gonna move on without me.” He looks affronted when you do laugh at him this time,

“Sweetheart, you’re not anywhere near old yet, and uh, well, you might have put on a little bit of weight, but you’re not out of shape and you’re not - honestly it’s ridiculous I’m having to tell you this. You’re not unattractive.” He sighs at this, like he thinks you’re just placating him, thumping his arm on the chair like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Want me to go grab a couple of the girls from outside?” You giggle, he kicks a foot out. “Bet they’d show you how you still are.” His eyebrows are still pulled together, but you can see his frown relaxing, as if he wants to laugh but still refuses to.

“Or, you just want me to make you feel better? Show you how much I want you still?” He looks you up and down, as if assessing the offer, you smile at him when his eyes linger on your bare thighs for a second. He goes soft for a second, quiet,

“I just thought maybe, maybe I’d fit and-and it would prove that I wasn’t getting all pudgy - hefty. Like they keep puttin’ it.” You don’t know what to say, it’s not altogether untrue - it would just be untrue to say that he doesn’t look good, that the few extra pounds haven’t gone straight to his meaty thighs and stomach making you want to sink your teeth into them, haven’t rounded some of his clean lines to look even better than before; manly, rugged. Even with the hollywood styling.

“What,” You pause, worrying that this is going to be the wrong thing to say, that it will make the spiral worse, “What made you try that particular outfit though?” He huffs again, frown back on his face. Before he seems to come to some sort of decision and sits up, leaning forward,

“I dunno, I just felt real similar to how I did then, and I know I looked good bythe time I was meeting with Sinatra, I was fit and, I don’t know really. I jus’ wanted to be home the whole time I was over there… and now, now I’d do anything to go back.”

“Hmm.” You’re non-committal in your response, you know he wouldn’t like to go back to Germany, back to the army, at all. You remember vividly how homesick he was, how much he hated being away, how miserable he was for those first few months after Gladys’ death. You’re pretty sure he’s just had a bad meeting that’s weighing heavily on him - and that if you can cajole him out the door for a night of fun he’ll be, not fully okay but, at least more balanced or rational about it all by tomorrow. You take a step forward, he’s forced to tilt his chin up to maintain eye contact with you. “I think maybe I just need-ta show you how gorgeous you are?” He frowns, but this time you’re not letting him distract you again, cupping his face in your hands.

You have to bend to meet his lips, and he has to strain up a little, his hands coming up to grip your thighs. It’s like a switch has been turned on. You swear you can feel his pulse through his fingertips, spreading from where he’s gripping your skin, travelling straight up to meet your own heartbeat that’s starting to thump between your legs. By the time your lips even touch you’re openmouthed, practically begging him to lick into you. You kiss him, soundly, controlling the movement in a way he very rarely allows unless he was feeling particularly vulnerable. You can feel in the way he sinks into you that you made the right choice, the way his cheek rests heavy in your palm, the feel of his eyelashes as they flutter against your cheekbones.

“C’mon Sergeant let’s get this off of you,” You tug at his shirtsleeves, pleased when he shrugs the shirt off the rest of the way while still trying to chase your mouth. “Now these.” You push at his trousers, they’d been stuck before, only a hint of the dark thatch of hair appearing just above the open waistband, but with your insistent motion they start to come down further, he lifts his hips to allow for them to come fully off and you can’t help but smile as you’re faced with him in total nakedness. “There now. That’s better.” He looks up at you, from under his lashes, where you’re still hovering over him. “Now. Where was I.” You start to sink down, between his thighs, your hands trailing over his shoulders. He grabs a wrist,

“Don’t - you don’t gotta do this, don’t, don’t want you to pretend none, honey,” You pull your wrist out from his grip, situating yourself firmly on the floor but kneeling up far enough that your head was at chest height. You look up at him,

“I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you. I’m not pretending, I swear baby,” You brush your fingers down his chest, skimming the side of his tummy, poking a little at his waist, he jerks away, ticklish, and you giggle as you can’t help but do it again,

“No-oo! Honey, no, not,” He’s laughing himself now, unable to stop as you jab your fingers into the soft sides of him, “Not there, stop!” You ease off, stroking where you’d been prodding, at the faint flush of red from the rough contact.

“I love this.” You prod him a final time for good measure, leaning in to kiss the fat on the side. “Love this, my perfect man.”

“Don’t -“ He flinches, turning his head away from you again, tucking it into his neck.

“Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth? Don’t tell you that I like the look of you any which way? Don’t tell you that I think anyone who says otherwise must be blind. Don’t show you,” You let your hands continue their journey down brushing over his hips, over the dimples just below before coming to rest on his thighs. “How much I love how you look?” You look up at him, sinking back onto your heels, “Let me show you Elvie baby, let me show you how much I love all of you.” You make eye contact, waiting for him to nod, before turning your full attention to what had really brought you to your knees.

He’s still only half-hard, and you pause, looking at him considering for a moment. “Watch me baby.” You take your hand under your dress, pushing into through the leg band of your panties, gathering some of the growing slick wetness onto your fingers, just enough for them to be a little slippery. You pull them out, watching Elvis track you with burning eyes, never moving from your fingers. You reach up to gently grasp his cock, your slick providing just enough lubrication. It jumps when you touch it, and he throws his head back as you move your hand gently but firmly, playing with him until he’s fully chubbed up. Only then do you remove your sticky hand, resting it on his thigh. You look up at him, determined to keep eye contact as he turns back to face you. You sink forward, lapping at his head, little kitten licks as you allow yourself to fall into the blue of his eyes. His hands are staying on the arms of the chair, as if he can tell you’re in charge right now even without you having to say it. You feel his thighs clench after a moment, and you take that as invitation to sink down properly.

The warm wet heat of your mouth causes him to swear violently, and when you glance down at his lips they’re open, parting as he pants a little. You push yourself on, taking him as deeply as you possibly could before pulling back and sinking back down. He can’t seem to still his hips completely moving then back and forth forcing you to chase him back down - to have to try to ensure he doesn’t slip all the way out. You start to pull out all of the tricks, your spare hand coming up to stroke his balls, a gentle encouragement of sorts, while you begin to hum any tune that comes into your mind, causing his hips to circle, a “Goddamn baby.” to spill out of his mouth and his hand to come to rest on your head. You open your throat, pushing all the way onto him, forcing you to break eye contact with how your nose bumps his famous pelvis once he’s fully situated. He’s making little breathy whines and moans as you rock your throat back and forth on him, swallowing occasionally to clear your mouth of his precum and because every time you do you can feel him twitch. You pull all the way off, circling his head with your tongue on the way, he whines as you do, a bereft noise, while you take a few deep, gulping, breaths.

You watch how Little Elvis is left rosy and standing at attention, how when you exhale he twitches from the force of your blow. You capture him in your mouth again, returning to the task at hand. It’s not long, with you using every trick of your tongue that you have, before his grip tightens on your head, hand fisting in your hair. You swallow, and he moves your head himself once, twice, before his hips stutter and he spills down your throat. You glance back up at him, peering past his tummy as best you could, watching his face contort as he grunts out an “Oh f-f-fuck.” His pouty lips parted, eyes shut. You pull back, licking his tip clean, before pressing a kiss to his thigh.

“That make you feel any better?” He smiles as he opens his eyes and you get to see the sparkle in them again.

“God, Jesus. How’re you so good at that.” You shrug, kneeling back,

“God-given talent for me to use on pretty men I guess.” He chuckles, stroking a finger down your face, this time he’s the one cupping your chin.

“`Thank you darlin’. You’re gorgeous baby.” You tilt your head as if conceding, lifting up a finger to poke him again.

“Even so, regardless of all of this, it’s whats on the inside that counts.” You mean it earnestly but he looks back at you, a glint in his eye as he traces a finger over your lips,

“Certainly is doll. What’s inside that counts.” He winks, and you gulp almost choking on your own spit in surprise at his double entendre. He grins, standing up to grab the pants on the back of the chair, finally actually getting ready to go out. You sit back on your heels content to simply watch him go about his routine.

You giggle a little, watching him tuck his shirt into his pants. A thought pops into your head - one that you’re not willing to say out loud and spoil his newfound good mood, remind him of his status that should, somehow, ease the human insecurities he feels, you know he’d hate it. But you can’t stop yourself from thinking it; I can’t believe I’ve just had to spend half an hour telling Elvis Presley he’s a stud still.

#elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis x reader #be-my-ally #elvis x you #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #writing prompt game

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rhettabbotts · 2 years ago

Note

Congrats on 1200 followers! Sending you Rooster and "no on can ever find out about this" as prompts!

stolen stares - bradley bradshaw

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x pilot!reader (callsign: clover)

summary: what started as a drunken one night stand turns into months of sneaking around.

w/c: 1.7k

warnings: 18+ only. SMUT. drinking. secret relationship. friends to lovers. slight dom!bradley. fingering. p in v. some fluff. getting caught making out.

Your head pounded as the bright sunshine peeked through the blinds in your room. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so, and you tried to kick the covers off and slip out of the bed but something - no, someone - had a tight hold around your waist.

You started to panic as you tried to wiggle away until you felt a soft kiss pressed to your bare shoulder and the tickle of a mustache. Craning your neck slightly, you saw a barely awake Bradley laying behind you. The beams of sunlight bounced off his golden skin, his hair tousled and curls prominent. He had a lazy smirk, one that said ‘this is real, this happened.’

“Hi,” he said quietly. One simple word and your whole body was ablaze. His gravelly voice was laced with sleep. Flashes of the night before flooded your mind as you gazed around the room and saw the trail of clothes leading from the door to the bed you’re laying in.

Tequila shots. Licking the salt off Bradley’s hand for a dare. Bradley playing the piano. Bradley pulling you into his lap. Dragging Bradley back to your room. Ripping the buttons off Bradley’s Hawaiian shirt. Kissing. Moaning. More kissing.

It hit you like a freight train. The image of Bradley leaning over you and whispering your name before he slid inside you.

“What the fuck happened last night?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

You sighed as you felt real Bradley start tracing lines across your lower stomach, soft touches that made your back arch and your ass press against his hard cock.

“Rooster,” you sighed as he started sucking a mark into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“So it wasn’t a dream,” he mumbled into your skin, pulling you ever so tighter to him. His strong forearm flexed and his fingers danced lower until they brushed against your already dripping cunt.

“Roo- Bradley, please,” you whimpered. His index finger drew lazy circles around your clit, dipping down to collect your desire and back again.

“So wet for me, sweet girl.”

Bradley slid his finger inside, thrusting slowly before inserting another. The angle was a little awkward and you could feel his cock leaking against your lower back. It didn’t take much for him to draw your orgasm out of you. A desperate plea of his name and you were clenching around his fingers.

You slumped into his chest as you laid there breathless. Your heart pounded in your ears and you whined a pathetic sound when Bradley removed his fingers and trailed your wetness across your hip.

Silence followed as Bradley excused himself to the bathroom and you finally checked your phone. Messages from Phoenix were pouring in.

Where did you go? Did you leave? Did you see Rooster leave? Oh my god are you with Rooster? ANSWER ME!

You didn’t know how to respond. You didn’t know what to say so you turned your phone off, avoiding the situation altogether. Bradley emerged from the bathroom, now dressed in tight black boxers. His hair was still a mess and his chest was slightly flushed but he still had that lazy smirk on his face.

He crawled back into bed and propped his head against the palm of his hand, looking down at you with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“So…”

“Bradley- this- I don’t know what this is, but-“

“I don’t want it to be a one time thing. But if that’s what you want, I can- I can live with that,” he said shyly.

“I don’t want it to be a one time thing, either,” you whispered, running your finger along his cheekbone. He was leaning in for a kiss when his phone started ringing. He groaned loudly before rolling over. It was Maverick.

Bradley paced around the room talking to Mav while you got dressed. You were nervous, feeling like you had been caught but Bradley didn’t say a word. He hung up and sat down beside you on the edge of the bed.

“I gotta go help Mav with something. Can we- would you want to- can I take you out tonight?”

You smiled as he stuttered over his words. Grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles, you nodded.

“I’d like that.”

————————————————————————

Dinner was nice but you were antsy. You wanted to be alone with Bradley again. You couldn’t keep your hands off him as you entered your room. There was a certain thrill to sneaking around, knowing you were the only two that knew about this.

Bradley bent you over on your hand and knees, tearing the foil condom wrapper with his teeth before sliding it on himself. His hands roamed over your back, groping your ass before landing a light slap to it. He thrusted two fingers inside you without preamble, wasting no time in getting you ready for him.

“Dripping all over my fingers, Clover. You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you?” His voice was rough like the pace of his digits. He slid them out and slid his hard cock inside you to the hilt. You moaned into the pillow, biting the material as you adjusted to his size.

His thrusts started slow but soon picked up, his hips snapping against you. The only sounds that filled the room were your breathy moans and Bradley’s grunts and skin slapping against skin. His hands wrapped around your front to grope at your breasts, pinching your nipples.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Right there. Oh god Brad- keep- oh-“

Your voice was nearly unrecognizable to your own ears as Bradley pounded into you. It was desperate and needy and everything you ever wanted. If someone had told you months ago that you would be here with your best friend, you would probably laugh.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum all over my cock. I know you’re close. I’m right behind you,” he mumbled in your ear. A few swipes of his thumb over your clit and you were there. His hips stuttered as he came. He flopped on top of you, body weight causing a nice pressure.

Bradley cleaned you and himself up before curling up beside you and pulling you close to him.

“Roo- can we- no one can ever find out about this. We could- this could be a real problem if anyone knows.”

“I know… I know. We can keep it a secret.”

You could hear a twinge of sadness in his voice but he knew you were right. It would cause a lot of issues if anyone found out.

So you kept it a secret. Stolen glances during class, quick make out sessions in the hallway in between training exercises, late nights in each other's rooms before sneaking out early in the morning.

Phoenix knew something was going on. She could see it written all over your face but she couldn’t quite figure it out. Everyone knew something was different between your and Rooster’s dynamic. When you were once talking to each other, you avoided each other at all costs now. Natasha thought maybe you were fighting but she saw the way you would get flustered when he walked into the room.

She cornered you one day in the locker room and started bombarding you with questions once again.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on between you and Rooster?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, avoiding eye contact and shoving your clothes into your bag.

“You’re hiding something. Did he do something? What happened?”

“Nothing! Look, it’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” She placed her hand in yours and squeezed.

“I know, Nat. Thank you.”

It was so hard keeping it from her and the others but you knew it was for the best, until you and Bradley figured things out.

———————————————————————

Your secret continued for a few months. But it was exhausting trying to hide it, trying to find time together but also not trying to seem too suspicious.

One night at the Hard Deck changed everything. You were all drinking, Bradley was sitting across from you at the booth and he was giving you those eyes. The ones that shouted trouble. And you loved it. He tilted his head toward the back where the restrooms were and you grinned.

You excused yourself while Bradley waited, knowing he was watching every sway of your hips. It was about five minutes before he came knocking on the bathroom door and you felt giddy.

“You picked this dress out just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?” He said as he pushed his way inside before backing you against the wooden frame.

His hands were everywhere, grabbing at your hips and your ass, pulling you impossibly closer to him. Your own hands found purchase in his hair, tugging until a soft groan escaped his throat.

“God, Rooster,” You whined before his lips came crashing down against yours. Your tongues battled for dominance for some time before you heard - more so felt - pounding at the door.

“Clover, you okay?” Natasha’s voice bellowed. You snapped your eyes to Bradley’s and you were sure his expression matched your own - sheer panic. There was nowhere for him to go.

“What do we do?!” You whispered harshly.

“I don’t know!”

“You know I can hear you guys,” Phoenix deadpanned. You stood in shock for a few seconds before bursting into a fit of laughter.

You opened the door to Phoenix standing on the opposite wall with her arms crossed, a knowing smirk plastered on her face. You couldn’t imagine the state you were in. Dress wrinkled and lips swollen red. Bradley had some lipstick smudged on his chin and he smiled sheepishly at his best friend.

“Hangman owes me fifty bucks,” was all she said before turning on her heel to head back to where the rest of the squad was seated.

You threw your head back laughing and turned to wrap your arms around Bradley’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss - this time, not caring who saw.

You would figure it out later. But for now, you are going to kiss your man in your favorite bar and walk back to your table hand in hand and enjoy drinks with your friends.

#shelby’s sleepover #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader

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