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#ellie writes
love-toxin · 10 months
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MR O’HARA HAS ME ACTING FERAL BOTH OF MY LIPS HAS BEEN DROOLING SINCE I WATCHED ATSV OPENING NIGHT… I NEED HIM TO DESTROY ME
RIGHT??? LIKE--LIKE--
(cws: across the spiderverse spoilers, gn pronouns, smut, rough sex, mating press, size kink, biting/venom, belly bulges, mindbreak(?), breeding mention, a bit of forbidden love trope)
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Like....imagine, if you will, becoming an assistant for the Spider-society after your dimension is destroyed. It's mostly because Miguel took pity on you since you're not a spider-person, you had nothing to do with the unravelling of your world, and/or you were meant to gain your spider-powers but an anomaly in your dimension prevented it. Since there's no place for you in another multiverse, he keeps you on his team both to give you asylum and to keep an eye on you just in case you prove to be an anomaly yourself....but it becomes pretty clear pretty early on that you're not really a threat. Not for violence, at least.
You're just a sweet thing that gets doted on by nearly everyone in the society--you're either a refreshing break from the endless spiderman variants running around or you remind the spiders of their Mary Janes, their Gwen Stacies, their Gayatri Singhs, and being a civilian to boot makes you the perfect candidate to have your things carried for you and be given web-slinging rides around the facility even though you're supposed to be the assistant here.
But even so, even though you're treated so lightly, Miguel really likes you and even--gasp--enjoys your company. It can be hard to tell with him, but the most perceptive of the spiders notice that Miguel keeps you in his good graces always. When he's stressed or in a bad mood, he collects himself before he speaks to you. He never snaps at you, and on the very rare times you get caught in his crosshairs, he apologizes quietly and gently and reiterates that whatever it was about, it wasn't your fault. He gives you so much wiggle room for error to the point that his companions sometimes complain outright that he's such a hardass, but he never berates you when you make a mistake, and without fail Miguel will come up with some reason for it; "That's because they don't screw up as often as you do" or "At least I can trust them to do their job", or he'll just tell whoever's bitching to leave you out of it and he'll dismiss you to discuss the matter privately.
Surprisingly, those incidents don't bother him nearly as much as when the inner circle starts getting closer to you. He feels this deep need to pull you away when Gwen offers to take you on a trip through the dimensions (although that's just plain dangerous), but it also bubbles up when Hobie hangs around and encourages you to join his band, and when Jess asks you questions about your life and is eager to hear about any potential romances you might be getting yourself into--there's a lot of single spider-people out there, and you're not tied to any dimension, so you've got plenty of options!
God, Miguel hates when Jess brings that up. You don't need to go anywhere, your place is here. You can stay here safely, which is something he can't promise in any of those other dimensions the spiders come from. But that's not the real reason, he realizes that when he feels that tingle at the sight of you holding Mayday and playing with her, having been given the task of impromptu babysitter for Peter when he has to rush off and do damage control somewhere.
It's you. He likes having you around, and it's not about letting you venture off into other dimensions, he just doesn't want you to leave him. That's why he loves it when you reply to those people, when you tell them "Oh, but I couldn't leave Mr. O'Hara! He'd lose his head without me." or "I really like this job, actually. I wanna keep working under Mr. Miguel." and especially "Miguel saved my life, I owe him all I can give. I could never leave him all alone." because it just reaffirms that desire for him to keep you as close to his side as possible. When he replays those videos of himself and his daughter, the pain is dulled for a while as he sees your eyes in hers, and envisions a future where you create a new family with him--one that he can properly protect this time.
It's that fantasy that emboldens him to lay hands on you, your body so puny and small in comparison to his massive frame, so fragile as he holds your hips in both hands and waits for you to tell him this isn't really what you want. He's waiting for it, anticipating it, even reminding you that you have the option when you look up at him shell-shocked. He promises that your answer won't affect your position here. It falls on deaf ears, however, because you desperately want to kiss him but you just don't think you can reach.
It's so adorable to see you try. Up on your tiptoes, clutching at his suit, straining to try and reach him where he's at--all it takes is an arm around your waist and he's got you off your feet and in the air, perfectly situated to press your pretty mouth to his own and awaken his instincts that have laid dormant all these long years. The stress of keeping each and every dimension following its intended canon has nearly broken him, it might have done so already if not for your unexpected appearance in his life. It's riled him up so much he doesn't think twice about taking you back to his place, nor gives him second thoughts when you help him peel that tight suit off and he tears through your clothes just as easily--maybe it really doesn't matter. His world is gone and so is yours, but you're both still here and you're begging him for another kiss, for more attention. How sweet could you possibly be? Pleading for something you'll always have and not realizing it's the least you deserve, perfect as you are?
Miguel just can't help himself anymore, he's too far gone and you’re too angelic for him to let down when you want him so badly. You don't seem to mind the rough treatment as he pushes you down either, no, you thrive on his aggressiveness and even encourage it to come out as he clambers over you. That pretty smile and those giggles as he shoves your thighs apart and spits, his venom sending electrifying tingles up and down your spine as he fingers the makeshift lube inside you. He's so bulky you can't even get your legs all the way around him when he lowers himself, forced to let your heels scrabble down his lower back as you struggle to find some kind of purchase on him--to just grab something and let it keep you steady as he slides in and rocks you into oblivion. The toxins loosen you up too, thank god, or else you'd be seriously struggling to take him in when he's practically twice your size. And he doesn't want to force it in, he just wants to ease you into the process before he allows himself to batter your poor body with thrusts that shake the whole bed--it's a little bit of payback for flaunting your pretty self around his office without ever telling him how you actually feel about him. Now you know exactly what you've been missing.
Drooling, hair sticking to your skin, sweat dripping down your chest, body gripping him like a vice yet endlessly slick....you're a total mess and he couldn't be more satisfied. You don't even try to keep yourself together, but that's all that he wants--he wants you to lose yourself in the way he makes you feel so you won't ever want to leave. The taboo is there; you're not from his dimension, he shouldn't be planning any kind of future with someone who doesn't belong in his world. But it makes it all more thrilling in the moment even if he can reason his way around it, it makes his every thrust gain power until he's breaking your willpower down enough to have your eyes rolling back in your head, hips jumping weakly as you try to participate. You don't even know how good you make him feel without lifting a finger.
Gliding through you as if you couldn't be more willing to take him, his position is clear just from a glance down at your stomach--the bulge is obvious, and as sickening as it could be your whines as you brush your fingertips over it sing his praises without a coherent word. You're so wet and stupid and needy on his cock, clearly he should've done this a long time ago when you were so much worse at hiding your pining looks at him from across the room. If he knew it would culminate into this, he would've saved the assistant crap and turned you into his stress relief toy that very first day. If he had, you might've already had a family by now....knowing him, at least.
It's still just as sweet to lick your tears up now, though. You're already drunk on his cock, it doesn't make much more difference for him to sink his fangs into your throat and pump you full of more venom straight from the source, the shock sending you straight into orgasm and dragging it out for so long he fears you might just pass out from the pleasure. It's like he's juicing up a plump little fruit until it's so ripe it could burst. And as if your own ecstasy wasn't enough, you really lose it when Miguel has you pinned and flooding that sore, fluttering little hole with so much seed it burns. Jets of pearly-white cum squirting down your thighs, painting you like a canvas without him even pulling out, because you just can't take him at his peak and you know it. You just have to whine and squirm beneath him as he fills you up, his hot breath puffing over your cheeks as he keeps you barely still enough not to wiggle away. With a shift of your hips you nearly slip off right up to the tip, his cum sloshing about and making everything too slick--but a hand slides up your neck and grips the crown of your head, his biceps flexing as he slowly pushes you back down with vermillion eyes piercing through your heated flesh. Lower, deeper, until he's seated himself up in your guts again and holds you there to milk those last few shots out of him, keep him nice and warm with those precious walls uncontrollably spasming around him. Doesn't stop you from pulling his head down closer, though, and whispering your praises while begging in whimpers in equal measure, urging him not to stop now. You're not ready to let him go.
How convenient is that? Miguel won't ever let you go, and he's known that deep in his chest since the moment you arrived--it couldn't make him any more satisfied to know that you feel the exact same way.
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tangointhenight
pairing: harry styles x reader (au)
warnings: idiots in love trope, long-distance fwb (sounds weird but it makes sense just give her a read luv), switch!harry and switch!reader, detailed descriptions of female and male masterbation, maladaptive daydreaming during a fanfic, mentions of exhibitionism, edging, one singular ‘daddy’, cum swapping, breeding kink, praise kink and degradation, rope play, spitting, choking, mutual masterbation, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator mostly), crying after sex (iconic)
word count: 13.3k
synopsis: harry records erotic audios, and y/n is an avid listener
author’s note: hello nasties, here’s another filth fic for ya! this has been a long time in the making, and i am so sorry i have been mia for so long, but i am back for the time being to give you this fic. i have wanted to do something like this for a while now, but it’s been a struggle (lots of blood, sweat, and tears put into this). i’m kinda proud of her to be honest, and i hope you enjoy :)
tags: @victoria-styles
masterlist
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Y/N finally sinks into her mattress after yet another tiring day. She can hear her roommate on the other side of the wall, chatting with her girlfriend over the phone, blissfully ignorant to the fact that she currently has a hand teasing the band of her sweatpants while the other scrolls aimlessly through her phone.
Exhaustion burns behind her eyes, but there’s a desperate ache in her belly, one that demands satiety. She opens the internet app to find it unchanged from the night before, still lighting up in the profile named tangointhenight. His profile picture is a tantalizing photo of his hand, splayed across his thigh, which are clad in tight, floral printed pants, doing wonders for the very prominent bulge. Pieces of paint linger on his thumbnail, a pretty pale mint color, and his skin, tanned with faint freckles and etches of dark ink, looks tempting in the golden light. At his wrist is a braided twine bracelet with cheap beads that have letters that she can’t make out, which looks old and wilted.
She scrolls down, only lingering for a moment to appreciate the photo one final time.
There are some cute little posts and polls in addition to his erotic audios. The newest one, posted just that afternoon, warns not to listen to this in public with a series of cute little emoticons following. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Tango, that’s what she and other listeners call him, is that he’s a bit of an exhibitionist; his audios tend to lean toward nearly getting caught or even being caught (oftentimes leading to a “helping out” situation). She honestly wasn’t into that sort of thing until he started talking about it, and now, she finds it incredibly sexy, the thrill of the quick high and the fear of being caught in such a vulnerable moment.
She’ll definitely have to give the new audio a listen on one of her morning commute trips to the university; perhaps, she could give it a listen while she waits for her class to start, his deep voice teasing and coaxing her into an aching mess. She hopes that it’ll leave her trembling and throbbing for the rest of the day. She wonders if she’ll be able to make it until night before she has to finish herself off or if she’ll have to sneak off to the restrooms during one of her seven minute breaks, foot propped up on the toilet paper dispenser while she rubs herself to her bitter end.
She scrolls down a bit, passing over audios that vary from pillow talk to a dirty fuck in back alleys, before tapping on the familiar link, purple from use, the description teasingly saying: we’ve been visiting my mum for a week, and I haven’t been able to taste you... I guess we’ll just have to be quiet.
It’s one of the first audios she listened to when she was just discovering this new world of pleasure, so it has a special place in her heart. It’s one of his firsts from nearly a year ago, of fuzzy listening quality and nervous voice, but she finds his ramblings endearing; although, admittedly, she thinks anything he does is cute.
She tucks in her earbuds and presses the play button. Tossing the phone to the side, her eyes flutter closed, visions of white dotting through the darkness as they adjust. There’s a subtle cracking sound that indicates that it has finally loaded, and a fuzzy droning sound filters through the headphones. There’s a fan going in the background; it squeaks and grumbles nearby. A door creaks open, one of those fake sound effects that you can buy, but she appreciates the effort.
“Hey, lovie, feelin’ better?”
His familiar voice floats through her ears. She settles even more into her sheets. His voice is a nice, hot cup of tea at the end of a hard day, a drug that leaves her head foggy and senses dulled. His voice reminds her of sleep: deep, soothing, persistent, yet ever fleeting. She yearns for it, like being able to listen to that one mazing song for the first time again or the feeling of sunshine after the long winter months. His voice is intoxicating, reaching a baritone timbre that she can’t quite put to words.
At first, she wanted to put a face to the man who hummed sweet nothings in her ears, who coaxed her to oblivion for nights on end. Now, she’s at ease with never knowing. It keeps things interesting, and she doesn’t think about it as much anymore.
“If only mum wasn’t home, maybe we could’ve snuck a quick one in the shower,” he says. She smirks, picturing him tucked into his childhood bed, a cozy twin that would be a struggle for the both of them to fit in, and he has his old quilt tucked up to his neck, leaving his bare feet exposed because of how little it is.
There’s a moment of silence, then a cute little laugh.
“I know. You wouldn’t want to sin in her godly home, but she loves you, probably more than me. I don't think she would think any differently of you.”
Another beat of silence, then his voice catches in his throat. Y/N smiles softly as he stutters pitifully, slowly, struggling to find his words.
“N-no, y’know tha's not how I meant it,” he says. “Like, she loves you more than she loves me. Not that I don’t love you as much as she does.” He moves, the rustling of his sheets crackling in her ears. She can hear his hand run over his stubble, nails scratching over short little hairs. She wonders if he usually grows out his facial hair or if he’s the type to keep clean shaven.
“She couldn’t possibly love you more than I do.” The bed creaks as he shifts again. “C’mon, babe, join me. ‘S all nice and warm.”
She herself burrows further into her blankets, knowing full well that she’s probably going to be kicking them off in a few minutes. She turns to her side, blinking her eyes open, trying to immerse herself into the fantasy.
“‘M glad you got time off of work to come here with me. I know you could've been spending time back home, but you came here with me instead.” His voice is closer than before, however whispered. Every accentuated vowel that passes through his lips is like a breath of fresh air, and she hums quietly at the sound.
“I really appreciate it. ‘M glad we got to spend this time together.”
She imagines that he tucks her into his neck, coddling her while his fingers trace over the curves of her face, from the furrow of her brow, down to the apple of her cheeks, before stopping at her lips, lingering only momentarily before his thumb would push just past them.
He chuckles suddenly.
“What does it look like I’m doing? Jus’ lovin’ on my girl.”
His short pecks turn into slow, passionate kisses, deep sighs of relief falling from his lips, and she swears she can almost feel his breath on her skin, nose pressed tight to the pulsepoint in her neck as he sponges his lips over her collarbone, teeth nibbling lightly. She tugs the tee up from where it’s settled at her hips to where the curves of her breasts begin, the material squeezing them tightly to her chest. The sensitive skin aches under the tight pressure. She teases her nipples through her thin bra, feeling the tenderness coax chills down her spine.
“Please,” he whines. “Wanna taste you. You can be quiet. I believe in you, love.”
She could picture him now, chin resting on her stomach, eyes pleading with her. She would flick his head at the patronizing tone before brushing her fingers through his hair. Would he have short tuffs or long tresses that she could run her fingers through after a long day, breaking apart the knots that accumulate throughout the day? Does he have pin straight, dark locks that are cut close to his scalp or sand coloured curls that fall gracefully on his forehead? Perhaps, he has a bit of gray peaking through his hairline to match his wise and weathered voice. She could almost moan at the thought. She has always had a thing for older men.
Tango says something, but she can’t really hear it, his words muffled by her racing heart. She pries her pants down shaky legs, leaving them dangling around her ankle, and her fingers work quickly in massaging her puffy clit, arousal wetting the tender skin. Not one for having much patience, she doesn’t wait for him to finish worshiping her body with his mouth before she is rubbing herself through her panties, feeling the cold wetness on her fingertips. Eyes closed, her head falls back on her pillows, legs tensing when she stops suddenly.
“Pretty thighs,” he mumbles to himself between kisses, and she could almost feel his tender touches on the backs of her thighs, which tremble with anticipation. A wetly placed kiss followed by an appreciative hum signals his final descent to her cunt. The sound of languid licks are nearly enough to make her finish, walls clenching miserably around nothing. Fingers slowing close to a dead stop, barely more than a faint fluttering on her sensitive skin, she attempts to collect herself, but it’s difficult when he moans once again, muffled by his furiously working lips.
“Love your pussy, baby.” She melts at his words, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rack through her body, hips stuttering in time with each flick of her wrist. “So warm and wet and jus’ perfect for me.” His voice, low with need, makes her throb, arousal slipping into her panties.
She’s close already, an unfortunate effect he has on her. Barely five minutes into her alone time, and she can feel the orgasm begin to build, like an unyielding inferno spreading through every nerve. The stress from her day, the exhaustion with the world, everything melts into just one prominent feeling threatening to burst from her pores. She has to force herself to stop before she falls over the edge in order to draw out this experience as much as possible. She nearly cries out when she pulls her hand away altogether, her poor, puffy clit throbbing painfully.
This continues for a while, the undulating waves of a blistering release and the torture of a cut off orgasm, until the air becomes thick, her heaving breaths heating her empty room.
“There’s my good girl,” he says. “Use me, lovie. Want you to choke me with your pretty thighs.”
His voice is more firm this time, and she could only picture his baleful eyes staring up at her, eager to please her and guide her over the edge. It makes her wonder what they look like; she wonders if they’re a soulful, deep chocolate that darken with lust, a pale blue that reminds her of warm afternoons, or a striking hazel that flickers with green hues in the light.
No matter the color, she is sure that they’re undoubtedly pretty.
“Please,” she whispers faintly.
“More? You want more, my greedy girl?” She nods pitifully, feeling the orgasm build quickly in her belly before she stops once again, fingers pressing into her throbbing clit. “You want my fingers?”
Her walls flutter fruitlessly for some sort of release, for some sort of stimulation. He moans out sharply.
“Feel so good, babylove,” he coos. “So warm and wet f’me.”
She wants to slip her fingers inside, to tease and massage that tender spot that she can barely reach until she struggles to breathe. She wants to feel full, but she doesn’t want to take care of the mess, and it surely won’t be comfortable sleeping in wet sheets. The wipes hidden alongside her other secret toys, beneath mounds of socks and crumpled underwear, do little to take care of the arousal that has pooled between her legs.
She fishes around her bedside table, fingers raking through bundles of panties to find her vibrator, a cheap little thing she got in a set when she first moved into her apartment. Unfortunately, she ran through the other ones that were in the set, and this is the only one left.
She nestles the vibrator on her swollen clit and ticks it on to the lowest setting. This stimulation is different than before; a vague rumbling rattles her bones, making her lips tremble, with choked cries teetering on her tongue. Obscene wet sounds fill her ears, and for a moment, she wonders whether they are coming from the audio or from her dripping pussy, and her thighs tighten around her wrist. She could only imagine the sight of his hands splayed over her hips and on her belly, perfectly pastel painted nails pressing into her wet skin. The shifting of her mattress worries her for only a moment, but her shame melts away, and she loses herself in the sound of his heavy, stifled groans, as if he is truly choking on her. The addition of the vibrator only serves to tease her more as she inches toward the end, brutally building in slow, abrupt waves. She struggles to swallow her whimpers.
He spits suddenly, and her hips jut forward at the sound, an erotic display of dominance, but he makes it seem like such a tender act; she could just melt.
“Can you take another?”
A beat of silence and a sharp intake of breath, squelching sounds growing louder.
“No? That’s alright, lovie, just two, then,” he coos. Her toes curl up a little at his words, hips rising from the mattress. On any other night, she would have craved more; she would have wanted him to coax her open with him telling her that she can take just one more and that she’s his good girl. It’s sad to be turned on by a man simply respecting her limits, but her clit throbs pitifully and some arousal slips out into her underwear.
“Gonna come for me, babe?” His words are slurred and wet. “Make me proud.”
Chills rushing down her spine, her body curls into itself, eager for her release. She wants to come so badly; she wants to feel the pleasure for days afterward, to tremble around her hand until she can’t take it anymore, to come until she’s seeing stars. She wants to make him proud, but she knows that she can’t come yet, or else she won’t be able to hear him finish. She doesn’t have another orgasm in her tonight, and she wants to prolong this experience as much as possible, even if that means holding out on her orgasm. The world spins behind her tightly screwed eyes as she slows her ministrations, the vibrator ticking back down to nothing. Her body reacts before she can even consider the loss, her hips bucking against the toy, attempting desperately to find that little bit of stimulation she needs to finally reach euphoria.
His lips smack loudly as he presses simulated kisses to skin, pulling her back from her foggy mind.
“So good f’me, pretty,” he says, words muted by skin. “So good. Hmm, I knew you could be quiet.” His kisses are slow and tired, unlike before when they were rushed and eager. His mattress grumbles as he moves once again, taking his time to, presumably, trail up the length of her trembling body until they’re suffocating in each other's embrace.
He sighs behind closed lips, heavy and wanton, and she can picture him working his hips into the mattress to find some sort of release. She would pull him up until he was right between her aching legs and press her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. She would cup his cock through his thin pair of pajamas, teasingly massaging him until he just couldn't take it anymore, caution flying out of his mind as he is overcome by thoughts of her name, her skin, simply <i>her. Trying to form a coherent thought, he would barely be able to hold himself up. She moans quietly at the thought.
“Babylove, we can’t—” He moans, his deep voice splintering. “I don’ know if I’ll be able to control myself.”
She has listened to this audio enough to know what to say to fill the silent gaps to fulfill the ultimate fantasy.
“Please,” she whispers into the dead air, barely audible over her roommate's voice in the next room. “Wanna feel you.” She wishes he was there for her to whisper in his ear, her fingers running up the plain of his back, feeling the heated skin tense at her words. He would quirk an eyebrow.
“Yeah? Y’wanna feel my big cock in y’tummy, pretty baby?”
“Yes,” she whimpers quietly, suddenly very aware of how much she truly wanted to be filled, to have him so impossibly close to her.
“Y’know I can’t say no to you.” She can hear the smile in his voice. She wonders what it looks like, if he beams with an eye-searing grin, his face splitting with happiness, or if he has a shy little smirk, just barely toying on his lips. She likes to think that he has a beautiful smile, filled with warmth and love. She melts a little, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.
“Get on top.”
She does, eyes still closed as she sits and kneels on her mattress, one hand still between her legs, trying desperately to catch her poor, swollen clit at just the right angle that will leave her thighs quaking, her stomach clenching. Her underwear, which are still stuck around her knees, stretch and snap as her thighs slip and spread further on the sheets.
He moans sharply, and she can feel her hips unconsciously move, as if to pull that sound from him once again. The low vibrations from her little handheld leave her aching for more, nothing more than a faint rumble, but if she flicked it up to the next highest setting, it would surely be heard through the thin walls. Besides, she loves the teasing nearly as much as she hates it, just pushing to the brink before the rush subsides and settles into a quiet lull. Speechless, she gasps for air as yet another jilted orgasm subsides.
She works her hips slowly, careful of the squeaking of her mattress; there are only so many noises that can be passed off as her simply shifting around in her sleep. Her wrist aches at such an awkward angle, but she continues, the burning euphoria just beyond the horizon. He moans, and she nearly follows him, a crest of a cry nearly bursting from her chest but it comes out as a small whimper. She pushes her earbud deeper into her ear, as if to pull him closer.
“Sorry, jus’ feel so good,” he says sheepishly, and she can tell that he’s biting his lip by the faint lisp in his words. It would be torture for the both of them, to be so close but unable to move any faster or harder to finally reach the deepest, most pleasurable part, just barely scratching the itch for intimacy. He whimpers pitifully, and she thinks she might fall apart at the sound, but her stupid vibrator leaves her teetering back and forth between over the edge. She wiggles her hips to try to get a better angle, but with just a hint of stimulation, it’s a torturously slow build up.
“There it is, pretty,” he says, breaths faltering. “That’s the spot. Make yourself feel good, lovie. Use me.” Her legs ache at the awkward angle, trembling with overexertion. She wishes that she could let go of it, leaving it on the mattress with her pussy and thighs holding it in place, so she can grind on it, unhindered by her own body’s exhaustion, eagerly chasing her high. It would also free her hands to tease her breasts again, pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples.
“Love the way you feel, babylove,” he whispers. “Fuck, so wet f’me.” He curses again and again, as if no other words can properly describe the feeling of her, so soft, so warm, so fucking good. She could only picture him in abridged visions, his undoubtedly pretty lips parted with his pretty whimpers sneaking through, his features pinched in pleasure. Her eyes roll back as her orgasm quickly approaches.
“‘M gonna come,” he says suddenly. “Are you close, too?” She whimpers, arousal slips down her swollen lips and into her furiously working fingers, eager to finish alongside him. “Yeah? Y’gonna come with me? Y’gonna come on my cock, pretty?”
She is so close, so unbelievably close, and she struggles to relax her muscles to hold off for just a little longer.
“So fuckin’ good, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says sharply. His mattress squeaks now, unable to hold back the sharp jolts of his hips, and he lets go of all inhibitions, moaning freely. She could imagine his hand tracing up her belly, cupping her swinging breasts, and he would suckle on her nipples until her fervent hips faltered. He would brush his hands up the curve of her back, digging into the muscles of her shoulders until she fell forward. Faces nestled together, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle, they would breathe each other in, savoring such a close moment of intimacy. It would feel like a lifetime as they waited with bated breath, using each other to get the most pleasure possible.
She comes when he does, holding her breath to keep the moans from slipping, which makes it all the more euphoric, the chance of nearly getting caught at her most vulnerable and the faint lightheadedness making her vision foggy. Her orgasm leaves her legs trembling, slipping away from her still buzzing toy, falling forward into her sheets. She breathes in sharply, barely holding back a pained cry; fat tears of pleasure soak into her blanket as euphoria crashes and beats into her muscles. The heart-racing, earth-shattering, limb-thrashing orgasm makes her chest heave. Just like she wanted, she is left spent on her mattress, the powerful rush still lingering in her trembling body.
She flips onto her back, quickly pulling her bottoms back up onto her hips. In her drunken stupor, her earbuds fell out, and she can vaguely hear Tango’s praises. She picks her phone back up, eyes straining under the bright light, and closes out of the audio.
Her head is light, foggy with the residual high. A dazed smile flickers over her lips, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, finally satiated by her orgasm.
She scrolls through his account once again, this time reading through some of his other posts, like links to playlists and cute stories. Suddenly, the little message icon in the corner looks so appealing, teasing and taunting. Perhaps, she’s feeling a little giddy from her high or maybe it’s from the exhaustion, but she can’t seem to find a reason to not do it.
She sends him a message.
Meanwhile, Harry stares at the blinking cursor petulantly. It taunts him amidst a sea of white, a blank canvas in what should have been a completed midterm paper that’s due in a couple of days. His eyes sink closed, and he starts to drift off, only waking when his hand slips from his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. An old sitcom plays in the background, the canned laughter providing a break in the silence every five seconds. He sighs for the billionth time that evening, struggling to find motivation to even think at this point.
His phone dings, and he happily divulges the distraction, his brows furrowing as he reads a direct message from a user called honeyhi. He’s used to getting comments on his post, with the occasional direct message (which he usually deletes instantly because of poor past experiences), and now, he usually doesn’t think much of them. He isn’t doing it to gain anything from anyone. He just wants to put his thoughts out there, and it’s just an added bonus to get validation from beautiful people.
She doesn’t have a profile picture, not uncommon on that corner of the web, especially since his posts aren’t a lot of people’s taste. He wouldn’t usually indulge in them, deleting them usually instantly, but something compels him to open her message.
Not to be too forward, but I had the best orgasm of my life, listening to your audios. I’ve listened to your audios for a long time, and honestly, listening to you has become the highlight of my evenings ;)
Honey, you have no idea what that means to me.
Truly, his heart swells at her sweet words. It’s nice to get complimented on something you put so much effort into. He bares himself for strangers, expressing such an intimate part of himself for their shared pleasure, and it feels reassuring to get compliments.
I mean it. Also, Tango in the Night is arguably one of Fleetwood Mac’s best albums. Definitely top three.
Most people assume it’s a sex thing.
I wonder why.
He laughs a little at the dry comment.
So, what are the other two in your top three albums?
Pre or post Stevie Nicks?
Post, of course. What kind of question is that?
That was a test. You passed. I think we’ll get along just fine, Tango.
I think so, too, Honey.
Y/N rushes past the postman, nearly toppling over when her bag shifts slightly on her arm, her thick binders peek out of the top and dig into her arm. Her hand furiously slaps the elevator button, and she stands impatiently, her dangling keys shaking at her hip. The doors tremble as the weight teeters down to the main floor, far too slowly in her opinion. For a moment, she considers just running up the three flights of stairs to her floor, but that feels a little too eager.
She and Tango have their weekly phone call tonight, and her classes ran long today; that coupled with the stand-still traffic made her more anxious than usual to get home. She always calls first, since her schedule is the most complicated, and she’ll feel absolutely awful if she was late for their call. She feels silly getting worked up over such a small thing, but their friendship progressed beyond the occasional messages in the past month, and she honestly looks forward to their weekly talks. Tango is such a beautiful and humble person, and he is such a stable place of comfort. She knows that he will be understanding and have an independent, secondary perspective on any situation.
He is someone she can rely on for just about anything.
The bell dings above her, and the elevator doors finally part. After barreling inside, she sinks against the railing, glancing at the time, which is still just before her usual calling time. She sighs sharply when the doors begin to close, relief tugging on her shoulders.
However, a hand pushes through the lift’s doors before they can shut, and she bites back an irritated groan; she probably could have made it to her apartment by now if she had ran up the stairs. The man slides in and gives her a grateful nod, accompanied by a small smile. Much to her delight, he presses the ‘close door’ button quickly, and they’re met with no interruptions this time. It’s a quiet ride, despite her nervous feet tapping, and he taps away on his phone,
She admires him out of the corner of her eye, forgetting momentarily about her anxiety. Half of his hair is pulled back in a small bun, exposing the darker locks underneath, and a bandana pushes back the frizzy flyaways that would normally frame his face. The thick strands curl slightly at the ends; there’s one tight coil that she wants to tug on. She could easily become enamored with him, with his pretty green eyes and day-old stubble. His bag has H.E.S embroidered on the bottom corner. A coral colored, gem necklace rests beautifully on his tanned chest, which is mostly covered by a near see-through white top, covered with a baggy, gingham jumper.
After living in the building for two years, they have run into one another on several occasions but have never really spoken. He lives on the second floor, and he goes to the university as well.
When he leaves, after offering another nod and quick smile, she calls Tango. He answers after the second ring.
“Hey, sweets,” he grumbles, not as chipper as his usual self. Her heart sinks a little. He had his midterms last week, and she can only assume that the results are not what he had hoped.
“Oh, no,” she says. “What happened?”
“‘S nothin’,” he insists, but she can hear the irritation in his voice. “‘M jus’ getting myself worked up over nothin’. How was your day?”
Clearly not wanting to talk, he changes the subject, which is something Y/N has grown used to over the past few months. He doesn’t like to vent when he’s too upset because he’s afraid of lashing out and taking his aggression out on her. Thankfully, she has also learned how to distract him. Usually, his annoyance melts away within minutes, and he is his usual, bubbly self again.
“Well, let me tell you, I nearly killed the postman today, and someone nearly hit my car today.”
“What?” He asks incredulously. “Please, elaborate.”
And so, she does.
A couple hours later, Y/N’s in her kitchen, making avocado and tomato toast for the fifth time this week. Her roommate is gone for the weekend, thankfully, which means she can get more stuff done without interruptions (and she can talk to Tango for as long as she wants without getting interrogated about it). His mood had improved significantly after she was able to make him laugh at her own expense (he especially liked the story about how she grabbed her iced coffee too quickly this morning and spilled it all over the barista’s hand).
“I have a question,” he says quickly, as if he wouldn’t have the courage to ask if he held onto it for a moment longer.
“Okay,” she says slowly, almost fearful at the sudden change of tone in his voice.
“Would you be able to listen to something I recorded the other day?” He giggles nervously. “I dunno. I just feel a little,” he makes a little noise, “off about it.”
Stunned, she stares at her phone, the seconds ticking by before her very eyes, and despite the fact that the only reason why they know each other is because she listened to his audios, she’s a little taken aback by the question. Before she knows it, too much time has passed for her to brush off as anything but bewilderment. She stutters.
“I—uh—sure?”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“No, I am.” Stubborn and not willing to back down, she digs herself a deeper hole, despite the odd feeling growing in her stomach. “Yes, I will listen to it for you.”
“Okay, then,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll send it to you.”
Neither know what to say now. Conversation usually came easy to them, so it feels so strange to be stuck in such an uncomfortable silence. Now, she’s gone and ruined everything because of her hesitation. Why did she even hesitate? There’s no reason to be embarrassed. They’re both very open, sexual people, and it’s nothing to get so worked up over. Maybe, it’s the fact that it’s him, and she knows him so well now. Compared to before, when he was just some stranger on the internet, she knows his likes, dislikes; hell, she has even spoken to his cat, and it feels wrong because he is her friend, and that’s not what friends are supposed to do.
“It’s not weird. Is it?” He asks shyly.
“Of course not.” She says it a little too quickly. Admittedly, it feels a <i>little weird, now that she thinks about it. It would be like walking in on your friend having sex. Then again, the only reason why they really know each other is because she listened to his audios (which is basically him jerking off to his dirty thoughts). However, it’s not an aspect they spoke about too often, usually after a couple of drinks. Their friendship, despite how it began, is purely innocent. They were each other’s comfort person; they were there to vent, laugh, and talk with. Neither ever hinted toward anything different, other than the occasional, playful flirting.
“No, I’ll listen to it for you. What are friends for?”
She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so fast.
“Thank you,” he says.
“So,” she says, “do you want me to listen to it now?”
“Eager, are we?” He hums teasingly.
“Shut up,” she scoffs.
“I mean, if you wanted to hear some dirty talk, all you had to do was ask.”
“Please, stop talking.”
“Y’know I’m always down to clown.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
True to her words, she doesn’t wait for him to answer before she ends the call.
Her phone dings a second later with the link along with another cheeky message. The link is to a private web upload platform, and she feels special for a moment. She wonders if she should just listen to it while eating her toast and go about her usual routine, or if she should do what she usually does when listening to his audios. Is that what he would want, though? Would it make him feel uncomfortable? Is it more weird to just listen to him moan in her ear while doing mundane tasks around the house?
Granted, they have had some conversations about sex and the like, but this feels so much more intimate, especially because he knows that she’s going to listen to him jerk off, not to even mention the obscene things that come from his mouth.
What does it mean for their friendship? Perhaps, it’s not even meant to mean anything, just a sincere favor asked between two friends. Maybe, it’s meant to be a step toward something more on his part. Is that even what she wants?
She brushes off that thought quickly, as she has for months, because deep down, she knows it would just end up in disappointment.
Oh, what a mess.
She’s headed on a downward spiral that has no chance of stopping unless it’s hit by a freight train to hell.
She opts to forgetting her toast and slips into her bedroom, falling onto her blankets giddily. She presses play on the audio, her heart racing as it loads, and leaves her phone face down next to her ear, eyes closing to fully immerse herself, trying to ignore her anxiety.
“Hello,” he says slowly, almost shyly, and it feels like one of their late nights again, with him talking through her phone and her cuddled in bed, listening eagerly. “I’ve just gotten home, but I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day. Couldn’t go to sleep before gettin’ it out there, y’know.” He giggles, a pretty little noise she’s heard many times now. He laughs a lot, sometimes at himself, but mostly in response to her. He even laughs at her corny, little puns, which she appreciated.
“And ‘m really hard right now, so that doesn’t help either. I haven’t really been able to come in the past two weeks. Been too busy with… life, I guess. But a friend of mine talked to me about the world of BDSM. She’s a kinky little shit.”
Y/N’s heart lurches, stomach twisting with an unrecognizable feeling, knowing that the certain friend he is talking about is her. She remembers the conversation well, even though she was a little tipsy and very high, mostly because it was also the first time they had actually spoken on the phone, and it began as it normally does, about mundane things that happened that week. Somehow, the conversation shifted to kinks, and she told him that she wouldn’t be opposed to more sinful acts in the bedroom, most of which her previous partners had not indulged.
“I’m pretty vanilla, I guess. I just love to love people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve never really been into that sort of thing, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’ve been kinda into some dark, dom stuff lately,” he admits slowly. “Dark for me, at least, which, again, doesn’t say much.” There’s another laugh, radiant and delicate.
“I dunno why, but I’ve been fantasizing about taking you into our room. A little lackluster, I know, but I’m not into the dark, dingy places, like those sex dungeons they have in the movies, where there’s lots of leather, red lights, music, quite the ambience.” He stops suddenly, and she could imagine his lips pursing to cease his ramblings. She wishes he wouldn’t do that so much; she wishes that he wouldn’t doubt himself and his beautiful way with words. If only he could be as confident in himself as she is in him.
“I just want to lay you down on our bed with our fluffy blankets pushed off to the side. Then, if either of us need to take a moment or stop, we can.” Her heart swells a little at his words. Even though he’s trying to talk about, in his words, “dark, dom stuff”, he is still so sweet and considerate, and she can’t help but soften. He trails off.
Faintly, she can hear him yank his belt from the loops, and it’s, honestly, one of the hottest things she has ever heard; the teasing glimpse of what could come far more erotic than anything any of her other partners could do. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have him in front of her, shirtless with his pants low on his hips; maybe he would be wearing the same floral pants he is in his profile picture, the ones that are unbelievably tight. She would be splayed on the bed, just observing this beauty of a man, waiting patiently for him to come and ravish her.
She’s sure that his tattoos cover more than just his arms, but how many more is a question that haunts her. The thought of a big tattoo on his thigh that she can grind on while he moans about how much of a good girl she is has led to many obscene dreams. She imagines black images carved into his chest, perhaps a trail of floating rose petals from his collar bone to his peck or a hellish looking snake wrapped around his waist. More vividly, she envisions a bold tattoo just beneath his belly button, one that she would scratch at while he violently pounded into her, one that she would kiss and lick before she would take him in her mouth.
Oh, what she would do to be able to feel his skin on hers.
She dips her hand beneath the band of her shorts out of habit, toying with the silky material of her panties. She tries not to think too much about her feelings, fearing it would deepen the ache in her heart.
“Anyway, you’d be on the bed,” he says, his usual slow, stifling voice pulling her deeper into the fantasy, “naked, on your knees with your pretty pussy facing me. You’re all tied up, starting at your wrists and ankles, and there would be a pretty knot down your spine that I can grab while I fuck you from behind.”
Her cunt throbs at the sudden turn. She could only imagine: her face pressed into the pillows, choking on the sheets, her muscles tight, aching beneath the restraints, and her voice raw, sobbing from overstimulation. Exhausted and wanton, she would take anything that he would be willing to give her. He would shove her face into the mattress, mounting her, and he would tug on the rope until it felt like it would permanently embedded in her wet skin, telling her how much of a good little slut she is, taking him so well.
She doesn't know why she’s drawn to rope play; perhaps, it’s all a part of the subtle nuances of the sex, the intimacy of tying the complex binds around your partner and the intricacies of sensory manipulation with such overwhelming stimulation. It’s so much more than just being bound while fucking. There is such a deep reliance on the other person to understand your body, your limits, your needs. It’s about trust and vulnerability. She thinks of it in such a melodic and romantic way; it must have resonated with Tango.
“Or I’d tie your arms to your legs, keeping you spread open for me on your back, with knots around your belly, the lead falling between your tits.” Her eyes flutter closed. While rope play is something that she has always wanted to try but never felt comfortable enough with another person to act on it. He would be different though. She cups her pussy, languidly running her fingers through her wet folds, feeling the arousal slip down her skin before settling on her sheets.
She pinches her clit, and her legs immediately jerk around her arm. Feeling far too sensitive for that type of stimulation, she simply strokes through her lips, focusing her ministrations on the delicate inside, close to her sopping entrance, enjoying the slow build.
“Then, I could hold onto your neck while I fuck you, and I like being able to see your face, to see how good I’m making you feel, to see tears of pleasure run down your pretty face. You could suck on my fingers while I fuck you, deep and hard. D’ya wanna choke on my fingers, pretty?”
She wants absolutely nothing more. She would gladly suck on his fingers if it meant that she could see the look of awe in his eyes, lust darkening his features when she bites teasingly on his nail.
“But if you’re on your knees, I could watch you in the mirror and still see your face. From behind, I can see your pretty, tight pussy take my cock.” He whimpers. “I haven’t decided which I would rather have.”
She can’t decide, either.
Then again, they could always have both.
“Of course, I wouldn’t give you my cock that easily. No, you’re going to be crying for me, begging for me to fuck you, and I dunno if I would fuck you right away or make you beg for it. I think for the first bit, after you’re all tied up for me, I’ll tease you, just barely touching you, pulling on the lead, the ropes tightening around your aching body. I think your tits would look so pretty all tied up f’me, babylove.
“When you’ve finally had enough, crying for me to stuff you full of my cock, I’d let you come, but I’d only use my fingers, never giving you what you really want. Maybe I’ll put a little vibrator on your clit and leave you there, having you come again and again until it hurts. I’d have you keep your panties on, of course. Don’t want you making a mess of the sheets, and then, when I finally give you my cock, I’ll put them in your mouth to keep you quiet, and so you can taste yourself.”
His moans are in the forefront in his sensual song, mixed amongst a symphony of bed and friction sounds. She matches his pace, flicking her wrist in time with the sound of him working his wet cock. She massages the entirety of her pussy, messily rubbing her fingers from the tip of her poor, swollen clit to her throbbing opening.
“Fuck, babylove, you’d be so good f’me, taking my cock so deep in your pussy. Would you cry f’me, pretty? Cry for daddy to fuck you into the mattress.” A rumbling groan finally breaks free, and she is so close to falling apart, her high festering into her muscles, burning through her nerves; her skin feels hot to the touch. She struggles to breathe, but she doesn't yearn for air as much as she does her end. Tears in her eyes, she clutches onto her blanket, tugging it in her mouth to keep from crying too loudly. She sobs, feeling a familiar tightness in her body, just beyond her grasp. Her hand still moves over her pussy, arousal seeping through trembling fingers, but she can’t reach her peak with such light, varied stimulation, her hips buckling.
“My pretty rope bunny,” he mutters. He’s desperate, truly just rambling on and on about anything that comes to mind. “My pretty honey,” he whimpers, almost inaudibly, “honey, honey.”
For a second, she thinks of the times that word has passed through his lips in less sinful situations, a slow, lulling honey when he’s trying to get her attention, sweet and innocent. That’s his special name for her, and she wonders if, possibly, he thinks about her in the same way she does, if he wishes to be with her in such an intimate way, just as she does. She thinks, incredulously, that maybe she isn’t overanalyzing the situation.
His bed squeaks faintly in the background, just barely heard over his withering voice. She can only begin to imagine what he looks like in that moment, legs tense, feet digging into the mattress, his hips thrusting to fuck himself into his fist. The head of his cock would peek through the top of his fist as he coerced his release free. She wishes she could see what he looks like when he comes, when he finally reaches his most euphoric moment. It’s such a primal thing to witness, to see someone liberated of all inhibitions, to observe them completely succumbing to their instincts. It’s such a beautiful thing to see someone acquiesce control and thrive so harmoniously with their body.
“I wanna wrap my belt around your throat.” He swallows thickly. She whines along with him. Perhaps, she’s just fooling herself, but she can swear that she could almost hear the sound of a leather belt squeezing in his fist. A pitiful pool of wetness slips between her ass cheeks.
“My cock hurts just thinking about how you’d sound.” He moans, mimicking the desperate heaves that would undoubtedly slip through her lips as he pulls his belt tightly around her throat. “Then, when you’re bratty, I can just wrap my hand around the belt and make it tighter.
“Please,” he mocks weakly, “please, sir, I’ll be good. But you’re just saying that to get what you want. You’re just a naughty, little slut aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she returns weakly.
“Maybe, I could get you a collar and pull you around with that. Would you like that?” He hums. “Of course, you would. You’re my pretty, little bunny.”
In any other instance, she would feel humiliated to be so aroused at being so weak and submissive to another, but he could convince her to do anything at this point. She’s close, toes curling and muscles tightening, and she waits for his familiar profession that he is also near the edge, but the silence that follows is deafening, a disappointing resolution to an intense narrative. It makes her stop completely, wet hand flipping her phone over to see that, indeed, she had listened to all of the audio. It knocks the air from her lungs when she realizes that that was it. She isn’t going to hear his cute little whimpers as he comes nor his sweet aftercare.
Frustrated from her ruined orgasm, she calls him instantly, and he picks up after the fourth ring this time, as if he <i>knows</i> that she is this needy and frustrated. She doesn’t give him the chance to greet her.
“That couldn’t have been all of it.”
“Well, hello to you, too—”
“I didn’t get to hear you come.”
“Is that what you wanna hear, honey?”
“Well, yeah, I always come with—” She stops before she says something she’ll regret, but by the sound of his laughter, it’s already too late. She wants to hide away in embarrassment.
“It’s only partially finished. I thought I told you that.” She can hear the teasing smirk he surely has plastered on his face, the cheeky bastard. “I just wanted to hear what you thought so far before I finished it. There’s no point in finishing something that I already feel isn’t worth the time.”
“Well, then,” she stutters quickly, “How does it end?”
“How do you think it should end?”
There’s a certainty in his words, as if he has already accepted her as a lover, and she knows that he is giving her the opportunity to initiate the next step. Fear squeezes her chest, and for a second, she worries that she isn’t brave enough to follow through. Every fiber of her being is pleading with her to just take that risk, but another, more rational side of her, is saying it’s better to say a quick I don’t know, and they would move on as normal.
“Where would you come?”
Oh, it feels so filthy to ask that, but it’s so relieving to hear the hum of approval that passes through his lips.
Her heart races, not like before; this is exciting and new and arousing, and it feels wrong. She doesn’t even know what he looks like; hell, she doesn’t even know his real name, and she’s so fucking ready and willing to give herself to him. There’s just so many reasons to not pursue him. She feels ashamed, almost, that she is weak for a man she knows nothing about.
“Hmm, that’s a good question. Where would you like me to come?”
But how can she not get weak when he asks her things like that?
Shivers bloom on her skin in sunflower blossoms. She knows what he wants to hear, and usually, she would tease him, telling him that he didn’t care if he even came or not, but the throbbing between her legs is relentless, and she’s just lust-drunk that she’ll say just about anything to get what she needs. She begins rubbing herself again, focusing solely on her clit this time instead of the entirety of her pussy in the palm of her hand. Breathing out shakily, she answers honestly.
“Everywhere.”
He moans, and she knows that was the right answer.
“Everywhere? Such a greedy girl. You want me to come down your throat? You wanna taste it? Maybe, I’ll have you choke on my cock, fuck y’face until you’re crying.”
After he was done fucking her, she’s sure that he would yank her up either by the rope around her breasts or by the belt around her neck (she can’t decide which yet) and put his cock by her mouth, rubbing himself over her lips and chin, but never quite pushing past the barrier of her lips; no, she would be the one to open her sweet mouth for him, her jaw lax and tongue wet as she takes everything he’d give her.
God, yes, she wants to taste him. She wants him to use her in every possible, degrading way: to use her mouth while she tied up, under his mercy, to fuck her face until she has tears dripping down her cheeks, wetting her heaving chest, to come down her throat until she’s choking on him, but he would pinch her nose and make her taste it until her vision was blurry.
“You’d take it all, babylove. Won’t you?”
He asks so innocently, his deep voice having a soft twinge, but she knows that it’s not optional, not that she would choose otherwise. She would greedily lap at his cum and drink it all, proudly showing off her empty mouth when she’s done. Maybe, he would insist that she keep it in her mouth and pull her into a wet, heated kiss, prying her lips apart so he can taste himself on her tongue.
“I could make a mess on your belly or your tits, and then, I could lick you clean. Or I could mark up your thighs and watch it drip onto the sheets.”
The thought of him marking her with his come is nearly enough for her to reach her peak. A voice in the back of her head chastises her for being so greedy; this is something she has fantasized about since they started talking, and it’s going to be over before it can even begin at this rate. She needs to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the painful throbbing between her legs.
“Or I could come inside you.”
That’s the last thing she needed to hear.
Only because it makes a thick bead of arousal seep into her sheets. It makes her finally give in and sink two fingers inside herself, and <i>fuck, she’s so wet and swollen and pliable. She sobs, truly biting back even louder cries behind gritted teeth. She curses again and again at the feeling coursing through her veins, heat spreading in her belly as her hips frantically move against her ministrations.
“By the sound of that moan, I think that’s definitely preferred. Such a filthy girl. Y’want me to fill your belly? Want me to mark you as mine?”
She just knows that he could fill her to the brim, but he would want to prolong the experience as much as possible, teasing her with his cock and coaxing her to beg for his cum.
She could just imagine the determined look in his eyes, so close to coming, but he would pull out, just barely teasing her trembling entrance with his twitching cock. He wouldn’t move, and when she would beg for him to put it back in and just fuck her until she couldn’t breath, he would say very simply: if y’want my cum so bad, put my cock back inside.
God, his face would be gleaming with this power, satisfied with seeing her so needy for his cum. Shamefully, she would put one of her hands on his hip while the other grasps his cock, pushing on him until he sinks entirely inside her once again, but he still wouldn’t move, simply filling her, the both of them twitching with arousal. He would demand that she make him come if she wants it so bad, as if it's a gift from the heavens.
“Are you touching yourself?” He asks, and only then does she realize that she was drowning in her fantasy; the sudden change makes her stop rubbing herself, her vision hazy. She parts her lips with wet fingers, slipping back down to her entrance, gently prodding inside until that euphoria builds once again.
“Yes,” she admits shamefully. “‘M so fucking wet for you.”
“Dirty little slut,” he says sharply. He has no room to judge, especially since she can hear the all-too-familiar sounds to him jerking his cock, wet sounds of his fist passing over the thick head echoing in her empty room. She is near tears at this point, so needy and high and horny, but she wants to make this last.
“Would you let me come? Please, can I come?”
It’s his turn to moan with approval, and she feels proud. His heavy breathing in time with hers, he seems to be lost in pleasure, voice hitching as he struggles to find words. Her orgasm swells to a near crest once again, but she wants to hear him finish. At this point, she knows what it sounds like, from the frantic ramblings to the guttural moans, and he’s not quite there yet.
“Do you think you deserve to come, honey? You think you’ve been a good girl f’me?”
“Yes, I’m a good girl—fuck—please, please, I need to come.” She stumbles through her words, what little power she held in her withering grasp deflating instantly from his words.
“I dunno, I think you’re a brat who just wants to get off.”
It’s painful how much his words impact her, volatile muscles spasming while she staves of hee end. She whimpers, sinking further in her headspace; she feels a cloud settle in her vision (or perhaps those are tears), overwhelming yet freeing.
“No, I’m your good girl,” she insists.
“I think you’ll have to prove it to me, honey,” he replies slyly. “I don’t think I’ll let you come quickly. I want you to beg for it. Can you do that f’me, babylove? Beg me to come.”
“Fuck, I’m so close,” she says. “Please, please, I need it. Please, let me come.”
“You can do better than that,” he says, voice cracking. Their harmonious sounds of excitement drive both of them closer to their orgasms.
“Oh, god—please, I—fuck—I need it so bad. ‘M so close, please.” She can barely speak coherently. Chills wrack her sore body, waves of throbbing pleasure threatening to break her. She wanted—no, needed—him to finish.
“Come f’me, Honey,” he says. “You’re my good girl, so good f’me. C’mon, babylove, come with me.”
She does. With ears ringing and eyes closing, she comes until her pussy aches. It feels never ending, euphoria consuming every part of her sweat-laden flesh, chilling and fiery, for hours—or perhaps only seconds. She can’t tell.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her vision blurry. Her body trembles with residual aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She lays spread open on her bed, her pussy still too sensitive to close her legs entirely.
“Thank you for letting me come.” In her daze, her limbs fall away limply. All she can do is exist at this moment. She vaguely wonders if he finished with her, the thought of his deep moans fueling another fire. A part of her is disappointed that she wasn't present enough to listen to him, but another part knows that more opportunities will come.
“You’re so welcome, honey,” he says sweetly. “I think we both really needed that today.”
She hums, still recovering from such a powerful end. She slowly regains her breathing.
“I guess I should be thanking you because that’s one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had,” he says. She laughs.
“You flatter me.”
“I’m serious. Nearly gave myself a pearl necklace.”
And just like that, everything continues as normal. Both know that the other is naked and satiated, but neither feels uncomfortable with the fact. If anything, it makes things relieved, open, or comfortable. They’re both giggly in the golden after-glow.
“What does this mean for us, Honey?”
As, yes, the dreaded ‘talk’. Fear immediately spikes in her veins, and she struggles to find her words. Before she can answer, he begins speaking again.
“Look, I really like talking with you, and I don’t want this to make things weird, but I meant what I said earlier. That was probably one of the best orgasms of my life, and I don’t think that I could live without your pretty little moans now that I’ve heard them. Maybe, we can do that again. We don’t have to put a label on it or anything, if you don’t want to.”
Her heart sinks. Is that all that he wants?
“Right, it doesn’t have to be anything serious, just us having some stress relief.” Her words are dry and forced, feeling like bile in her mouth. She grits her teeth. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?
“Hey, uh, it’s late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Same time next week?”
She hopes that he doesn’t think that she regrets what they did, and she hopes he doesn’t think too much into her abrupt ending of the call. It’s not a total lie; she does have work early tomorrow morning, but she has had more than a few days where she was running on two hours of sleep and a miracle. She just wants to get off the phone before he hears the contemplation in her voice.
“You think I can wait a week after that? You have too much faith in me.”
“I think you’ll survive, babe,” she says.
“Good night, babylove.”
“Good night.”
She falls asleep quickly after, dreaming of the nameless, faceless man who she bares her soul to.
Later that night, as Harry edits the finally finished audio, he thinks back to Honey and their mutual pleasure, feeling like an absolute idiot for saying that it was nothing serious. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so emphatically, so quickly.
Although, what had he expected? He was the one who suggested it. No matter, he can’t have a relationship right now, especially a long distance one. He would just end up getting hurt, but he likes her too much to stop talking to her completely. He finally took their relationship further even if it won’t lead to anything more.
“Are you ready to admit defeat?”
Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, despite her current situation, her hand rubbing leisure circles on her already sensitive clit, which still throbs from her first orgasm of the night. Tango murmurs praise in her humming ears.
She’s not really sure what they are, and she doesn’t want to think about it. It would only complicate things more.
Friends? Definitely.
Well, maybe not definitely, since she doesn’t even know his name, but what other word could she use to define their relationship? What sort of friends would say such filthy things to each other? Why would he call her ‘my honey’ so emphatically if they were ‘just friends’? Too afraid of misinterpreting his intentions and embarrassing herself, she doesn’t mention anything, and he never does either, but it keeps her awake at night, wondering what they could be if she could just put her feelings to words.
This would be the second hour of their phone call, and it only took them ten minutes for the conversation to turn into one of their “stress relieving sessions”. Both of them had a terrible day; she was late for the first day at her new job (they were understanding given the circumstances, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth), and he slept through an exam. She eased him into a submissive headspace quickly, babbling about what a good boy he is and how proud she is of him. Within minutes, he came, and she whispered all the filthy things she wanted to do to him until he was completely spent, his cock milked of all remnants of his seed, twitching and throbbing with empty orgasms.
He easily fell into the dominant headspace after his quick high, and he was adamant that he could make her come more than any of her other partners, even without him truly there. She knows that he can; hell, she has touched herself to his voice more times than she could count, but she likes teasing him, hearing him get all riled up and stubborn.
“Are you gonna come again, honey?”
“Nope,” she breathes, “Not even a little close.”
“You’re obviously lying or not trying,” he says sharply, and a sense of pride swells in her chest at her ability to get a rise out of him without even trying. She smirks.
“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”
“I might have to.”
She’s sure he would, too, but it would be in the most pleasurable way possible, with his mouth and fingers and cock stimulating her until she comes so many times she can’t take anymore. Her fingers trace her most intimate area, nails scraping against her quivering core. She sinks two fingers inside, feeling her sopping pussy swallow them easily, adjusting quickly and craving more. She tries to find that sweet, spongy spot inside her, but she can’t seem to reach it.
“Wish it was your fingers,” she mumbles, her movements certain and even, but it’s never enough for her greedy body.
“Yeah, lovie?” He croons, “they’d be so big in your tight little pussy.” She hums, wishing that he was there to stuff her in every way possible.
“Would you wear your rings?”
“For you? Of course.” Her eyes roll back at the thought; his thick fingers could tear her at the seams, and with the added texture of his rings, she would be coming within seconds. Her clit throbs, blood rushing in time with her racing heart, and she massages it harder, wanton and waiting for yet another release. “C’mon, babylove, Come for me. Make me proud,” he coaxes. His words make her fall over that edge once more, thighs shaking and pussy weeping. She’s sure there’s a creamy stain beneath her, seeping into her wet skin.
“Again,” he demands. She thinks she may break. “Keep going, babylove. Where’s that toy you told me about?”
He knows that she won’t be able to come much longer on her own, with the pain overwhelming the pleasure.
“It’s so far away,” she whines.
“Go grab it, love,”
Her legs tremble as she twists around, reaching blindly into her bedside drawer. She can’t close her legs too much without getting overstimulated; her legs ache and twitch. Once the toy is situated just above her clit, she ticks it on. Her body reacts immediately, limbs jolting about, hips ducking away, and her voice catching. Gasping, she almost wants to take the toy away, the stimulation being far too much.
He thinks differently.
“Turn it up higher, lovie,” he says so sweetly. Her chest feels like it could almost collapse into itself. Still dizzy from her orgasm, she’s not sure if she can take it, her body fighting against her. She wants to beg and plead for something, but she doesn’t even know what for. Is it for yet another orgasm that will surely be more powerful that any other? Or is it for the burning at every nerve ending to stop?
“I dunno—”
“You can take it, such a good little bunny for me.”
The vibrator ticks to the next setting, a sharp, persistent sound echoes in her empty room, followed by an even louder shout. She has not control anymore. Thankfully, she’s home alone or else it would be an awkward morning with her roommate listening to her cries of pleasure well into the night. Her hand shakes, but she presses the head of the toy harder to her clit. She lets out a guttural groan, feeling euphoria seep from every pore.
“There it is,” he moans, breathing growing ragged. He’s surely jerking himself off, basking in the pleasure with her, and it makes her arousal burn deeper. She wants to put on a show for him, to egg him on and make him feel as good as he makes her feel.
“There’s my pretty girl. Let me hear you, baby.”
She can barely squeeze out a few breathless whimpers from her chest, hedonistic—no, animalistic—sobs crash through her. Pain and pleasure fight for control, just as her mind and body do.
“Feel good?”
“Yes,” she says weakly. “Feels so good.”
She comes quickly with a silent cry, her lips parted and face scrunched. Saliva slips from her open mouth, and she is unable to wipe it away, lewdly dripping down her chin to her neck before finding it’s place on her dirtied sjeets. The recovery period is quicker this time; it’s either that or her body is becoming numb to anything but pleasure. It feels like it’s never ending with the vibrator still nestled tightly to her puffy cilt. Her lips are surely swollen now too, tender from too many orgasms, yet still sopping with arousal.
“Don’t take it away,” he says, “You got another one in ya. You can do it, lovie.”
His voice is muffled beneath blankets where her phone lies, lost in her ravenous bouts of pleasure, limbs writhing and tossing. Her body aches when she twists to put it back up by her ear to hear him more clearly, muscles tight from her previous orgasms. Legs closing slightly, she whines when the toy presses harder against her clit, hips ducking away from the strong vibrations, eyes fluttering closed. Her phone falls out of her grasp once more, but the light illuminates the dark room, casting a warm glow.
“Please—”
She’s not really sure what she’s begging for; it just slips out, a weak plea. Perhaps, she just wants him to be there instead of on the other end of a phone call, in some faraway place she doesn’t even know. The room would feel so much warmer with him here, her back pressed to his chest, their sweat mingling. Maybe he would wear those pretty lace stockings he showed her a picture of once, the glittery fabric coarse against her skin as he teases his toes along her leg, keeping them spread. His freckled and inked arms wrapped tightly around her middle, paying special attention to her tummy, he would whisper sweet things in her ear and press on the area right below her belly button, telling her of how he wants to grind his pretty cock against her soft middle until she is sticky with his precum, how he can fuck himself that deep inside her. She would feel him for days after.
“I know it hurts, baby, but just one more, then you can go to bed.”
It sounds so nice, the thought of sinking into her pillows for a good night's rest, but an orgasm sounds even better, one leaving her spent and satiated and sleepy.
“Such a good girl f’me.”
As much as she wants to, the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable, she can’t stop; she wants to make him proud, to prove to him that she’s his good girl who can take it. Even though he’s not truly there with her to hold her and make sure she comes, she still wants to do as he says. Her legs tremble, threatening to close.
She squeaks when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive angle on her clit, and she bites into her pillow to keep from crying out. Her hips work desperately, to reach that high for the last time, just one more, like an addict itching for one more hit. It’s her fourth orgasm within ten minutes, and this might just be her breaking point.
“I dunno if I can.” Her words slur, and she can feel spit dripping down her puckered lips. She suddenly wishes he was there to wipe it away, thumb soft and subtle against her skin, lingering on her puffy lips.
“One more, babylove,” he insists. “Just one more. You’re doing so well.” She bites back a mangled cry, eyes squeezing shut, her thoughts lost in a dark chaos. His voice is the only anchor amidst a dizzying high, coaxing her through her stupor with sweet words.
“My pretty girl, my good fucking girl, taking it so well.” His gravelly voice pulls her from drowning, his words gritty from his clenched jaw. “You’re not hurting too much, are ya?”
His deep voice is soft, lilting with a tender care she needs. She could simply melt, blanketed in the warmth of his rich voice.
“A little,” she admits, a dull ache in her belly when she clenches too tightly. “But it feels so good.”
The vibrations pulse through her body, leaving her voice shaky, and she shifts slightly, hips digging into the mattress. It settles on the underside of her clit, and it’s so close to that one spot, until finally—there, there, there—right there. She groans, low and guttural, drawn out from the depths of her chest, animalistic almost. Her body burns and trembles for a second before yet another strong, unrelenting wave drowns her. Every muscle in her body tenses as the head of the vibrator finds the one tender spot on her clit, catching at just the right angle that leaves her eyes teary, world dizzy. She knows it’ll be painful if she doesn’t pull away, a harsh orgasm building, but she can’t stop, not with him listening to her, waiting for her final bitter end.
She’s doing so good for him, such a good bunny. She trembles in the wake of such a violent euphoria, weak moans slipping in time with her belated breathing. It passes through in waves, the pain, a bittersweet burning welling deep inside her, but a different ache persists, one that leaves her yearning for more, one that makes her dig her feet into the mattress and press herself harder on the toy. Her toes curl, and her back arches, free hand twisting the sheets.
He hums appreciatively.
“My bunny likes it when it hurts. Doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” she sobs, “I want it to hurt.” Hips shuttering away from the relentless vibrator, Y/N feels her final orgasm build, pain lingering around the edges as her muscles twitch.
“Such a dirty little slut.” Her back arches at his filthy words, arousal pooling beneath her. She could feel it wetting her thighs. “Just f’me, right, honey? Just my pretty slut.”
She comes quickly, eyes rolling back as it overwhelms all of her senses. She feels tense yet relaxed. A broken cry breaks from her swollen lips as she shatters, falling apart for the final time. Her muscles quiver, tiny shocks lingering in the aftermath of so many orgasms in such quick succession. Her limbs ache. Her heart races. Her pussy throbs. She knows that this will be all she can take, her body completely spent. She can’t find the energy to keep her eyes open, and they roll back.
“You alright?”
“Yeah,” she says, still struggling to find her breath and collect her thoughts, but when she does, a smile breaks her face. She feels everything and nothing all at once, so perfectly numb. She finds herself laughing incredulously because that cocky little bastard was right: he made her come more times than anyone has before. She laughs until tears slip down her warm cheeks.
This is the part where the emotions start to become just as overwhelming as her release. So much sinks in all at once, and she realizes just how alone she is, and she wishes he was here to pull her back down to earth, to hold and to love. She feels deflated. The sexual release is such a rush, but it brings devastating lows. With tears in her eyes, she struggles not to cave into herself.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she lies, a sob curling in her lungs, forcing its way out in a blubbering mess. Once the first one escapes, the rest follow easily. She can’t seem to stop, heaving cries wracking her already sore body as she clutches onto her pillow. She fists her phone to her ear in an attempt to be closer to him, but that makes the feeling grow worse, settling to a black hole in her stomach, sucking all euphoria from her. Tears soak into her skin and sink into her ear, muffling his comforting words.
“Let it out, babylove,” he says softly. “I know, I know. I know. Sometimes it can just get really overwhelming.” His words are gentle, just as he is, and maybe that’s what makes this even worse. He is everything she wants. He is just so perfect for her in every way, but he is ao far from her reach. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t such a good person. Maybe that would make the yearning go away. She’s quiet, slowly breathing through stuttering sniffles.
“Hey,” he says softly, “Go pee and clean yourself up, babe. Know you don’t like feeling all wet down there. It makes your peach all sticky.”
She nods, knowing full well that he can’t see her, but doesn’t move. She honestly doesn’t think she can.
“Go on,” he murmurs when he doesn’t hear the familiar rustling of her sheets. “‘M right here, honey.”
A few more tears squeeze out of her eyes at his words. It makes her whole demeanor crumble once again; she’s upset because he’s not really there, he’s not there to hold her and kiss her and love her, and that’s not fair. She just wants to have him here to tell her that everything will be alright; she wants him to be there to laugh with, to just be with. He is such a good part of her life, but she just wishes that he could physically be there in the way she dreams.
She cleans up quickly, tossing her spent underwear into her dirty laundry. Just as she had suspected, the remnants of her orgasms stained her thighs.
What’s that ache in her chest?
“Good girl, feel better, lovie?”
She nods and whimpers, unable to calm her trembling lips.
“Good, ‘m right here, babylove. Y’did so good, so proud of you.”
She crawls back to bed moments later, shuddering breaths and swollen eyes being the only remnants of her breakdown. She sniffles and wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, which smells vaguely of her feminine wipes.
“Sorry, if it was too much,” he says.
“No, no need to apologize,” she says quickly to get rid of any lingering guilt he has. It felt amazing, to be tested just beyond her limits, to be pushed to a shattering breaking point, to trust him to know what she can take. “It was nice. I just sorta—” Her voice breaks. “I dunno. Everything just got a little overwhelming. I think I’m better now.”
“What do you need from me, honey?”
She nearly starts crying again at how sweet he is. She almost could imagine that only a few minutes ago he was calling her his dirty little slut and demanding her to come until she could handle it.
“Just talk to me,” she says.
“So, I saw a couple dogs today,” he begins awkwardly. “Well, I was attacked by two little frenchie’s when I was walking to class, and it completely made my day ten-times better. They were so cute with their chubby little legs.”
He rambles on about his week, and it feels nice and familiar.
She’s nearly asleep when he begins talking about his mother. Apparently, she was visiting him last week, which was nice for about a day; then, he began realizing why he moved away in the first place: she is so smothering.
“And my mum is always nagging me to go out and socialize. She was like,” he breathes in, adjusting his tone to a falsetto. “Harry, you’re never gonna be able to find anyone if you don’t…”
He continues as normal, chattering away in his low, sleepy voice. She doesn’t think he even realizes his slip up, words spluttering out of his mouth so quickly that even he probably couldn’t hear it. She smiles as sleep finally overwhelms her.
Harry.
His name is Harry.
2K notes · View notes
causeilikelix · 3 months
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new to the blog but abt those felix throughts 😍😍 felix whos so tired of the members calling him innocent and babying him. yea its nice from time to time but hes a grown man ! so he goes 100% hard dom on you just so your moans can be heard in the dorm 🫣 also he would totally cover you in bite marks and hickeys just so he can get his point across to his group 💕
now THAT's what I'm taking about skhsfdlkfjsdlkfj
Like we all know that Felix is a lil guy with too much love in his body but soft =/= sub. He's a man very comfortable in his identity and the power he holds over you. Felix just wants to make his baby feel good but he also wants to prove a point...
Smut and warnings below the cut. MINORS DNI!!!!!!
↳  Words - 2.7k (and some change)
↳Warnings: SMUT duh, Soft!Dom Felix (I'm still getting used to writing Hard!Dom anyone) and a tough of Hard!Dom Lix at the end, afab!reader, relatively vanilla, fingering (f receiving), P in V, unprotected sex (don't), multiple orgasms, exhibitionism?, hickeys
You loved his innocent vibe!  You really did!  His angelic smile and his sweet words and actions is what drew you to him in the first place.  He was nothing but romantic and sweet all the time.  The best communicator, respectful of your boundaries, always treated you like a princess.  Honestly everyone needs their own personal Felix!!
But he’s tired.  He can’t help it.  All of his friends baby him so much!  Like Changbin said himself, Felix is happiness personified!  But enough is enough.  His sweet exterior is giving him a reputation he doesn’t want.  When his friends talk about their sex lives, they always make these jokes that Felix must be a little pillow prince who takes what he’s given and lets his partner take the lead.  In fact, his friends bet, he’s as innocent as can be and maybe you and him don’t even have sex at all!
He’s still grumbly about it when you get to the dorm one night, just to spend a little time together in between schedules.  He greets you with his normal warm hug and a sweet peck but you can sense something is off.  
Initially you stay in the living room to continue watching the movie the other guys are watching.  It’s some action film you couldn’t give two shits about.  Your legs are swung over Felix’s lap and he’s gently massaging your calves and thighs while he stares at the screen.  You can hear a few of the other guys snickering but you can’t make out what they’re saying.  When you glance at Felix, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is set.  Honestly it’s kind of hot and makes heat pool between your legs.  Let’s be honest though…. It’s Felix.  Almost everything he does can get you wet.
The boys laugh again and you note that it’s during a not particularly funny part of the movie.  This is where Felix breaks.  He pushes your legs off him and grabs your hand.
“Come on, babe, this isn’t very interesting.  Let’s go to my room.”  Felix whispered to you, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. 
Your body immediately went hot and you had a feeling you knew what was on his mind.  He dragged you to his room and tossed the door shut behind him. 
His hands were cupping your face and pulling you into a deep kiss before the latch had fully closed.  You could simply melt into his kisses.  They always were deep and full of every ounce of love in his body.  Tonight, however, his lips were urgent and demanding. 
“I need you baby, please.”  He whispered against your mouth.  The need to show his friends that he wasn’t a little boy anymore coursed through him, but he would stop if you gave the word.
“Lix, I need you too.”  You managed out between kisses, “But what about the guys?  They’re right outside and-”
“Remember what we talked about last month?”  Felix kissed down your neck and pushed you back towards the bed. 
How could you forget?  Most of the time you and Felix had sex it was very mutual.  You didn’t do a whole lot of powerplay.  Maybe a sprinkling here and there when the situation was right, but Felix loved it when sex was a mutual expression of love.  A few weeks ago he asked you about exploring power play a little more and maybe experimenting with some kinks.  One of them was being listened to.  Not necessarily the real thing, but pretending like someone could walk in on you at any moment. 
With the boys right down the hall, that one held more risk than normal. 
“You wanna try it?”  You asked.  The back of your knees caught on the edge of the bed and you sat down.  Felix weaved his fingers through your hair and bent down to kiss you.  You parted your knees instinctively and Felix settled between them. 
With him above you like this, you felt small under him.  The thrill it gave you made your heart speed up.  You gripped his slim waist to pull him closer. 
“I want them to hear you while I fuck you dumb,” Felix’s voice dropped and octave.  It sent a shiver down your spine.  You always loved it when he got like this.  When he got too horny, his voice dropped and it made you wet in an instant.
Felix’s hands made quick work of your clothes.  He wasted no time in getting you naked, leaving your top and jeans in a pile on the floor.  Even though you hadn’t expected to have sex on this visit, you still wore one of your cuter underwear sets.   Baby pink with a little bit of lace at the top of the cups of the bra and the top of the panties, made even more innocent by a tiny rose in the center of both pieces. 
Felix swallowed thickly at the sight.  
“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”  Felix whispered.  He maneuvered you onto the bed and hovered over you.  You clawed at his shirt, urging him to take it off.  He smirked and tugged it off.  “Just say the word and I’ll stop, okay?  Until then you're going to let me do whatever I want with you, right baby?”
“Yes, baby.”  You nodded in understanding.
You groaned at the sight of his chiseled chest.  Those gorgeous, defined ab muscles and his perfect little pink nipples made your mouth water.  Everything about him was beautiful from his head to his toes.  Not to mention his cock.  Speaking of, you wanted to see it immediately.  You tried to reach for his pants but he grabbed your wrists and shoved you back against the bed. 
“No touching without permission, got it baby?”  He cooed, “I wouldn’t want to have to punish you.  I bet you’re already wet, aren’t you?  It doesn’t take much to get my baby worked up.”
Felix slipped his hand into your underwear and seemed unfazed by the amount of slick in your panties.  To be honest, you thought that there should have been more.  The sudden show of power had your cunt gushing and clenching around nothing and you needed him inside you, um, yesterday. 
“Felix, please!”  You cried, pushing your hips up into his hand.  His digits rubbed small, slow circles on your clit.  Just enough to feel good but not enough to actually get anywhere. 
“What do you want, baby?  Good girls use their words.”  Felix chided, his fingers slipping lower to tap against your entrance but not going in. 
“I want you to touch me!  Please!”  You kept your voice quiet so that no one outside the door could hear you, but that wasn’t what Felix wanted. 
“You want me to touch you?  Alright, baby, I’m feeling nice today.”  Felix kept his eyes on your face as he slipped two of his fingers into your tight hole with basically no resistance.  He watched as your face screwed up in pleasure and your lips parted in a silent moan.  “Come on you can do better than that.”
With that, Felix pumped his fingers into you.  Quick thrusts wouldn’t get him where he wanted to go so he opted for long, deep strokes that pressed the pads of his fingers onto that special spot he’d found a few weeks ago.  The ball of his hand pressed deliciously against your clit with every thrust.  You swallowed a moan and turned your head to press your face into your arm to help silence yourself. 
At this, Felix threw three quick thrusts of his fingers into you.
“Uh uh,” he chided, “I want to hear those beautiful noises of yours, baby.  Let me know how good I’m making you feel, yeah?”
He pressed a few more deep and precise thrusts into you and this time you complied with a long, drawn out moan.  Felix grinned.  He continued like this for a few minutes, pressing his fingers in as deep as possible.  He resorted to pressing his hand against your clit and his fingers massaging that spot within you. 
“Fuck, you’re so tight.  You’re drenching my fingers already.  I can’t wait until you cream my cock, baby.  Keep moaning, just like that.”
He has you clenching and cumming on his fingers in seconds.  It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he gets your thighs shaking.  You’re moaning so loudly that you’re certain that the others can hear you.  Felix smiles through the whole thing.  His eyes are dark as he watches you cum just from his fingers. 
“Good girl, there it is.  Let’s see if you can take my cock, yeah?”
“Please.”  You moan loudly. 
Felix pulls his fingers out of you and you whine at the loss.  He pulls your panties down your legs and tosses them somewhere in the room.  Next he strips from the rest of his clothes and his cock slaps against his stomach.  Precum pearled at his tip and your mouth watered.  You longed to take him in your mouth and suck him until he came but he had other plans.
“Hands and knees.  Now.”  Felix demands.  He pumps his cock a few times to make sure he’s hard enough.  How could he not be, though, as he watches you climb onto your hands and knees and present your ass and your glistening hole to him.  He leans over you and brushes his cock along your swollen folds.  “Good girl.  God, you have the most perfect ass…”  Felix palmed it appreciatively before pulling his hand back and landing a firm slap on the flesh.
“Fellix!”  you gasped when he landed a second slap.  
“That’s right, baby, remember who’s name you’re screaming when I make you cum.”  Felix’s deep voice rumbles. 
He lined up his tip at your entrance and rubbed it through your folds a few times, reveling in the way he could make you shiver every time his cock grazed your over-sensitive clit.  When you least expected it, Felix pushed his cock into your tight, warm cunt.  You both moaned out in unison when he bottomed out.  His long, thick cock filled you up perfectly.  It was as if your pussy was designed for him.  Felix swore that he could spend the rest of his life between your legs.
“I’m going to fucking ruin you, darling?”
With that, he began thrusting.  Sometimes adjusting to someone’s cock in you is a thing of myth.  You can never get used to how perfectly he fills you up.  It may not be the longest, but it’s thick and it stretches you more than anything or anyone else ever has.  His cock has a perfect little curve to it that hits that little spot inside you whenever he angles his hips just right. 
Tonight, he’s determined to get all of the sounds out of you that he can.  So every single thrust is designed to do just that.  He shoves himself into your snug heat as deep as he can go every single time.  It’s like you can feel him in your throat.  Every thrust pushes his hips flush with your ass.  He takes a hand and presses on your back to push your chest onto the bed.  
“Fuuuuuck baby, you feel so good.”  Felix moaned, “Always so warm and tight for me, baby.”
“You feel so good inside of me,”  You moan back, struggling to get your words out between Felix’s rough thrusts, “Don’t stop, don’t stop!”
“Come on, moan for me baby, show them how good I make you feel.”
As if you had a choice.  His thrusts were hard and he shifted his hips until his tip speared into that spot over and over again.  Felix had found that spot by chance a few weeks ago when he was fingering you and now he made it a point to seek it out every time.  
Felix’s hand curled around your bodies and his fingers made contact with your clit immediately.  At this, you keened and let out the loudest moan of the night.  Your cunt clamped onto Felix’s cock and he bit his lip to keep from cumming right there.  Your tight, wet heat eas driving him crazy but you had to cum first.  
He could have sworn that the TV volume lowered.
“Come on baby, cum for me.”  Felix grunted, his finger swirling around your swollen clit.
Your walls clenched and fluttered around him.  Something in your belly pulled taut and you rocked yourself back on Felix’s cock.  The extra bit of friction made the coil pull tight.  You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to let your body relax so that Felix could take over and bring you to orgasm.  Your moans grew louder and louder as you got closer.
“Yes, yes, yes!”  You cried, “Fuck, Felix!  Right there!”
“That’s a good girl, cream my cock, baby.”  
The sound of the TV in the front room had stopped all together.
The extra pressure of you pushing back onto his cock was just the right thing.  The intense pressure in your stomach suddenly released all at once.  Your legs trembled and your body shook.  Felix took over and gripped your hips tightly.  He slowly guided your hips down towards the bed so you were laying flat, continuing his intense thrusts into your cunt.  He leaned over you and pressed his lips to the back of your neck. 
“Felix, don’t stop,”  you moaned, arching your back into him to keep his dick lodged inside you as deep as possible.  
Your orgasm washed over you in waves, each one resulting in a gush of wetness between your legs.  His hips kept drilling into you diligently.  He kissed along your shoulders and neck, sucking dark marks onto your skin.  The second you rolled over, he’d give you hickeys on your neck and breasts to match these.
When he sensed your orgasm coming to an end, he slowed his hips but kept his cock lodged within your tight walls.  He hadn’t come yet but he knew he had to give you a short break before he sought his own orgasm. 
“Was I loud enough?”  You giggled,  “What was that about?”
“The guys were making fun of me, saying things like… I couldn’t be a dom because I’m too innocent, that I’m just a pillow prince and I let you do all the work.”  Felix peppered soft kisses on your skin. 
“That’s not it at all baby!  We just like sex to be reciprocal, that’s all.”
“I know, but I guess I needed a little ego boost.”  Felix shrugged.
“Well if I get to come like that every time we need an ego boost, by all means,”  You giggled, rubbing your ass back into him and making his cock slide against your puffy walls, making you both gasp.  “I think you could stand to be a little meaner, though.”
“What?  You want me to be mean to you?”  Felix stared at you with large eyes.
“Maybe a little more.”
“Oh, so you want me to call you my own little personal slut?”  Felix whispered in your ear.  That tantalizing voice of his made your cunt clench on him.  “Oh so you would like that?  I should have known you’d be a little cock-hungry slut.  Can’t go a single day without my cock in you, is that it?”
“Mmhm…”  You nodded, eyes suddenly a little teary but in the best way.  You pushed your hips back against his again.  He groaned and pressed a hand to your hip to stop your movements.
“If you keep going like that I’m gonna treat you like a little cocksleeve, got it?  I’ll stuff you with enough cum to keep you full for weeks.  You want that, baby?”
“God, yes,” your eyes rolled back at the thought of feeling even fuller than you were now.
“Then relax, my pretty slut, we’re just getting started.”  Felix growled. 
His hand slipped under you to press lightly against your tummy, the pressure pushing your g-spot effortlessly against the tip of his cock.  He’d hardly have to aim at all like this.  You let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll fill you up ‘til your cute little cunt can’t handle it anymore.  M’ cum is all yours.”
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girlellie · 9 months
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I won't let you go - pt 1
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Pairing: Ellie × Reader x Dina.
Warnings: SMUT, kissing, jealousy, angst, love triangle.
Synopsis: When Ellie realized she was losing you, she does everything to win you back, but is it too late?
A/N: English is not my first language sorry if there are any mistakes.
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This would be the third night you haven't seen or spoken to your girlfriend. Since Joel's death and after everything that happened in Seattle Ellie wasn't the same. She was cold, distant, depressed, quiet and you didn't know what else to do to help her, she barely spoke to you, laughed with you, hugged you, kissed you or touched you. You didn't even know if you two were still a couple, Ellie didn't seem to care if you were together with her or not. Sex with Ellie had become something empty and rare and you couldn't even remember when the last time the two of you had sex, but you did remember that it was bad and you had to fake an orgasm to not make Ellie even more frustrated, if that's what she cared about.
But it wasn't sex you missed the most, you missed your girlfriend, you missed the person you fell in love with. You missed being with her, the times you shared together, the silly pranks, the antics, the laughs, the secrets you two shared, the drunken nights, watching movies with her, the video game competitions, you missed missing her singing to you, the funny pictures, posing for her to draw you, you even missed her stupid jokes and even her uncontrollable jealousy. But what you missed most were the times when you were just lying together, you snuggled in her arms in the comfortable silence. You so missed the feeling of peace that being with her brought you.
But she was a totally different person now, she was just living on automatic. She would wake up early, go on patrol, return to Jackson and lock herself in her cabin. Sometimes she would drink a bottle of whiskey and become even more rude and apathetic.
The fact that she hadn't been able to kill Abby had left her frustrated and all she could think about was one day being able to avenge Joel's death and you knew that was all she was thinking about. Everything you'd gone through together in Seattle had left you both traumatized. But as the months went by you got over it, but not Ellie. She was too obsessed and stubborn for that.
You were in your house that you shared with your twin brother, you were in the living room watching a documentary - which your brother found on a day out on patrol - about aliens and spaceships and it made you think of Ellie.
You decided to try to save your relationship one more time, so you dressed up and put on a short white dress with the sleeves down and low in the back - Ellie always liked to see you in short dresses - you kept half of your hair with a barrette, the way Ellie liked it and went to her house.
You stood in front of the closed door, you were nervous, not knowing if you really should go in. You two hadn't spoken for three days and Ellie didn't seem to care, so why would you care? Why were you standing on her doorstep and not the other way around? It crossed your mind to leave, go back to your house and wait for her to look for you, but the anxiety was killing you and something inside you said that Ellie would not come to you and that you would have to fight for the two of you or put an end to this relationship once and for all - but that's not what you wanted, you loved her too much.
You took a deep breath and knocked on the door, a few months ago you would have just turned the handle and walked in, but everything was different now. You waited a while for Ellie to appear in the doorway, she didn't show any emotion when she saw you.
“Hey babe”, you said hugging her. “Hey”, she just placed a hand on your waist as you wrapped your arms around her neck. “Are you okay?”, you said pulling away from her, “we haven't spoken in days.” “I just didn't want to bother you with my stuff”, she replied closing the door behind you. “You never bother me, you know you can talk to me about whatever you want.” "I have nothing to say". She walked past you without looking at you and sat on the edge of the bed.
“We haven't seen each other for three days and you don't have anything to talk about? Did you even miss me?” You crossed your arms waiting for an answer, but Ellie just ignored you as she kicked off her sneakers. You shook your head and held back the tears that were about to fall. "Did you eat something?" "I'm not hungry". "Are you sure? Could I prepare something, how about macaroni a puttanesca?” "I'll not eat". “Okay… we could watch something instead of dinner… my brother found a documentary about aliens the other day and…”, “Y/n I don't want to do anything right now ok?”, Ellie said as she laid down, “I have to wake up early for tomorrow's patrol, if you don't mind… it's kinda late already”.
That was all Ellie had done since returning from Seattle, patrol, patrol, patrol. And now after three fucking days of not talking to you, she just practically kicked you out of her house. She had turned her back on you and you were just standing there beside her bed. You quickly wiped away a few tears that stubbornly fell from your eyes. You looked around, the pictures she had with you and of you were still hanging everywhere, as were the paintings she had painted of you. It gave you a tightness in your chest, because you knew that was all that was left of your failed relationship.
“I could leave Jackson at any time and you wouldn't notice,” you finally said. Ellie didn't say anything, she just sighed heavily as if she couldn't take it, she wanted you to leave her alone, she didn't want to argue, she didn't want to talk about it either, she just wanted to be silent because if she said anything she would be rude too much, too aggressive.
You knew you had to put an end to it, that the two of you were over for a long time, you just needed the courage to finally break up with Ellie. But it wouldn't happen tonight, you'd put it off one more time, maybe another day, maybe another time, maybe you wouldn't have to do this, maybe Ellie still loved you... maybe, maybe, maybe...
You didn't say another word, you knew it would be useless. So you just quietly left and closed the door carefully behind you. You wanted to cry, but you were tired of being locked in your room crying nonstop. So you thought that if you couldn't have fun with your girlfriend, you would have fun without her.
You went to Tipsy Bison to get drunk, it was late and there was no one else in there, but you went in anyway and sat down. “Sorry, we're closed,” said a girl with long, dark hair who had her back to you, arranging glasses in the cupboard. “We're not serving anymore, Maria doesn't want anyone high after…”, she turned to you and her expression changed instantly, she smiled as she took a good look at you, “oh… wow! hi, hello, would you like a drink?”, the girl said cheekily, smiling at you, kind of eating you up with her eyes.
She had a nice smile and was very pretty, you couldn't help but notice and by the change in her demeanor and the way she looked at you, you could easily tell that she found you at the very least attractive.
“Pour me something strong and don't let me out of here until I'm drunk”, you leaned over the counter and spoke next to the girl, looking seriously into her dark eyes, “until I'm really fucking drunk”. The girl curved her lips and turned to make your drink. You straightened up on the barstool and surveyed the place, you remembered how many times you got drunk with Ellie at this bar, how aggressive she got with anyone who even dared to look at you too much, it made you wonder if she would still care if she saw the way that girl just looked at you.
The brunette turned to you and handed you your drink, “I thought you were closing”, you said taking a sip of the liquid inside your glass, then making a face, “uh… you got it when I said I wanted to get high". "You asked for it, kitten." The dark-haired girl came out from behind the counter and went to the bar door, locking it.
She stopped by your side and said giving you that look at you once again, this time her eyes passed over your body almost exposed by the short dress, “by the way I can't close the bar until the last customer leaves, especially when the customer is a pretty lady”, she smiled and winked at you as she walked back inside the counter.
She was blatantly flirting with you and that made you feel something, after all she was beautiful and she wasn't trying to hide that she wanted you. This had happened other times before, other girls flirting with you, but you never gave a shit about them, after all you were Ellie's, you always only wanted Ellie. But with this girl right in front of you things were different, you felt like flirting back but you couldn't, because you were still Ellie's girlfriend and you still loved her dearly and a part of you wished Ellie was the girl behind the counter.
You just lowered your head and smiled a little, you could still feel the girl's gaze burning into you. “I've never seen you in Jackson before,” you said, taking another sip of your drink. “I've only been here a few weeks, it was nice finding the town, I needed a safe place… Maria and Tommy have me helping Seth with the bar, but I'd rather do patrols, but I don't think Maria still trusts me very much for that". You laughed a little, "I'd be drunk all day putting up with Seth." “Oh yeah… he sucks, but I got used to it… I'm Dina by the way”. “Y/n.” “Nice to meet you, kitten”, Dina winked at you again. You tried not to smile with her action, "Did you come alone?", you asked drinking the rest of your drink at once and slamming the glass on the counter, the brunette immediately started preparing another one for you.
“I'm with my mum”, Dina handed you your drink passing her hand over yours, you once again ignored her action. “And you kitten, are you alone?”, you got the question perfectly, it sounded more like a pun. You looked at her, her eyes on you were eager and bright waiting for your answer. “With my brother”, you didn't want to mention Ellie, not because you didn't want Dina to know about your girlfriend, but because you knew it would lead to topics you didn't feel like talking about with a girl you'd just met.
Dina smiled widely as you downed your drink quickly, her eyes never leaving you. “It's nice to have someone,” she said suddenly, “I mean, it's comforting to know you're not alone in this world, isn't it? I think I would go crazy if I was alone.” It made you think of Ellie and the drink burned down your throat. You wondered if you were being too selfish, Ellie had lost the person she saw as a father, she had no one else in the world but you. But on the other hand, she didn't seem to care about anything else, not even you and you knew you couldn't let your life go unnoticed because of Ellie. You also had your own value and if she didn't value you, you would do it yourself.
“Can I ask you a question?”, Dina asked as she poured you another drink. “You can, I just don't know if I can answer you”, you laughed a little. “Why is a hot girl like you at this hour drinking alone in a bar?”. “It's the apocalypse, everyone needs to get drunk”, you were quick to reply, you raised your glass and Dina poured you another drink. “Fair enough,” she said, laughing. “And by the way, I'm not alone, am I?”, you looked at her and smiled, raising your glass to her. “Is this an invitation to drink with you?”. “If you want it”. Dina grabbed a drink and came out from behind the counter to sit on the stool next to you, you turned on the stool to face her.
You two drank and talked for two hours straight. Dina was funny and witty, and you forgot why you started the night drinking. You were already feeling too high, if Ellie were here you two would be without clothes by now, you remembered how excited she was when she was drunk and you felt an emptiness inside you, you missed Ellie's touches on your skin and inside you.
You were taken out of your reverie when you felt Dina's hand on your left thigh, you were startled by her sudden act. “Do you wanna dance?”, she asked moving her hand down to your knee. “It will be fun”, you said smiling. Dina jumped off the stool, went to the dance floor and turned on the music not too loud so as not to risk drawing the attention of the other residents of Jackson, especially Maria.
You got up a little dizzy and drank the rest of your drink. You walked up to Dina on the dance floor and the two of you started dancing to the beat of the music. You danced and sang loudly for several songs in a row, it's been a while since you felt this way, light, free and happy.
Dina started to approach you, touching you from time to time, she wasn't too bold, but her light touches were enough for you to understand what she wanted. She moved closer again, this time placing her hand on your waist as she danced with you to an upbeat song. Her hands went up to your bare back causing you to shiver. You smiled and slowly pulled away from her. You couldn't, you knew you couldn't and you wouldn't even if you wanted to.
“Dina I need to go”, you said stopping on the dance floor. The brunette turned off the music and turned to you, "okay, it's really late". You looked at each other for a moment, Dina bit her bottom lip as she was still looking at you, you knew she would only need a gap from you for her to make out with you right now. “Hm…thanks for the drink and the dancing”, you laughed not knowing what to say. “We can do this more often,” she said without hesitation. You didn't know if you should see her again, you had to work things out with Ellie first.
“See ya”, you said heading towards the exit. “Can I at least take you home?”, Dina asked from the dance floor. This wasn't a date and the night could never end like one. “No,” you said without hesitation, turning to face Dina. You noticed how confused she was by this, “I mean, I don't think so… you have to close the bar and I've already taken up too much of your time”, you tried to sound less rude.
Dina smiled as she said, “out of all the people that have ever taken my time in this life, this was the best, kitten”, she winked at you again as she smiled. You shook your head smiling a little, “kay…bye bye”. You resumed your way towards the exit and unlocked the door, before you could leave, you looked at the brunette girl once more, she was looking at you. You looked her in the eyes, smiled shyly and closed the door behind you…
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Should I post part 2?
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thru-the-grapevine · 3 months
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[3:12 AM] The bed feels more spacious than it ought to.
You crack open an eye and glance at the other side of the bed. Empty. Your mostly-asleep gaze wanders to the clock on the far nightstand; after 3 in the morning. You let your eye close again, drifting comfortably for a while in the fog of half-consciousness. And then you roll over and sit up, stumbling slowly to your feet.
A faint bluish glow emanates from the other end of the hall. When you pad into the living room, you see Chris exactly where you’d left him hours ago. Hunched at his desk, headphones on, clicking every now and then, staring at Cubase and several instrument mixers.
He startles momentarily when you drape your arms over his shoulders. He relaxes and pulls the headphones down, tapping the spacebar to pause the music.
You kiss the top of his head. “How’s it looking?”
“Better,” Chris hums, lifting his free hand and rubbing your arm. “Fixed that annoying buzzing sound.”
You hum, resting your cheek against his hair, looking at the dual monitors. “Can I hear?”
“’Course,” he says, and you can hear the pleased grin in his voice. That’s his favorite request you can make of him.
He unplugs the headphones and fiddles with the knobs on his volume box, clicks around and then taps the spacebar again.
He’s right; the buzzing noise that had hovered persistently in the corners of the track is gone. He’s nuanced the vocal effects, as well, softened the pitch corrector, and you smile, fond of how sincere his voice sounds.
“’S pretty,” you murmur, humming at a new instrument that hadn’t been there before.
“It’s closer,” he admits, not fully accepting the compliment.
You’re too sleepy to push back, make him accept the praise, so you merely bury your face in his hair.
“You should get some sleep, like I said,” Chris tells you, voice tinged with concern.
He had told you to do that…four hours ago.
You snort. “Love. Check the time.”
“Hm?” You feel his head tilt, watch his mouse slide to the bottom corner of the screen to the clock. “…Oh.”
“Was sleeping,” you say, watching his mouse trail back up over Cubase, deliberating. “’N then I woke up with too much space ‘n not enough warm.”
He hums in acknowledgment, the noise tinged with guilt.
You kiss the top of his head again. “…Please?”
He sighs, leaning his head back against your shoulder.
“You at a good stopping point?” You ask, knowing too well what his next argument will be.
He sighs again quietly, a sound of concession. “I never am…but this will do.”
You grin and give him an encouraging squeeze as he presses save three times on each software.
“Bet you’ll knock it out of the park once your brain is fresh,” you tell him as he shuts the computer down.
“And once the headache passes,” he says, pressing the heel of one hand to his eye and rubbing as he rolls the chair back.
You frown, leaning back to let him stand and stretch. “You’ve been working with a headache?”
“Just hints of one,” he insists, waving it away as he relaxes out of the stretch. “Probably eye strain.”
You give him a look. “You know, that might not happen if you’d just wear your glasses.”
It’s a lost cause and you both know it. He snorts, then gets a better look at you and smiles.
“Your hair’s cute,” he says, lifting a hand to your head and ruffling.
You scrunch your face up in protest. “’S bedhead, Chris.”
“And it’s cute,” he insists, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Bedtime?”
“Past bedtime,” you say, giving him a stern look when he leans back. “Long, long past.”
“Hmm,” he says, studying your face and smiling in that goopy-eyed way that you know means he’s barely listening. You roll your eyes.
He lets you take his hand and guide him back down the hall, lets you procure pajamas for him while he talks through what else he wants to do in the song, lets you help him change as he explains.
“Just want the feeling of the song to be right when you hear it, even without lyrics,” he says as you help pull on the pajama shirt.
“People will know,” you tell him, patting his shoulder and taking his hand again, guiding him to bed. “I can feel it when I hear it.”
“But what if that’s just you?” He frets, lying back and getting comfortable, drawing up the covers. “What if you just know me?”
You burrow under the covers and lay your head on his chest, wrapping an arm around him. “I do know you. But that’s not why I felt it.”
“But how do you know for sure?” He asks, his hand back in your hair, stroking softly.
You prop your chin up on his chest and look at him. “Babe. You’re not capable of making dishonest or disingenuous music. Your heart’s all the way out there in every little detail.”
He looks at you for a long moment, fingers slow and gentle in your hair. Eventually he lifts his hand and rests the pad of his forefinger on the tip of your nose.
“I like you so much,” he murmurs.
An embarrassed grin sweeps over your face. You nestle your face into his chest vigorously, and he laughs.
“Like you too,” you hum, sandwiching one of his legs between yours and snuggling in. “I’m also right.”
“Hope so,” he murmurs, and then his arm curls comfortably around you. “Go back to sleep.”
“You sleep, you need it more,” you mumble, and he chuckles.
“I’ll sleep well with my weighted blanket,” he teases you, hand squeezing your side reassuringly.
You grin and press a kiss to his chest. “Not as well as I’ll sleep with my body pillow.”
“You’re on,” he whispers, and you’re out like a light before a full minute passes.
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monstercampus · 9 months
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thinking about vampire roomie peeking into the little innocent human’s head expecting sweet & romantic thoughts, only to see that his human roommate is the most pervy degenerate person out there
HEH!!!!
(cws: gn!pronouns, dirty thoughts, wet dreams, telepathic voyeurism)
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Antón can't take it. You're too....much.
It isn't fair that such a pretty person has such a foul mind--that someone so beautiful also conjures up some of the most vivid sexual exploits that he's ever seen in someone's thoughts. The first time he tried it, just for a peek, Antón felt his world stop turning as he watched you flip through your notes on the couch while fantasizing about being fingered on it. By him. Granted he doesn't have much of a presence at the best of times, but he was only standing in the kitchen making tea, less than five feet away. And you were thinking about him dropping his spoon and stirring you up knuckle-deep just cause he felt like it.
Would you let him? That's a slippery slope and a way of thinking he doesn't often allow himself to entertain--what goes on in people's heads isn't necessarily who they are or what they want. But you have those thoughts a lot, and not just about himself. Priam isn't safe either. Your mind is riddled with fantasies about him whenever he so much as touches you; his hugs turning into mating presses in your head in seconds, and the smell of his hair linering as you envision tangling your fingers into it. He doesn't really need porn at this rate, in fact your head is better than porn--in your thoughts, he can actually watch himself in the action instead of just imagining it, and you have quite the creative juices flowing in that pretty, pretty brain.
Your dreams are even better, he couldn't be more grateful to be a monster that doesn't need to sleep. Because as shameful as it is, he's spending more and more of his nights with his hand shoved in his pants and his vermillion eyes locked on your sleeping body, enjoying every show that passes through your mind as wet dreams overwhelm you each and every night. Sometimes, if he's feeling exceptionally brave, he'll gingerly lift the covers off you to catch a glimpse of the soaked mess you've made in your pajamas and leaked all over your bedspread--are you an angel for real? Because you definitely could be, especially with that innocent face masking a dirty, sex-crazed persona on the inside.....gods know all the ways you might defile the booth if you ever got invited to confession. You'd be a menace, and it would be glorious.
Maybe that's what he needs to do to break this one-sided tension between you two. Swallow his pride and take you into the chapel under the guise of helping you study--and there, where your inhibitions grow looser and Antón shows you that even the purest people have filthy sides to them, you'll quit dreaming and make your desires known so he can do everything in his power to fulfill them.
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ebdaydreamer · 9 months
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it's a bad idea (let's do it anyway)
9-1-1 - 16.9k words - Explicit - AO3
When the loneliness of missing Abby got too much, Buck headed to a bar. When Eddie celebrated finishing the Fire Academy, his Abuela took his son and told him to go enjoy himself. Neither of them expected the other.
Buck was still with Abby, Eddie was still technically married.
There was no way this could end well
OR
the hook up fic
he first time Buck went to a bar alone after Abby left, he lasted exactly 7 minutes and 22 seconds before he turned around and went back to her apartment. It’d been so long since he went to a bar by himself. He had always gone with the sole purpose of hooking up. But Buck wasn’t that guy anymore, he didn’t want to be. Besides, he missed Abby too much to enjoy himself.
The second time Buck went into a bar alone was 4 months after she left. He managed to have at least one drink this time. The words ‘I don’t mind, you’re young, do whatever’ circled around his brain. But when he finally worked up the courage to actually take in the people around him, guilt hit him like a tidal wave. He didn’t want to hook up anymore. How could he, when he’d had the real thing and knew how good it could be?
The third time Buck went to a bar alone, he was a fully-fledged firefighter. As much of a high as that gave him, he was still restless. That night was even worse than good old-fashioned horniness. That he could handle with his hand. His skin was itching, and he wanted to crawl out of his brain. He needed something stronger and more settling than himself. Abby had been gone for months, and they were talking less and less.
‘I’m just going to look,’ he told himself. ‘Maybe the rush of that will be enough.’
Then a dark, handsome stranger walked in.
Now, in his Buck 1.0 days, he was never picky. He’d sleep with anyone he had any kind of good vibe with. Yes, he mostly slept with women, but as far as hookups go, it was usually quicker and easier, and they were more likely to be more receptive. He’d dodged a fair few punches for flirting with the wrong guy before. Needless to say, Buck never saw himself as having much of a type beyond ‘consenting’ before Abby came along.
This man, it turned out, was his type.
Dark, fluffy combed back hair, neat matching stubble, clearly works out - he could see his biceps from across the bar and through his flannel shirt. Alone.
Buck was with Abby, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was walking out of that bar without at least buying Mr. Wet Dream a drink.
Eddie wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
He was too much of a pushover when it came to his Abuela and Tía. He’d gotten his assignment, told when his first day of work would be, and they’d practically kidnapped Chris and thrown him out the door.
“Eddito, for once in your life, let off steam while you still can.”
So now he was in a random bar in LA, feeling even more lost than when he packed his life up in a car and moved states.
It was a weekday, so the bar wasn’t too crowded. There was a TV showing some kind of sport on one wall. Maybe he could just grab a drink or two and watch whatever game was on, then go home and try and get a full night of sleep for once.
He took a seat at the bar, and was about to grab the bartender’s attention when suddenly, there was a solid mass pressed up against his side.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Eddie turned his head, ready to politely decline, but then-
Wow.
He had never used the word ‘pretty’ to describe a man before, but dear God, this must be the prettiest man Eddie’s ever seen.
Read the rest on AO3
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yanverse · 3 months
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conrad my beloved 🥹 he’s not gonna win against the sheer force that is harley chicken man in the polls but he’s still number one in my heart <3
i think he’s been too uwu lonely russian boy from a small village in his tag lately from ur og blog so i wanna know what he’s like when he snaps hehe
like how would he hunt down and punish a darling who’s been affectionately biding her time to escape when he’s out hunting? cause idk if he’d be as scary as ilya but i would welcome it 👀
want scary conrad? i can give you scary conrad.....<3
hunted -- conrad dmitriev
(cws: DDDNE, yandere, stalking, kidnapping, violence against reader, blood, injuries, guns/knives, cutting/scarring, implied somno/noncon, manipulation, death mentions)
word count: 2k
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Not even the pitch of the settling dark could mask the eyes that follow you between the trees. 
These woods aren't for the faint of heart. Those who live here were born here, survived here, and will inevitably die here. Considering there's only been one–at least in recent memory–who has escaped that curse, it's clear to anyone with sight that this harrowing corner of the world is meant for only two things; locals and wildlife. 
And trees, of course. Enough to cluster in scattered array, leaving only tiny clearings in between in which to get your bearings, though you can never really stop moving in this cold. The snow isn't so much a hindrance as it is a hurdle; glaringly obstructive in the way caution tape would be around a bloody car crash. It should be circumvented with great caution by those who don't wish despair upon their own selves, yet here you are in the thick of it. Cold, wet, and completely, utterly lost. 
Conrad warned you of these dangers, but you ignored him. Why would you possibly take the advice of someone who betrayed you? His whole story was made up of lies–why he was conveniently in the area the night you came across each other, what exactly he had to do with your car that seemingly sprouted an issue from nowhere, and who he even was altogether. Course, you could've been a touch more scrutinizing…you can't exactly imagine, at least not easily, that a man who lives almost entirely alone in an isolated forest of the country could live comfortably with his sanity still intact. He isn't just an ice fisher that sells his produce to the near-zero visitors of this confusing wasteland. Conrad is a killer. A killer for hire, no less. 
And right now, unbeknownst to you, you're his next target….well, unknowingly until your footsteps halt in the knee-deep snow for a breather, and the softest click sounds right at the base of your skull. You don't need to turn your head to see. Nobody else would make it this far without leaving footprints in this awful snow. 
“Malyshka.” That word bleeds into you with every syllable, puffed hotly over the skin of your ear from behind. It stirs up memories, good ones for once, of that loving nickname uttered in laughter and scorn and a teasing lilt as Conrad takes you by the hand and waltzes you through his living room. The tinny scratchiness of his cheap, portable radio gave the cabin a hum that still resonates in your veins, but you can't go back to that world even if you wanted to. That place will forever be tainted with the memories of Conrad's twisted fascination with you, permanently marred by deceit and thinly-veiled manipulation. 
It doesn't seem like that matters at all to your former lover, however. Because when Conrad grips your arm in that deathly squeeze, you get the sense immediately that he's betting on taking you back. He's going to walk you through the snow right back where you came from, and he's going to be so angry he won't sleep for days. That's what you think.
The butt of his rifle cracking you in the skull isn't what you expected, however. The crunch of bone under the varnished chunk of wood sickens you to the core of your soul, a warmth exploding out from your hair and splattering the ground as you immediately collapse forward. Your dead weight sinks you deep into the snow, but even then, and even in your dazed state, you feel it's much shallower here than before. Maybe that's why Conrad waited to corner you here–maybe it will be easier to pile the snow on top of your body when he kills you in his rage. 
Time slows to a tick all of a sudden. Conrad's boots crunching in the snow around you ripples a series of shivers through you, your warm body growing colder by the minute as he circles you like a hungry predator. Shiiing, click, thummp. The sound of his gun being slung over his shoulder catches your focus, and then the distinct slice through the sheath as Conrad pulls out his knife. You know the one. That thing is big. And sharp. You cut your hand on it once accidentally and he just about lost his mind with worry. Doesn't seem like he's all too concerned about that now, though.
Although his voice carries between the whispers and howls of the wind, you couldn't understand him if you tried. You've lost the privilege of Conrad speaking your language, evidently, because while he is addressing you not a word of it is in English. It's just another way to control you…another way to show you his love, if he were to spin it that way. 
A beat of silence passes without note. He's stopped moving. You can feel him, his body heat, hovering over you from above. The knife is probably just dangling in his hand, wondering if he should drop it or bring your life to an end with force, grant you some kind of small mercy as he takes you apart before finally slitting your throat like a hunted animal. Conrad stands waiting, watching you lie motionless and dizzy in the snow, and even once you feel him sink to his knees on top of you there's no strength in you to move. Blood pools at the base of your neck from the gash he's probably left in your head. I'm going to die. Your own voice ringing from within triggers you into a push, your fingernails digging into hard, packed snow as you try to lift yourself up–but even though he doesn't hit you a second time, Conrad isn't gentle as he grips your neck and shoves you back down. 
“Still.” He quietly mumbles amid the harsh breeze whistling past your ears. “Stay, malyshka.” 
Clearly, he wanted an answer. Your silence is more than enough of one however, and with a swing and an arc of the blade your lover is rrrrrrripping your clothes apart, knife cutting cleanly up the back of the too-thin flannel that you stole in lieu of a proper coat. Through the layers underneath he slices with practiced ease, catching patches of skin with the tip but not allowing the beads of blood to distract him from his task. Your eyes dart sideways to see his gloved fingers carving out a lump of snow from near your head, a few trickles of blood from your wound staining the purity of those white, soft haloes. He raises it quick and your arms tense at the feeling of that sting hitting your bare back–but it isn't the blade first, it's that clump of snow dragging down your flesh…the knife comes straight after that, piercing your aching skin as insult to injury, and his deep, sudden strokes that split you apart have you writhing and kicking out on the ground in agony. 
Pure, violent hatred spills out of you in those moments, your screams echoing off the trees with just the same tremor as the howling, squealing winds blowing through the mountains. Conrad only cares for your pain when it impedes his progress, his knee coming down harshly on your lower back to keep you from squirming away as he makes his cuts. He must be trying to dig your organs out, he's killing you, he's surely tracing out your most valuable spots with such aggressive stabs of unconscionable, burning, violent torment. Will he wait for you to die? Will he make sure before he leaves? Will he drag your corpse back home with him, frozen and stiff, or will he leave you for the wolves and bears and god knows what else out in these woods? 
As your blood drains into the snow, those thoughts become less and less urgent. As your willpower fades into numbness, the cold pressing into your back grows from a sting into a shaking, fragile numbness that spreads outward. You must be dying now, you can only imagine that your body will give out at any moment if Conrad doesn't stop. It hasn't even occurred to you yet that he has stopped, not until you catch a peripheral glimpse of his black-cloaked hand cleaning the blade in the snow. It's your blood that trickles down the handle…and there's so much of it you're on the verge of losing all hope. There's only the tiniest, faintest glimmer left, and it's fading just as fast as your consciousness. 
“...Look how pretty you are now, malyshka.” 
Those words will haunt you into death, you're most certain. They're the last ones to linger in your ears as the whiteness grows dark, and your eyes flutter closed while the sound of a drip, drip, drip echoes your dreamless sleep…
Drip, drip, drip. 
You'd know the sound anywhere. It's easier to listen to without that wind howling in your ears, but it's going to be harder to locate. This time, when your eyes open within the warmth of a closed-in room, gratitude isn't the first thing you feel for surviving another night in this dense nightmare. 
It's pain. Hot, unbearable, searing pain, violating you in senses inconceivable as it crawls in waves down your back; violent, stiffening, and like a hot iron being pressed up and down and up and down on constant repeat. The warm air of the cabin isn't helping at all as it hits your marked flesh, it's only drawing further attention towards the dripping of something warm down your legs, but at the very least you can tell by the pillow you've drooled on that you're not laying on the open wounds. No, you've been left exposed, with the ache in your hips something you hadn't noticed before, and the weight that's shifted the bed alerts you that someone is tending them for you…and he's singing. Gently. Some lullaby in his native tongue, no doubt, as his hands move quietly and carefully up and down the flesh he ruined. 
“Pretty thing.” You can just barely catch a glimpse of him looming from behind, the din of the cabin shadowing the expression on his pale face. Conrad's muttering puts you off at once, but there's nothing you can do about it now. He meant to kill you, but he changed his mind. He took you back to the cabin to rest, and…make up for lost time, if the stickiness of your thighs is any indication. Maybe that mind will be changed again…and you can only hope it does, because whatever he carved into your back, it can't be out of love. No matter how much he's going to try to convince you it is. “You are hurt, love. You want whiskey?” 
What hurts more is that you can feel the smirk in his tone. He's having a laugh at you. You tried to run but I caught you. I'll always catch you. You can never hide from me. That's what he's probably thinking. 
“No…” Somehow, from some deep well of power within you, your voice forms in a trembling resistance to his strength. Conrad's hands covered in balm and fibres of gauze he's tying round you pause, if just for a moment, and in the relative silence with those drip, drip, drips in the background you find the rest of your voice. 
“...I want you dead.”
How laughable. Conrad doesn't laugh, he merely tuts at you–a disapproving parent scolding a young scoundrel. If you weren't so appallingly special to him, he might punish that rejection of his help with a slap or an elbow right into those throbbing wounds that spell out his name. Instead, he dips his head low, and lets his deep, rough whisper creep into your ear and make a home in the deepest pits of fear that reside in your pretty little head.
“Then you just try to kill me, malyshka.” 
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ellie-24 · 11 months
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Forbidden Fruit
Finally another installment set in my Big Daddy Elvis x assistant reader verse. Chronologically set after Maybe one day, but can be read as a stand alone. It's also not a reader-insert per se anymore because our lovely assistant has a name now. I hope you like it!! :)
Also I really gotta say a special thank you to the incomparable @whositmcwhatsit who made the whole thing readable and had some great tips! And thanks to @thatbanditqueen @vintageshanny @be-my-ally @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love for being the most inspiring, awesome backup ever. (they're also the ones taking possible complaints regarding the word count, they're responsible for it)
Warnings: Elvis loves his guns, discussions of Elvis' health, mentions of alcohol, addiction, pills, light manipulation and gaslighting, a bit of period typical misogyny, a bit of smut at the end (oral, f receiving)
Word count: ~13.3 k
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You had continued staying with him at night after that one episode where he nearly overdosed. Elvis’ night terrors weren’t comparable to what most people mean when they describe what they go through when it’s time to sleep. Being around Elvis meant to completely ignore and unlearn your natural sleeping pattern. Scratch that. Being around Elvis meant that you had to forget everything considered normal. Day to day activities were determined by his unpredictable and sometimes challenging moods. In your short time working for him you quickly learned to adjust and be done with it. More importantly to never question anything. Things just made more sense when you stopped thinking about them too hard.
That’s how you found yourself sitting at Elvis’ bed at 5 in the morning reading to him. Being around Elvis meant being nocturnal. Which also meant that going to bed at 5 AM was a sensible thing to do.
“He's always been like this.” Charlie said to you a few days earlier. “Billy told me he never slept well. Even before his rise to fame, as a child. I guess that just stuck. He never outgrew it.”
“I think it might just be a habit now. He obviously performs at night. Very late into the night, it's only natural for your body to adjust.” Jerry had interjected.
“Well, he takes his pills before a show. You know the ones that make him more... energetic.” you offered.
Jerry raised his eyebrows. “Energetic. That's a nice way to put it.”
You shrugged. “He takes them before his shows. They're probably still full in effect when he tries to go to sleep.” The two men hummed, the conversation apparently over.
Whether it was a combination of those or something else entirely. Whatever it was, it caused nearly everyone in his orbit to go to bed when the rest of the world woke up.
He insisted that you stayed by his side from the moment he laid down until he woke up again. Clearly this was far beyond your duty as a personal assistant, but you couldn’t help yourself. You knew he hated being alone with his mind for too long, claiming it would get weird up there. He often found solace in his faith, carrying a bible everywhere he went. His books on spiritualism and numerology were constant companions as well. When his sleeping pills wouldn’t do the job and he found himself thrashing back and forth in his bed, frustrated that he just couldn’t seem to find any rest, he reached out for his reading glasses and turned on the lamp. His mind was running at full speed anyway, so he might as well put it to use.
The only thing hindering him now was the pain in his eye. The doctor couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but sometimes it was nearly unbearable for him. His body was so accustomed to the medication that even the painkillers he took hours ago couldn’t give him any relief.
“Do me a favour, will ya? Read this to me?” He held out a book to you.
“Is it your eye?”
He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at you. “...Nah, just wanna hear your sweet voice.” he mumbled with a grin.
In your one hand you now held Cheiro’s Book of Numbers, a very interesting choice for a bedtime story. (Don’t question things.) Your other hand was occupied holding his ring clad one. How he slept with all this jewellery was another mystery to you.
He closed his eyes and reached out for your hand, grasping it tight. You scooted closer to him. “I'm right here, E. I'll stay.”
He hummed and squeezed your hand even tighter.
Elvis certainly had to be the most physical and touchy person you’d ever known. You gently ran your thumb over his palm, assuring him the whole time. He’d sometimes grunt or hiss, his face scrunching up in pain, which caused you to stutter slightly. You tried to conceal it. Often you thought he had finally fallen asleep, his breathing evening out, his hand squeezing yours less and less.
However when you stopped reading, you’d hear him rumbling. “... Julie, be a sweetheart and read that last part again, will ya? Didn’t quite catch that.”
That was the exact sentence he mumbled every time you grew quiet. After the third time though, the sentence grew shorter and shorter each time until the only thing he eventually managed to get out was a slurred “Julie, sweetheart.”
You read aloud for two more minutes and when you stopped this time, there was no reaction from him. You closed the book with a sigh and put it on his night stand and checked the time. 7:48 AM. With a huff, you ran your hands over your face, wanting nothing more than go to sleep as well. It felt like every day you needed to apply more make up to the ever growing bags under your eyes. But you couldn't go to sleep. Not really.
Being around Elvis meant almost constant paranoia. Paranoia that his lifestyle would finally take its toll. You’d seen him almost die two times now. When he nearly overdosed the other day you realised the true extent of the damage all the pills caused.
“It's alright, sweetheart. The doctor prescribed them. He knows what he's doing, he's a doctor.” he laughed, looking at you like you had grown two heads.
“Jerry said you've been to the hospital multiple times already.” you insisted. “Don't you think-”
“He's just a nervous nelly. It was probably... dehydration or something along the lines, nothing dramatic. Don't believe everything you're told” he argued, leaving no room for disagreeing.
The only other time you witnessed him almost die was at dinner. You and the rest of the Memphis Mafia sat together enjoying a relaxed dinner after a successful show. Everyone enjoyed their food and made light conversation until Elvis started choking all of the sudden. You remember sitting in shock, dropping your plate as you watched Jerry run over to him and perform the Heimlich manoeuvre. This event had truly shocked you to the core, causing dinner to be considered a rather stressful affair now.
The truly terrifying thing about this whole nerve wrecking affair wasn’t necessarily the fact that Elvis Presley was in fact choking, it was how automatic and nonchalant everyone was about it. As if the whole process has been practised numerous times. Jerry later informed you that something like this would indeed happen on a regular basis. Almost everyone close to him had saved his life at one point. Literally. Charlie explained that the medication would alter and slow his reflexes, often causing him to choke on food. Sometimes he had trouble catching his breath, even without physical activity. That's why you always made sure to carry a second inhaler with you anywhere you went. There were many things to look out for and the responsibility sometimes made your head spin. Actually, you should start making a list, maybe it'll ease some of your anxieties.
You yawned and laid down next to him. You made sure to put a hand on his plush chest, feeling the coarse hair under your palm. The steady rise and fall of it and the strong beating of his heart calmed you a bit. Often you would just lay there and study his face, fighting the urge to close your burning eyes. The way his eyes were moving frantically under closed lids. Black eyeliner still smudged, long eyelashes fluttering over soft cheeks. His beautifully shaped nose would twitch occasionally as if you’d tickled him with a feather. His marshmallow lips would move from time to time like he was talking, or singing. You didn’t really know, but that’s when you had to pay close attention. Once he started thrashing around you scooted back a bit, not wanting to get accidentally hit by him. Eventually he'd calm down again and you breathed a sigh of relief every time. You won't ever forget the one time he actually got up and started to walk around. It had taken you a few seconds to figure out that he was sleep walking
He had to be closely watched throughout the night and in a way you of course understood why he insisted on you staying with him. You could clearly see that he was scared of himself at times, scared for himself. So you did your best to be there for him, even though it was taxing at times. Not only as an employee, but as a friend. He needed it. You turned your head to the night stand and checked the time again. 10:03 AM. Damn.
It felt like you had closed your eyes for about a second when you felt something pulling at your hair. Your eyes shot open and you saw Elvis leaning over you, a few strands of your hair between his fingers.
“Wakey, wakey, sweetheart.” He cooed at you and started to braid your locks.
“Hey E, what time is it?” you asked groggily.
“Time to wake up, sweetheart,” he hummed.
“Very funny.” You sighed and closed your eyes again. At that, he gave a light yank to the small braid he held in his hands.
“Don’t go back to sleep, Julie baby,” he insisted.
“Alright okay, I’m awake.” You turned over again. 5:26 PM. Damn, it felt like you were asleep for a minute. “Was Charlie already here?” you asked, rubbing your eyes. He must have been, otherwise Elvis wouldn’t be so active already. Just like he couldn’t go to sleep without special help, he needed a little something extra to get up and function again. It was a vicious cycle, really.
“Yeah, he was.” He waved away as you sat up.
“Oh my god, shit, why didn’t you wake me up? I really slept in!”
“I did.” He stated with an innocent smile, feigning ignorance. “Also, I had to show him what a cutie you are when you're asleep. Did ya know ya pull the funniest faces? I can always tell what you're dreaming.” You decided not to comment on this and rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. He placed a hand on your shoulder, holding you back.
“Wait, sweetheart, there’s something I gotta talk to you about real quick.” You turned back to him, giving him your full attention and he smiled, pleased. “You remember those crazy guys who tried to get onstage while I was performing, made a big fuss? Lamar, uh, mentioned they saw some guys lurking around, uh, looking like they’re up to no good. Down in the casino.”
You had an idea where this was going. The paranoia that everyone felt around Elvis extended to Elvis himself. He always felt like there was someone after him. To a degree you could understand, as there were real incidents like death threats, rude letters, or fans who got a little too excited and almost attacked him.
You had experienced it yourself after seeing the mean looks on the faces of some female fans directed towards you, and waiting for something to happen, but you knew not to let it affect you too much. However, Elvis took these things to heart, and you didn’t understand why his entourage would feed into those fears and the paranoia. The guys Lamar was talking about were probably harmless, but due to Elvis’ own concern he felt the need to tell him. Elvis made them see a threat everywhere. Everyone was aware that Elvis needed to know that he was in charge, that he was in control, and that he would decide what’s best for everyone, because he just knew.
He had told you numerous times that it was best to always carry a gun. After all he carried one everywhere he went, even onstage. The shock you felt at that particular revelation is hard to describe, but, as you had learned by now, it was best not to question things. You had declined every time he suggested it, finding it unreasonable, but now you had a feeling you were about to have that discussion again.
“...Sweetheart, I want you to be safe.” He continued and squeezed your shoulder.
“You don’t gotta worry about me. I can take care of myself.” You insisted, raising your chin.
He tilted his head to the side in disbelief. “Can ya? I remember ya nearly leaping into my arms, scared to death at the sight of a little spider. When was that? Three days ago?” he mused with a shit eating grin on his face.
You lightly smacked his arm. “That’s not the same! And the spider wasn’t small. For the record.”
“It was an itty bitty spider, sweetheart. It’s not my fault that everything looks huge for poor little Julie.” He smirked, waggling his eyebrows.
“Okay, I might be scared of spiders, but I’m not intimidated by some guys Lamar and the others deem ‘up to no good’,” you countered, mimicking the quotation marks with your fingers.
“It’s not funny, ya know how people can get. Pretty thing like you can turn into a damsel in distress real quick. Trust me. I just want ya to be able to protect yourself.”
“Elvis, we’ve been through this,” you sighed.
He took a deep breath. “Sweetheart, I- I feel responsible for you... Give me some peace o-of mind,” he stammered, leaning closer towards you with a pleading look on his face.
“I’m an adult, you know.”
He pouted. “Then start a-acting like one. Julie, you a-are so damn stubborn, why can’t you just d-do what I tell you,” he argued, throwing his arms up in frustration.
You took a deep breath and placed your hands on his shoulders. “Elvis, I know that you mean well and I appreciate your concern-“
“Don’t brush me off, sweetheart. Will ya do as you’re told?”
You sighed. It’s true you were stubborn, but he was stubborn as well, and persuading him didn’t work this time. The discussion was pointless and you knew that in order to save you some trouble the best thing you could do was just agree. He wasn’t gonna give up, you could feel it. There was a determination and finality in his eyes that left no room for arguing. On the one hand it could be considered flattering that he was so concerned with your well-being, but on the other it was scary to think about what was going on in his head, pushing him to such decisions.
“I guess I could give it a try. Just for tonight, alright?” His hand moved from your shoulder and brushed against your chin in a feather light touch. It sent a warm tingle down your spine.
“Anyone ever tell you that you can be real difficult, sweetheart?” he stated with a tender smile.
“Actually, you’re the first. Everyone I interact with always makes sure to tell me that I’m an absolute delight. Highlight of their day.”
“Hush now,” he chuckled as he got up from the bed with a grunt. He rotated his shoulder multiple times and put a hand on his back with a sigh. You knew that today wasn’t a particularly good day for him.
“...How is your eye?” you inquired with a more serious tone, getting up as well to fetch his sunglasses.
He squinted his eyes and shook his head with a small frown. “I’m good,” was the short answer you received. You carefully placed the glasses on his nose and wiped away some sweat that had gathered on his forehead. It always seemed to be there.
“Are you sure?”
“Stop worrying your pretty lil’ head about that,” he replied, tugging at your hair again. You smiled at him and gently ran your hand through his soft hair. He leaned into it.
“...I don’t-“
“I know my body, woman. I’m grown, let me handle it,” he cut you off, raising an eyebrow.
The irony of this exchange wasn’t lost on you. You had the feeling it wasn’t lost on him either as he cleared his throat and walked away from you and your touch. At times it could happen that he was self aware. Fleeting moments really.
He always claimed to know what everyone was supposed to do. If it were only suggestions he offered, but no, he had to make sure they were carried out. Preferably he carried them out himself, at least then he knew it was properly taken care of. He even felt responsible for things that weren’t his business in the slightest, but the moment someone else merely suggested that he should take care of something concerning himself, he’d shut them down in a second. Didn’t even want to hear it.
You followed him and he cast a warning look over his shoulder, as if he saw you opening your mouth through the back if his head. He opened a closet and pulled out a leather case, putting it on the glass table in front of him and swiftly opening it. At the sight of what was inside, a gasp escaped you: various firearms, badges and bullets, shining and reflecting the sun light, almost blinding you. His obsession with law enforcement was nothing new to you, he had proudly showed you his Reserve Captain of the City of Memphis Badge and his police flashlight the first time you met him, but seeing all these guns in front of you was something else.
“Pretty, aren’t they?” he smirked.
“Uhm, they’re certainly uh... This one’s pretty.” You pointed at a small gun decorated with golden leaves and different animals, which were carefully engraved into the steel.
“I had a feeling you’d like this one.” He responded proudly and picked it up with trained expertise.
“I like the animal,” you remarked, mentally slapping yourself for not coming up with something more clever.
He chuckled. “It’s a Smith & Wesson 19, I had it custom made in Germany. You wanna hold it?”
“Uh..”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s not loaded. See?” He opened the cylinder and showed you the empty chambers, then shut it again and pressed the gun into your hands.
“A pretty lil’ gun for a pretty lil’ girl.” He smirked as he assessed you carefully, licking his lips. You felt heat rising up your chest and neck and cleared your throat.
“...I don’t even know how to..” you trailed off, the gun still laying in your open palms, looking a bit lost.
“Here, let me,” he mumbled as he stepped behind you.
Suddenly his strong arms were around you, surrounding you, trapping you. For a moment you forgot how to breathe, your body betraying you and your muscles not moving the way you wanted them to. You were still able to move your eyes though and saw his big hands engulfing your smaller ones. He gently guided your trembling hands, showing you how to properly hold the gun. You weren’t sure if the trembling was caused by the highly dangerous firearm in your grasp or the equally dangerous Rock ‘n’ Roll star behind you. You took a shuddering breath after what felt like hours and promptly realised it was a grave mistake. His smell now surrounded you as well, an intoxicating mix of sweat, cologne and cigars. If you leaned back just a little you could feel the swell of his stomach, you already felt the heat of his body radiating off him. Oh, how you wanted to let go and just-
“Are ya still with me, sweetheart?” he chuckled behind you, his lip curling. Shoot.
“...Uh sorry, what did you say? I was... concentrating,” you stammered, relieved that at least he couldn’t see the blush on your cheeks.
He stepped forward with a small laugh, finally closing the gap between your bodies, trapping you completely to him. You were only wearing a tank top and the v neck of his shirt was so deep that you could feel his coarse chest hair against your shoulder. Sweet Jesus, this man was driving you insane! His warm hands started to work yours again, correcting angles and adjusting your hold. The coolness of his rings and the sight of the veins on the back of his hand caused your heartbeat to pick up once more.
“Yeah, like this... Wait, your finger has to go there... Relax your lil’ fingers, sweetheart... I said relax... That’s it,” he murmured, his rough fingertips now slowly gliding over your wrist, steadying your hand. He played you like an instrument, one of his guitars maybe, waiting to be tuned. You swallowed hard and prayed that he couldn’t see the goosebumps forming on your arms, or feel your pulse racing under his nimble fingers.
“Good. Now we gotta work on your stance.”
Without warning, you felt his strong thigh pressing itself between your legs, nudging your feet apart. You let out a surprised yelp and nearly lost your balance, but he hastily wrapped an arm around your middle, fingers digging into your stomach.
“Woah, careful there, little lady... Am I making you nervous?” he asked with a smirk. He knew damn well, he just enjoyed watching you squirm. His warm breath tickled your ear and for a second you thought you felt his soft lips gently brushing against your cheek. It was only for a millisecond, but it sent a shock through your core. Did he really just…?
“...You w-wish, huh? I -I just want to be careful with this... weapon of mass destruction,” you gasped and tried to conceal it with a laugh, feeling a bit breathless. He slowly ran his hands over your waist, down to your hips.
“Sweetheart, quit being so jittery. You gotta stop being so damn careful with this ‘weapon of mass destruction’,” he chuckled. “It can handle ya having a bit of fun with it.” He spoke in a low voice and pressed himself even closer to you, the double meaning of his words not lost on you. You wanted to deny it for your own sanity, but you were sure that it was the outline of his dick you felt against your backside. Was he wearing no underwear under these silk pyjamas? You felt a lump in your throat and your mouth turned dry. Like a desert. Oh god.
“What is it, Julie darlin’? Cat got your tongue?” he whispered, his chin resting on your shoulder. You stared straight ahead, because if you turned your head just a little bit, your lips would certainly brush against his. Then it would be game over. You had to focus, which was a difficult task with him continuing to knead the flesh of your hips without a care in the world.
You were used to his flirting and touching and, of course, you were both aware for your mutual feelings for each other, but you had made an agreement not to act on it, protecting both of you. Spending every night with him, though platonic, already meant treading on thin ice, and feeling him like this, so close, made your resistance grow weaker by the minute. He apparently had an equally hard time holding back and you knew it was up to you to stop right now. No matter how much didn’t want this moment to end.
You freed yourself from his grasp and let out a barely audible sigh at the loss of contact. Without his comforting warmth surrounding you, you couldn’t suppress a little shiver. You turned around and saw him drop his arms that still hovered in front of him as if you were still there. He adjusted his glasses and ran a hand over his mouth.
You got into position to hold the gun like he just showed you. “Like this?” you questioned. You knew it probably wasn’t perfect, you were hardly able to pay attention to what he had just explained to you. Maybe you hoped he would get close to you again, help you and correct you, so you could feel his wide frame against your smaller one. Just maybe. He cleared his throat and looked down.
“Yeah, it’s good,” he murmured and went over to the glass table again, the moment you two just shared now over. With a frown, you followed him and peered over his shoulder to see what he was doing. He opened a small box, revealing various bullets.
“...Now, for the Smith & Wesson you’re gonna need this .357 Magnum cartridge...” He continued listing facts about the ammunition with you listening dutifully, as if nothing happened between you mere seconds ago. Every now and then, he’d look at you to check if you were still paying attention to him and, though you didn’t really understand what he was talking about, you nodded your head every now and then. He showed you how to open and close the cylinder and placed a bullet in each of the six chambers. Alright, now it was loaded. Great.
“Here, watch this,” he said and got into position to shoot. You thought he wanted to show you the hold and stance again, but you were wrong. You saw his finger coming dangerously close to the trigger and, without warning, he pulled it. You shrieked as he actually shot at the sofa at the other end of the room. Was he completely losing his mind now, just shooting inside a building? You wanted to remind yourself not to question things, but this was too much. You could not leave it like this. Couldn’t pretend it was normal.
“Elvis! What are you doing?” you screamed, covering your ears with your hands.
“I’m demonstrating,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“...You... You shot a pillow!”
“It’s ugly anyways.”
“Ugh... I don’t believe you sometimes,” you said, shaking your head. He actually had the audacity to laugh.
“Come on Julie, it’s funny.”
“...You’re a... a man child!” you said with a small nervous chuckle, your ears still ringing.
“And you’re a killjoy!”
“Oh my god, I’ll better go downstairs now, before you start shooting the windows. And you should start getting ready, you have a performance later, remember?”
“What was I just saying about a killjoy?”
“And put the gun away!”
“Lord, woman, you’re horrible.”
“It’s called common sense, E.”
“Boring,” he said, although he couldn’t hide how the corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile.
“Common sense!” you laughed and gathered your stuff as well as the keys for your apartment. The apartment you barely used now, spending most of your time and nearly every night with him, but you insisted on keeping it. You still wanted to keep that last boundary, the illusion that you weren’t as deeply involved as you were. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself.
On your way out you turned to him and waved.
“See you in an hour or so. If you need something just give me a call.”
“You forgot something,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
You halted in your tracks. Man, you just couldn’t get away with anything today. You sighed and he walked towards you with a serious expression on his face once more. He handed you the gun he had used to shoot the poor pillow.
“Take it, Julie.” Maybe it was better if you just took it. Even if you wouldn’t necessarily use it, it would be a precaution.
“...Alright, boss.” You mock saluted and grinned up to him. He smiled fondly, his eyes twinkling, as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear and his thumb briefly traced along your jawline towards your chin, lingering there for a moment.
“I knew you could be a good girl.”
“You like it?”
He hummed and leaned against the door frame, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction.
“...Then I’ll have to rethink it.”
His face dropped and you let out a small giggle at his expression. You enjoyed it when you got to tease him and sometimes it was just too easy with him. He needed some light-hearted fun like anyone else, but it rarely happened; the possibility of him not appreciating the joke and the consequences of that always lingering in the back of everybody’s mind.
“You little minx,” he muttered with a grin and reached out for your waist. You backed away.
“Ah! No time to be silly! I told you we have to start getting ready,” you laughed and turned around. “See you later!” He leaned against the door frame and gently smiled at you until you were out of sight.
After arriving at your apartment, you opted for a quick shower and carefully reapplied your makeup the way Elvis wanted you to. He showed you exactly how to do it, claiming that everyone in the inner circle represented him and there was a certain image to uphold. You figured this made sense and complied with his rules. He was very particular about these things, always concerned with what others thought of him. Whether it was the fans not showing enough enthusiasm at his shows, or the tabloids printing horrible stories about him, it was enough to turn him sour and moody for a couple of hours.
After wiping off some excess lip gloss, you carefully eyed the gun and picked it up. Sighing, you chewed on your bottom lip. Were you really gonna go out there with a gun, even for effect?
It felt like just another one of Elvis’ silly little ideas, thinking he could  show you how it worked in a 10-minute crash course and then off you would go. He never thought these things through and his irresponsibility annoyed you.
“Nah, this is stupid,” you muttered to yourself, hiding the gun in your closet. Elvis wouldn’t know. You needed to be the sensible one.
You grabbed your bag and walked towards the door. As you turned the handle, you casted one last look over your shoulder, facing the closet. You shook your head and closed the door behind you.
On your way down you briefly passed the Colonel, but refused to spare him a glance. He showed up less and less, preferring to work everything out from a safe distance. Probably too much of a coward to face Elvis and the rest of the entourage.
After Elvis had tried to fire him a few weeks ago, there was a noticeable discomfort with the situation on all sides involved. Vernon had advised Elvis that it would be better to keep the Colonel around. Finances and debts played a major role, Vernon explained to you after you asked him about it. There was no way out of this horrid situation.
It made you mad and your frustrations were only made worse by your employer’s reaction, or his lack of reaction. Elvis’ resignation regarding the whole topic, his acceptance that there was nothing he could do, made you incredibly sad. Here was this man they called King, adored by millions of people and surrounded by luxury, and he was utterly powerless. He knew that he didn’t have the willpower, nor the energy to fight anymore, and just passively let these things happen to him.
When you arrived in the backstage area you quickly spotted Charlie and walked up to him, making small talk while you were waiting for Elvis. He showed up a few minutes later, looking as nervous as he did almost every time. You saw that he was sweating again already, his face shining and some of his black hair sticking to his face. You walked up to him and gently dabbed his face with a towel before placing it around his shoulders. He let out a shaky exhale and searched your eyes.
“Ready?” you asked with smile. He huffed a laugh and looked down, shaking his head the tiniest bit. You almost didn’t see it.
“Hold my hand for a bit, will ya, sweetheart?” he whispered and the vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much. One would think after 20 years in the spotlight he would have overcome his stage fright, but every new crowd was another challenge for him. ‘Every audience is different and they never saw me live before. So it’s like performing for the first time every time,’ he always said. You stepped closer to him and reached out for his hand, squeezing it and soothingly rubbing your thumb over the back of it.
“You’re gonna be great, I know it. I see you performing on that stage every evening and I never get tired of watching you. These fans, they’re here for you and you won’t disappoint them.”
“You really think so?” he inquired, his voice more similar like a little boy’s rather than a grown, experienced rock star.
“Yes, E, I do. You’ll blow them away.”
“If you say so, Julie baby.”
“Don’t you think I’m qualified enough to judge?” you asked with a teasing tone.
“Oh sweetheart, I think you’re highly competent,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow.
“I like to remind you of that every now and then.”
“I couldn’t possibly forget,” he smirked, though the tremor in his hand still gave him away.
“Good answer E. See? You know how to charm people. Now you just gotta go out there and do the same.” You squeezed his hand one more time and looked up to him with an encouraging smile.
He took a deep breath when Also Sprach Zarathustra started playing and looked up to the ceiling as if sending up a quick prayer.
“Okay E, let me have a look at you,” you said and reached for his towel, wiping away some of the sweat that had gathered on his face again, as well as some eyeliner that was already smudged. “...Yep, you can go on stage like this.” He gently cupped your chin, making you shiver slightly.
“I’ll be looking for you in the audience. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” you whispered and fixed some of his hair that had fallen out of place. “Now you’re perfect.” His eyes briefly flashed with what you thought was insecurity, but it was quickly replaced with a smirk.
“You can be quite charming if you want to as well, Julie baby. You sure it’s not you who’s supposed to be on that stage?” he winked.
“When I start singing, they’ll just flee for their lives,” you joked and he flashed you another smile before turning around, making his way towards the stage.
You gave him a thumbs up and watched him until he was out of sight. That’s when you noticed Jerry standing rather close, looking at you with an unnervingly neutral expression. You had a creeping feeling he’s silently watched the entire exchange between you and Elvis and, though nothing happened, you couldn’t help but feel slightly awkward and exposed under his assertive gaze. You cleared your throat and made your way towards the auditorium.
When you watched Elvis on stage there was no indication of his earlier nervousness. As always, he seemed at home in the bright spotlight, truly in his element. You cheered him on and just ignored the times he stumbled over the lyrics or couldn’t fully hit a note because he was out of breath. In fact, these were the little things that made the performance feel real, evoking genuine emotions within you.
After two hours of Elvis working his magic, you made you way back towards entrance to the backstage area to accompany him back to his suite. You stood in the corridor, mentally going through everything he needed for the night when you heard someone walking behind you.
“Hey, you.” You turned around to see a man around your age approaching, slurring his words. “Uh, do you happen to know where the restrooms are?”
You blinked. “Oh, uh you’re really in the wrong place. This is the way backstage.”
It took some time for him to register what you just said and you could see the gears turning in his head.
“...Oh... huh, you really seem to know your way around here. You come here often?” he asked with a smile that you think was meant to be charming.
You couldn’t help but laugh at his clumsy attempt of flirting. He was obviously drunk, but he was just trying to make conversation. Emphasis on trying.
“Believe it or not, for the last few weeks I’ve been here every night.”
“That’s crazy.” He said with big eyes, but then he nearly gagged.
“Oh my god, okay, come on, I’ll show you the restroom. Don’t want you to throw up all over the corridor.” You said, pulling him along.
“You’re really kind. I’m sorry, I’m not usually this drunk.”
“Yeah, I gathered that. First time in Las Vegas?”
“How do you know?”
“Uh, just a feeling. Happens to the best of us.”
He smiled down at you and promptly lost his footing. You stumbled until both of you fell to the ground with him on top of you. You groaned at the impact and looked around. Trying to get up wasn’t possible with his dead weight on you, so you pushed against his chest. His reaction was slow to non existent. You were sure he was almost passing out.
“Get off me!” you said a bit louder, trying to get his attention.
It seemed like a cruel joke that it was in that particular moment that Elvis, Charlie, Jerry and Lamar turned around the corner, witnessing the scene before them. And boy, it looked bad. You pushed against the stranger’s chest one more time, urging him to get up. He didn’t even have time to react, as he was yanked off by strong hands.
You looked up, relieved to be able to breathe freely again. Elvis had him by the collar of his shirt, pressing him against the wall, with Lamar and Charlie exchanging concerned looks. Jerry walked towards you with a frown and reached out his hand to help you up.
“Were you having fun?” Elvis hissed, his voice dangerously low. His blue eyes were burning beneath his shades, their expression almost scaring you.
“Elvis, he didn’t do anything!” you interjected. Jerry gently grasped your arm, holding you back.
“I asked you a question, you son of a bitch,” Elvis spat angrily.
From the way he stood you could tell that his back was giving him even more trouble than when he got up today, probably from a daring move he had just attempted during his performance, but he still managed to put on a brave face that would convince anyone that he’d still be up for a fight. Not that it mattered much to the drunk stranger, you weren’t sure that he even registered that it was Elvis Presley talking to him.
You ignored Jerry’s hand on your elbow and stepped towards Elvis.
“He’s drunk, I wanted to help him. He fell on me Elvis, nothing happened.”
It was as if he didn’t even hear you. You put a hand on his back, feeling him tremble beneath you, a combination of the post show adrenaline and pure rage. His silence was really starting to scare you. That’s how you knew it was serious. Really serious.
“Please, let go of him.” you begged when he didn’t answer you. You glanced over to the other guys, feeling helpless. All you got were neutral expressions, no one daring to move a finger. Elvis took a deep breath and pointed a ring clad finger at the stranger’s face.
“If you ever come near her again... if I ever see you again.. you’re gonna regret it. Now get outta my sight,” He warned. With a nod towards Lamar and the other two he let go of him and they escorted him away.
You looked at Elvis, who was still breathing heavily. He flexed his hands multiple times and eyed you carefully.
“Julie, where’s your gun?”
Shit.
Your silence answered his question.
“...I don’t believe this,” he mumbled, roughly grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, not saying another word to you. Once you were up in his suite again, he slammed the door and looked down on you with a frown.
“Answer me this: What would you have done if I hadn’t been there in time?” he asked, starting to pace around.
“I wasn’t in danger,” you answered, not moving from your spot.
“Damnit, I warned you about guys like him. I knew something like this would happen!” He pulled out the Colt 45 he hid under his pants leg and strode towards you. “I gave you one of these for a reason.” He continued, waving it in front of your face.
“Elvis, please put the gun away,” you said calmly, remembering the stunt he pulled a few hours ago with the pillow.
“I do what I damn well p-please,” he scoffed and turned away from you. You took a step towards him.
“Please, stop acting like this.”
“You don’t get to t-tell me what to do,” he said, pointing his finger at you.
“Goddamnit Elvis! What is going on?!” You cried, fed up with his antics.
“Why don’t you just do what I-I tell you?”
“Because I wanted to decide what I’m going to do,” you explained, lowering your voice a little to appease him.
“Great h-how that worked out f-for ya!” he spat. You scoffed, at a loss for words, and slammed a hand against your forehead.
“Julie, don’t fucking act like I’m the one who’s in the wrong now! I won’t have you disrespecting me like this,” he warned, his eyes burning into yours with a fury that almost made you back up a little.
“It’s not that! I’m trying to tell you that nothing happened! Look at me, I’m alright!” you argued with desperation in your voice as you gestured at yourself. Did he even listen to you?
“But what if something happened? Julie, I swear to god!” He was seething, his face red with exertion.
“What, Elvis?” you snapped. He just glared at you, his chest heaving.
“You know what? I’m not gonna discuss this right now. I’ll come back later,” you shouted and left the apartment without waiting for his reaction.
Just before you shut the door behind you, you heard him yelling at you, “Julie, if you leave now-“
That’s when you closed the door. And for a moment you were scared; scared because his anger was probably directed towards you now. You didn’t mean to upset him, he was going through so much already, but you also knew that it wouldn’t make any sense to try and talk to him right now. His temper was infamous among those in the inner circle, it was one of the first things you were warned about.
In order to have a normal conversation again he would have to calm down first. You had to calm down as well, knowing that you’d probably say something stupid if he continued to act this way. You felt tears of frustration and anger pricking at your eyes and almost ran down the corridor towards the elevator.
You found yourself wandering through the foyer and saw Jerry sitting on a sofa, apparently deep in thought. You let out a sigh of relief as, within the Memphis Mafia, he was the one that you trusted the most. Not only was he the only one who dared to challenge Elvis at times, but he also had known Elvis for a long time and was a great listener, which is why you’d occasionally come to him for advice.
“Hey, Jerry,” you greeted as you approached him tentatively. He looked up to you and blinked.
“Oh.. hey Julie. Are you okay? You still look a bit shaken... Um, don’t worry, we took care of that guy and escorted him back to his friends. We suggested that it would be better for them to leave. No one’s gonna bother you again.” You sat down next to him.
“He was harmless, Jerry, just drunk. I’m more worried about Elvis... He... um just threw another hissy fit and I’m afraid I made it worse.” With another sigh you sank into the soft pillows behind you, though relaxing wasn’t really an option right now.
“Yeah... he was really pissed about this guy. It doesn’t help that he already felt agitated the whole day. I think something just snapped in him... How did you make it worse though?”
“I walked out on him, mid argument.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. You know, he wanted me to carry a gun, because Lamar thought he saw some gangsters running around the casino... making him go crazy. He wanted me to carry a gun, knowing I have no experience with it, nor the ambition to be honest. I didn’t have it with me and he just... lost his damn mind.”
“I see.” You looked at him expectantly, but he sighed and shrugged.
“Julie... He wants to look out for you. I know he only means well,” he chuckled. “He means well most of the time, it’s just the execution that goes horribly wrong.” You felt a gentle smile tugging at the corners if your lips.
“Yeah, I know that, and I really appreciate his concern, but he needs to know that there are other perspectives as well. People might think differently than him,” you replied while absentmindedly playing with a loose thread on the cushion next to you. He nodded in understanding and turned to you.
“But that’s the thing, he thinks he knows best. And, as I said, he wants the best for everyone. He’s always worried and... concerned about everyone’s well being, wanting to keep everyone around him happy. Sometimes he even tries to fix things that aren’t even his business... It causes him sleepless nights, really.” He shook his head with a frown.
“God, I feel so bad, but he really got on my last nerve today. He shot a damn pillow and thought it was the funniest thing in the world.”
“That’s nothing. He... uh regularly shoots his television sets when there’s something on that he doesn’t like.”
“He does what now?” you asked, your eyebrows raised.
“It’s true. He really does things... his own way. That’s how I’d put it.”
“He’s nuts sometimes. Gosh, I just hope I didn’t mess up too bad this time. I know it’s right for me to stand up to my beliefs, but still.”
“I think he’d forgive you almost everything.” Your gaze drifted towards him, your lips pursed.
“I hope so... Do I have to apologise?” you asked, beginning to genuinely think you did something wrong now. He sighed.
“Julie, I know Elvis. Let me just say it would probably be better that way.”
“But do you think I should?”
“He wants to be right, discussing something like this with him won’t get you far.”
You hummed, this wasn’t really the answer you were looking for, but you knew it was all you’d get from him.
“And... uh there were no other incidents today? I didn’t hear anything. You know, about the weird guys Lamar thought he saw earlier today.”
“No, nothing. I guess it was a false alarm.” He shrugged. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your mouth. This was what started this entire debacle.
“Julie I know what you think, but it’s better to be safe than sorry,” he tried to explain. You hummed again and decidedly pulled off the string you’d been twirling the entire time.
“You’re probably right. I think I’ll go upstairs again and see if he’s calmed down a little. Hopefully he hasn't trashed the damn place. Because who's gonna clean it up?” she asked and pointed both thumbs towards herself.
He let out a little snort. “Alright, take care, Julie,” he said as he watched you get up.
“I will, thanks Jerry.”
With that you turned and made your way back through the foyer, thinking about the upcoming conversation with your boss. It was weird to think about him like that, and you had to remind yourself of that particular fact every now and then. You wandered around the hotel for almost half an hour before building up enough nerve to face him again.
When you finally opened the door to his suite with the key he’d given you, you spotted him sitting on his bed dressed in his silk pyjamas again and fumbling around with his jewellery.
“You’ve calmed down again, sweetheart?” He slowly got up, a rather goofy smile on his face.
“Me?” you asked, pointing to yourself.
“Got quite hysterical when ya left,” he said, approaching you with a grin. You raised your eyebrows, your mouth hanging open for a few seconds.
“I got hysterical?” Was he serious right now? You turned on your heel, your hand on your forehead, the whole apology you had prepared on your way up here now thrown out of the window. He couldn’t mean that now, could he? He followed you and placed his hands on your arms, turning you around, towards him.
“Wait sweetheart, don’t be like that. Come on, it’s okay, Julie baby, I know how women can get. Y’all are more tender hearted,” he said, putting his arms around you and stroking your hair.
You frowned and tried to take a step back, wanting to look at him, but he tightened his grip on you, keeping you in place. You’ve never seen someone with mood swings like him. It was extreme to the point where he could be irrational, one could never know what to expect from him. But don’t question things! You leaned into him, not really knowing if this was meant to comfort you or him.
The way he held himself and the slightly dazed expression in his blue eyes explained how he was so calm. He must have taken his damn pills already, otherwise he wouldn’t be this relaxed after the argument the two of you had. Especially after you stormed off, which must have made him even angrier. Now it seemed almost forgotten as he more and more leaned against you for support.
You desperately wanted to throw away all his medication, the fact that he never really dealt with his emotions and just numbed them was driving you mad, though you weren’t convinced that this alone was responsible for his reactions. His extraordinary talent to twist situations and circumstances so that they’d work in his favour could be a gift for him, but a curse for everyone else. You almost never got to discuss situations like this with him, properly working things out.
“Come on, sit down with me, sweetheart,” he pleaded, holding out his hands.
“Alright,” you replied with a neutral expression, despite still clearly seeing the image of him with that damn gun in front of you.
He led you over to his bed and sat down across from you, engulfing your hands with his bigger ones and hold them tight, taking a deep breath. His mouth opened and closed multiple times before speaking.
“Listen... I’m sorry for getting so angry at you earlier. I-I didn’t want to scare ya. I was just worried. Ya gotta believe me.”
The genuinely remorseful look on his face made your irritation dissipate slightly. You sighed. Communication is key.
“...And I’m sorry for yelling at you, I shouldn’t have done it. I know you mean well, but I was angry as well. Well, frustrated...you know what I think about guns,” you almost whispered, searching his eyes, hoping and praying he’d understand. He looked down and bit his lip, looking a bit bashful.
“...Yeah, I-I know sweetheart. I just can’t bear the thought of something happening to you. When I saw that fucker on top of you, I-I could have killed him.” His face became flushed again at the mere memory. You nodded and just squeezed his hands, knowing that explaining the situation again wouldn’t help. He dropped his head.
“Don’t you understand, Julie? W-What if I lose you?...Who would annoy me all day?” he added, after looking up again with a small smile. You forced a smile to match his while trying to ignore his vulnerability in the former half of the statement.
“Oh, I’m sure you would find someone in a heartbeat. You’re Elvis Presley.” His face grew serious again.
“No. Not someone like you.”
“Elvis..” you whispered, pressing your lips together as you felt your face begin to crumple, the emotions of the whole day finally catching up to you. Did he really mean it or did he want to distract from the actual conversation you were having? You hated how your voice trembled when you spoke up again. “We should really talk about-“ He put his hand on your cheek and watched you with a tender look in his eyes.
“No, you don’t have to say anything. I don’t wanna hear any more of it. I’m just glad we’re getting along again. I don’t like arguing with you.” Well, so much for that.
“Me neither,” you eventually uttered with a small sniffle,  your eyes burning. You didn’t know if it felt more like giving in or giving up.
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s all good again. Don’t worry. I-I won’t bother you with this again, okay? It’s all good again. All good.” He mumbled almost meditatively and guided your head to lay against his shoulder, your cheek brushing against his coarse chest hair.
You weren’t convinced of how serious he was about not bringing up the topic again, but for now you’d take it, since he left you no other choice. You knew it must be horrible inside his head and he really couldn’t help the way he was sometimes. He just wanted the best for you. It showed in the way he gently stroked your hair and shushed you, as if soothing a frightened child. And, for the second time that day, you thought you felt the feather light brush of his lips, this time against your temple, as if assuring you that everything was okay. As if he’d read your mind. It made you feel hot and cold at the same time.
Right now you didn’t have the energy to fight against the comforting feeling of his embrace and his affection and just let yourself sink into it. His ability to make you feel completely at ease, his softness, warmth and smell, combined with the rhythmic stroking of his strong hands almost lulled you to sleep.
You felt a sudden calm wash over you, the weird buzzing in your head and the tingling feeling of anxiety on your skin slowly disappearing. The silent promise that everything was going to be alright and that he would take care of everything for you felt like a safety blanket.
“Hey, E?”
He answered with a ‘Hmm?’ and you felt the vibrations of his chest against your cheek.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know... for being there. The whole thing really stressed me out.”
“Well, you know, Julie baby, I have healing hands,” he said, shrugging as if it was the most normal thing.
“I think so too,” you chuckled. Not ironically, like you did so often. It was genuine this time, The more time you spend with him the more you thought he actually possessed some kind of magic, influencing everyone around him. Sometimes that was really no other explanation. He grinned at you, his eyes twinkling.
“So... what now, magic man?” you asked.
“...We could watch The Godfather again, so you can fawn over Marlon Brando?” He proposed. You laughed.
“You know, every day I regret it a little bit more that I told you about this silly childhood crush.”
“When I asked you, you said he was your favourite actor,” he retorted a tad accusingly, a little pout on his face to emphasize his point.
“Yes, I realise my mistake now,” you said with a hand over your heart, feigning shock.
After a few seconds though you weren’t able to hold your back your laughter and an involuntary giggle escaped you. He started smiling as well, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You now knew you had actually bruised his ego with that statement back then. He asked you this particular question only a few days after you met him and you naively answered with the first thing that came to mind, not really knowing the gravity of it. Not really knowing... him. How important these things were for him. Looking back, it was definitely some kind of test that you failed miserably, and he made sure to remind you of that faux pas every now and then, probably still a bit offended and wounded.
“... Do you want me to read to you again? Maybe... um you can try to go to sleep a little earlier tonight, what do you think?” you offered, trying to change the subject. Thankfully he bought into it.
“Mhm.. you always take such good care of me. Like a mama.”
“Well, thanks for that,” you answered, a bit unsure if the second part was really a compliment or not. He scooted closer, laying his head on your shoulder and throwing an arm around your middle, his hand finding its place at your waist.
“...No, I mean it, Julie. I-I really admire that about ya.” He raised his head again, looking deeply into your eyes. “A-And I don’t think I tell ya enough,” he whispered and squeezed your sides.
You felt your pulse quicken and let out a shuddering breath. Was it nervousness? Was it the stress? Was it anticipation? Excitement? There was certainly no denying that you liked the way his hands felt on your body.
“I’m sorry if I’m like this to you sometimes. I-I can’t always help it... My head is just so fucked up sometimes I know I can be a nasty asshole... I just w-want you to know what you mean to me,” he stammered with a frown. You knew it was hard for him to get these words out and you adored and hated him for saying them out loud.
“Elvis, you aren’t any of those things. And-“
He closed his eyes and gently nuzzled his nose against yours, making you stop mid sentence. He was so incredibly tender with you, even the fact that the tip of his nose was nearly freezing due to the cool room temperature didn’t deter you from leaning into his touch.
“...Yes, I am. I’m a selfish bastard who can’t even keep an agreement he made. A promise to the woman he adores.”
Every rational thought you had was thrown out of the window at this. The only thing you knew, felt, was him. This pull between you two had been there from the beginning and you so desperately fought against it. There had been many instances, many battles where you almost surrendered yourself to him, but you always managed to put your rational thoughts first.
Now, with his strong hands on your body, his beautiful face so close that you could feel his hot breath over your lips and the words that just slipped past his marshmallow ones, you felt something snap within you.
You leaned forward and eagerly pressed your lips against his, a surprised squeal escaping you at the same time. You were about to pull back and apologise, but that thought was quickly thrown out the window when you felt him kissing you back fiercely.
The bed under you creaked when he shifted his weight, moving to lay almost on top of you. His chains dangled from his wide chest and you reached around to pull him even closer to you. He complied and leaned down even further, his rounded belly now pressing up against you. A gasp escaped you at the feeling of his weight pushing you down into the mattress, utterly trapped and at his mercy.
One of his ring clad hands moved up from your hip to gently cup your cheek. The cool metal felt good on your burning skin and you felt Elvis smiling into the kiss. His lips were so incredibly soft and hot as they sloppily worked against yours and you weren’t able to form one coherent thought. When his hot, wet tongue slipped out to trace over your bottom lip you couldn’t contain a little groan.
You reached up to tread your fingers through the coarse hair on his chest, stroking up and down, while he tightened his grip on your waist. The contradicting roughness you felt against your hands versus the wonderful softness against your lips was an intoxicating combination. It was just so very him. He pulled away from you, allowing you to catch your breath and you looked at each other, breathing heavily.
“...Elvis, this isn’t good,” you whispered, a half-hearted attempt to stop him. To stop yourself. Both.
He licked his lips and trailed a lazy finger over your hip.
“Ya don’t like this?” he asked, looking at you from beneath his shades incredulously.
“Oh god...I- I do,” you stammered helplessly after he had rubbed soothing circles over your hip for almost a minute.
He smiled and leaned down to bury his face against your neck, peppering soft, sweet kisses along your pulse point, making you giggle. Then you felt his warm hand gliding under your shirt, pushing the fabric upwards until your bra was exposed. His attack on your neck stopped and he leaned back to watch you, biting his lip. What a pretty picture you were for him, with your face wonderfully flushed, biting your lip and breathing heavily. Your face grew even more hot under his intense gaze and the way he licked his lips and smirked down at you sent shock waves to your core. You quickly pulled the shirt over your head and dropped it onto the floor next to the bed. Ugh, still too hot.
“Lord have mercy,” he breathed, as he watched your chest rise and fall quickly with every laboured breath you took. He cupped one breast in each hand and his lip curled, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
“Ladies, you two look real fun. You can be my new best friends,” he cooed as he squeezed them together and leaned down to nuzzle into them with a playful growl. You laughed and the motion made them jiggle, much to his delight.
“E, you’re being silly,” you giggled.
“No, I’m being serious. I need to play with these before every show now. Will ya let me? Best stress balls ever, I’ll tell ya.”
“You are impossible. Can’t take you nowhere,” you replied with a grin and gently stroked his cheek.
“Let an old man have some fun, Julie baby,” he mumbled with a smile. He softly kissed your collarbone before carefully hoisting you up, his hands on your back, to unclasp your bra with his nimble fingers.
You let out a surprised ‘Oh!’ when he hastily pulled the undergarment off you and tossed it onto the floor. His eyes roamed over your form for what felt like hours, a mix of appreciation and concentration in his gaze, as if trying to memorize every little detail. It made you throw your arms over your face, a weak attempt to hide the fact that you were as red as a tomato. He clicked his tongue and reached up, wanting to move your arms away, finding it incredibly cute how flustered you were. He gently ran his fingers over your skin.
“Sweetheart, let me look at you,” he sang.
You stubbornly refused to let him see you and possibly laugh at you, and he quickly realised you wouldn’t budge. He smirked as he decided to alter his tactic. You felt his hands wandering downwards along you neck, over your chest and onto your stomach. He briefly paused there, his fingers drumming against your skin, before beginning to tickle your sides which caused you to squeal and laugh so hard that your stomach started to ache.
“E, stop!” you finally gasped, trying to catch your breath.
Eventually you moved your arms and swatted away his bold, exploring hands, making him grin triumphantly.
“You’re not playing fair!” you laughed.
“All is fair in love and war. Never heard of that?”
You wanted nothing more than to wipe that goofy, smug grin off his face when he leaned down to kiss the tip of your nose.
“...You’re such a pretty baby.” He whispered and rubbed his cheek against yours, reminding you of a cat, his sideburns tickling you. “Pretty, pretty, pretty.”
He mumbled into your cheek over and over again and you wrapped your arms around his wide frame. His hips started to move, slowly thrusting up against you in a steady pace and wetness pooled between your legs when you felt him growing against your clothed cunt. You let out a high pitched moan and his soft tongue licked a long stripe across your cheek in response. He felt your nails digging into his back, your fingers cramping and he softly whined against your ear, making you throb even more. God, it had to be a criminal offence to make such sounds.
You eagerly moved your hands to open the buttons of his deep v neck shirt, needing to see, feel his chest and stomach in their entire glory. It also felt unfair that you were almost naked and he was still fully clothed. After the first two buttons were open, you slipped your hand inside and stroked his soft belly. Suddenly he jolted away as if he’d burned himself. You drew back your hand and saw some of the insecurity you’d seen earlier this day flash in his eyes. But then it was gone again as quickly as it came and instead a stern look took over his beautiful features.
“Sweetheart, no,” he said determinedly.
“Why not?” you whined and reached out to fumble with the remaining buttons. He grasped your hands in his and lifted them to his mouth, kissing the back of them two, three, four times.
“...This is about you,” he muttered as he released your hands and moved to caress your bare stomach. You got the impression this statement wasn’t entirely true.
“But-“
“No buts, stubborn little lady.” He shook his head, his eyes trained on his fingers as they traced invisible patterns around your belly button.
“What happened to you liking it when I take care of you?” you pouted while lightly playing with his chains that were still dangling over you.
He reached up to brush some hair from your face and caressed your cheekbones with his knuckles.
“Please, Julie... let me show you,” he whispered with a sudden urgency in his voice, his eyes shining pleadingly under the tinted glass.
You removed his shades to get a better look at them. His deep blue eyes were almost completely black, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was also this intense vulnerability again, which overwhelmed you every time. You could tell how important this was for him right now and slowly nodded. Then you leaned forward and planted a quick kiss against his lips, which he almost anxiously returned, one hand coming up to softly knead your breast.
He eventually pulled away from you and moved down your body, gently kissing each pebbled nipple once, making you arch up against his skilled mouth before he trailed feather-light kisses along your stomach. He sat down between your legs and his hands skimmed over your hips until they stopped at the waistband of your pants. He briefly lifted you up, his hands on your butt and began to pull them down slowly. You watched with anticipation as he exposed more and more of your bare skin in slow motion, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration again. He did that a lot.
After your legs were finally completely bare under his praising eyes, he ran his hands up and down along them, whistling appreciatively. Then he gripped the back of your left knee and lifted it until your calf rested on his shoulder.
“Your legs, sweetheart,” he groaned and tapped against your thigh. “When I see you striding around with these in your lil’ platforms... Lordy, I just wanna be wrapped up in them. Every. Damn. Time.”
He turned his head and brushed his lips across your calf, the possessive grip on the back of your knee not faltering and his hot breath causing goosebumps to form on your skin. He pushed your knee back towards you until his soft mouth arrived at your ankle. Then he pulled off your shoes and tossed them off the bed, making them clatter as they landed next to the rest of your discarded clothes.
You raised your head when you felt his teeth grazing your skin, gently biting down on your ankle. He briefly kissed the light bite marks and moved up your calf again. The way his eyes were closed in bliss and his breathing ragged was almost too much for you to handle and you threw your head back into the pillow. He almost seemed to enjoy this more than you, the thought making you feel even warmer inside.
You promptly sat up again and wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to feel his velvety lips against yours again after the rest of your body got so much sweet attention from them. You held onto the hair at his neck when you felt his tongue lazily gliding over your bottom lip and moved your hips against his, feeling the slight bulge in his trousers. You reached down, your hand gliding over his crotch, feeling him half hard against your palm. He swiftly caught your wrist and brought it up to his cheek, shaking his head.
“Nuh uh, Julie baby, forget it. I already told you, this is about you. You really gotta to learn how to listen,” he chuckled, fingers gently tugging at your earlobe. “Now lie back, sweetheart, let me take care of ya. I’ll handle it.”
He hummed, his big hand sprawled across your chest, gently forcing you back against the pillow. You wordlessly stared at him as he moved back between your legs, his gaze lingering on the panties you still wore. He leaned down to get a better look at them and hooked his fingers under the waistband, toying with it.
After briefly meeting your eyes again and taking in your flushed face, he pulled them down, his hands grazing over your legs again. Your toes curled when he bunched your panties up in his fist with a grin.
“Sweetheart, these are soaked. Why didn’t ya say anything? Cat got your tongue again?” he cooed. You answered by wrapping your leg around his back, pulling him closer to you.
“Oh, I see we’re eager today, Julie baby? No words, just straight to the point. Hold on, let’s see what I can do about that,” he rumbled and lightly kissed along your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to your glistening pussy.
Just when you thought he’d pay attention to where you needed him most, he moved away again and started peppering your other thigh with sweet kisses and kitten licks.
“E! I swear-” you moaned, and tightened your leg around him, growing more and more impatient with him, the throbbing in your core nearly driving you insane.
“Oh, now she can talk again. What do you want, sweetheart?” he mumbled as he rubbed his cheek against your skin, barely able to conceal the smile tugging at his lips.
“That tickles, stop!” you laughed and moved to scoot away from him, but his hands quickly shot out to grab your hips, effectively holding you still.
You held onto the satin bed sheet when his mouth moved over the supple flesh of your thigh again, kissing and sucking at the soft skin there, surely leaving one or two hickeys. After for what felt like hours, you finally felt his hot breath ghosting over your clit, the tingling feeling in your lower belly growing stronger. You wanted to thrust up to him, desperate for any sort of friction, but found that he still had your hips in an iron grip, his fingers digging almost painfully into your skin. Each time you attempted to free yourself he tightened his hold, making it impossible to move. A whimper escaped you when he softly kissed your folds, his nose bumping into your mound.
“Quit the teasing!” you cried out, and he smirked up at you like he was having the time of his life.
“Julie baby, why are you so impatient? I told ya I’ll take care of ya,” he reminded you and licked a long stripe along your clit after deeply inhaling your scent. It made you throw your arm over your face again and you bit your hand to muffle the moans escaping you when he began to gently suckle at your sensitive nub.
One of his hands moved up to your breast and began to fondle it again, lightly pinching your nipple. You felt like your whole body was on fire, sweat forming on your forehead and you desperately wished someone would drop a bucket of ice water over you. Elvis’ moans and grunts, combined with the wet slurping noises made your ears ring and your legs began shaking from pleasure. You placed a hand over his, still gently massaging your breast and squeezed, encouraging him to increase the pressure, making him hiss.
“Damn, sweetheart... You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he grunted, voice muffled as he was still buried between your legs.
You slowly felt your orgasm approaching and grabbed onto his hair, desperate for something to ground you. You pushed his face harder against your pussy, his skilled tongue greedily trying to catch every last drop of your arousal and you nearly passed out when you suddenly felt him insert two fingers into your hole. You moaned and arched against him, your fingers and toes flexing uncontrollably when he curled his fingers inside you, his lips sucking on your clit even harder than before.
“E, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you just managed to get out before shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, a feeling of weightlessness in your bones. It only spurred him on as he continued throughout your orgasm, desperate to get each and every little sound out of you.
When you started wriggling against him from overstimulation he pulled away from you with a stupid grin plastered on his face and withdrew his fingers, making you shudder once again. He gleefully put them in his mouth, sucking off remains of you.
“Ya taste so sweet, I can’t get enough of that.” You attempted to lean up on your elbows to kiss him, but found that your muscles were still rather limp. “Was that alright, Julie baby? Did I make ya feel good?”
“E, are you joking? You’re the best.” You smiled, your fingers ghosting over his lips. “What about you, though?” His warm mouth engulfed your finger, briefly sucking on it.
“Mmh, if I only knew before that it was that easy to tame ya.”
“Don’t get cheeky now, Presley,” you huffed.
“Ah, there she is again. I might just-“ He lazily grinned and slipped his hand between your legs to cup your overstimulated pussy again, making you jump.
“God!” you gasped when he drew back his hand and smiled innocently, while you playfully glared at him. You reached up and played with his collar.  “...But really... let me take care of you now.”
“Nah, it’s alright, sweetheart... Little Elvis is more than happy to see ya, believe me. But he’s just a bit tired today, it was a long day. Ya understand that, right?” You hesitantly nodded.
“...Okay, E. Next time,” you mumbled and gently ran your hand through his hair. He laid down his head on your thigh and absentmindedly began drawing patterns on your lower belly again, lips puckered as if deep in thought.
After a while, his eyes grew more and more heavy and you watched him battle his sleepiness. It gave you time to begin reflecting on what had happened and you quickly found that it gave you a massive headache. Was this a one-time occasion? Was it a slip-up? Would it become a regular thing? You had just muttered something about a next time without thinking. Lord have mercy!
As long as you weren’t sure about the nature of this new layer in your relationship with him you weren’t to eager to let anyone else know. That’s something you were sure about. The only thing.
You shifted slightly, your current position not at all comfortable, which caused Elvis to rouse again. He gave you a sleepy smile and clumsily crawled on top of you again, eyes half lidded and dazed.
“God, what are we going to do now?” you thought out loud.
“Mmmh, I wanna cuddle with ya,” he muttered and smushed his lips against yours with a loud smack.
“...We can’t tell no one.” you whispered, regaining your senses and staring up at the ceiling. He hummed.
“...Whatever you say, Mommy,” he cooed and buried his face in your neck as his soft stomach pressed up against your side once more, his weight on top of you immediately comforting.
“I mean it, E,” you insisted, hoping he’d manage to be serious for just a moment. He wasn’t really known for being good at keeping secrets.
“Mhm. Me too. Lordy, you’re so soft and warm, sweetheart,” he slurred and closed his eyes after a quick peck to your neck.
You sighed with a smile and pressed a kiss against his forehead while wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight. There was no use in overthinking the situation right now. He smiled into your neck, still distinctly thinking about the sounds you made while he pleasured you. It felt like a lullaby.
You made a mental note to have this particular talk with him in the morning. Or, technically, afternoon and hoped he would understand.
“Good night, darling,” you murmured and dosed off with your hand resting on his chest, feeling, monitoring, his steady breathing like every night. Except everything was different now.
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uninvoluted · 1 year
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jeff "yeah my wife ate my high school girlfriend but it's not like she was gonna marry me so i forgave her" sadeki
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upallnite2getbucky · 2 years
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A Second Chance
Summary: While having the worst day, you find something unexpected that turns your day around.
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Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 1.5k (it got away from me okay?)
A/N: This is a last minute submission to @dadplease 's 5k Stuffie Writing Contest!
I went through a myriad of emotions while writing this if you can't tell 😂 This is my first time writing anything and definitely my first time posting I don't know what I'm doing help Enjoy! 💕
╔═════════*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═════════╗ 
Licking your lips for the umpteenth time today, you look over the grocery list on your phone. It seems to be getting longer the more you stare at it.  
Ugh. 
You just want to go home.  
The day started out awful but you’re getting more and more miserable as the day goes on. You woke up to a lovely email from your boss, listing all the projects you need to complete despite it being your day off. The friend you were supposed to go out for lunch with cancelled. Again. What is this, four times in a row now? And to top it all off, you’re cramping. 
Even Bucky couldn’t lift your spirits. Though he tried. Your sweet boyfriend had called your boss, despite your protests, and had essentially told him to fuck off, you would take a look at those projects next time you’re in the office if you have time. Your boss, knowing exactly who he was talking to had responded, as any sensible person would, with an apology and a promise to cut back on your workload.  
Bucky took you to your favorite diner for lunch to make up for your cancelled lunch date. And you appreciate that, really you do. It’s just that the food made you feel bloated. You somehow feel worse than you did before.
Then Bucky, that perfect hunk of a man, told you he was going to take you home to run you a warm bath and give you a massage. You almost gave in. Bucky always knew what to do to make you feel better. But you needed to go to the store because your grocery list was growing longer by the day and you didn’t know the next time you’d have time to go. He told you he would go while you were in the bath. But you insisted and Bucky didn’t want to upset you. So here you were.  
You lick your lips again. Ouch. Why are your lips so dry? Add it to the list of things you have to complain about. You reach into your purse for your chapstick. 
Stuck in your head, you don’t hear Bucky approaching from the next aisle holding two boxes of cereal. “Honey, I can’t decide--”  
Startled, you jump, dropping your chapstick causing it to roll under the shelf. Crouching down with a sigh, you reach for the tube, pause, and burst into tears. 
“No no doll, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll get it I promise.” Crouching down beside you, his metal arm resting gently on your back, he swipes up the tube with his right hand. “Here I’ve got it don’t worry.”  
You hate that Bucky thinks it’s his fault. Gasping for breath, you can’t get the words out to explain it's not. Shaking your head, you reach out for him. “N-no. No, Buc-Bucky.”  
Frowning, he wraps his arms around you and brings you to his chest, not caring that you’re both practically sitting on the floor in the baking aisle.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he whispers into your temple. “Is it something I did?” 
You look up at him and see that he’s genuinely concerned he’s done something to make you upset. If he wasn’t so worried about you, he’d be mad at himself. You need to clear this up.  
Focusing on your breathing, you take slow, deep breaths until you’re able to talk clearly. When you're able to breathe easier, you look up to see Bucky looking at you attentively. “Sorry.” He opens his mouth to argue and shuts it again as you continue. “Bucky, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not the chapstick. It’s--this.” 
You reach under the shelf again and pull out the source of your emotional outburst. 
A little bunny stuffed animal, torn up and damaged, missing its left arm entirely. 
A look of surprise crosses his face. “It’s okay honey, I don’t think any kid’s coming back for that.” 
Another sob wracks your body. Bucky pulls you into his chest again, murmuring soft reassurances in your ear, hoping to calm you down. He hates seeing you like this. Now, he’s really wishing he had fought harder to take you straight home after lunch. 
“J-just makes me so s-sad.”  
Poor little guy. Wounded, neglected, abandoned. Why are you getting so worked up over this? Maybe it's just your hormones getting the best of you. 
Bucky holds you tighter, kissing your forehead once. Twice. Three times. “I know. But I think we’d better leave it here; it’s got no life left in it.” 
That sobered you up. No, you were determined to give this little bunny a second chance. You pulled away from Bucky, standing up. He followed, watching you sniff a few times and hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks. Before he could say anything else, you spun on your heels and quickly walked towards the store exit with the stuffed animal, leaving Bucky standing there very confused beside the abandoned cart, your chapstick still in his hand. 
╔════════*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*════════╗ 
Back at home, you sequester yourself in your shared bedroom. Sitting cross legged on the bed, you determinedly work away, surrounded by crafting and sewing supplies. Bucky watches you hesitantly at the doorway, desperately wanting to go in and hug you and make sure you’re okay. You had done an emotional one-eighty after all. But you seemed focused and content for the moment. Not wanting to ruin that, he decides to start on dinner.  
An hour later, dinner is in the oven, the kitchen has been cleaned, and he even put in a load of laundry. You door was still shut. He sat on the couch, debating on whether to disturb you or not. Just as he leans forward to stand up and come check on you, he hears the bedroom door open. 
He sits anxiously, not sure what emotional state you’re in. You emerge into the living room with one arm behind your back, a spark in your eyes, and a triumphant smile on your face. Seeing you, the bubble of anxiety in Bucky’s chest fades and he relaxes. He reaches out for you, a soft smile on his face. 
As always, unable to resist the warmth of his embrace, you climb onto his lap on the couch, still hiding something behind your back. 
He cups your face, brushing his thumb across your cheek gently where your tears had tracked not two hours ago. “Whatcha been working on?” he asks softly. 
“Just giving this little guy a second chance.” You pull out the bunny from behind you and show him to Bucky. You’d sewn up all his little tears and rips with neat stitches and packed his now chubby body full of fresh stuffing. But that’s not what catches Bucky’s attention. It's the crocheted black and gold left arm carefully sewn onto his body. 
Bucky slowly takes the small toy into his large hands. “Just like me,” he murmurs to himself. 
“Well yeah, I tried to make his arm look like yours; it doesn’t look great but--” 
“No,” Bucky interrupts. He looks at you so intensely and there’s something in his eyes that makes you feel both vulnerable and safe at the same time. “I meant, you’ve given him new life just like you did for me. I-I was broken and wounded and I didn’t even want to be alive anymore – didn’t think I deserved it. But you found me. You noticed me and healed me and gave me a reason to live.” His hands trace down your arms until they reach your hands and he holds them to his chest. Over his heart that beats for you. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you doll, but every time you give me an ounce of your attention, your affection, I feel like I’m worth something – like somehow I’m deserving of your love. And it blows my mind every day. That’s what you do sweetheart. It’s all you.” 
You see tears well up in his eyes and you softly lean in to kiss his eyelids. Then his nose. Then his cheeks. Then oh so lightly, his lips. You smile. 
Bucky quickly recaptures your mouth in a heated kiss. You kiss him back with your whole body and soul, pouring every drop of love and tenderness into it. So does he, telling you thank you, I love you, I live for you.
When you finally break away, he leans his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he breathes. At your confused expression he goes on. “For noticing this little guy like you noticed me and for not giving up on him.” 
Laying your head on his broad shoulder, you kiss his neck, nuzzling his skin and breathing in deeply. You both sit in content silence for a moment, the bunny between you, before the oven beeps loudly, startling you both.  
“Dinner’s ready,” Bucky laughs.  
“I noticed.” He pulls you in for another kiss. 
Bucky’s hands find your thighs, rubbing rhythmic circles into them. “What do you want to do after dinner?”  
You pretend to think for a second and then give him a coy smile. “I seem to recall being promised a warm bath and massages...” 
“Anything for you.” 
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Banner by the lovely @maysdigitalarts 💕
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love-toxin · 5 months
Text
bonus night - mike schmidt
plot: jk it's just por-//SHOT
(cws: fem!reader, FNAF movie spoilers!!!, rough sex, riding, begging, a teeny tiny taste of dom mike, tit sucking, bruising, protected sex w/ a twist, post-fnaf canon, established relationship)
wc: 2k
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There's absolutely no question that it's been a long fucking day. One of many, in fact, both behind him and yet to come.
Aside from his sleep schedule still being tremendously fucked from that five night ordeal, Mike's also had the stress of landing a new job and keeping it this time. He's lucky–god, he's lucky that an old friend of his just happened to have a connection–but that just puts more pressure on his ability to keep a level head and not lose this one. Plus, with his meds cut out as well as a whole host of new traumas to keep him up at night it's almost more stressful than fighting for his own life. With today being the end of orientation and the first real shift on the job, it's finally sinking in that a new chapter of life has started but his problems are still an uphill battle.
Bills, backpay, rent, Abby's therapy, pacifying their aunt who was quite aghast at waking up disheveled on their living room floor…it's been a process to say the least. His one saving grace has been you. You. His beautiful, gentle angel, with a voice like sugar and honey and skin as soft as velvet, warm like a shallow pool on a summer's day that he'd want to float in for hours. You're so precious he can't think of a single thing he's done in life that tops being your lover, or even comes close.
Well…maybe there's one thing.
“Mike,” The squeaking of the bed beneath you just barely drowns out the high, sweet whimper that your voice has melted into. “Please baby, slow down-”
A squeaky “ah!” flies from your mouth regardless of that insistent plea, your lover's hips like stone pistons as he bucks up and topples you over to land back against his chest. He loves you there; the feeling of your tits squished against his chest as he holds your ass in an iron grip. Thumbs dig into each cheek, palms splayed out to keep you spread but still in your place–stretched enough to take him but tight enough not to let him slip out. Not even now, an hour after he carried you through the door over his shoulder, when his spit and cum and sweat have coalesced into a damp sheen spilling over his lap. Fuck the mess. He'll clean it up later, if he doesn't just throw his whole bundle of sheets into the wash to scrub away the evidence.
Each thump, thump, thump of your body thrown down rings more in your ears than his, but both of you feel it equally. Your womb kissed with hard, stinging passion on every thrust, and Mike's stomach twisting and flexing as his cockhead beats that spot raw, instincts begging him to drain all he has left inside. He's got lots of pent-up energy to spare, and on the one night that his sister's gone to a sleepover you can bet he took the chance to let some of it out. He'd barely had time to grab a condom–as eager as he was, it pales in comparison to the heat between your thighs when you see him get all riled up. If he'd let you put it on for him, you'd probably have it off in a second. Now he's just at the mercy of your needy and downright addictive pussy.
“Fuck!” Your mewls shift into a spitting, hissing curse when he bites down on one of those beautiful breasts of yours. Unlike what a weaker man would do, Mike isn't averse to leaving bruises–what else could be expected? He tries to be a gentleman in public and you always tell him he is, but the desire to put hands all over those pretty tits and mark his claim on them is second nature now. And no matter how much you'll complain about them being sore afterwards, you'll still push them in his face with that devilish look that's daring him to do it all over again.
Besides, he can't resist those things swinging right in front of him. And you'll forget the sting so quickly, his tongue will make short work of those shallow wounds you feel as he latches his lips and starts to suck. Greedily.
“Mike!”
Your hands in his hair won't stop him. But they don't really want to–as always you love to tug but you never push him back, you don't try to get any more space between you because what's already there is still not close enough.
God your whiny voice is so cute. He couldn't feel more lucky to have picked you up when he did. How would he know that the girl he helped out once for an ice cream would end up being his girlfriend? He just thought you were cute, and he felt bad seeing your face fall as you counted out your change in line, so he hadn't thought twice about the dollar he put down on the counter in your stead. Such an adorable little ditz, and now he's got you riding his lap and kissing him awake nearly every morning. If he wanted to catch a break, this is it.
“M-Mike, m'gonna cum,” Your whimpers dig into his ear and tug at the strings of his heart, his head already turned to soothe you with a low, soft shush brushed by your cheek. There there. With a stroke of your hair, you're melting again.
“Mhm,” He hums again, his warmth a lull following the furious heat that's been sparked by the friction of his hips pumping at a violent pace. “Shh, sh sh. We’ll go slow, I promise.” His murmuring muddies your head, his fingers descending quickly towards their destination. Once they reach it at the crest of your soft, pudgy mound that's been brutalized by his cock, he's glad to see you finally let that tension go as you slump forward into his chest. You just need to cling to him for awhile, and he certainly won't be complaining.
The smell of your sweat, your heat, your sleek, soft tongue wetting the bruises your teeth leave in his throat, all that whining and groaning and high, girlish squealing as your hips hump his lap–these and more are all reasons he has to absolutely worship you. Your starry-eyed gaze as you look upon him in ecstasy etches itself into his very soul. He won't ever forget this…he won't ever forget you. Not the warmth of you both being cheek-to-cheek, your hand coaxing out his end as it trails reverently from his jaw down his heaving chest.
“Pleeeeease,” You whisper, so achingly sweet he could cry as easily as cum. “Please, baby?”
Please. Such a pretty word. Prettier from your mouth most of all, so pretty it hurts–nearly stings as he digs his nails in and leaves marks on each cheek, though it will moreso for you when you wince at sitting down at your desk tomorrow morning. You're shaking, trembling more like, and even if he made you wait for it you wouldn't be able to obey. The spasms wracking through you can't be controlled, nor can the grind of your hips down as you let those strong hands drag you all the way to the base. So far that it causes a twinge in your expression as the orgasm passes, your ecstasy blotting out the stretch that you're gonna feel all the way up to your hips in the morning.
But he's got to get in deep, has to make it ache, so he's got a grip so firm it's trembling up his arms and you're shaking even harder on top of him as he digs in and lets loose. There's no question he's hit your womb, it's more curious to whether he's broken through it or not…by the way you bite down on his shoulder and bear the pressure, though, he must be nearly there. Nearly squeezing through that tight, tight wall so he's draining his seed right where it's meant to be. And you paw at him all the while, lower lip quivering, tears threatening to spill, yet you won't let up on rubbing yourself back on his thighs–it just isn't enough until you've taken all he has to give, and even then he can spot that gleam in your eyes that begs for even more. The fact that the condom's split isn't even in his mind, it's floated so far away he won't think of it until it's too late to stop.
Yet all that heat hits the same end after the climax. The friction subsides, the breathing slows, and the two of you are left in content silence as you quietly come back to your senses. There's something even more intimate about losing oneself as a collective; being so hedonistic in pursuing an indulgence, yet facing the fear of baring your own heart to one you love in the process, and reaching an even more satisfying end as it all comes to a close. It's glorious. He wouldn't trade it for anything. He wouldn't trade sex for his own life now that he's had it with you. But, again, he's still coming down from the high–he’ll most certainly feel the embarrassment of losing himself so indulgently as the cool air from the AC starts setting in.
“Was that good, baby?” Your tone just drips with deliciously sinful innocence, god. You've got such a proud expression on your face as he finds the words through his post-coital haze, hands inching back down your ass to grab handfuls of it yet again. Once he's got a grip he tugs, and draws you closer to meet you in a kiss–and as wet as it still is from the exercise, the way you lean into it and giggle is just enough to send his heart burning into passionate flames yet again.
“Very. Always is.” Panting, sweaty, he'd have no trouble convincing the neighbors he was just having it out on a treadmill for the last hour. If he could afford one.
“The best you've ever had?”
“Best. Best and only. Can I get up now?”
“Mmm…” You make a show of thinking up your answer only to tap him on the nose as you lean forward over him. “...No. I like this.”
Mike claps you on the ass suddenly, the smack echoing loudly in his modest little bedroom and eliciting a squeal from you that's just as punctual. Your squirming only draws a heat up inside him again though, and he knows better than anyone that that's exactly what you want. You'd be happy if he never got out of bed again, and if he spent all day with his cock nestled nice and warm inside you.
“Up. I gotta piss. Don't make me count.”
“Fiiiiiiine.” Huffy and puffy as always, you soon relent and slip off with a bit of manoeuvring to flop into bed beside him. “Can I at least hold it?” Rather than say something equally as shameful, he just pushes his pillow over your face with reddened cheeks and ducks with laughter as you launch it back at him, already up and on his way to the bathroom to wash off–and to soon find the evidence of that broken contraception that's definitely gonna plant a seed of worry in him when he realizes. Or…maybe not. God knows how many jokes you've made about wasting his cumshots in your mouth, and how often you've jumped him with no inkling of whether he's got a rubber in reach or not.
Maybe this is just another chapter of life, one more stage he's been readying himself for unconsciously. Whatever it comes with, he's gonna be beside you either way–so in a sense, he's more prepared than he's ever been to face what lies ahead.
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Whatever it Takes
(also on ao3 here)
Vex leaves once the spell is cast. She takes the long way back to the castle, needing the air, the quiet.
"We did this," she'd said, and had taken in the looks of accusation that surrounded her. We did this. Flashes of grey skies, bodies in the wind, the creaking of ropes.
Thirty years, and still, the past will not leave. Pain-filled memories, so tangible, and Delilah's thread running through so many of them. She steadies herself against the cool brick of a wall. We have to help, she'd said— but what if Pike can't separate the souls? How can she live with herself if she brings Delilah back into this world, back to this city, amongst her children? 
She finds Percy in the living room, fire roaring in the grate. He’s crosslegged on the floor, his cane propped against the wall, glasses discarded on the side table. Gwen is nestled in his lap. Her head is tucked beneath his chin, book open in front of her. Vex stands at the door for a long moment, taking in the tremble of his hand where it rests on their daughter’s shoulder, the clench of his jaw, the unmasked fear in his gaze. She clears her throat, watches him tamp down the automatic startle. Gwen jumps up, running to her and hugging her leg, her tail swishing and one hand still keeping her place in her book.
“Mummy, you were gone for hours! Look, Daddy found me an engineering book!” Vex runs a hand through Gwen’s hair, ruffling it, swallowing hard against the ache in her chest.
“That’s lovely, dear. Can you take that to your room and get ready for supper?”
Gwen pulls back, scanning her face in that too-perceptive way she has. “Is everything alright?”
Vex pulls her close once more, holding tight for a moment too long. “Of course, everything is just fine. Run along now, okay?”
Once they’re alone, heavy door shut firmly against little ears, Vex lowers herself to the ground next to her husband. His hands are shaking, clasped together, nails digging into his palms. She takes them gently, prying them apart. “Your knees are not going to thank you for spending this much time on the ground.”
He doesn’t look at her. “I thought this was over. I thought we’d finished this.” 
“Pike won’t let her come back. She won’t. And I had to do something, Percy, I couldn’t just stand there, not when— not when she died because of me.”
“Not your fault,” he tells her, an automatic reassurance grown from years of guilt and self-blame. Then, sharper, “I won’t let her take my family. Not again. We promised. We promised that we would raise them in a world better than the one we had. You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that promise.”
She takes his face in her hands, runs her thumbs over the crow’s feet that have deepened with the years, the coarse scruff of his beard, waits until his eyes come to rest on hers. “There’s nothing we wouldn’t do. I’m right here. I’m beside you, no matter what.”
He closes his eyes, rests his forehead against hers briefly before dropping his head to her shoulder. It’s not often Percy cries, and he’s almost silent now; the only signs in the trembling gasps of his breath and the dampening of her dress under his head. Vex pushes her own fear down in favour of holding him up, cradling him to her and running her fingers through his hair, repetitive, grounding. She stares into the dying fire, slowing her own breathing until she feels him copying, steadying himself, eventually pulling back. He runs a hand over his eyes. “Sorry,” he tells her, voice rough.
“Don’t. It’s a lot, and I’m scared too, and just— don’t apologise, please.” 
There will be more talking later, more fears that are easier shared in the dark, in the sanctity of their bed. For now she watches him build his walls back up, smoothing out the creases in his coat and settling his glasses back on his nose. He winces as he stands, and she hands him his cane. “Are you going to see Cassandra?”
He sighs, weariness evident. “Yes, she should be informed. I’ll be back for supper, though.”
“We won’t start without you.”
He takes her by the waist, kissing her quick and tender in parting. He turns back with one hand on the doorknob. “I’m not angry, you know. That you’re trying to help them. None of us would be here if we hadn’t had that kind of help. But if this— whatever Pike’s doing— if it fails or goes wrong, I will do anything necessary to put that right. You need to know that.”
Vex looks around the room, at the family portraits on the walls, the artworks and trophies and books that line each surface like a map of memories of the years spent building this life. She looks up, chin high, sees her fierce love for her family mirrored in Percy, and nods. “Of course, darling. Whatever it takes.”
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causeilikelix · 3 months
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always thinking abt thigh riding with (dom)felix 😭 like his deep ass voice saying degrading and teasing things omg 🧎‍♀️
UGHH yes please I need. He's got such great thighs dlsfkjsdljk
Like it would probably start off innocently enough. He's a sweetheart, as we all know, but that's definitely NOT what he's like when he gets horny.
SMUT under the cut. Minors DNI!
WARNINGS: Hard!Dom Felix (I think?), afab reader, thigh riding, one ass slap, name calling (slut, princess, baby, things of that nature), dacryphilia (?), orgasm denial (?), teeny bit over overstimulation, actions take place in a public place but no one gets caught
Like, maybe you came to visit him at the studio one night because he's practicing late. He's got a concert coming up and he has to practice his solo stage! But he works so hard.
You'd bring him coffee and a snack and you'd just stare at him while he ate. He's all sweaty and his hair is sticking to his face and it's just... so hot (I'm a Black Hair Felix supremacist so that's what I'm imaging lol)
Before you know it, you're crawling over to him and capturing his lips in a kiss. You don't even care that he tastes like coffee and sweat. He grunts into the kiss but kisses you back before you know it.
"Missed me much?" Felix chuckles
"So much." you press warm kisses down his neck.
"Why don't you show me then?" Felix's deep, tired voice made you throb.
You crawl into his lap and he spreads his legs to accommodate you. Your knees on either side of his slim waist, his hands on your ass, the heavy breathing while you make out. It's not long before you're grinding down on his clothed cock.
He shouldn't be so surprised that you want him, he's basically wearing lingerie. Gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. Fuck, you want to stain them so that he's reminded of you every time he looks at them for the rest of the night.
"Get on my thigh, princess," Felix commands as if he can hear your thoughts. You follow his wishes and straddle one of his thighs. He pushes your skirt up and tsks at you. "You didn't come here just to bring me food, did you? What kind of slut wears this sorry excuse for underwear to the studio?"
Felix tugs at the flimsy thong that does almost nothing to cover you. you moan when the elastic snaps against your skin.
"Ride my thigh, princess. Prove that your slutty hole deserves my cock." Felix grips your hips and shoves your core onto his thigh.
You start moving instantly. The fabric of his sweatpants creates a warm friction that shoots up into your core. You moan as you work your core along his thigh. He grips your hips tightly and leans his head back to watch you lose yourself.
"Fuck, baby, this must have been what you wanted the whole time. Can't go a single night without thinking about my cock in you?" Felix chides. You shake your head, barely able to form a coherent thought. Pleasure sparks through your body with every grind. Your core clenches around nothing.
You whine and work yourself harder against him.
"There's absolutely nothing in your little brain right now except wanting to cum. You must want my cock that badly, huh?" Felix muses. His eyes are dark and hooded as he watches you shake above him.
"Want your cock!" you cry, burying your face in his neck as you get closer and closer to your high.
"Make yourself cum on my thigh first, princess, then maybe I'll consider giving your slutty hole what it wants, yeah? Gotta make sure my cocksleeve is wet enough to take me." Felix rasps in your ear. He palms himself through his sweats in order to get a little more worked up.
"W-wet enough! Want your cock now!" You beg wetly against his ear, pressing kisses on his favorite spot to try and entice him.
"You sure are soaking through my sweatpants, babe," Felix chuckles darkly, "Maybe I should make you stop. Keep you empty and desperate while I practice a little more."
"No!" Tears pricked at your eyes at the thought of stopping. You worked yourself harder against him to urge your high to come quicker. "Please! Need you, baby, need to cum for you."
"Need me? Desperate slut." Felix landed a stinging slap to your ass. He rubbed his palm over the red mark soothingly. "Should I make you stop? Dance a little more and watch you touch yourself? Do you think you could cum without me?"
"No! No I can't cum without you." You sobbed into his neck. He gripped your hips to work you against him harder. "Wanna come for you, just you! Want you to fill my holes all the time."
"That's right, princess, you can only cum with my help. Your little brain is just waiting for me to tell you to cum, that's why you can't now." Felix chides.
It's true. You can taste your orgasm in the back of your throat. Your stomach senses it approaching. Your thighs shudder with anticipation. But you can't fall over the edge. There's something holding you back.
"Please, please can I cum!"
"Fine. Cum on my thigh, princess, make a mess."
That's all it takes. Your thighs clamp around his and you let out a keening moan. Felix forces you to keep grinding on his thigh despite the bite of overstimulation. Your high washes over your body, making you shake in Felix's hold.
After a few minutes, your high wanes and you slump against his chest. Your breath heaves as you try to get some much needed oxygen from your pussy to your brain. Felix gently rubs your back and pulls your skirt back down to offer you some decency. He presses soft kisses on your cheek and neck wherever he can reach.
"Feel better?"
"Still want your cock," you mumble into his neck.
"Yeah? Then ride me, baby."
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girlellie · 8 months
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I won't let you go - pt 4
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Pairing: Ellie × Reader x Dina.
Warnings: SMUT, kissing, jealousy, angst, love triangle.
Synopsis: When Ellie realized she was losing you, she does everything to win you back, but is it too late?
A/N: English is not my first language sorry if there are any mistakes.
* Hey guys, this chapter isn't pretty, or nice, or happy, but it's part of the fic, it wasn't easy for me to write it either, but that's it, I hope you like it 🩶
🖤 @gold-dustwomxn @tellieou @mikasasbabygirl @uraesthete @euphoricghost @3lliesrifle @unstablefemme @sarasthots @yourshvn @rolly-pollie
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
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Ellie was right there in front of you with all the anger in the world in her eyes and yet she managed to look cold and that's exactly what scared you, because you've seen this before and it didn't end well. You didn't know what to say or how to react, her right there in front of you was something you were never expecting, you thought it was easier for the world to go back to the way it was than for Ellie to come to you, or show that she cared in some way, even if it was through anger, like at the moment.
“You were with her, weren't you?”, Ellie asked barely moving her lips, you were wondering how she knew, would Jesse have told? Or it could have been anyone else, Jackson was a small town and news spread so fast, that was something you forgot about and you kind of weren't being very careful about hiding it from people, everyone saw you with Dina, everyone knew. You were anxious, terrified and your body was shaking, but the time had come. Time to face reality and break up with Ellie - or maybe you two would get along and everything could go back to the way it was before, a part of you wanted that, but what about Dina? You didn't want to hurt her, but what scared you the most was that the other part of you wanted Dina.
You took a deep breath and released it slowly, Ellie was still waiting for your answer, “ok… yes I was with Dina”, you finally spoke. She shook her head in non-conformity and curved her lips, “wow…”, “Ellie…”, you tried to speak, but you were interrupted by Ellie, this time she raised her voice, speaking with harshness
“Did you think I didn't notice that day before patrol? How did you get embarrassed and the way that motherfucker flirted with you? And later that same fucking day Maria came to my house looking for you because for some reason you weren't here? did you think I wouldn't realize there was some shit going on? and then you didn't show up for days… did you really think I wouldn't find out? everyone's commenting Y/n and fuck it took that fucker Joshua patrolling with me for me to know, goddamn man…”
Ellie put her hand over her mouth and shook her head. Of course… Joshua, damn Joshua. You also had a lot of things to say to her, about how distant and cold she was, about how she treated you badly, how she reduced you to nothing and killed you inside. You knew it was wrong to have gotten involved, even if not physically - almost - but emotionally with another girl while you were still Ellie's girlfriend. But she was to blame for that, you couldn't blame yourself entirely and she knew it too. Of course Ellie wouldn't admit her share of the blame so easily, she was too stubborn for that.
You knew what you wanted to say, but you didn't know how to start, it was like the words couldn't come out of your mouth. Ellie was putting all the blame on you, she made it seem like you hadn't fought for her when she was the one who gave up without a fight, when she was the one ignoring your presence and your attempts to save you both and it pissed you off
“don't make it seem like i didn't fight for you, i did everything for you and i never got recognized, you ignored me all the time, you wouldn't talk to me or touch me, i felt alone when i was with you, i valued you more than myself and you didn't even care if i was with you or not… i'm done, ok? I couldn't take it anymore, nothing I did was enough. It was you who put an end to me first, it was you who gave up…”
“And so you started seeing another girl instead of coming up to me and having the decency to break up with me?” Ellie said raising her arms.
“I wouldn't have even met anyone else in the first place if you hadn't practically kicked me out of your house and treated me with such indifference for months,” you snapped.
“Why didn't you talk to me?”, Ellie asked staring at you with those angry eyes, “would you listen?”, you asked immediately. You shook your head and laughed in disbelief, "I tried so hard and I see you didn't even realize it, I know I'm not entirely right with that story, but don't tell me I didn't try with you, I let you treat me like crap just because I loved you..."
“Oh no, don't give me that love thing, not when you're seeing another girl”, Ellie interrupted you, she didn't seem to hear you, she didn't even show regret for her mistakes with you.
“What the fuck did you want me to do, you wanted me to grovel for you while you were just indifferent to my feelings and offered me crumbs of your attention? How long did you think I would last? this is my life Ellie and I wasn't going to let you end it, I can't stop living for myself anymore to live running after your love forever, if you don't love me anymore you could have told me that much earlier, I guarantee you that I would have suffered a lot less.”
Ellie lowered her head and bit the inside of her cheek, she didn't say anything and you took the opportunity to say, “when did you stop loving me? tell me I won't cry”, you already said with a trembling voice to cry, but you wouldn't cry, at least not in front of her. Ellie remained the same, she didn't look at you anymore and she didn't answer either… but you knew… silence was an answer. Maybe she didn't remember when or how she stopped loving you, love goes away little by little and when you see it, it's gone completely.
Okay… it's okay, it's okay”, you said quietly to yourself as you quickly wiped away the tears that escaped your eyes.
After a few minutes, Ellie finally lifted her head to look at you, "are you two fucking?", her voice was husky and firm and she was looking at you with the same fury mixed with coldness as before. You couldn't believe she was asking that question, you weren't blaming her for thinking that, but she really didn't care about anything you said, she didn't see that she was wrong either. Ellie was simply ignoring everything you said to her so you came off as the one in the wrong.
“What the fuck did you just say?” you asked indignantly. “Answer my fucking question Y/n, is she fucking you?”, Ellie raised her voice sounding more aggressive. “We're not fucking, Dina and I don't have anything, she's like a friend, I told her…”, Ellie cut you off with a sarcastic laugh, she put her hands on her hips and said raising her head to look up, “Fuck you've got to be kidding me - she looked back at you - do you really think I'm going to believe in this fucking friendship? only your friend? my ass… I never thought you could be a stupid liar”.
You frowned, did Ellie just call you dumb? Yeah, maybe you were really stupid not to let Ellie go when she just reduced you to nothing. “Fuck you,” was all you managed to say. Ellie gave you an angrier look, if that were possible. She walked towards you and grabbed your arm, squeezing it and pinning you against the wall.
“Ellie… you're hurting me”, you said trying to get free, pushing her. But she was stronger, much stronger than you. Then she pushed you back against the wall and was still squeezing your arm. "I don't believe a damn word that comes out of your mouth cheater." You shook your head, your eyes were teary and you didn't want to cry, you weren't going to cry. "I didn't cheat on you, I don't care if you believe it or not and yes I went out with Dina all these days, yes I kind of flirted with her a few times and yes I was with her earlier today but we're not having sex and we don't even kiss, I don't cheat on you Ellie, I didn't do that to you I never would."
Ellie let go of your arm and raised her hand, resting it on the wall just above your head. You weren't looking at her, you were looking down as you fought your teary eyes. Ellie's free hand came up to grab your face and force you to look at her, this time she didn't use force to avoid hurting you. It's been so long since you've been this close to each other, breaths mingling and tickling both of your skins. You looked into her eyes, the beautiful green eyes you loved so much and you registered every freckle on her face again - as if you knew it would be the last time - and for a moment she was your Ellie again.
She did the same with you, it was like she was registering every detail of your face, then she said, "are you in love with her?". That question got you, you didn't expect it. Were you in love with Dina? You didn't know for sure, you were feeling a lot of things about Ellie and also about Dina and it was confusing your mind. You couldn't say you were in love with Dina, and you couldn't deny it either. So you just let the silence speak for you, just like it did when you asked her if she still loved you.
Ellie let go of your face and lowered her head, “Fuck,” she whispered. “I'm sorry, Ellie…”, you couldn't hold back the tears anymore and started to cry, Ellie wasn't crying, but it was like she couldn't face you anymore. “I'm sorry, I'm really sorry… I'm so sorry I didn't talk to you sooner, I tried, I…”
You couldn't speak anymore, it was like your strength was gone and it was hard to stay on your feet. You knew the end had come true, that you and Ellie had come to an end right then and there and your world came crashing down. Ellie was your world and now you would be helpless, things were always easier in theory. You knew you two had reached a point where there was no solution and you could only apologize and try to move on with your life, just like her. But Ellie hasn't apologized to you for all the indifference and pain she's caused you for months. And you wouldn't expect her to, she was Ellie, the tough, stubborn, proud girl.
You held her face with both hands, but she refused to look at you, but you still didn't let go. "Ellie, just don't say I gave up without a fight because I tried, everyday... I did everything for you, I loved you so much, and my love never waned even though I was hurt so bad... I really tried, I did my best."
She didn't say anything, didn't even look at you for a second. She took your hands away from her face and nodded, "goodbye Y/n, take care of yourself."
Ellie left your house quickly and quietly, without making a sound or slamming the door.
“Ellie!?”, she was so fast, you didn't even have time to process it, when you realized she wasn't there anymore.
————— 🌹 —————
Ellie was still standing in your doorway when you called her name, even though you said it in a low tone, she could hear it. She always loved the sound of her name coming out of your mouth. She wanted to go back inside, run to you and hold you with all the strength in the world so you wouldn't go. But she didn't, she was angry too, so she just ignored you once more and went on her way to her garage.
Ellie didn't cry once, didn't even shed a tear as she walked home, she was holding back. But when she opened her garage door and walked inside, she felt the world come crashing down on her head. She cried, yes Ellie was crying a lot and madly. She ran a hand over her face and shook her head in disbelief, she couldn't…she couldn't believe she'd lost you. It was her fault, she knew that. She didn't admit it, but it was hard to hide it from herself. It was all her fault. Ellie couldn't deal with it, she never knew how to deal with the end of anything.
She needed to get out all the anger, anguish and remorse she was feeling at the moment. Then she kicked the table hard, tipping it over and dropping books, a mug, and her pistol. Then she kicked the shelf knocking and breaking everything on it, but Ellie didn't care.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” she kept repeating to herself over and over as she looked at the pictures and paintings she had of you scattered everywhere. She sat on her bed and continued to cry, her eyes already burning. Why did she wait to lose you to see how much she loves you? You were hers, the love of her life, the most important person she had and she let you go, she hurt you… she made you think she didn't love you anymore, but she still loved you, she loved you so much. Ellie had a hard time dealing with the loss of Joel and forgot that she still had you, that she needed you more than anything in the world.
Now you were in love with another girl and it was her fault. She believed you didn't cheat on her, but what's the point? She had screwed up. But if you had even gone to break up with her before she found out about Dina, she would have acted differently, she never would have let you go. But now it was too late and 'too late' was the most painful part of the story, because there was nothing to be done. You were in love with another girl...
In love… in love with another girl, the love of her life was in love with another girl and it was her fault. She broke your heart, you thought she stopped loving you and it was her fault. You were with another girl and it was her fault...
Ellie couldn't stop thinking about it, she was going crazy… the crying turned into an anxiety attack and she felt short of breath, her heart was beating so fast. Ellie couldn't find air, she tried, but it was getting harder and harder.
She managed to catch her breath slowly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Fuck… what the fuck shit,” she cursed once more. Ellie threw herself back and banged her head on the mattress. She hid her face with her hands and stayed like that for a while, while she cursed and cried desperately.
————— 🌹 —————
As soon as Ellie left your house, you lay down on the couch and you lay there for hours, crying and crying, sobbing and out of breath. You had two anxiety attacks in a row and you needed your brother, or Jesse... but where were they?
Ellie didn't love you anymore and she didn't even have the decency to apologize to you. It was as if the whole fault was entirely yours. The worst was knowing that you would miss her every day of your life and you had nothing else to do now.
Were you in love with Dina? You couldn't tell, you were very attracted to her, but in love? Maybe it was too soon for that... but Ellie thought you were and she clearly didn't care because she doesn't love you anymore... and those thoughts were sending you into a third anxiety attack.
You heard three knocks on your door, was it Ellie saying she was sorry and that she still loved you? Of course not… you were being ridiculous.
You remained as you were ignoring the person knocking on the door. After two more knocks, you remembered that Dina had said that she would come over to your house so you could watch a movie. “Oh fuck”, you got up quickly, wiping your tears. You straightened your miniskirt that had gone up when you lay down and opened the door.
Dina was standing there with that beaming smile on her face - which she quickly undid as soon as she saw your sad face and puffy eyes - she immediately understood what had happened. You started crying again as you looked at her. She held you in her arms hugging you as you sobbed, you wrapped your arms around her shedding even more tears.
Maybe the most intimate thing between two human beings than having sex is crying for each other, just like you and Ellie at this very moment, in different places...
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thank you guys, i'm really happy that you're enjoying my fic 🥹🫶🏻
are you team Ellie or Dina? say it 👇🏻
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thru-the-grapevine · 9 months
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Something New (m)
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Pairing: Cho Seungyoun x fem!reader
Summary: Sometimes your boyfriend asking you blunt questions pays off for you in the end.
Word Count: 3.3k
Tags/Warnings: mature content (minors dni), pwfwp (porn with feelings without plot), oral sex (fem. receiving), established relationship, they are simps for each other, inexperienced!reader
Author’s Note: if you’ve been around on this blog at all, you’ll know this isn’t the typical sort of thing I post. I have no excuse other than the man makes me absolutely insane and I decided to be self-indulgent. Please read at your own risk.
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“Have you ever thought about letting me eat you out?”
You cough, nearly choking on your own tongue, and drop your phone against your boyfriend’s chest.
You lift your head from Seungyoun’s shoulder and look at him, incredulous. “What?”
Seungyoun glances at you, shooting you a brief little smile before continuing to scroll his phone.
“Letting me go down on you,” he clarifies, confirming you had somehow, in fact, heard him right after all.
You blink several times, brain mysteriously empty.
“I…uh,” you finally stammer.
You’ve been with Seungyoun long enough to know that he likes to be blunt and face things head-on, no beating around the bush. It does catch you by surprise, though, anytime it’s about something intimate.
The plain look on his face is indication enough that this question is par for the course with him. “Didn’t know if it was on the list of stuff you were interested in trying.”
He’s known since before you started seeing each other that you’re inexperienced, never having any real interest in sex until you met him. He’s taken this very well, been exceedingly patient and a perfect sweetheart with you. He always cheerfully answers your shy questions in a way that doesn’t embarrass you for being curious, and loves going along with your hesitant experimentation whenever you like.
You haven’t experimented far beyond heavy makeout sessions, beyond dry humping and hands under shirts, but where your timidity has stopped you in real life, your imagination has run rampant. So in all honesty, you have thought about Seungyoun eating you out. You’ve had no courage whatsoever to say anything about it, but the thought of his mouth on you has come to mind more and more often lately. Little daydreams of your hands in his hair, your thighs clamped around his head, of an unfamiliar pleasure that might possibly be better than your own fingers or shower head.
The way he’s smiling at you makes you pretty sure he knows what you’ve been thinking from your facial expressions.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumble, halfheartedly thumping your hand against his chest.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Seungyoun laughs. “I’m the one who asked.”
“Why did you?” You ask, watching him closely.
He shrugs a shoulder, turning his smile back to his phone. “Because I’ve been thinking about it.”
Oh. Something funny quivers in your stomach, heat like lava pooling low. He’s been thinking about it, too. Been thinking about spreading your legs and lowering his head to—
“You—I…” You try to start a thought several times, then realize you have none.
His smile only widens. He keeps scrolling his phone, looking cool as a cucumber, which isn’t fair.
“You have?” You finally finish weakly.
He looks up from his phone to meet your gaze.
“I have,” he says.
Your brain doesn’t know what to do with this information. “You….but….”
He tilts his head slightly. “But?”
“Why—” You cut off, squirming a little. “I…why would you be thinking about it?”
“Because I want to do it?” He sounds amused and puzzled.
“I—but, like. Why would…?” You ask, looking anywhere but at him.
“Ah,” he murmurs, realization in his voice. When you look back up at him, his eyes are sparkling, gaze too fond for what comes out of his mouth.
“You make the cutest little noises when you're getting yourself off in my lap. I need to be the reason you make them, on purpose this time.”
A bolt of pure lust hits you right in the stomach, air stalling in your lungs. You shiver, toes curling.
“Ah,” you croak.
The corners of his eyes are crinkling. You look away from him, trying to remember to breathe evenly. “And that’s….good, for you?”
He snorts. “Oh, yes. A lot. Very much.”
“…I see,” you say.
He grins, his gaze landing on your mouth. “Hm? You like that?”
You swallow hard, trying to ignore the liquid heat simmering low in your belly. “A…a little.”
His gaze only makes you hotter. “Yeah? A little?”
“Okay, maybe a lot,” you say, voice raspier than usual.
“Hm.” He studies your face for a long moment, smile rather pleased. Then he winks at you and goes back to his phone. “Good.”
You blink at him in disbelief for a long moment.
“That’s…that’s all?” You ask.
He glances at you. “All?”
“I—you were just…” you flounder for a moment. “Just…asking?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah. Just asking. Good to know.”
“…Oh,” you say.
He glances at you, eyebrows raising in curiosity at your tone. Then he smiles, looking so mischievous that your face burns.
“Did you want it to be something else?” He asks, and his voice is low and silky, brushing smooth like a caress.
Well, you had. Being found out makes you ten shades of embarrassed. You suppose you weren’t exactly subtle, though.
“You are the worst,” you grumble.
Seungyoun grins, plucking your phone from your hand and setting it aside with his and gathering you close to him, until you’re curled up nose-to-nose.
“I am,” he murmurs, gleeful. He looks down at your mouth. “So you’re interested in trying it?”
You swallow hard, settling your hands on his chest. “I…I mean, yes, but…”
The little trails of warmth his fingertips are drawing along the side of your neck are distracting, as is the molten warmth of his eyes.
“But?” He prompts, patient and soft.
Your voice won’t rise above a whisper. “But maybe we, uh….work our way up to it, like. It’s just…”
The thought of diving right in immediately, no matter how interested you are in it, sets little panic bells off in your head.
“…Scary, if we just…go for it,” you breathe, face burning.
His smirk softens into a sweet smile. He nuzzles his nose against yours reassuringly.
“‘Course, love. Defeats the purpose if you’re scared,” he says, and you know by his tone he really means it.
You let out a soft little sigh, more relieved than you realized. He’s always so good about taking things at your pace; it’s wonderful.
Seungyoun gazes at your mouth, lifting a hand and running his thumb along your lower lip. “What if I showed you here what it would be like first? And we can stop there if you want.”
Oh. You glance down at his lips as he talks, mind racing. He wants to give your mouth head. That’s…hmmm. If it was possible to be any more turned on, you would be. You swallow thickly, curling your fingers into his shirt.
“Okay,” you whisper.
He looks back up into your eyes, as though gauging your confirmation. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh,” you say, nodding a little.
He studies you for another second, then nods once, gazing back down at your mouth. “Is now a good time?”
“Well, let me check my schedule,” you deadpan, and he laughs.
The smile lingers on his lips as he leans in even closer, thumb teasing your lower lip until your mouth parts slightly.
Your hands grip tighter in his shirt when he brushes his mouth over yours, feather-light. A faint kiss at the corner of your mouth, the soft graze of his lips to the other corner, another light kiss. Careful, gentle kisses pecked across your mouth, then the fleeting drag of his tongue on your lower lip.
You gasp against his mouth at the feeling, and he leans in closer, kissing you properly. Each kiss is a long, slow draw, the pressure of his mouth firmer and firmer.
A little noise escapes the back of your throat when his tongue delves carefully into your mouth and back out. He hums, quiet and appreciative. His hands glide from your jaw into your hair as he kisses you, cupping the base of your skull, the nape of your neck, keeping you in place.
He tilts his head slightly and latches his mouth over your upper lip. A shiver wracks through you as his tongue draws along it, tracing your Cupid’s bow with the tip of his tongue before flicking over it gently, back and forth, then in tight circles. Your whole body flushes with blistering heat at the implication, a whimper lodging in your throat. You try to muffle the noise by closing your mouth over his lower lip, pulling on it with awkward suction.
A low groan resonates in his chest. He seals his mouth over yours again, licking hungrily into you. It’s a little different than when he’s used his tongue before. More curious, exploratory. Slow, purposeful strokes of his tongue deep into your mouth, in and out.
It occurs to you in an instant what he’s simulating. Your insides liquefy into boiling honey, raw want clawing through you as you moan shakily into his mouth. You lift your hands to his head, weaving your fingers into his hair and holding on for dear life. He moans at the pressure, tongue stroking along yours deliberately slowly, making you shiver.
He continues at a leisurely pace, pausing to nip and suck playfully at one lip or the other, until you lose all track of time, your mind hazy with need. If it’s anything like this, anything at all, then you want it ten thousand times more now. When he thrusts his tongue into you again, you suck at it shyly, and something like a growl vibrates in his chest. He pulls you even closer, grinding his mouth over yours, tongue probing deeper with each thrust, drawing little moans from you.
When he finally wrenches his mouth from yours, you’re both panting. You gaze at him, chest heaving.
Seungyoun looks ravenous with want. Eyes dark, locked in on you, like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. His lips are swollen from going to work on you.
“So can I try that sometime?” He asks, hoarse.
You want him to try it now. Something. Anything. You’re aching, dazed half-stupid by the kiss and what it implied. To your mortification, only a whimper leaves your throat when you try to respond.
He seems to understand, because his hands go to your hips and yank you closer, knee nudging between yours, giving you the pressure of his leg against where you ache. You sob in relief, and he swallows the sound, crushing his mouth over yours and kissing you like he won’t get the chance again.
You kiss him back desperately, moaning into his mouth when his hand tightens on your hip and drags you hard along his thigh. After so long with nothing, the sensation is exquisite. You copy the movement without assistance, and you feel the rock-solid evidence that he’s affected too against your hip.
His tongue dragging against yours reminds you why you’re this worked up in the first place.
“Please, Seungyoun, just—” you whimper against his lips. “Your mouth, I…please—”
Seungyoun immediately rolls you onto your back, kissing an urgent path down your body, his mouth hot on you even through the fabric of your shirt.
His fingers curl in the waistband of your sweatpants, backs of his knuckles brushing against your skin. He looks up at you.
“Sure?” He asks.
You nod vigorously, panting.
A couple of rushed yanks, and your sweatpants are at your ankles. You kick them off as Seungyoun braces his hands on your knees, fingers inching towards your inner thighs. He looks at you questioningly.
“Still good?”
You squirm, impatient. “Yes, just—”
He parts your legs, guiding you to rest a knee over his shoulder. He turns his head and presses a kiss just above your knee, sending a bolt like white-hot electricity over your skin.
He trails searing kisses up your thigh while his hand coasts up the other, making your hips jolt when the tip of his thumb grazes over the seat of your underwear. You whine when he draws the pad of his thumb up and down, a firm pressure on the dampening fabric.
He looks up at you, the hot drift of his mouth on your leg intoxicating as he plays with you. He pinches some of the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, pulling lightly.
“Off?”
You groan, wriggling your hips. “I swear, stop asking and just do it, or—”
You squeak and jerk in surprise when Seungyoun bites at your inner thigh, a little flash of pleasurable pain.
“Don’t be a brat,” he murmurs against your skin.
You swallow hard, muscles suddenly weak as jelly. “…Fine. Yes, off.”
He eases your leg from his shoulder and sits up to remove your underwear. A sudden wave of nerves hits you unbidden as the fabric slips down over your knees. You’ve never been exposed like this to anyone before. Your legs snap shut of their own accord, tucking your knees closer to you as you purse your lips, feeling timid and ashamed.
Seungyoun immediately senses the shift. “Do we need to stop?”
Panic that this could be where it ends bubbles up in you. You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I-I just…”
You wet your lips. “I’m the only one taking clothes off.”
Understanding dawns in his face, and then he gives you a Look.
“Is this your way of asking to see my tattoos?”
You blink at him innocently, shaking your head. “It’s not.”
He raises an eyebrow.
You nibble your lip. “It’s…mostly not.”
He grins, grabbing the scruff of his shirt and yanking it over his head.
You’ll never understand how you attracted someone as gorgeous as him. You bite your lip harder, admiring the contours of his muscles, the contrast of ink on his skin. The barrel of the gun tattoo disappearing into his waistband sends an acute wave of lust through you. A noise embarrassingly like a purr hums in the back of your throat before you can stop it.
He dips back down and kisses low on your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. You can feel the smile he’s hiding against your skin.
“Don’t make fun of me,” you groan.
“I’m not,” he mumbles into your skin, the scrape of his teeth dragging gently at your hip. “You’re just cute.”
You grumble a little as Seungyoun slowly eases your legs back open, kissing along your thigh.
“So fucking cute,” he whispers when you shiver at the sensation.
Your mouth is dry, every nerve in your body aching for more of his touch.
“Please,” you whisper.
There’s a burning hunger in Seungyoun’s eyes when he looks at you, lips dragging softly up your leg.
“Want my mouth on you, love?”
You whine, nodding.
His eyes are dark, glittering. “Show me where.”
“You know where,” you groan, exasperation mixing with your desperation.
A little smile crooks in the corner of his mouth. “Show me anyway?”
You scowl at him, but he merely grins and shrugs, continuing to press soft kisses into your inner thigh.
Oh, help, you’re really doing this. You take a slow, shaky breath, shutting your eyes, and move your hand between your legs. Embarrassment prickles over your skin as you part yourself with a couple of fingers.
A deep groan punches out of Seungyoun’s throat, vibrating against the crook between your leg and body. “Perfect, baby.”
And then he mouths over you slowly, a hand hooking beneath your knee, keeping you spread open. Your head drops back, mouth open in a silent moan, panting hard as he presses kisses into your aching skin.
Your hand falls away as his mouth slides up, soft and hot, to the cusp of your sex. “Oh.”
A noise rumbles in his chest, and the vibrations against your clit make you squeak. Your fingers sink into his hair, clutching desperately, as the flat of his tongue catches just beneath the throbbing spot.
Oh, my. His mouth on your mouth could never have prepared you for this. Nothing could have. Your whole body feels feverish, set aflame as his tongue drags in curious, erotic patterns over you. You look down at him in time to see his eyes rolling shut as he licks over you, his hips rocking hard into the mattress. Your stomach tightens in pleasure, the sight of him enjoying this so much affecting you. That ever-more-familiar ache grows, stoked higher and higher under the melting heat of his mouth.
His mouth slides down, tongue searching wetly, and finds the entrance into your body. You gasp out as he nuzzles into you, the velvet stroke of his tongue sinking inside.
“Oh,” you sob, fingers fisting in his hair. “Oh, please, that’s so—”
You cut off with a cry as the tip of his nose nudges against the underside of your clit. So many blissful sensations, all at once, and you feel that tension building towards a height you’ve never experienced before.
Helpless to stop, your hips rock you against his mouth. He coaxes your leg over his shoulder and slides his arm over your hips, brief glimpse of the frowning and smiling face tattoos on his wrist before he pins you back down. You whimper, pitch rising higher and higher as he continues tongue-fucking you like it’s all he’s ever wanted, his hips grinding hard in tandem with the rhythm of his mouth.
He’s moaning into you like he can’t help himself, and you squeal as his mouth slides back up and covers your clit, sucking. You feel your limbs trembling, fingers tightening in his hair, hear yourself babbling as the pleasure gathers to a pinpoint.
“Please don’t stop, don’t stop, so close, please don’t stop Seungyoun, pleasepleaseplease—”
Seungyoun groans, sucks a little harder, tongue twisting perfectly, and your vision goes white. Unfathomable euphoria bursts through you as the tension breaks in hard, pulsing waves, and you let them carry you.  You feel your hips undulating in helpless shudders against his hold, hear yourself gasping breathless moans, before you collapse back into the mattress, boneless. Seungyoun’s mouth eases you from ecstasy to relaxation, hand easing from beneath your knee and rubbing your leg soothingly.
When you look down at him, he’s gazing up at you like you’re a miracle, lips swollen and glistening in you. A corner of your mouth pulls into a weary, fond smile. You stroke your fingers through his hair gently, combing out the mess you made of it.
He moves back up and gathers you to him, mouth covering yours softly. The tang of you is odd and unfamiliar to taste in his mouth, but you love how sincerely he kisses it into you.
“That,” he mumbles against your mouth, “might be the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You lean back and burst into giggles. “To you?”
He nods, looking entirely like he means it, and you snort.
“I’ve never come like that before,” he says, the admission tingeing his ears pink.
You blink, eyes blowing wide in surprise. “I—you…?”
His whole face is on fire now. He buries his face against your shoulder, whining, “you were so cute, you sounded so hot, how was I supposed to help it?”
“Oh my god.” You can’t stop smiling, shocked. Well. There go your plans to ask about returning the favor. “…Simp.”
“Hey,” he laughs, and you chuckle.
He leans back, examining you more closely. “That was okay? No crossed lines or anything?”
You shake your head quickly. “No, no, that was….well, great.”
“Nothing bothered you? Need something else next time?”
“Oh my god,” you mutter, smiling in utter disbelief. “Next time.”
He raises an eyebrow, corner of his mouth curling. “Next time can be whenever you want. For example…”
“Wha—I—Seungyoun,” you gasp, bursting into surprised laughter as he dips his head and begins kissing down your body again.
You can feel the curve of his grin through your shirt, pressed right over your heart.
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