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rush-the-stars · 5 months

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AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33

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When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle

“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly.

But then he holds the food away from you.

You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating.

You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water.

So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time.

It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving.

When you’re feeling better, you glower at him.

He is rather pleased, though.

The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it.

He laughs warmly, fondly.

“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away.

You don’t respond to him.

He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth.

You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.”

“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge.

The orange pops into your mouth.

“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit.

Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more.

“This doesn’t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands.

You swallow the piece in your mouth.

“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you.

Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.

Tears prick your eyes again.

You turn your face away from him. He sighs.

“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.”

You sniff. “I could say the same of you.”

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.”

“I don’t need—”

“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.”

Stubbornly, you remain silent.

“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears.

“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.”

You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve.

He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.”

You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.

You don’t think you’ll win this one—

Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way.

You feel silly for denying him.

Perhaps worse for agreeing.

Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?”

Suguru studies you for a moment.

He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.

You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him.

He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice.

And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are.

Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.

Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds.

When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.

With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes.

His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.

And there's a strange look in his eyes now.

Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better.

A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him.

He takes hold of you easily.

“Hurts?” He muses softly.

You nod, tense and quick.

“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter.

Instinctively, you cling to him.

You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—

“Breathe,” he says again gently.

But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.

He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay.

Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man.

Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight?

“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch.

You seek friction and he denies you.

Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again.

“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?”

“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.”

A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat.

“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest.

“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.”

And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning.

The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body.

When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers.

You glare up at him with glassy eyes.

“Open,” he says, warm and low.

Pleased.

Turned on.

Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek.

You’re slow about it, or maybe he is.

You hold his gaze furiously.

Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth.

***

The third day is perhaps the worst.

You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.

At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you.

You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.

Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down.

And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.

You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks.

You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands.

Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints.

(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.)

Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him.

When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls.

All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—

Bite.

Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.

He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.

You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—

“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?”

As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul.

“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him.

You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?”

As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it.

When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw.

“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.”

Something inside of you snaps.

Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you.

In an instant, you are back atop him.

This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer.

He actually cries out in pain.

The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist.

You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have.

Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt.

He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”

And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him.

You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again.

This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared.

He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest.

You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.

He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance.

Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him.

Not so pristine.

Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him.

“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.”

Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.”

“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.”

“Let me up,” you snap.

“Will you be good?” Suguru asks.

Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more.

So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.

Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard.

You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you.

His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.

“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.”

And for once, you don’t fight him.

You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you.

When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.

He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.”

You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now.

But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest.

“So are you.” You reply, words slurring.

You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep.

***

Suguru wakes you at some point.

It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing.

You whimper.

“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?”

“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash.

“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.”

You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this.

For a moment, you hope that he means—

“I’m going to give you a bath.”

You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy.

He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more.

You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind.

You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light.

The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.

“No,” you snap, “leave.”

He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.”

“I’m not a child,” you protest.

“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too.

You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?”

“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings.

You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard.

You ache.

This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever.

You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry.

Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain.

Suguru lifts you into the bath.

It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle.

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.

And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.

Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—

Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair.

“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little.

“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.

Babying you.

And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you.

You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours.

“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?”

A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.”

“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him.

“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh.

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.”

You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.

After a moment, you say, “I know.”

He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.”

You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss.

You pull away as quickly as you’d done it.

You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone.

And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.”

He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.”

“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?”

His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.

He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late.

The fever only worsens.

And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day.

***

Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.

Because of how Suguru finds you.

The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began.

For once, you have shocked Suguru.

Enough that his lips part.

Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant.

You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds.

“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve.

Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit.

(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?)

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed.

You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp.

What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind.

“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—”

You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—

It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.

“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him.

You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together.

“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.

You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.”

For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers.

But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously.

Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought.

“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face.

“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“

“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“

The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again.

“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.

“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—

In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.

He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you.

“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.

“Is it working?” You ask.

All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.

Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin.

“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”

Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.

Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin.

“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.”

“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.

“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.”

“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting.

You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.

Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough.

It almost feels as if it’s made it worse.

“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.”

You curse this time.

But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.”

His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.”

“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger.

He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself.

“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.”

“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”

“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly.

You bite off a groan.

Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—

“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.”

“Suguru—”

Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you.

He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—

“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?”

You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child.

“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”

His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.”

“Suguru,” you growl in frustration.

“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?”

Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so—

You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving.

“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns.

You force yourself to freeze, still panting.

And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound.

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.”

You sneer at him and he takes his hand away.

Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—

“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?” Suguru’s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you?

“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks.

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.”

“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want.

You desire.

You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast.

“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—”

It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob.

Your tears make him smile.

He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?”

You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you.

He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.

“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly.

You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl.

And then, “look at me.”

You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless.

“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I’ll always do what’s best for you.”

Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable.

You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry.

“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?”

A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching.

“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.”

Without thinking, you obey him.

You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief.

You cry out, clinging to him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.”

You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—

Embarrassing. So horrible.

You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.”

You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself.

“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.”

“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—”

“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.”

You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss.

He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.”

And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.”

The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat.

Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—

All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly.

He presses his hand down just a little more and—

Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted.

You sob.

You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.

Suguru is there to catch you.

He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder.

And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat.

You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.

You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—

But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above.

Ice cold water pours on you.

You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water.

It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you.

He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap.

You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap.

He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on.

You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms.

“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.”

“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.

“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile.

You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender.

“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges.

He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;

“I know.”

***

Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly.

You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother.

You feel infinitely closer to him.

You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can.

He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even.

And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks.

When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?”

“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest.

“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.”

Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him.

He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now?

“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his.

You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again.

But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep.

You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth.

When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner.

It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;

“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.”

You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again.

It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place.

It’s like finally coming home.

#suguru getou x reader #getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru getou x you #getou x you #getou suguru x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #cw: omegaverse #cielo's writing!#cielo writes!

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rzyraffek · 1 year

Text

Due to lack of affecion in my life I gladly wanna say that I made another

Slashers hugs and kisses headcanons

It's fully swf! Pure fluff! They/them Somone hug me pls. Request open

Brahms Heelshire

How his hugs look like: he either goes romantic and hugs them very gently OR just grabs them and holds them as close to him as possible. Loves hearing heartbeat too (when laying in bed )

He loves any kind of physical contact with them! Any handholding, hugs, cuddles ANYTHING this guy loves. Especially grabbing their hips or dhoulders when they are cooking or doing chores

Laying in bed together before staring day and morning routine is a must! He needs to wake up with good mood or he will stay grumpy for whole day

Also pls give him little kisses! On cheeks, forehead, hand, neck HE LOVES THOSE

Billy Lenz

Hugs on couch, him on top cuddling like his life depends on it, like they gonna evaporate in his hands if he stops hugging

Also he is going to say a lot of weird things (wow no way billy lenz saying weird stuff??) And he will inform them that he is plannin on doing the nasty with them later (respectfully)

But he enjoys the moment

Everytime he sees them after long day (assuming that s/o works/studies outside their household) he will just keep one of his arms around them till they go shleep really

Also he stares, a lot, if they aren't in huggy mood he will just stare without any emotions on his face, hes not mad he just misses the warm feeling of somone loving him :(

Also he bites

Asa emory

I swear this little prankster will pretend he fell asleep on couch while yall be watching movie, just to hear them react and take care of him. Also he melts when they give him little kisses or turn tv off so he can peacefully nap.

Or when they are tired after long day and have nap on him while he monologues about cool bugs. Playing with hair and lil massage included

He doesnt really like hugging while he just stands, it feels so akward, so he rather go lay on couch/sit on armchair while yall wanna get phisical

Every cuddle session ends with one of you falling asleep and other one really hates waking the first one up

Jason Voorhees

I dont really write for Jason but oh boi

Cuddling before sleep is so goofy, this guy is huge, like HUGE. If s/o prefers being smol spoon he will cover them completely, he is one of those people who put their leg on their partner so they are closer. But if s/o prefers being big spoon, he will giggle, blush even, he loves it! Also good luck with not being squshed at night

This guy really goes 'a mimiimi ah mimimii zzz' when sleeping btw

He will pick them up while hugging and hold hands 24/7, especially after that one event when s/o got lost in Forest once. No. No more of that pls there are degenerates around

Bear hugs

Micheal Myers

Just no

He won't hug anyone really, its uncomfortable for him. I mean after really long time spent and enough trust given, he will let them hug him, or grab his arms and hands and give him lil smooches

But he won't really give those back, no, even if they are very upset or in bad mental situation, he won't. Respect that

Again-if he knows them well and likes them, he will pay no mind in them giving him smooches or hugging him. He gets that that's how they find comfort, but don't think he will do it too

Vincent Sinclair

This one is very hugable bean

He will be akward due to his lack of social skills but oh boi isn't he very meow meow?

When they kiss his head or hug him while saying something nice. Guy will be soso happy

He gets very shy when Bo sees yall hugging. Like he did something embarrassing:(( somone needs to explain to this poor baby that hugs and comfort is okay and valid :(

Bo Sinclair

His hands are all over them

If yall aren't holding hands, he has his on their hip, or on they shoulder

He also kinda ??? Sniffs you??? Idk he likes how they smell?

He likes when they lay on top of him or when he's big spoon

Will say some goofy level stuff, wacky even

And bites them a bit, not hard tho

Also vincent once walked in room while yall were cuddling and laughing and he thought yall were doing the nasty and now he has (another) trauma

Boioioioojgn 3am here yall have great day bai

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softshrimpy · 1 year

Text

How To Woo A Hot Principal

Step 13: Reconciliation

Summary: Working at the Weathervane was exactly what you needed. The routine, the people, your co-workers. It certainly helped that a certain tall, blonde, fucking gorgeous woman happened to frequent the cafe. Now some may call hopelessly flirting with your customers inappropriate behavior.

But truly, when it came to Larissa Weems, who could blame you?

This ones a lil short but things get discussed which is importante. 🦐✨

Tags: @variant-2402 @the-bagel24 @eveymay @kimiinou @muffintopxs @h-doodles @bbykens @lilfartbox1 @bigolgay @winterfireblond @gela123 @i-like-reading @hopelessly-sapphic @alder-saan

(pls let me know if you want to be tagged/ I missed you!)

Chapter 12

Cross Posted on AO3 Here

HWTAHP Masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------

You really should get up. You had been lying on the floor for way too long. You really wanted to get up, really you did. It’s just that you felt so gross and the floor was so cold and so soothing. So really who could blame you?

You were wallowing in your misery rather spectacularly when you heard a sharp knock on your door. It wasn’t Vlad, you had heard him knock earlier and he knocked a lot louder and less sharply. You stayed with your face pressed against the cool floor, hoping whoever it was would just go away. You close your eyes against the nausea and relish in the sweet relief of the tiled floor.

You’re broken from your moment of relief filled wallowing by the sound of the door unlocking and opening, followed by the distinct sound of hurried heeled footsteps against your floor. You hear whoever it is stop in the bathroom doorway. You faintly smell Larissa’s perfume and despite the heartache thoughts of her usually bring, somehow it makes you feel so much better. Gods you wish she were here. She would wrap you in her gorgeous long arms and make you feel safe and okay. You missed her so much.

“Oh darling…” you hear from somewhere above you.

You really weren’t doing well, you were now hallucinating Larissa’s voice. At least it was just her voice though, you would really start to worry if you were hallucinating her touch or-

“Darling? Are you okay? What happened?” The hallucination of Larissa asks as she gently presses the back of her hand to your forehead.

Okay, maybe you’re dying. That’s the obvious answer. Because Larissa would definitely not be here checking up on you. She barely acknowledged your existence so why would she-

“Can you sit up for me honey?” She asks, and really who are you to deny hallucination Larissa?

So you sit up, groaning as you do so and the world spins a little. When you properly blink open your eyes there Larissa is above you, still looking holy and ethereal and wow she’s so pretty. Has she somehow gotten prettier since the last time she was this close to you?

“Was it something you ate darling? What’re you feeling?” She asks, eyes darting around your face.

“I’m fine. It’s just- I’m just nauseous you don’t have to worry it’s fine-“ you try to reassure her.

She frowns at that, stepping out of your vision to fetch a wet cloth. You hear her wetting a towel and then she reappears in front of you, dabbing your forehead gently. You hum, closing your eyes and hoping to stay in this fever dream for a little longer.

“Darling…” she starts, glancing at something you can’t see, “I don’t suppose you took any of those uh…vampire apatite suppressants?”

You groan, opting to cover your face as embarrassment decides to join the emotional cocktail you’ve got going on. You blink away the tears gathering in your eyes, trying and failing to not feel like a complete idiot. You sniff, shrinking further into yourself.

“Darling I’m not upset, I just want to know what’s going on…” she soothes, gently rubbing your arm.

“I-yeah…” you mumble.

“May I ask why? Are you getting enough blood? I can organize-“ she asks.

“No I-everything’s… everything has been great really. Vlad’s been taking good care of me and making sure I'm taking care of myself properly and recovering and all that.” You explain dropping your hands to your knees but still not looking at Larissa.

“Then…why did you-“

“Because I just- I wanted-“ you start, your voice wobbling far more than you’d like it to. “I thought maybe if-if I could just go back to what I was like before then maybe- maybe-“

“Maybe?” She prompts, her heart aching at seeing you so small and insecure.

“Maybe things could go back to how they were. And you- maybe you wouldn’t hate me anymore…” you manage, frustrated at the tears running down your face and the wateriness in your voice.

The bathroom goes silent after that and you feel your heart drop further into your stomach. You shouldn’t have said anything. You were so stupid she obviously didn’t want to talk about it, that’s why she had been avoiding you as long as she had. She didn’t want to be here, she was probably only here because Vlad sent her. She didn’t want anything to do with y-

“Let’s get you somewhere a bit more comfortable alright?” She murmurs, suddenly looking anywhere but at you.

You nod, letting her help you stand as you mentally prepare to lay on your bed and cry for the next five years. She helps you not fall the fuck over as she guides you to the bed. You do your best not to relish the feeling of her arm around your waist(you fail miserably) and try not to breathe so you don’t smell her perfume and burst into tears(you don’t burst into tears but do feel your heart ache like a bitch).

She sits you on your bed, watching as you rather inelegantly shuffle to rest against your pillows, holding your soft bunny to your chest. You mumble a thank you to her, fully expecting her to leave now that she knows you’re fine, just stupid. You squeeze your eyes closed when she turns, cursing your silly little heart for aching so fucking much.

You jump when you feel her sit down on the side of your bed next to you. She sits with her back to you, and you watch as her shoulders drop as she lets out a shaky breath.

“I don’t hate you.” She murmurs, “I could never hate you.”

She shuffles, you guess she’s playing with the rings on her fingers.

“I-God I don’t even know where to start.” She sighs. “I-I was so awful to you that night. The things I said to you, about you. Things I- things that are unforgivable and cruel. I hurt you, terribly so after all you had done for me. You were- you are so lovely and kind and you were everything I’ve ever dreamed of. And I-I threw everything back in your face..”

“And then you-“ she stops, her voice cracking as she bites back a sob, “you were attacked and I didn’t- I thought you were going to die. And the-the last thing I was going to have said to you was- was that you’re a monster.”

“You weren’t that far off…” you mumble.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Larissa asks, turning to face you.

“No I mean- it’s not cause I’m a vampire or anything, I mean I wouldn’t consider Yoko or Vlad a monster but I…I bit you. At the hospital. And I could’ve…I hurt you…” you explain.

Her severe, guarded expression softens at that, her hand coming to rest on your knee before squeezing it.

“That wasn’t your fault darling.”

“But I still hurt you. And I-we don’t know it won’t happen again so I-I am dangerous like you-“

“No,” she stops you, shaking her head, “No that’s not true. Firstly, what happened at the hospital was an accident. And secondly, it only happened because your body had been deprived of blood for a very very long time.”

“How do you know for sure though?” You murmur.

“Do you feel the need to launch yourself at me and bite my neck currently?” She asks.

“Not any more than I used to,” you shrug, “I’m sorry that was- that was inappropriate I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. Nothing.” She presses.

“Then…why were you avoiding me?” You ask.

You watch as her soft, caring expression falters, a look of deep guilt and shame taking its place. She withdraws her hand from your knee, dropping it to her lap. She dips her head, sniffing before she speaks.

“I thought…well I believed that-that you wouldn’t want anything to do with me after how I treated you,” she manages. “With how awful I was to you that night and then how overbearing I had been at the hospital I thought you’d much prefer if I…stayed away.”

You sigh, shuffling to sit next to her on the side of the bed. You’re sitting close enough that your thighs are touching, the little bit of contact enough to calm your nerves and lingering nausea somewhat.

“Look I won’t pretend what you said didn’t hurt. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us. And I- it still hurts when I think about it, that you thought so little of me…” you start, “But…I mean even Wednesday thought I was suspicious, miss detective extraordinaire.”

She huffs at that, a watery sound that makes your heartache.

“But I don’t want to lose you Larissa,” you press, “I-things won’t be what they were, they can’t be. But we can work on it- on us I-if that’s something you want of course.”

“I don’t deserve another chance,” She whispers.

“Well, I think you do. So please don’t break my heart just because you don’t think you deserve a chance to fix it.”

Silence settles over the two of you. You can’t bring yourself to look at Larissa, afraid you’ve pushed this too far and shoved your foot in your mouth. That’s not to say you regret saying what you did, it had to be said. You’re just scared because you don’t know what she’s feeling or what she’ll do now. You glance at her out of the corner of your eye. She’s clenching her fists rather tightly in her lap, her hands flexing and relaxing every few seconds.

You’re startled when she stands abruptly. She takes a step towards your door and you resign yourself to her leaving. You fight the fresh wave of tears threatening to shed at the thought of everything between you two being over.

But then she turns and she stares down at you with her tear-brimmed, sad eyes and trembling lower lip. And she sinks to her knees in front of you and holds your hands in her shaking ones. You stare down at her with wide eyes.

“I…” she starts, pausing to clear the lump in her throat, “I’m not sure I believe I deserve a second chance. But if-if you are willing to give me another chance I-I would- if you would let me try and fix what I did I-“

She starts crying in earnest at that, pressing her head against your legs. Her shoulders shake with her sobs. You squeeze her hands which are still in yours and you slip off the bed and onto the floor with her. You wrap your arms around her burying your face in her chest as you cry. Being in her arms still feels like coming home, like safety. She still smelled of jasmine and comfort and home.

And you know in that moment that while things aren’t going to be easy, everything will be okay.

#larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #htwahp #wednesday #principal weems

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

Note

would love to order a red velvet cupcake, an ice cream cake, some banana bread, handful of konpeitō, & some dark chocolate, with caramel on top. i'd love to share it with #1 (ace & female reader) from the side menu, pls & thank you!

hiii i am so sorry this took forever, i rewrote it so many times but i think i like how it came out in the end ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა love a good shower sex fic, so i had fun and it's ace so you already know he was doing the absolute most for no reason at all 💗😊 i hope you have fun reading <3

2.5k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+, mdni; tiny bit of angst bc i can't help myself but it's very tiny, and smut bc we're nasty bitches in this house; feat. cute stuff like ace being the absolute worst™, fingering, kissing, public exhibitionism, shower sex; ace can be a lil mean when he's frustrated and reader needs to stop being a coward, alas what can i say *washes hands of this*

residual embarrassment — a parting gift from the night before — prevents you from looking at him and properly sorting out your emotions. you spend more time than necessary hiding out in the bathroom, hoping the day keeps him busy enough to forget all that you said to him. when your skin can’t take the heat from the water any longer, when your mind keeps replaying certain things over and over, you grab your towel and step out of the shower. thankfully, the bathroom is empty, leaving you to mull over your bothersome thoughts and contemplate what to do next.

with ace, everything is always so complicated. he lives life out loud, has no trouble voicing his opinion — especially on matters that have nothing to do with him — and tends to sniff out your bullshit before you can lie and cover your tracks. and, really, it’s not that you don’t want him to know the truth, it’s just that the truth is deliberately debilitating, and you don’t have time to deal with that. cowardice isn’t easy to deal with; it slips into your bloodstream and commands all your movements without remorse. your body is a husk — a seemingly hard exterior and tragically soft, pliable interior.

one crack and everything spills out.

if you weren’t so intent on throwing a perpetual pity party for yourself, you’d hear his footsteps in the hallway. and, like clockwork, he comes through the door loudly — boisterous and energetic, an accompanying lopsided grin, the same splatter of freckles on his cheeks that you like counting from time to time. tiny stars, randomly strewn on his skin, varying shades of brown that bring comfort whenever he’s too close to you.

but it’s not comfort you feel now, it’s annoyance.

you fold your arms against your chest and stare at him incredulously. he’s being absolutely ridiculous. “what,” you say, swallowing hard and steeling your features, “are you doing here?” while the bathroom is a shared space with ample room, you know damn well he’s only here to antagonize you further. you eye him critically and wonder for the umpteenth time why he always walks around shirtless. you asked him once and his answer made you blush hard enough to make you speechless — he was entertained by your honest reaction, that he decidedly teased you for the rest of the week because of it.

“i was thinking about what you said,” his steps are every bit as imposing as he is — brutish but familiar, making you take several steps back without thinking about it. “and, what i can’t understand is wh—” your hand shoots out and you slap it over his mouth; startled, ace stumbles back a bit, but ultimately laughs as you try to quiet him down.

“don’t. you don’t have to say it.”

his brows quirk at that; another interesting response, another reason for ace to stick by your side for the remainder of the day. you know how this goes, but you refuse to entertain his foolishness until the door opens again. it happens fast and you don’t think it through, but you pull ace back into the shower with you and turn on the water quickly. several of your crew mates enter at once, laughing and joking with one another, talking of menial things. you hope they don’t stay long, but ace keeps giving you looks and you start to panic.

it's funny, really, the lengths you go to deny your feelings. it annoys him, though; you’re so quick to dismiss things, to want to explain everything away, but this time you really can’t run. he chuckles at the thought, and you glance at him sharply. “it’s not funny.” your voice is barely audible, so he leans closer to hear you better, but you’re both soaked from the water so naturally he starts taking off his clothes.

your delayed reaction is ultimately your downfall; you stare at him, wide-eyed, shock temporarily halting your rationality. “wh-what are you doing? stop that.” it’s too late, though, he’s already naked. you know that it doesn’t make sense for either of you to be in the shower right now, but it seemed like a good idea in the heat of the moment; now you regret it. sort of.

“why? i don’t want to stand around in wet clothes.” his answer is sound, logical even; you just don’t like it because no matter what he does, his attractiveness never fades. he thinks you’re being unintentionally cute and funny, even says it to you when he tugs on your towel and watches it fall to the floor. a wet clump that’s currently unsalvageable.

it's one transgression after another with him; you smack his arm and he laughs at you, at your stubbornness and insistence on being extra difficult when you can easily let go and give in. but, that’s the thing — you’re much too afraid of what you’ll become once you take that step. still, you’re a bit mesmerized with the way the water glides down his body, taking a long moment to watch intently. when you catch yourself, your face heats up — and you blame the temperature of the water, of course.

ace, however, knows better.

the stalls next to you are now occupied, but you’ve forgotten about the intruders because ace is looking at you like he’s figured you out. “anyway,” he starts again, because he’s determined to have this conversation whether you want to or not, “about last night—” you shush him, place both of your hands over his mouth this time, doing your best to keep him quiet for fear of the others overhearing.

“there’s nothing to talk about.” you don’t want to revisit the absolute mess you made of your confession, of how you turned back and told him you were just joking, of how you literally ran out and hid from him for the remainder of the night — much to his rising frustration, although he likes that side of you too.

ace simply steps closer to you, body flush against yours; his hands roam down your back and grabs onto your ass. the intrusion makes you squeal louder than you meant to; suddenly, there are several voices around asking if you’re okay. ace smirks, you feel his smugness in the way his shoulders won’t stop shaking as he tries to contain his laughter, even as you keep your hands over his mouth. a pathetic attempt at handling a situation that keeps getting worse as time goes on.

“i’m fine!” you chirp, hoping you sound convincing. “just thought i saw a bug.” the resounding laughter around you both calms your nerves and annoys you. but ace uses the opportunity to back you against the wall and kiss the palm of your hand. it becomes a bit too intimate for you, so you release your hold, drop your hands and let them settle on his arms.

it's absurd, you know it is. even more absurd is how fast your heart is beating and how there’s a suspicious ache growing in between your thighs. you blame ace, of course; blame him for putting you in this state, where you oscillate between arousal and cowardice. he does his best to be patient, but your body is incredibly soft, and his cock is already stiff — a reoccurring pain in his ass. he more or less has an idea of why you keep running, but this time he’s certain things will work out in his favor.

you know that the more you deny yourself, the harder it is to resist him and you’re so tired of fighting. maybe if you give in just once, you’ll get it out of your system and can move forward with your life. he knows better than that, though, but you convince yourself that everything will fall into place afterward — where you won’t have to deal with unnecessary emotions, where you won’t have to constantly be on alert whenever he’s around.

ace places a kiss on your jaw, drags his lips down the side of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he bites you playfully. despite how your brain has turned into unrecognizable mush, you manage to remain cognizant enough to wrap your hand around his cock and stroke him slowly. there’s a moment where you almost stop breathing, and it’s when you look up and see the heated look on his face, the intensity behind his gaze is enough to make your movements falter for a bit. you increase your pace — hand moving up and down in a fluid motion, thumb brushing along the head of his cock, swiping at his slit; ace’s soft pants and groans invigorate you, make you stroke him faster.

it doesn’t take much for you ignore the chatter and background noise around you, because without warning ace’s mouth finds yours. this isn’t the first time he’s kissed you, and it certainly won’t be the last — but it’s the first time, in a long, long time where you feel like your body is an inferno, determined to burn you alive. he kisses you with fervor and familiarity, as if he’s done this hundreds of times before, burning you repeatedly as his tongue caresses yours. you’ve completely forgotten why you were fighting him so much when you clearly enjoy the way he touches you.

you place a hand over your mouth once he pushes your legs apart, refusing to make a sound and let him completely have his way; it’s a difficult task since your pussy is the worst kind of traitor, arousal slipping through your folds without a care in the world. that insolent smirk of his — the one that tends to find him whenever he’s up to no good — makes its way onto his lips, causing you to narrow your eyes at him. miraculously, you refrain from slapping it off of his face.

his fingers move quick, grazing along your slit before slipping inside your dripping folds. his thumb brushes against your throbbing clit, rubs slow circles around it, and he watches you struggle to keep quiet. and while he wants to draw all of this out, he knows there’s only so many minutes a person can stay in a shower before someone gets suspicious. you bite your hand the moment his fingers slide into your needy hole, not bothering to tease you as he plunges them in deeply.

your hips jut forward almost immediately, his thick fingers scissoring inside as your plush walls squeeze around them tightly. he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, fingers moving faster as he whispers unreasonable things like “why are you holding back, you were so vocal before” and “don’t cover your mouth, i want to hear you” when you insist on stifling each sound that threatens to burst from deep inside of you. it’s just so damn embarrassing, you can hardly stomach it — and yet, you keep moaning and looking at him; demure and aroused.

if your heart beats any faster, any louder, you might just actually die in that shower — with ace’s fingers still lodged deep inside of your cunt. not a bad way to end things, honestly, but you’d hate for anyone to find you compromised like this. and just when you feel like you’re on the precipice, dangling off the edge, ready to fall — he pulls his fingers out rather suddenly, your legs nearly give out and you whine unintentionally.

something about your reaction makes him laugh — maybe it’s because of how you can’t seem to figure out if you’re mad or happy at the turn of events, or maybe it’s because you’re already pulling him back in for a sloppy tongue kiss. he lifts you up, keeping your back pressed against the wall, your legs wrapping around him to hold yourself up. your hands shake while they guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, and you rub your pussy against him eagerly. tired of all the teasing, ace buries his cock into you — hurried and powerful, hips snapping against yours roughly. your hands grip his shoulders for support, nails digging into his skin, whimpering pathetically against his lips as you kiss him again.

you’re not sure if it’s the steam from the water, the taboo of fucking in the shower with others around, or if it’s just him but you forget yourself for a moment, drunk from the euphoria that ace brings each time he thrusts into you. he keeps his hips close to yours, barely keeping it together as he fucks you harder; your pussy is much too warm and tight, addicting without meaning to be. if he could fuck you every day for the rest of his life, he’d leave the pirating life behind without hesitation. a powerful notion, one that confuses him although he barely dwells on it. he’s much too focused on ruining your life with his intoxicating strokes, your arousal slipping down his length, making it easy for him to slide in and out without issue.

you’re not sure how long you both go at it, but at a certain point, all you can focus on is the way his breathing grows ragged and on the obscene, squelching noises that your pussy makes, his cock still thick and heavy as he pummels it into your aching hole. something builds in your abdomen, spreads through your body, brings a shudder to your chest; nothing can prepare you for the way your orgasm hits you — a white, hot fury that slams into you repeatedly. you lose all sense of decorum, lips swollen from all the kissing — parting to moan shamelessly. and when he whispers in your ear, telling you to say his name, you’re absolutely helpless against him; and you do say it, or yell, rather.

loud enough to rouse him into laughing at you again; loud enough to make the others who were lingering in the bathroom to gasp and whisper; loud enough that your voice grows hoarse afterward. he’s actually impressed with you and works you through your orgasm as your pussy flutters around him — creaming and overwhelmed from the ferocity of ace’s thrusts. he doesn’t last much longer, his mouth littering your neck with kisses, sucking and biting your skin. he cums inside of you without thinking — thick, hot, your nails raking over his back from how full you feel. you never thought that you’d find yourself in this situation, yet here you are, panting and clinging to him pathetically, heart pounding as you press your chest against his. you realize this won’t help your situation, but you can’t go back — you both know that. he places a soft kiss on the side of your mouth, and you almost cry at the intimacy. almost.

he makes a snarky remark about how well you took him and how he’s proud that you lasted as long as you did. you’re much too tired to fight him, but you remind yourself to berate him over it later. for now, you’ll have to deal with showering again and trying your best to keep your hands off of one another in the process. you never imagined your confession would lead to ace fucking you like that, but you suppose it was bound to happen anyway; you just don’t know how you’ll be able to face your crew mates later, knowing that some of them heard you.

at the very least, ace doesn’t seem bothered by it, and maybe one day you won’t be bothered by it too.

#fic request #milestone event #500+ followers event #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭#one piece imagine #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #portgas d. ace #portgas d. ace smut #portgas d. ace x reader #portgas d. ace x y/n #ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace smut #ace being a menace is canon atp

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ninja-knox-ur-sox-off · 29 days

Text

WHATISUPEVERYBODY you know it wasn’t my intention to watch literally one episode every two weeks but here we are i guess ITS TIME FOR ANOTHER KNOX REACTS TODAY ITS MONKIE KID SEASON 5 EPISODE 4 LESGET IIIIIT

The ssssstorm within, alright, alright, something to do with Mk and blowing up maybe? who knows, perhaps we shall find out MWAHAHA! Well, i mean obviously we’ll find out we’re watching the episode—listen i just woke up i can’t be held responsible for my incoherent ramblings LETS MOVE ON

Face in hands bro i miss flying Bark. BRUTAL DUDE (gotta say it at least once every episode sorry bois :pensive_emoji:)

Sniffs, just plow straight through the underbrush its fine—

Monkey King and Mei face down… okay…. this is…. a very fun frame i will admit…. who wants matching icons—/j/jj/

PREGUFFINGLKJA;DSF WE’RE REALLY RIDING THOSE MCGUFFIN JOKESLKGMSDF

sniffs

scratches head. okay so we’re just using sandy yelling as a gag now… cool cool cool okay sure sure, not like Sandy never raising his voice made the emotional beat of him yelling when contention happened devastating and startling. I guess the whole overwhelming Mk with WE GOT THIS!! talk would be an inevitable one, it always worked before. I mean, except for during the season 2 special. And… any other time hype up hasn’t really… worked… Listen I’m just overanalyzing probably but some of the choices in this season with the characters just feels off to me. Ngl with every episode I watch, the less it feels like monkie kid to me. The last one wasn’t so bad, and hey, we’re only a minute 25 into this one so that might change but that’s my gut reaction right now. Makes me a bit sad! I’ve been watching Dragons Rising (ninjago) with my buddy and been having the time of my life, the animation is gorgeous and it feels like the new peeps really understand the characters and its honestly so much fun, and then I’m kinda sitting here with monkie kid and puzzle pieces that don’t really fit and I’m not sure what to do with it! I know like, it’s the same writers but it just does not feel like it to me. Could be how rushed they always are, they’re doing their best, like—oNCE AGAIN TO BE CLEAR, when I criticize anything or say it feels off, this is NOT me saying bad writers bad people bad bad bad, I’m just saying how it feels to me! It feels almost like they’re trying to bring the comedic lightness of season 1 back but like… it feels kinda plastic and wrong! WORDS FAIL ME, PLS DON’T QOUTE ME I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT LETS MOVE ON

the kneeling down is kinda cute good for them

Sandy hype man!

…..

Is he just trying to get them all out of there so Mk can have some breathing roomGML;SMADF Cause otherwise splitting up is a terrible idea

Special Sandy training!!!

Mk smashing rocks together, okay that was cute h;LGKAJWOEF

Sandy so excited about meditation

sniffs

I FEEL LIKE MK COMPLAINS A LOT MORE THAN USUAL. Why is he so whiny?? Was he this whiny before? Am i losing my mind???? I’ve never wanted Mk to talk less before what is going on

Mystic Monkey meditatiNGN;LAKSDF WHY IS HIS FAKE BEARD ORANGELKMGSDF oh he’s impersonating sandy. SANDY AND WUKONG HAVE SIMILAR COLOURED HAIR I THOUGHT HE WAS USING MONKEY KINGS HAIR COLOUR DON’T LOOK AT ME HGLKAJSDF

The crackity cracks are backity back

“I see you” WELL THATS METAL DOPE

I WILLL ADMIT, THIS IS GREAT, BRO REALLY NEEDS THIS BIG ITME

….me fr pretend to meditate so true==

Storm within that’s funny

SANDY’S A GREAT PERSON TO TALK TO ABOUT THIS

LIL SNEK

I GOT SOMEONE TO FIGHT TAT’S NOT JUST MY THOUGHTSLKMGOWIEFMSDF

MK PLS

ooop next—SECRET TUNNELLLL SECRET TUNNEELLLLL THROUGH THE MOUNTAINNNNNNNNNNN

Just got led to it np that’s funny

Mk’s opening secret access swishy gold thing is fun

Bro’s really assaulting a rock

Owaaaa big ol turtle…. with cracks!

HELPGLKAM;WOEF

Classic

Ah yes meditation, who could have seen this coming

gGKASDF BRAVADO KILLED

I know he’s complaining as a deflection but :T man Mk whining so much is getting old really fast. Like its for the gag and you could say its for the deflection but MAN. Every four seconds he’s got his whiny voice on, bro?? I’m hoping they get all the humour they want out of that gag in this episode :(

I SWEAR I’M NOT TRYING TO BE NEGATIVE THIS IS JUST DOING A NUMBER ON ME OUGH

HEY GET OFF MY SANDY OI

RELEASE MY MAN

COME ON TURTLE

Bro literally has to face his trauma to save his friend what the heck turtle that’s so rude—

OKAY WHAT IS THE BEST WAY TO WATCH THIS? I’ve tried two separate types of headphones (one stolen from my brother) a friend’s tv and just my computer’s speakers and the audio volume difference in the voices vs the music is STILL jarring. Like???? I have it turned up so much just to HEAR the voices and TRY to understand them and then the music kicks in and its bLARING and AGGRESSIVE and NOT IN A CINEMATIC WAY. dear gods its like they made monkie kid as unfriendly to watch as possible for me what is going on I’M TRYING TO ENJOY MY MONKIE SHOW STOP JARRING ME OUT OF IT [SHAKES LEGO UNTIL THEY FALL TO PIECES] I’M TRYING TO ENJOY MK HAVING TO FACE HIS TRAUMA SOMETHING I’VE HIGH KEY WANTED TO WATCH SINCE SEASON 1 WAILS

Acknowledging the “okay, i want to push that away, but i’m not going to” is really neat i like that

Hello disembodied voice

Okay, i may not be vibin with the audio, the animation, or the jokes in this ep, but my GODS does Ashe know how to write brutal dialogue. The reason Mk being so afraid of his monkey powers is because he likes it?? Oh yeah, I’m down with that i am SO down for that, I have been clawing at that concept for AGES, I am SO DOWN

So who’s going to be trying to control mk this season? Snake guy?? Newbie?? The choosing yourself and making your own path is really heavy handed so far hL;GJKASDF

Sandy’s advice?? GOD TIER. We love that. I love actual good advice in cartoons thank you

Conversations with self!!! OHHH OHH I LIKE THE EXHALE

TAT WAS NICE

OKAY SO THE HWOLE MIND SEQUENCE I’M A HUGE FAN OF

TERES MY BOY

Sandy’s trigger word is Worthy huh he dont’ like thatLKGMA;OWEFWHEEZE

nah we are so glad Mk has Sandy here actually that is so good I’VE BEEN WANTING SANDY MOMENTS FOR SO LONG AND WE GOTTEM THANK YOUUUUUUUUUU like, the rest of what i said still stands but the emotional beats still hit really nicely and I’m very grateful we still have that!

Yeah that car is gonna get smashed by mei or pigsy and tang yeah yup there we go

oH WOW-oh nvm there it goes

well ! Wonder what mei found! That felt like a little bit of a clunky ending bit for some reason i can’t explain but! Big fan of the Sandy and Mk content I love them, totally deserved, been wanting Sandy talk like that for AAAAGES BLESS

Okayokay, always ending on positive note so lets go over one more time: Mk’s talk with himself? BANGER. Once he got talking, I really liked the dialogue and I really liked the vibe of the whole thing, Loved his exhale, loved the admittance of that all being part of him and that he chooses to work on other parts of him that is AWESOME and super cool to see depicted the way it was all cinematic and cool we love that. Love diving into a little bit of the complexities of our man Sandy! Love him opening up a bit to Mk so he can see he’s not alone in his struggles! That Sandy’s got something like that too and he’s still one of the most wonderful kind people Mk knows! The people who Mk has surrounding him are all exactly what he needs and that’s really cool!!! Ough okay welp, maybe I will be thinking about Sandy and Mk’s dyname for the rest of all time RAAAAAAA I REALLY enjoyed how they wrote them there.

Thanks for reading! Sorry I’m still a bit all over the place with my reactions, i feel like I keep repeating the same things but by GOSH the audio is THROWING ME. But yeah that was a nice way of addressing some of Mk’s trauma, even if it was only for like three minutes, its well done and I enjoyed it! very excited to see they can still nail those emotional bits. HOPE Y’ALL HAVE A SPECTACULAR DAY AND GOOD VIBES HUNT YOU DOWN RELENTLESSLY. KNOX OUT

#knox rambles #knox reacts #comeback kid #Diolgoue was really hard for me to hear in this one i'll probably have to go back and relisten to the turtles whole spiel #anyway continues to be some mild salt ?? in these reactions now which i'm a little sad about but it is what it is i guess :(#I think this was still my favourite ep so far raaaa bites #anyway who knows maybe i'll get another ep within the next century! see you then! H;LGKSADF #this is one of the shortest reacts i've ever donelKMGSADF #my gosh #once again pls don't take anything i say too seriously if you love these eps to bits i ain't trying to trash its just how i'm feeling o7 #love y'all peace OOOOUT #monkie kid salt #(we'll tag it just to be safe even if i'm not feeling salty hGLSDJF)

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cupcakeinat0r · 4 months

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Do you have any tips on how to not make a hcs or drabble fics so long? I feel like I always go too crazy and don't know how to shorten anything. I want it to feel satisfying to read with out leaving out too much but it always ends up being like 4k words by the end. I'm trying to half that.

Your professor Miguel fics are what are inspiring me to write for Miguel again but I'm not ready to jump into anything super long winded.

Hi nonnie! <3

First, let me just say *sniff* MY fic inspired you?! 😭😭😭😭😭😭 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 pls, omg, what an honor!!! I’m so glad!!! Thank you for reading 🫶And please, take your time!!! Smart move if it’s been a while.

Advice down below! There’s a lot because I simply do not know how to shut up <3

Word counts, *sigh* what a debacle.

A majority of my work are drabbles or one-shots, and I’ve gotten comments/messages asking for “longer works!”, but then my first series that had long chapters didn’t do so hot. Its confusing! It’s really hard to gauge what’s too long or too short for the crowd, so in the end… I base it off of personal preference! Sometimes I feel like just writing out a quick lil blurb, and then there’s times when I sit down, take my time, be in the story, and write every little detail down. As a reader, I personally LOOOVE it when writers go into detail, but as a writer… I know it’s a workout to do! Easier read than done (see what I did there?).

And as for hcs, personally, EYE like it when people make em long, but to each their own!

Soooo If it’s a “short” work you’re after, than here are some quick lil tips I thought of.

1. Maybe cutting down on “excess dialogue”. What I mean is this:

They began with, “blah blah blah,” they said softly.

“Blah blah!” They responded.

All that extra stuff surrounding the actual thing that is said? You can do without it. Save word space by just doing this:

“Blah blah?”

“Blah.”

(But just make sure you hit enter on each line of dialogue so it’s easier for reader to keep track of who’s who!)

2. I would try instead of world building (describing the setting, colors, weather, etc.) to just stick to what’s happening between the characters. If you want it short, just focus on the characters and where they’re doing. Maybeeee include what they’re wearing if you really want to, but other than that, it helps keep it to the point when the “scene” is all about the exchange. For example:

X met up with y and they smiled. The greeted each other before going inside the cafe to catch up.

Rather than:

On a hot summer day, x walked along until they got to the cafe they were supposed to meet y in. They found them at the entrance, waving at them excitedly, “hey Y!” They began. “Hey X!” They responded. They both walked into the quaint, cozy cafe and ordered their usuals.

See what I mean? Instead of writing every single thing out, just trust that the reader will assume. Like… we know they said hi to each other… and ordered coffee… at a cafe… it’s the obvious things like this. There’s no need to type it out unless they’ve said/done something out of the ordinary OR if the extra thing you’re typing out actually adds to the plot/development. This simply helps with getting to the point (Again, this is if you’re wanting to do a short Drabble, one-shot, blurb, etc. . I, however, don’t do this when it comes to chapters or fics. I write every single detail out, idc!!!)

3. Don’t be afraid of time skipping. For instance (using my example from above), does the part where they talk in the cafe contribute anything to the intended plot? Any character development? Does it reveal anything new? No? Skip it. Go to the part where they go home and, idk, make out or something (if it’s a smut you’re writing lmao).

I know it’s easy to get distracted and start describing every little thing, from the color of that leaf that fell to the ground, to the twitch of the character’s eye or something, I do it all the time, which is okay! You don’t have to go back and hit delete! Just keep going, don’t break the flow. You’re writing it for a reason, so don’t let the worry of wanting to provide something “shorter” or “easier” for readers get in the way of your creativity. It’s not worth compromising. I know we writers say it to ourselves religiously, but there’s is no such thing as “too crazy”. That’s a myth.

But please also keep in mind that your wellness is priority. Do not try to force any writing for the sake of time or demand. I gave you some tips on shortening a teensy bit, but do not worry if your writing is ‘too much’, there’s no such thing in my opinion<3

Thank you so much for sending this in and I hope this was at least a little bit of help! And please, tag me if/when you post your work! I wanna support you!!!

Have a nice day/night, luv xoxo

#cupcake answers #answered asks #writing advice

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elvisabutler · 1 year

Note

could i possibly request more gun kink pls? 🙏🙏🙏

red brass

summary: elvis loves you or at least likes you. elvis learns things on the road. elvis likes to have the girl he likes try the new things he thinks he'll like with him. you allow it. fandom: elvis presley | elvis 2022 pairing: elvis presley x female reader rating: m word count: 3408 just i don't know what happens. i don't know why i write 3k gun kink fics. warnings: gun kink. use of a gun in penetrative ways. guns. implied masturbation ( m ). implied future oral ( f ). technically defined as masturbation or maybe fucking ( f ). dubious, and i mean very dubious consent. 50s era elvis being a little shit. infidelity ( elvis to the reader ). southern accents being mildly butchered. faintly erring toward a sub elvis, while also somehow being a dom elvis, it's nebulous honestly. me implying that texans love their guns a lil' too much. use of nicknames ( honey, darlin', baby. ) and 'vis. no use of y/n. i think that might be everything? author's note: hi anon, i know who you are and i love you. i hope you enjoy this fic that essentially is a prequel-ish, a spiritual prequel to gunmetal. and me basically going, i guess i'm gonna write 50s elvis with a gun kink. generally speaking i don't even know what has come over me with this, i'm just gonna take y'all along for a ride. watch me inevitably write army e or hollywood e with gun kink.

You know you can find a better guy, or at least you think you can, because there's something that makes men- little boys want to prove themselves after they find out you're with Elvis Presley. You're fairly certain that you could at least find a guy who would be there more often than Elvis is, you could find a guy who could take you out on regular dates and could eat dinner with your parents and- maybe even get married to you sooner rather than later. The problem is, you're never quite sure you want to find that guy, never quite certain if that sort of guy would be better than Elvis. For all Elvis is a selfish young man— the kind who will take take take from his girlfriends as much as he gives gives gives- he's also a good man. He's a better man than half the boys who sniff around you, the little hound dogs as you and Elvis like to call them. So it's always a whispered "honey, ya ain't gonna leave me are ya? gonna be comin' home soon and we'll have some fun. gonna show those dogs who they'd be fightin' wit' for ya."

Your friends think you're being silly, waiting on Elvis, thinking he's remaining faithful to you while on the road. Your mama thinks the same thing and god help you even Miss Gladys agrees. She loves her son, she does, but she knows- oh she knows how he's been calling her less and less and knows that can't mean a single good thing. Can't mean anything good for anyone involved. But when her little boy calls you or calls her he's always reassuring you both that the girls don't mean nothin'. He's jus' lonely and he can't take he can't take the love of his life or his mama wit' him so sometimes- sometimes there's a girl in the hotel. June says you shouldn't forgive him when he admits it the first time but you've never been like June, never been as strong as June is and maybe— maybe that's why Elvis liked you so much. You're not June but you're just close enough that he can still have her with the parts that don't fit his life removed. Selfish, but he's never claimed to be a saint, hell no one's ever claimed he's a saint.

The thing is- you've gotten used to him talking to you over the phone about things that don't always happen. Sometimes it's just about his dreams, about his plans for what he's gonna do the second he sees you. Sometimes it's plans for how he's gonna take you out on the next tour, he doesn't care how it looks, he misses ya widdle pussy and everyone already knows he's got a girl, it won't matter seeing ya on the tour. You're expecting tonight to be just the same, another night of promises he can't keep even though he'll be home tomorrow night for at least a week or two. Tonight, though, tonight, he surprises you.

"Baby? Ya- Whatcha got planned for tomorrow? Nothin' fancy right?" He murmurs into the phone, his breath hitching in a way you know doesn't mean anything good.

You hum softly, shifting in your bed a little. "Planned on jus' lettin' ya go home to ya parents, honey, why?"

"Wanna- Ya gonna think I'm crazy but wanna try somethin' wit' ya tomorrow night. Think you'll like it." He sounds excitable in a way that means you're gonna regret telling him no if you do. He'll every bit of the young man he is, the yittle boy who wants so much and now that he's got a taste of people saying yes, yes, yes, he doesn't necessarily want to hear no on something he truly wants. "Ya gonna say yes, ain't ya?"

A sigh leaves your lips as you debate with yourself, debate if you can chance saying no before settling on the a yes that's filled with such trepidation you worry he'll still want to argue with you. "'Course I am, darlin'. Tell me, 'Vis, whatcha plannin' on doin' wit' me. Gonna take me somewhere and have us play there? We gonna have fun in the car?"

The tone you manage is light and playful— or at least as close to it as you can manage before you hear Elvis's laugh. It's a laugh you've never heard from him and one that worries you. It sounds a little demonic if you were being perfectly honest, but you trust Elvis for the most part. He loves you and wouldn't purposefully hurt you and maybe it's just a mean idea. One he shouldn't be asking you but he's going to because he knows you're better than all those girls on the road.

"Ya ever played wit' ya daddy's guns, darlin'? Ever felt the metal on ya? It's cold on ya skin, ya know." He muses, like he's put it on his skin and a rush of jealousy rears its ugly head at the idea that maybe just maybe some other girl has gotten to see this. Or maybe he's done this to another girl. You almost miss his next words. "Bet it'd make your chest- make those pretty nipples of your stand right up. Be beggin' for me to suck on 'em."

Your pussy clenches at his words and you can't help how your breath catches. "You'd- I've never— What are ya sayin', Elvis Presley?"

Almost his full name because you're so taken aback by what he's saying. You're imagining this or he's playing a joke on you, trying to get some sort of rise with you. He wouldn't dream of saying this and honestly meaning it. Let alone telling you over the phone like this, it's almost as if he's warnin' you about this but— why? Why would he want to warn you about something like this.

"Honey, I— down here in Texas they— their girls are wild, ya know? Thought it was jus' the women but no it's girls your age too, ya know? Somethin' 'bout this air that makes 'em do things I ain't ever seen another girl do. And I was talkin' to someone 'bout the gun he had on his holster, prettiest thing I ever did see other than you, darlin'. Told me 'bout how his girlfriend— or maybe it was his fiancée played wit' it." Elvis's voice sounds simultaneously like he's nervous to bring this up to you while also taking on this certain element of delight. Certain pleasure in telling you about this person. "Inside of her."

"Inside of— Now I know you aren't— You mean inside her—" You cough, because you are not some wilting little girl. You are Elvis Presley's girlfriend and you can be a big girl about this. "You mean she put it inside of her vagina?" The last word is whispered almost as if you're scared your parents are going to hear or if it'll make it more real to say it out loud.

Elvis chuckles softly, more of a huff of a laugh than anything else before he responds back with any words. "She did. He said he watched her and said she— She liked it. Told 'im it was even better than when he fucked her."

The image of Elvis pumping his gun in and out of you like he would his cock has you dropping the phone for a second in pure shock. The way you can feel your arousal starting to pool between your legs has you biting your lips and shifting in your bed, your thighs gliding together as your breathing changes just slightly. You know Elvis can tell from how he growls into the phone. He may be a dumb yittle boy sometimes but he knows you just as well as you know him now. "You don't really want me to do that when you get home, do you 'Vis?"

"I think ya wanna do it for me, honey. Think if I was there I'd see ya looking like a damn cricket, sliding your legs together. Just one time, baby? One time and if we don't like it, I ain't ever gonna bring it up again. For me? For us?" He sounds so small when he asks, but you know better, it's him trying to charm you, trying to seem all innocent when you both know he hasn't been innocent since the first time he went on tour or the first time a girl batted her eyelashes and said hello.

Your only response is a simple okay before you move onto better topics. Less arousing topics.

Your parents are used to Elvis whisking you away for any number of things so when he comes home the next night, they don't bat an eyelash at him taking you with him to Graceland with promises about how you'll be in another room and his mama won't let him do anything untoward to you. Nevermind that when Miss Gladys sees you it's for the briefest of moments as her son whisks you up the stairs and has you pinned against the door, hands roaming every inch of your skin threatening to set it on fire as he kisses your lips and your neck. He's needy tonight and you don't know if it's because of what you promised him or if he missed you just that much. You feel a hard mass near his leg and you can't help but wonder if it's his cock or the gun because you haven't seen a holster or anything that shows off a gun. Despite your better judgment when he pulls away and you are nuzzling at his nose you give him a nervous grin and whisper a joke.

"That your gun, 'Vis? Or are ya jus' happy to see lil ole me?" A laugh escapes his lips at the same time one escapes yours before he moves to try and pull down your skirts.

"Lil' of both, honey," he practically coos at you when your skirt comes down and you're standing there in your half unbuttoned shirt and your underwear. "Wanna see ya naked for this. Get the full effect."

You bite your lip, your nervousness finally fully peeking through. It's not as if you've never been naked with Elvis, it's not as if he's never seen you completely laid bare underneath him or above him but this is different. Something about this makes you feel raw and exposed like a live wire. A shiver escapes you as Elvis tilts his head just a little bit.

“Don’t— Ain’t nothin’ we haven’t shown each other, baby. I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Gonna make ya feel good. Gonna have ya feeling the hot and cold’s what they said,” his hands ghost over your waist before he slides his hands under your shirt to pull it off of you, kissing along the skin he’s exposing bit by bit. “Ya wanna take off my clothes, honey? That gonna make ya feel better? Give ya somethin’ to settle the shakes ya got like ya had the first time we did it in the Cadillac?”

Your hand clenches into a fist before you nod, moving to undo his belt with a speed that embarrasses you a little bit until you hear him laughing softly above you. He finds it endearing, your eagerness or your nervousness and somehow that settles something in you, makes this seem less terrifying. Elvis may have asked you something that’s a mighty strange request but he’s still your Elvis. He wouldn’t hurt you, not intentionally. It doesn’t take too long before you manage to get him out of all his clothes, watching as his muscles twitch under your touch and how the moment you step out of your undergarments his cock twitches so violently in the confines of his underwear he hisses when he gets to pull them off, cursing at his foreskin. The gun is sitting on the bed and you stare at it as Elvis moves behind you cupping your breasts and kissing along your neck slowly, trying to settle you like a scared animal.

“It ain’t loaded, honey, just— this one time, ‘member? We jus’ gonna try it, see if those Texans know somethin’ we don’t.” His voice is low enough to be crooning at you and you feel your body lean up against him, relax up against him. “You get to do it, baby. Just, do what ya want with the gun.”

It takes you a minute or maybe five of just relaxing against him to get up the nerve to crawl on his bed and prop yourself on his pillows.The gun feels heavy in your hand but you’re pretty sure you’re just imagining it as you let the metal touch your neck— your overheated neck— and whimper at the coolness of it. Elvis settles himself at the end of the bed, eyes watching how your nipples are already pebbling before the gun even touches them. You let your legs fall open to give him a better view and you hear a grunt that has you looking up at your boyfriend’s lower lip between his teeth.

“Already gettin’ shiny down there. Glowin’ in the moonlight, darlin’. Wanna- Gonna taste all that later, if ya don’t leave it all over the bed.”

You clench around nothing at the words and Elvis reaches out to touch you before you shake your head, “no, wanna— you wanna see me play wit’ this. Wanna see me play wit’ this like they did. No- You don’t get to touch.”

The funny thing is, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Elvis react as quick as he does in that moment. You don’t think you’ve ever seen your boyfriend respond to something you’ve told him to do as quick as he does in that exact moment. His hand goes directly to his own lap as he nods, whining just a little as he does and you have to bite back the soft giggle that threatens to escape you. The gun though, the sharp coolness of the metal helps you, helps distract you from giggling even if as the gun glides across your nipple you cry out almost in agony. Elvis had been right, they were practically begging to be sucked, to be warmed by his tongue and his mouth. Anything would be better than the bite of the metal, the brush of the barrel against them. Elvis doesn’t make a move though, you had told him not to touch and he was being good even as his hand strayed to his cock, playing with it, his thumb brushing over the tip as he pulled his foreskin back.

Focusing on him made things worse and somehow better, made you wish you had told him he could touch, made you wish he would was moving the gun himself but he told you this was your call, you were in control of what happened with the gun. Small whimpers leave your lips as you try and keep your legs open, practically trying to grind on the air as you slide the gun down down down your torso. You stop just shy of your vagina, your hand shaking a little before you hear Elvis’s voice.

“Ya— Ya good, darlin’?” His question is asked a little shakily but it makes you realize you aren’t the only nervous one here, or maybe he’s just so turned on he can’t speak straight. It doesn’t matter, you don’t think, not with how it calms you just so. “Ya want my help? Want me to hold it for ya?”

“Please?” Your answer comes out rushed and so quiet that you feel the rush and heat of embarrassment as you shiver from it. You want to do this, but it’s not something you’ve ever done and it’s new. For both of you, you hope. Elvis moves closer to you, deciding that sitting next to you might be the best position for this so he can watch and still help you. You move to take your hand off the gun, thinking he wants complete control before he links your fingers together and places both your hands on the gun. You’re still in control with just a little help from him.

You take your hand that’s not on the gun and use it you spread yourself open, making sure there’s enough of a glide from your arousal- a forgone conclusion you think- to help with the gun brushing against your cunt— your vagina— your whatever the two of you want to call it. As your fingers start to play with your clit you feel the brush of the metal finally sliding down and against your clit. A groan leaves your lips as you grind down automatically, craving something to finally give you some proper friction. It’s cold but it doesn’t have the same bite as it did against your nipples, no it’s almost as if the burning heat that keeps growing between your legs offsets it, allows the gun to be heated quicker than it ever would be outside of you. Elvis’s lips brush against the shell of your ear. “Ya ready baby? Ready to take it inside?”

A hum is all you can manage, too anxious and excited all at once to trust anything other than a whimper to leave your mouth if you open it. Elvis knows you though, knows you like the back of his hand or like his guitar and he pushes the gun inside you, slowly but surely, watching the barrel disappear in between your legs as you practically keen at the sensation. It’s the metal contrasting with your skin, with your arousal with everything. It feels like it shouldn’t be up there while feeling less filling than Elvis ever has been. You rock a little against it as part of it brushes against your clit or maybe that’s just yours and Elvis’s hands. At some point you shut your eyes, not because you didn’t want to watch, but because the sensation feels better when you don’t see it, it keeps you grounded in a way having your eyes open doesn’t. Elvis’s voice seems so far away even as you rock against the gun. Had this been what the women were talking about? Did they feel like this too? Powerful and yet stripped bare knowing what was between their legs sliding in and out of their most private parts?

“Christ they weren’t lyin’ ya look fuckin’. Gonna hafta help me wit’ what’s ‘tween my legs, honey. Wanna taste ya after this- wanna have ya all night. Missed ya and now ya doin’ this? Fuckin’ perfect for me. Best girl I coulda asked for. Ya gonna— Ya hear how ya sound?” His words are slurred against your ear and you do hear yourself, hear how the gun squelches and squishes between your folds and you whine, your head turning trying to bury your head into Elvis’s shoulder even if it should be impossible. Your brain and your heart and your ears register him shushing you, telling you he’s gotcha, telling you how he wants to see you come like this and that does it. You clench around the barrel and a soundless scream leaves your mouth as your orgasm rips through you and leaves you shaking and twitching against Elvis. There’s a warmth next to your leg and you open your eyes to see Elvis’s own release against your leg as he flushes under your gaze.

Almost as if he wants to distract you he starts to pull the gun out and you shut your eyes at the sensation before opening them back up again when you hear the pop of it being pulled completely out of you. It takes you and Elvis a few minutes after he tosses the gun to the side before you speak.

“Can’t do that again tonight.” But perhaps another night, your mind thinks as you move to play with Elvis’s cock.

His hand moves to swat your hand away as he slinks down the bed and puts himself at eye level with your vagina. “Don’t want ya to,” he pauses, licking his lips as you allow your legs to fall open just a hair. “Gonna taste ya though. See if ya taste any different.”

You don't.

#elvis presley #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #that's all the tags i'm doing.#ally writes #should've hid this one in my ao3.

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