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mooooonnnzz · 1 year ago

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here me out, miguel w a daughter who adores mayday

Babysitting Mayday! // Miguel O’Hara x Daughter!Reader X Mayday Platonic

✮ fem reader!

✮ teen reader WOOO

✮ reader is hesitant on looking after mayday at first but warms up

✮ i think thats all??

✮ SEND MORE IDEAS FOR DAD MIGUEL!!

✮ i got a lil carried away w the req 😭

You scrolled through your phone absentmindedly, too caught up in the thoughts running wild in your head to realize the front door was open. You also failed to hear the loud clamor of Peter eagerly dashing down the hallway. What brought you out of your head was Peter’s frantic calls of your name. He waved his hand at you, smiling widely. Mayday, who was on the baby carrier that was wrapped around his chest, babbled cheerfully, clearly mocking her father’s giddy attitude.

“Peter, what are you doing here?” You turned off your phone and tossed it aside.

“I’m here to lend Mayday over to you!” The smile on his face grew impossibly larger. Mayday threw her cubby fists up in the air, kicking her feet back and forth as she let out a gurgled “Yeah!”

“Wait, what?”

Peter put his hands under Mayday’s armpits and lifted her up. “Yeah! Miguel told me that you’d love to take care of Mayday.” He placed Mayday on the couch, chuckling softly at her when she flopped forward onto the couch. She pushed herself up and shook her head, her rumpled ginger hair swayed along the action.

Peter set his hands on his waist and turned his attention over to you, his smile dropping at your aghast expression. “Did he tell you?”

“No! He didn’t tell me.” Your eyes trailed off to Miguel’s bedroom where he was peacefully sleeping, unaware of the situation that was unfolding in the living room.

“Oh…” Peter frowned, unclasping the baby carrier around his chest. “I’m sorry to dump her on you, kiddo.” Peter’s genuine empathy did lessen the annoyance of the whole thing. He looked truly upset for you. “I wish I could take her back but I already promised to take MJ out on a date.”

The mention of his date made you notice the crumpled black suit Peter was wearing. His suit was crinkled and untucked, and the white button up was pooling out of his jeans. His tie was loose and sweat stains were seen on his shirt. His hair which looked like it was styled properly before he came rushing over here became messy and unkempt. Peter toyed with the cuffs of his suit, flashing a charming smile at you. “How do I look?”

“Oh, uhm—!”

The loud trill of Peter’s phone saved you from the inevitable truth. He jumped at the sudden noise and fished his phone out of his back pocket, walking away from the living room and into the hallway to privately talk to who you assume is MJ.

You look over to Mayday and weakly smiled at her. “I’m stuck with you now, huh?” As if she understood you, she clapped her hands together, smiling back at you.

Peter comes back, placing a large bag filled with Mayday’s necessities and what not. He quickly informs you of Mayday’s schedule, what to feed her, when to change her, and other things you dreaded doing. He finished his rambling with a loving kiss on Mayday’s forehead and chaste goodbye with you.

The front door closed and you were officially alone with Mayday for the time being. You awkwardly looked over to Mayday, a small snort leaving your lips as she rolled back and forth on the couch. Though, your laugh was cut short when Mayday rolled too close to the edge. You let out a gasp as you reach out for her and catch her in your arms with ease.

“Jesus, Mayday. You almost hurt yourself!” You tell her, knowing she couldn’t fully understand you. Mayday only giggled in response and began clambering out of your hold. This is going to be a long night.

The loud joyful shrills of a little baby sounded in the house, disrupting Miguel from his nap. With a groan, he got up from the bed and slipped on the unicorn slippers you gifted him for Father’s Day. He let out a yawn and he sleepily shuffled out into the living room.

“What’s with all the noise?” He grumbles out, bleary eyes blinking harshly under the bright light.

His question was answered with little Mayday darting past him, giddily squealing as you chased her. Miguel rose a curious brow, watching you scoop Mayday into your arms. “I caught you!”

“Why is Mayday here?” He squinted at Mayday, letting out his signature sigh. He treaded his way into the kitchen to make himself his coffee.

Mayday crawled out of your arms and wrapped her legs around your neck, resting her little body on your head. You placed your hands on her tiny knees to root her in place as you walked over to Miguel.

“Apparently, you told Peter that I’d babysit her today.” You looked at him with such an accusing look that Miguel had to roll his eyes. “Oh, I did?” He put a pink princess cup under the coffee maker and watched with tired eyes how the cup filled up with his bitter coffee. He was using the coffee cup you gave him when you were little. Removing the cup out of the coffee maker, he took a quick sip before smirking at you.

“I don’t remember saying that.” His voice was a mix of amusement and sarcasm. To mask the growing shit-eating grin on his face, he brought the cup back to his lips and started drinking from it.

You gasp dramatically. “Yes, you do! You did this on purpose.”

“Don’t act like taking care of Mayday is so hard,” Miguel said, ruffling Mayday’s hair with his hand. “Isn’t that right, mamita? She’s just being dramatic, isn’t she?” Miguel spoke to Mayday in his baby voice. She babbled in response.

Miguel plopped down on the couch, sipping his coffee as he grabbed the remote. “I didn’t want to babysit her for another time so I told him that you’d babysit her,” Miguel says, surfing through the channels to find anything that piqued his interest.

Your eyes widen in realization. “Is that why you took a nap in the afternoon? So he wouldn’t see you?”Mayday’s hands gripped onto your hair, pulling and playing with it. “Ay! Mayday.” You grabbed her sides and removed her from your shoulders. Your fingers grazed her stomach, and squeals of laughter left her as you tickled her. Her hands let go of your hair in the process.

“Yeah,” He takes another sip of his coffee. “I told him I was busy with work.” A light chuckle escapes Miguel. “I don’t know why he believed me. I’m off on Saturdays.”

With Mayday in your hands, you decided to drop her on him for revenge. You dropped Mayday on his chest, her body tumbling down his chest and onto his thighs. “Careful with my coffee!” Miguel scolded, jerking the hand that held the coffee cup away from the destructive toddler.

“My bad.” You laugh, laying down on the sofa. Mayday notices you laying down and waddles her way over to you, flopping herself onto your stomach. You run your fingers through her hair, soothing Mayday to sleep.

“She’s so cute.” You whisper, smiling at Mayday who’s curled up into a ball on your stomach. “She reminds me of you when you were younger,” Miguel says softly, his heart warming at the sight of you and Mayday.

Your mouth drops open in shock. “I was not this crazy as a baby.” You couldn’t remember the last time you were able to sit down in peace ever since Mayday arrived. There was no way you were as energetic as her.

“Oh, you don’t remember, but I do.” He shakes his head in amusement. “You pooped and peed everywhere—“

“—Okay, okay! I don’t see the reason why you needed to mention me crapping and pissing everywhere.”

Miguel fights back a laugh as he shrugs. “But it’s true.” You scoff playfully, your eyes moving to the TV screen to watch whatever Miguel put on.

A comfortable silent blankets the three of you. As your eyelids begin to droop, your hand cards through Mayday’s hair one last time before you knock out. The stress of today finally catching up on you. Though, you couldn’t complain. Mayday was fun to have around. Maybe babysitting Mayday wasn’t so bad.

#across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara x daughter! reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x teen! reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x kid!reader #miguel o’hara x daughter!reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara #mayday x reader #miguel o’hara x reader platonic #mayday x reader platonic

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aconflagrationofmyown · 2 years ago

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That lil house, between your legs, where all my dreams wait

A Sarge & lil Mama fic -the Proposal

Summary: Elvis informs a certain girl of his dreams that she’s gonna marry him…she’s got some concerns and conditions, one includes him making sure his babies will fit in her lil house

Warnings: Umm, the mild usual with this universe? Themes of breeding, housewife and innocence kink, ill informed consent regarding a pussy inspection and said pussy inspection and descriptions of a vagina (ok, it’s Elvis being a creep and looking up her skirt on her request, but made cute ok?) mentions of Gladys’ death

-February of ‘58 timeline change

“It’s been decided.” is the first thing out of his mouth that morning as he strides up to Elaine where she stands in the shade of her father’s porch.

She’d been over at Graceland all day yesterday and the evening, too, -most days here lately- trying to make him eat, trying to keep him company, trying to get him out of his mother’s closet. It had been in the reverse order of all that, but she had done it. She was the only human that Private Elvis Presley would take orders from, though he reckoned she didn’t guess that. Sweetly, softly, efficiently, she’d gotten him out and gotten him calmed down and gotten him fed. Probably would have put him to bed if he hadn't given her a weak smile and told her to run on now, he wanted to discuss something with her father.

And now he’s here on her porch, looking like maybe he did sleep after all, judging by the rumpled state of his usually pristine hair. It’s growing out a little since they shore him of his prized locks. She thinks he looks better this way, prettier and sweeter without the gel and the sulk. He looks older, too, the way his arms bulge from push-ups and bootcamp, highlighted by the way they bracket the porch posts as the heavy weight of his gaze flicks over her.

“What’s been decided?” Elaine asks him from the gloom of the porch, squinting at his looming silhouette as it’s outlined by the white, bright, February sun.

She’s unable to recall a single loose end regarding the funeral arrangements he had charged her to oversee. It’s over and down with. Miss Gladys is six feet below the sod in Graceland’s backyard and the fans and family have been hosted with impeccable hospitality by herself, the obituaries and memorials written, the flowers preserved as long as possible. Elaine noticed a few petals had started to fall from the Peace Lilly spray when she was over yesterday. She’d picked them up hastily, hoping he didn’t notice that even those were dying. The decisions are all over and done with, he’s due back to the army in a month. And she’s back to teach and produce at RCA.

“It’s been decided and don’t you go objectin, it’s for the best.” he repeats insistently, but his jittering leg gives away the bold act. He’s nervous, she realizes.

“What is it, Elvis?” she asks, voice soft and encouraging as it’s been all week.

“You’re gonna marry me,” he says, “talked it over with your daddy an’ everything, it’s settled. Graceland hasn’t got a mistress no more, and you belong there. Saw it all week, you’re perfect for it.”

He informs her -not asks, ask would imply some free will on her part- like it’s her required duty to the nation or something. Marry him. Like taxes or the draft.

“You outta your ever lovin mind?” she whispers, genuinely worried he’s snapped under the weight of his publically analyzed grief. She’s seen how useless Vernon has been in comforting him, she knows how lonely it gets when one’s mama isn’t there to comfort you for her dying on ya. Elaine really feels for him, she does.

He was there for her when it happened to her, so she’s been there for him. But she knows this can’t be more than a half baked idea.

“I’m dead serious.” he growls, his ferocity taking her aback, she shifts her weight from foot to foot and eyes him warily, “I told ya, it’s all settled, your daddy said yes, you ain’t got anythin to object to.”

“Don’t I just?!” she laughs, “Elvis, you’re just sayin this cause I’ve been with ya during these last few days, and you’re hurtin and you’re lonely and it’s understandable and I’ll be there for ya, always. But you just had a girl, and this’ll pass sure enough. You’re Elvis Presley, your life’ll go on after this. And, and I-well, I’ve been wanting to get married and I want babies and I’ve wanted it for awhile now. I’ve waited on ya to help me like ya promised but I won’t be played with, I won’t! Not even by you. Not even when you’re sore.”

“You want babies?” he asks, his voice low and a sweaty hand leaves the porch post and cups her cheek, calloused fingers digging into her scalp when she goes to pull away, “I’ll give ya babies.”

“I’m being serious, Elvis!” she complains, neck craned away from his assessment of her lips. She never jokes about children, and she won’t let him.

“So am I.” his soft, boyish face looks hopeful suddenly, and rather capable. “I’ll give ya babies, far more than most men could manage.”

“How?” she whispers, his persistent sobriety throwing her into confusion.

“How?” he repeats, copying her quiet tone, distantly hearing the faint squeak of the porch swing chains as the breeze lazily rocks it.

“Yes,” she hesitantly goes on, “how do you know you can? How does anyone know if they can?” It’s something that's bothered her for awhile now. The idea of marrying a man who fails to give her children like Mrs. Myers husband down the street. Five years married and no kids, it’s the talk of the neighborhood. Or those starlets who manage to never have a child and disfigure their waists, no matter the amount of masculine company they keep.

Elvis cocks his head to the side, a puzzled glimmer in his eyes as Elaine’s bashfully inquiring eyes plead with him to understand her burning curiosity. And when he does -fully understand her naïveté, that is- he feels his cock twitch beneath his belt.

“Wellll,” Elvis draws the word out and she is swaying towards him now, that boiling hunger to learn coiling her tight as she hangs on to his every syllable, “I’m pretty confident, it’s just a thing that a man can tell, ya see, it’s a guess, but an educated one. But, we could make sure.” he’s winging it at this point, and shaming his heavenly mother while he’s at it, but he can’t seem to stop himself, not now that he knows he’ll be her teacher and her claimer if he can just make her agree, “We could check and make certain I ain’t overpromisin’, make sure the furniture fits the house, if ya get my drift.”

She doesn’t get his drift. That’s plain to see by the quizzical furrow of her eyebrows and the gape of her plump mouth as she tries to make sense of his euphemisms. Clever and bright Elaine Phipps looking a bit dumb as she blinks up at him in the shade of her front porch makes him smirk wickedly.

“You want children?” she asks, instead of taking him up on his offer just now.

“Most certainly do, we talked bout this before, Elaine.”

“You were complainin bout Anita, back then. Anything to find fault with her, doesn’t mean ya like children.” she crosses her arms and it pushes up her girlish bosoms, pale and promising beneath her gingham check house dress. He’s gonna make those bigger, so plump they’ll spill over that merely adequate neckline.

“Look here you got it wrong, Anita and the rest, they were nice gals, yeah?” he concedes, but it’s just to launch his next explanation, “But they weren’t mama material, ya see? My mama, she told they weren’t fittin, and she told me you were. Just as all the twiggy boys and sleek doctors and the artists fellers ya hang round, they either want your money or they’ll only make decent beaux -but they ain’t gonna make good daddy’s. Mark my words.”

“And what, you don’t want my money?” she teases.

“Now, ‘Laney honey, I’m the one who makes ya your money.” he laughs, tweaking her nose with his fingers and she bats his hand away with a giggle. “And conversely ya own my voice, you’re on my label as a producer, right next to your ole man.”

“Speaking of,” she grows earnest, “ya know Sam Cooke? Signed onto RCA right after ya?”

“Yeah, what of ‘im?” he frowns, impatient this conversation has gotten derailed from its original purpose -to the topic of another man, and a swanky one at that, “You gonna marry him?” he balks.

“No, no! though if he asked…” she winks and he squeezes her waist in warning, feeling the soft flesh give under her girdle from his pressure. That’s how it’ll feel to hold onto her when she rides him.

“What bout him?”

“So, he’s gonna start another record company,” she looks so earnest and invested in the topic he has to let her go on, “one where the artists will have control and rights to their music! And he’ll stay at RCA in the meantime but he’s tryin’ to find supporters and other to join him, a few have already this first month. And, well -“

“What?” he asks again, and it makes her lashes flutter as she gets shy under his stare, “Ya want me to join?”

“Well yeah! Though I doubt Parker would let ya. But that isn’t what I was gonna tell ya.” she bites her lip, “My point is, the point is -that Sam has offered me to be a producer! I mean -Elvis! We’re talkin Cooke, Redding and Smokey and well Burke and- lord it would work for you! But the point is, I’m gonna be doin that, I’m thinkin of taking him up on it.”

“Now hang on a second.” he shakes her gently by his hold on her waist, “One minute you’re objectin to marryin me cause I’m ‘Elvis’ and you say that as if babies an’ me don’t go together like cookies and cream -and now here ya are all talkin bout hangin with cool cats and producin and climbin the laddeh. Which ya want honey? Thought you wanted to be a mama?”

“I’m just saying,” she stamps her foot in the little bit of floor space his crowding has given her on the porch, “You’re talkin bout marryin and Graceland havin a missus and meanwhile you’re gonna be gone across the ocean! How’s that make any sense? Ya don’t need a wife for that, I could be house sittin for ya just as well, while producin with Cooke in the meanwhile and when you get back, I’ve no doubt you’ll fall in with some starlet or other. See? There, fixed. Sensible plan now. And I agree to it, yer welcome.”

“Little girl, yer not hearin me at all.” he raps his knuckles against her oh so sensible yet silly head, her startled indignance the cutest thing he’s ever seen, “I want me a woman to marry before God, to give my children to, to raise those children to a right legacy, to help me make a change for good in all this mess. And I want that to be you.” he articulates the last sentence clearly and prods his index finger against her chest, like the finger of fate marking her out for this.

“Elvis i-“she shakes her head adamantly, and he thinks it must be a little hard for her to understand that his every daydream, every evening prayer, every midnight spill into the sheets these last two years have been about making a family outta her. But she will get the vision, she’s gotta. She has to. Or else. Else he’ll do somethin rash and unchristian if she doesn’t relent to bind herself to him before he goes back to Fort Hood.

Somethin real rash, like wring her neck or admit he’s a goddamn slave for her. Embarrass them both. She probably can tell, the way he’s gripping her and nearly salivating over such close proximity to her lips and body and everything. He has to remember his mama, has to remember how to treat the gal she pointed out to him in the manner befitting a new Mrs Presley.

“You want babies? Hmm?” he’s breathing in her exhales he’s so close, as she’s bowed backwards as he leans in, her little head almost bumping her fathers front door in an effort to keep their lips apart, “I’ll give ya babies. You wanna make good music? The best in music is holdin ya right now, baby. You wanna make a difference? I know ya do, ya want power and ya want security and money and ya want love, don’t ya? Way I see it, I’ll give ya that. Better and more of it than anyone. Sensible plan, ain’t that what ya called yours? Well, here’s one, damn sight more sensible than yours and tryin all this solo.”

Her pretty lips are puffing with each labored breath she takes to steady herself and her eyes track over his face intently, and he knows she weighing the pluses and the minuses, his fame verses money and his moods over his devotion and his appetites over his loyalty and anonymity over influence. The hands she has pressed to his chest to keep them apart soften with each passing moment.

“But -do ya even love me, Elvis?” she asks, a note of something very sad but a little hopeful lingering in her voice. Like she’s mourning the fact that she’s considering this for all the reasons that make her so wonderfully practical, but the girl in her can’t help but wish for a little romance.

A gust of a breeze whips her hair around her in a swirl of brushed out curls and her eyes sparkle even in the porch’s shade. He cups that precious, brave little face in his hands and presses her against the screen door, neighbors and street traffic be damned

“Oh honey,” he gushes then, cool demeanor abandoned and all that lovely passion she adores in him coming out at last, “I have for a long while now. And I can’t think of a stronger way of showin ya than to give you my babies. To make a life with you, give ya mama’s house and my name. Please say yes, Elaine. Please, please I need ya to say yes.”

“Oh Elvis,” she breathes, feeling him hold her and promise to her and want her is every bit as naturally compelling of obedience as that night of the funeral, but she never once imagined it as his wife, “I just don’t wanna be alone Elvis,” she tries to make him see her true fear, “I’m real honored by this but, but I’m so lonely and I want all this so I won’t be! And you’re gonna be gone. Gone to Germany and then gone to make music and movies and-“

“I’m gonna take ya with me! Always, always together, I swear!” he closes the distance and presses his lips to hers firmly despite her lack of response, “I need me a wife, Elaine,” he pants against her mouth and she can smell the spearmint of his gum, “I need a good woman, and you’re the one mama pointed out to me. Shouldn't of put it off so long but I-I was a fool. I need ya with me everywhere I go, don’t send me across the ocean without you! Don’t, you wouldn’t be so cruel, please baby, please!”

He’s not sure how it happens but he’s slumping down the length of her body, hands sliding along the gorgeous outline of her and suddenly he’s on his knees, painted boards hard against his knees, begging like a groom oughta, his face is pressed to her womb. This womb he’s got such plans for and such right to and he has to make her see that in his head they’ve been married for years already. “I’ve taken care of ya, haven’t I?” he begs her to remember, “You trust me to take care of ya, to love ya, to cherish you, don’t ya, Elaine?”

The kicker is she does. And she’s not sure why she worries more is needed. All she wants right now is to be needed, and the crying, grieving young man clinging to her right now needs her badly. She runs her fingers through his hair soothingly and likes the way that makes him shudder. “Will you always need me, Elvis? Really? Even when good times come round again?” she asks what really worries her.

He pulls his face away and looks up at her, lips puffy and his dark lashes clumped from tears, “Always, Elaine, always.”

“And you’ll give me Graceland?”

“Yeah, course baby, you’ll be my wife, it’ll be yours!”

“I mean...legally, you’ll give it legally.” she doesn’t ask this time, she’s stating conditions.

“I-I-if it matters so much, sure. What’s some more papers?” he laughs. “Why?” he adds with a flicker of dread.

“You won’t divorce me if I’ve got Miss Gladys’ house, will ya?” she explains and has the audacity to grin.

It hurts deeply that she still doesn’t get just how badly he wants her for all eternity. “Why you talkin bout divorce, honey?” he asks wounded.

“So many people get them.” she says mournfully, “And mostly entertainers.”

“That's cause they marry icy bimbos and are selfish bastards.” he states, rising up to his own two feet again, the topic back on safe ground -ground he has the upper hand in. “See, darlin, there’s plenty of men who want wives, and cause the wives want children they tell the poor girls they want kids, too. But they don’t, so once the wives have got the kids they move on. Real dastardly thing to do and more common than you realize. And with your money and your looks, you’ll have a line of such good for nothin bastards linin up with fake promises. You understandin me?”

“Yeah.” she swallows thickly, knowing he knows far more about all this than she does.

“So it’s important to marry someone ya trust, right?” he prods.

“Yeah.”

“More so than even someone ya love, dontchu think?”

“I suppose so.” she nods, care creasing her face, “You don’t mind that I don’t love ya Elvis?” she asks worriedly, “Because I am really fond of ya, and I enjoy you I just -I don’t think I love ya.”

“I’m willin to bet that’ll come.” he says solemnly, “And I’m willin to put in the work to make it grow. Just as I will our babies.”

Her face softens at the mention of the longed for babies. A smile even plays around her mouth, beginning to plump up her cheeks. “Will ya check, then?” she whispers.

“Check what?” he asks, absently thumbing the beautiful line of one of her collarbones.

“If it’ll work.” she blushes, ignorance both emboldening and shaming her all at once, “Make sure we can make babies for sure, you and I.”

“Gotta do that before you say yes?” he laughs, disbelieving and feral at the prospect.

“Yes, it’s important to me, Elvis.” she remonstrates against his humor. “Most important thing of all.”

“A-a-alright, I-I-I’ll check.” his mouth runs dry at the prospect of seeing, smelling, maybe even wetting his fingers in that place he’s wrung himself dry imagining night after night and morning after morning. And the fact she’s asking, offering -under ill informed pretenses as it is. “Can’t do it out here.” he whispers, the depravity of his taking advantage like this actually taking a toll on his bravado.

“Come in then,” she whispers in turn, though from a different motivation, “but be quiet, daddy’s still sleeping, ya kept him up so late.”

She opens the creaky screen door with painstakingly slow care, and the large wooden one, too, with its familiar stained glass windows. It is cool and dark without a lamp on or blind raised inside their den, she’d barely gotten dressed and come downstairs to start breakfast when she heard his car peel out in the front drive.

She spins around just short of the coffee table, her circle skirt swirling and swooshing tantalizingly, no stockings on yet as she wasn’t prepared for guests.

“Where should I….” she trails off as she surveys the different flat spots upon which to perch for this examination, her devout ignorance of the socially condemned nature of it all giving her a chipper confidence that Elvis finds throbbingly attractive in an unschooled virgin.

His voice sounds gravelly and about three octaves deeper than usual when he croaks out, “Anywhere's fine -how bout here…” he picks her up by her waist to sit her on the high top, Oriental imported side table, a gift her father gave her mother as an anniversary present.

It’s taller than the couch and it lets her legs dangle apart naturally. He could easily take himself out and slide right into her at this level. It makes him dizzy when he hears her shaky exhale as he seats her, belying a real, deep seated nervousness on her part that he’ll find some abnormality with her that will crush her dreams. The fact he’s certain she’s not as nervous over a red blooded boy lifting her skirt and looking at her bare cunt makes him so painfully hungry to devour her that he has to gnaw on his bottom lip to keep from groaning. -And taking advantage of what’s not yet his. For his mama's sake, for his mama's dream of this, he’s gotta keep ahold of himself and refrain from anything God might find fault with. For them to be punished with barrenness because Elvis couldn’t hold back before the proper time would be too cruel. He can’t do that to Elaine or himself. He’s gonna be the man in her life, has already been so for awhile now, and he’s gotta do right by her. He thinks this even as he gives her lips another peck and sinks to his knees to give her pussy an inspection that is as futile as it is arousing.

He rubs at her thighs over her dress soothingly, though by her quick breaths he suspects she’d rather he hurry and give a verdict. Her eyes that have been turned towards the staircase, making certain father is still asleep, drop to his face expectantly.

“Here I -let me, I should probably-“ she says determinedly and suddenly she’s pulling at her skirt, the thin fabric sliding from beneath his palms as she lifts it and then he’s holding onto warm flesh instead as she gathers the fabric to her waist.

He chokes on his own spit at her innocent brazenness and has to glance away for a moment from the blood stirring sight of graceful thighs bracketing plain white panties, a wet patch visible on the crotch and a few stray wiry curls sneaking out from the seams at her groin.

“You ok?” she asks, and the genuine concern in his voice tells him that the agonizing need he feels is visible on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just so goddamn pretty.” he admits, truth the only thing he can manage to blurt and it serves him well.

She looks relieved and gives him a pleased smile and chooses to spread her legs wider. So wide in fact that she has her heels propped on the sideboard beside her hips. Who needs stirrups for an examination when a girl can bend like that? Bend…oh god he can’t wait to bend and bury and dump inside her…

Elvis has never wanted to dive face first into a muff so bad in all his life. The wedding is gonna have to be next week. He can’t wait longer than that, he doubts he’ll sleep a wink until he knows what she tastes like.

“Can you tell like this?” her soft voice reminds him he gave her a fucking excuse for this perverted cock tease torture and he reels through the options of backing out now or pushing this a little further. “Or do you need to move these?” she voices the second option for him, the barrier of her panties implied if not mentioned.

“Yeah, gotta look at the lil house.” his voice comes out wavering and wrecked, “Lemme just-“ he tentatively raises his hands to her precious place and hooks his fingers to the cotton panties and pulls them to the side.

She’s so goddamn pink. Glistening and swollen like she’s been freshly teased. Something about him excites her, without her even knowing. Her curls are sopping wet, they slick up his fingers as he holds her apart, and in their strands they’re trapping the most delicious essence he’s ever smelled in his entire life. She hasn’t shaved, she hasn’t primped, she hasn’t stretched herself out, she’s exactly as God made her and he’s the first man to see it.

It causes him to whimper, long and gut wrenched, his whole throat throbbing as he wiggles on the floor.

“Oh…Jesus.” he wheezes.

“What?” she demands peering down at him, and she’s the authoritative one here, now that he’s all but humping the floor in his delicious misery of viewing Elaine Phipps’ perfect, unused cunt. “Will it work? Is something wrong?”

“No no no.” he garbles out, one hand slipping from her slick folds and gravitating to his own lap out of natural instinct, crushing his twitching bulge into submission, “You’re perfect, Elaine, absolutely perfect.” he wants to cry, maybe because he's so horny, maybe because he loves her so damn much. He’s really not sure, nothing makes sense except that he was meant to live inside that perfect little haven of hers that is honest to God trickling before his very eyes. His thumb involuntarily swipes up and spread it to her clit, making her buck towards his attentions.

“It’s achey, Elvis, it’s always achey.” she informs him, “Does that mean anything? Is it wrong?”

And he knows she means wrong as in humanly abnormal, not morally incorrect. He’ll never let her know anyone would think differently. As long as he possibly can he’ll keep her eager and unabashed.

“Nah honey, nah that’s a good sign.” he breathes heavily, still stroking that dribbling, untried place, “Means you’re fertile, means you’re ready for a baby. It’ll keep achin till ya have one in ya.”

“Oh.” her mouth rounds childishly and she nods as if this were a sudden epiphany.

“We should give ya a baby, then, shouldn’t we?” he prods now that he’s got her attention and her arousal.

“I’spose so.” she agrees, tentative, her lip drawn between her teeth, still contemplating this marital bargain with the fabric of her hem crushed in her palms. “Your babies’ll fit?” she asks once more for good measure.

His babies. She’s no idea it’s his cock she should anticipate. “Yeah, perfect fit. Don’t think anyone else’s would.”

“Oh….good.” she lets out a massive sigh of relief she has been holding in for most of her teenage years.

“Gotta marry me, first.” he reminds, swirling his thumb faster and she keens a little before remembering her father upstairs, “I can’t go round givin babies to someone who ain’t my wife, ya know.”

“Alright.” she agrees to marry him in a soft whisper, her hand coming to cover his own tenderly as it works between her legs, stalling his distracting movements.

“What’s that?” he asks again, breathless with hope.

“I’ll marry ya Elvis, if you’re sure we’ll work.”

“I’m sure.” he swears, watching the way her pink hole flutters, “I’ll give ya a baby and fix the ache, darlin. Won’t have to fret over anything again your whole life.”

The floorboards upstairs creak and Elvis nearly yelps in shock, so far gone was he in their own little world he’d forgotten that he’s got her spread bare in her father’s den. He stands up abruptly and pulls her skirt down gently, making her proper again.

Wedding night. He’s gotta wait till the wedding night before trying anything, or even explaining the mechanics of it, he thinks. He doesn’t wanna spook her, and he wants to have her stuck with him before he drops that final little detail about the necessity of a man going inside and blowing his load in order for the miracle of life to occur.

Yeah, that’s not something you tell a skittish little girl who just barely agreed to marry you for your mansion and security.

He’s pulled from this scheming by the feel of her arms winding around his neck, drawing him forward gently and to the immense relief of his battered heart he realizes she is about to kiss him. It’s a sweet kiss, gentle and tentative and growing in surety as she decides she likes it, and it’s the loveliest one he’s ever had, made so by the relief that she must care for him somehow, even if it’s no match for the insane obsession he harbors for her. It’ll do, it’s a seed he can water and grow.

“You’ll stay for breakfast?” she asks him as they pull away, drowsy and a little cross eyed from how long they’ve smooched.

“Love ta.” he murmurs, pulling her off the table and drawing her close so he’s holding her to him, swaying gently and savoring the feeling of his soon to be wife as she nestles into his chest.

Father comes down shortly after.

“It’s settled, sir.” Elvis informs him, a respectful title tacked on to a declaration that leaves no room for argument from either of you, “She’s agreed. And I’m the happiest of men.”

Most fathers might tell him, “congratulations” or “welcome to the family” or if it were someone besides Elvis Presley they might venture a “be true to her.”

Father says not a word, all advice and remonstrance and conditions already expended on this headstrong young man the night before. He surveys the young people as they embrace with a genuine smile on his lips and a world of melancholy in his eyes. Elaine wonders if he is mourning the loss of his own bride, or mourning her future as Elvis’.

For Elvis, though, that day is remembered as the most joyful and blessed of days when he lucked out and snagged the loveliest creature living. And how he came to eat French toast and cantaloupe beside her father without having washed his hands.

#sarge and lil mama #most wholesome breeding kink you ever did see #proposal #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis presley #elvis x you #Elvis one shot #mine #elvis x reader #Elvis x Elaine #elvis austin butler

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fettuccin-e · 2 years ago

Note

Prompt idea: spicy tasm!peter x afab!reader where peter puts his photography skills to use. Reader’s a lil shy but peter poses her and makes her comfortable. Not sure if the photos lead to sex or he gets inspired to do it during sex but could definitely go either way!

hello bestie yes!!! i needed to write a peter fic because i haven't in literally forever!!! i was really in the mood for fluff,, so this is kind of the fluffiest smut i've ever written bahahah i hope you enjoy!!

Tags: Peter Parker x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv, giggly sex, peter parker being a dork, taking copious amounts of nudes lol

Picture Perfect Moments

Peter hasn’t stopped kissing you since you both walked through the door of your apartment, grabbing desperately at your hips through your dress while you pull frantically at his tie.

It’s desperate and messy, as if it’s the last time you’ll ever have him, even though it never is. You try to work around each other’s lips, desperate to stay connected, hating the thought of having to break apart for even a moment. You have to crane your head up to meet Peter, your arms wrapped around his neck while walks you backwards. You’re too wrapped up in the feeling of his broad body against yours, his scent flooding your senses and the taste of his tongue against your own to even register that he’s managed to get you both into your shared bedroom.

You squeak into Peter’s mouth as he pushes you to fall backward onto the bed, and Peter falls heavily on top of you, squishing you into the mattress. And you can’t help the giggle that flies out of your mouth, can’t help the elated smile that spreads across your face and against Peter’s mouth. Peter breaks from your lips to kiss down your cheeks and down your neck, seemingly unable to take his lips off your body for even a moment, and you’re suddenly wracked with giggles, your chest shaking and smile so wide you may burst.

Peter breaks away from you with a soft grin not unlike your own. “What’s so funny?” he murmurs.

“I just,” you sigh. The elation is hard to put into words. The utter joy that fills your bones at the feeling of Peter Parker being yours. Only yours. And you’re his. You’re the one he tugs close to his chest as you walk along the sidewalk, it’s you he kisses at any opportunity. “I’m just so fucking happy, Peter,” you whisper, and hope that it’s enough. It always is, for Peter.

Peter’s smile is nearly blinding as he looks at you, pecking you once, twice on the lips before just hovering over you to stare. Your cheeks heat almost immediately, like they usually do when Peter looks at you like that. Peter couldn’t care less, though. Not when your cheeks are all flushed, your pretty eyes looking him like he’s hung the fucking sun. Not when your dress is so deliciously rumpled, the straps falling off your shoulders. An angel, just for him.

“I like you when you’re happy, baby,” he whispers, and you giggle again. A strange look passes over his eyes, brief but noticeable, before he’s diving to meet your lips again. “Stay right where you are, okay?” he whispers against your mouth. You’re already nodding. You trust Peter. In any scenario, at any time or place, you trust him. He kisses you quickly again, soft and chaste, before he’s standing and bolting from your bedroom, leaving you panting and spread across the mattress.

You barely have any time to contemplate where the fuck he may be going before he’s back, standing in the doorway, staring at you with that same strange expression in his eyes.

He looks at you like you’re the answer to every question he’s ever had, like you’re the sun and the moon and the stars. Peter looks at you like you’re everything. You curl in on yourself under his gaze involuntarily, causing Peter to finally suck in a breath, as if he hasn’t even been breathing.

“This is… this is gonna sound weird, okay?” he mumbles, and you nod, trying to encourage him. “Can I,” he sucks in another breath, rubbing at his eyes with one of his hands, and you suddenly realize that he’s holding his camera in the other. “Do you think I could take some pictures of you? You just look so,” he kneels up onto the bed, leaning over you to kiss you softly on the cheek. “So fucking beautiful like this.”

Oh.

You giggle again, incredulous, and Peter smiles, before you wind a hand into his hair and tug his mouth onto yours. “Don’t you look at me enough as is, Peter?” you mumble between kisses.

“Never,” he says, and the utter vehemence in his voice makes you laugh harder. He leans back while you’re mid laugh, raising his camera to snap a few pictures. You’re practically glowing in the lamplight, Peter thinks. The curve of your smile plumps your cheeks, makes your eyes crinkle at the corners. He takes another picture, then another.

Then the temptation of the strap falling off your shoulder is far too much for him to bear. He lays his camera next to your head for only a second, leaning down again to trail kisses down the line of your neck and over your shoulder, using his free hands to drag the straps and the top of your dress down your body, leaving the fabric to pool around your waist and your bare tits exposed to him. He blinks up at you dumbly, and you run a hand through his hair.

“A bra wasn’t going to work with this dress,” you say, answering his unspoken question.

“Thank god for that.”

You barely have time to laugh at that statement before he’s on you again, kneading one of your tits in his hand while his mouth goes to a nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He licks at it greedily before moving to the next, leaving your chest achy and puffy. Peter could spend hours licking and biting at your pretty tits, littering the skin with bite marks and bruises, but with the way you’re mewling, your hips bucking under him, he knows that there are other parts of you that need attention.

You whine when Peter leans back to grab his camera again, raising over you to snap another few photos of you, with your nipples all puffy and hair mussed.

“Push ‘em together for me baby?” he asks, softly, and you only hesitate a moment before you’re pushing your hands under your breasts, plumping them up for the camera. Peter curses under his breath, and you can hear the shutter of his camera whirring as he takes photo after photo. Your chest fills with a little bit of confidence at Peter’s unwavering gaze. Peter never fails to make you feel like the most beautiful, sexy thing in the damn world, even if you sometimes don’t believe it yourself.

You let go of your tits, moving your hands down to push at the dress surrounding your waist, hooking your thumbs into your panties as you go. Peter leans off of you to give you room as you raise your hips off the bed, slowly shoving the fabric off your body in a way you hope is sexy. And judging from Peter’s sharp intake of breath and the quick clicks of his camera, it definitely is.

Soon, you’re completely bare under Peter’s gaze and camera lens. It feels oddly vulnerable, even though Peter has absolutely seen you like this before, naked and completely desperate for him. Still, goosebumps erupt over your body, your legs coming up in a feeble attempt to be modest.

Peter pulls the camera away from his face.

“Please don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, reaching a hand forward to brush it over your cheek and down to your chin, tilting your face up until you meet his eyes. “You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now.”

You’re pretty sure that your blush is going to burn you alive at this point.

The hand on your chin moves down, down, as Peter shifts further to the bottom of the bed, camera still clutched in his other hand. His long fingers trail between the valley of your breasts, over your heaving stomach, and right down to the apex of your thighs.

You jolt hard when his finger brushes over your clit, whining high in the back of your throat. Suddenly, the throbbing of your pussy is unbearable, aching and needy.

“Peter, please,” you whimper, but Peter just shushes you gently. Wordlessly, he lifts the camera up to his eyes again, and slowly spreads the lips of your cunt apart with those long, dexterous fingers.

The shutter of the camera clicking seems to echo throughout the room.

Then Peter’s setting the camera down and diving forward. You want to fucking scream as he licks a long, wide stripe up your slit, groaning as he does. He licks his tongue maddeningly around your sticky clit before sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh fuck, Peter, Peter,” you whine, your thighs quivering beside his head, but Peter is lost to it. He sucks and licks at your clit while the hand that was once holding that damned camera traces up the inside of your thigh. He inches one of his long fingers into your cunt, and he reaches so fucking deep, just with his hand. So much deeper than you can.

Your hips are twitching, undulating into Peter’s face as you tug at his hair. It has to hurt, just a little, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind. He seems perfectly content to just eat your pretty cunt for hours. He slides a second finger into you with barely any resistance from your needy cunt, scissoring them open. He crooks them upward periodically between stretching you, pressing into your g-spot, and you have to remind yourself how to fucking breathe.

You’re babbling, unthinking and desperate. “Fuck me, oh god, please Peter. Please fuck me, need you in me so bad, can’t breathe without you inside me, oh Jesus, Peter I-“

Peter breaks his mouth from your clit to climb slowly up your body, his fingers still buried deep inside you. “Okay, okay baby, I hear you.” The loss of his fingers makes you mewl, but you still keep your thighs spread apart for him while he strips for you.

Peter isn’t graceful, not in the slightest, and his desperation to get naked makes it even worse. He manages to strip off his shirt, shoves off his shoes without a whole lot of struggle, but you can’t help your snort of laughter when he nearly trips while getting his pants and boxers off. He has to catch himself on the bedside table when he nearly faceplants on the carpet, and smiles boyishly at your soft laughter.

He’s still smiling and you’re still laughing at him when he climbs up onto the bed again, this time blissfully naked.

“Think my misery is funny, huh?” He murmurs through his grin, kissing under your jaw as he settles between your legs.

“As if you could possibly be miserable when you’ve got a fresh stash of my nudes, Parker.”

“Hm,” he chuckles, “y’know, you’ve got me there.”

And then he’s pushing in, and you can’t do anything but gasp wetly, digging your nails into his broad shoulders as he bullies you open around his thick cock.

“Shit, always so tight,” he mutters, drawing his hips out and shoving himself back in.

Peter ruts into you like he can’t seem to pull himself away, barely drawing his cock out of you before plunging himself back in. He drapes his heavy body over yours, comforting and warm, while his cock breaks you apart.

“S’big, you’re so fucking big, Peter,” you slur, delirious and stupid.

“Taking it so well for me baby, you always- fuck, you always take me so well. ‘S like this pussy was made for me, yeah? Were you made for me, gorgeous?”

“Just for you, god, Peter I-“

“I know, baby, doin’ so good for me.”

The tip of Peter’s cock is grinding maddeningly into your sweet spot, over and over and over, and you don’t even know if Peter is trying to, just that he is. The knot in your stomach is just getting tighter, unbearable.

“Gonna, I’m gonna cum Peter, oh fuck,” you whine, and Peter clutches at your hands, pinning them over your head.

“C’mon, baby, c’mon,” Peter mumbles, rutting into you faster, faster.

You can’t tell if you scream when you cum, your ears are ringing too loud for you to tell. You can blearily see Peter above you, his eyes clenched shut, gasping as he comes inside of you, filling you up.

The room is hazy and dreamlike as you clutch onto each other, breathing against each other and waiting for the world to feel real again. Peter nuzzles his face into your hair, letting the scent of your shampoo consume him while you trace shapes into his back. After a few minutes, he lifts his head and blinks down at you, and you meet his gaze with a soft smile.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers.

“Hey handsome,” you whisper back.

He kneels up and off of you, soft cock slipping out of your used pussy. You nearly cringe at the feeling of his cum starting to leak out.

Peter shuffles away, and you watch him grab his camera again. You can barely feel your legs, let alone shut them, before Peter angles his camera lens between them.

He uses a hand, once again, to spread you apart for him, giving him a clear view of the mess he’s made of you.

The camera clicks several times, and you giggle again, your brain still scattered. You resign yourself to delirium. With Peter Parker, it's hard to be anything other than delirious.

#tasm peter smut #peter parker x y/n #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker x you #spiderman x y/n #spiderman smut #spiderman x reader

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blossomwritesthings · 1 year ago

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𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader is now his past client. this is the fourth part of the spicy stuff. 18+ warnings under cut.

word count: 3.5k

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

18+ warnings: minho and reader are extremely horny for each other. softdom!minho (but also kinda harddom!minho in this too oop-). subby!femreader. teasing from minho. fingering. unprotected sex (stay safe out there folks!!). talk/use of safeword. jealous minho. some mind-blowing orgasms. excessive hair pulling. scratching. breast play. minho edges reader a lil bit. orgasm control. overstimulation. slight themes of possession/ownership. reader begs minho for his cock. PRAISE!!!. pet names (babe/baby, darling, sweetness, baby doll, kitten, good girl, baby girl, princess, and ONE whore). controlling minho. cum play. lots of dirty talk. breeding kink!!. subspace. they're such simps for each other at this point lmao- 🤡

a/n: well you guys, this is the second-to-last part of this series. although I'm sad to see it come to an end, I'm also excited and highly anticipating what the future holds for me and my fanfics!! and I wanna give a BIG shout out to all of my amazing readers- your guys' comments and support really brings me a lot of joy! and also, all of my wonderful and beautiful besties - both writers and non writers - ya'll are awesome!! 🥹💖

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

He laid you down on the bed gently, hands circling your hips and helping to push you up the mattress so that your head rested on top of one of your soft downy pillows.

Slinking your bare legs around his waist as he slotted his center between you, you reached up, wrapping your hands around his neck and looking up at him with big eyes and a quaking heart pounding in your chest. “S-Sorry if the bed isn’t too comfortable… it’s super old.”

Minho had you caged underneath him, with both arms on either side of your head, palms pressing down into the rumpled comforter just beneath you. “I wasn’t even thinking about that, baby doll,” he mumbled in that low voice of his, tipping down into you and pressing a serene kiss to your lips. “My mind is too filled with you and your beauty to ever complain about the feeling of a damn bed.”

Giggling at that, you leaned up into him again and gave him another kiss, this one a little more passionate than the last. The sting that rimmed your mouth exploded across your mind, as you realized just how kiss-swollen your lips were.

“Well then, I’m glad you’re too busy being obsessed with me to worry about such frivolous problems…” Your voice trailed off, a devious smile lighting up your face as one of your hands left his neck and traveled south. You stopped as soon as you reached the waistline of his baggy sweatpants. Pawing at him, fingers just barely skating over his hardness there, you widened your eyes, imploring him in silence.

Minho let out a generous sigh, tongue swiping across the line of your lips as he gave into your whims. “Do not be so hasty, kitten. It is quite beneath you.”

You glared at him, fingers digging a little bit into the front of his pants and eliciting a strangled moan out of him. “You promised, Min.”

Promised he would give you everything.

Give you his all.

He had done so as the two of you made the trek from your living room to your bedroom. And although your place was incredibly small compared to his mansion of an apartment, the journey felt like a lifetime. As he pressed sweet kisses across your entire face, humming in contentment and making whispery promises to you in the dimness of your bedroom.

As he stood on the threshold of the door, with you still wrapped up in his arms, completely at his beck-and-call, Minho stared down at you with the most ethereal of gazes. ‘I want you to have all of me, darling,’ he had said, dark eyes flashing with ravenous heat and love. With the only light source being the crescent moon that filtered in through your curtain-drawn bedroom window, the cool light cast an angelic-like glow across his skin. You reached up then, running your fingers across his sharp jaw and nestling your nose into the crook of his neck. Feeling the warmth there, smelling the comforting, familiar scent of him. ‘I want that too, baby,’ you murmured, just before pressing a light kiss to his exposed clavicle.

Minho flashed you one of his signature smirks. The kind that was sly and all-knowing, as he batted your hand away from his hips and made quick haste of working his sweatpants and boxers off of his legs. “I know- I know sweetheart,” then he was throwing them behind him, left to be taken care of later. He reached behind himself, stripping off his oversized hoodie and tossing it aside too. When he was finally finished, he pitched into you, brushing a few strands of wild hair out of your face and tucking it behind one of your ears. “I know how hungry you are for my cock, hmm? You’ve been craving it for so very long…”

He said something else after that, but his words were entirely lost on you, as you took in all of him.

So close.

And personal.

Before, when the two of you had lost yourselves to the pleasure in his bedroom, he had been farther away.

Sitting in a chair, all by himself.

But now…

Now, he was something tangible.

Touchable, even.

And completely bare for only you and you alone.

So without thinking, your hands came up. Fingers traced the soft outline of his abs, trailing up his sides, before circling his round, muscled pecs and brushing across his beautiful, little pink nipples.

When you felt a hand snake around yours, grabbing at you and dragging your palms away from his chest, you froze in your place.

Peeking up at him with wide, beseeching eyes. Mouth slightly ajar from the shock of it all.

“Did you hear what I just said, sweetheart?” He asked you, but all you could focus on was him.

Right… there.

Concentration trailing past his chest and landing on his waist.

And oh fuck- was he beautiful.

Hard, and swollen, with the tip already messily leaking precum onto the sheets just beneath you.

You wanted to reach out and touch him there too- but you were stopped by the feeling of fingers tightly wrapping around either of your wrists, squeezing to get your focus.

“Y/N.”

Your name was called out with a stony voice, tone a little edged. Your heart raced against your ribcage, core throbbing to be touched - to be fucked.

Then Minho was laughing, so close to your face, mouth a mere hairsbreadth away from yours. You hadn’t realized how near he had drawn while you were busy ogling him. The cackle he let out was maniacal and caused the blood to rush wildly through your veins, cheeks flushing crimson in embarrassment.

When he finally got ahold of himself and calmed down somewhat, Minho peered down at you with that pointed nose of his and smirked devilishly. “Holy fuck, you are hungry for me- aren’t you, kitten?” He pressed into you, allowing his hardness to just barely graze your wide open inner-thighs. “But don’t worry… because I adore a cock-starved whore.”

You choked on a whimper as he completely devoured your mouth, biting at your bottom lip, tongue swiping across yours. Your hands migrated to his scalp, yanking at the roots as soon as you felt him moving above you. Then he was gliding his tip across your folds, and you were a whimpering mess underneath him.

Head thrashing back and forth atop your pillow, you breathed out shakily when his mouth tore away from yours, “P-Please, I-”

Then, you had no time to react, as he was slotting himself fully between your legs, shoving up into you so quickly and so hard that bright blue and sparkling gold starlight burst across your vision. Your mouth fell open, all sense leaving you at the feel of him. At the stretch that pulled taught across your entire body.

But as soon as he bottomed out, he halted all movements, staring down at you with blown pupils, irises dark and swirling with so many different emotions all at once. “What’s your safeword, princess?” He asked, tone low and scratchy, as you felt him twitch inside of you.

“W-What?” It was hard for you to even string the word together on your tongue, as your core throbbed for movement - from the feeling of him being lodged so deep.

“Your safeword… what is it?”

You realized that he wasn’t going to continue until you answered him.

And although you had heard of the term before, you had never, in your wildest dreams, thought that you would ever use it. No, the two ex-boyfriends that you had had in the past were completely boring and vanilla only - nothing ever mind-blowing happened in bed with them. Yet here was Minho, already having tugged out a violent orgasm from you without even using his cock.

So you swallowed, once, feeling your walls clench around him at the thought that things were about to get rough. But in the rest possible of ways. “P-Peach.”

He nodded, once, before he was moving again. Away from leaning down into you, pert ass resting on the back of his heels as he kneeled atop the bed. He hoisted you towards him, gripping hard on your hips, fingers digging into your exposed flesh.

Soon after that, he started thrusting.

And oh-

How heavenly did it feel.

To have his thick cock, which was so perfect and curved, ramming into you.

He angled your body just so- so that the tip of him reached that silky, warm spot inside of you. Every time he hit it, waves of ecstasy broke across the forefront of your mind.

“M-Minho,” you cried out as he clutched on harder to your hips, slotting himself in and out, in and out, so very wholly and completely. The fit was absolutely divine. So much so that you felt your mouth falling open involuntarily, tongue lolling out as he hit into you so well. “F-Feels so good-“

“Fucking shit,” he growled, as he jerked you closer to him, cock driving into you with each breath that fell from your mouth. “You’re so tight- damn it.”

When you felt the sensation of a finger dragging across your skin, and a thumb coming in contact with your swollen clit, your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. Head going fuzzy with whiteness, you let go completely.

Meeting his hips halfway, the two of you moved with the swiftness and ease of the ocean tide and the moon. Push and pull, push and pull. With his thumb rubbing circles around your enflamed nub, and his girth stretching you so very ethereally, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to last long.

After all, he had been edging you for what felt like a fucking eternity.

It wasn’t until you felt the hand tear away from your cunt and roughly grip your jaw that your eyes shot open in alarm. Minho was staring down at you, a dim shadow cast across his entire face.

“Look at me when I’m making you feel good, baby girl.” He said voice strangled as he shifted positions, laying your hips back down on the bed and hitting an entirely new spot inside of you.

But it wasn’t a request.

No,

It was a command.

An order.

So you did just that, meeting his gaze as your brows furrowed together in pure bliss. The white-hot feeling of your release was steadily rising inside of your belly, beginning to crest over your mind.

Then Minho’s focus was ripping away from you, eyes landing on the place where the two of you met. Body against body, warm flesh to warm flesh. As his cock prodded and prodded at your entrance. Coaxing unchecked and strangled moans from the deepest parts of your very being.

“Just look at you, kitten,” he purred, tone thick with so much lust. “Taking me so well- this pussy… my pussy, is stretching so perfectly for my cock alone.” At his words, he started pounding into you with newfound vigor, eyes flashing with some kind of darkness that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

The way he laid complete claim over you - over your body - caused the heat to stir even faster in your veins.

“Yes- yes, I’m yours, my body- it’s all yours.” You panted out, already feeling the drool pool at the corner of your mouth from the way your mouth was still cracked wide open. You watched in your delirious state, catching how Minho’s hooded eyes locked with the way your cunt completely enveloped him. The squelches of your wetness enveloping him filled the entire room around you, the sounds of skin slapping against skin sending lewdness to everything about the hazy, sex-ridden night.

Just then, one of Minho’s hands left your waist, traveling up your chest and finding one of your breasts once more. You bit down hard on your puffy bottom lip, watching with bated breath as his nimble fingers played with one of your buds. The one that he had already attacked with his mouth mere minutes earlier.

“Did he fuck you like this?”

His odd question was like an ice-cold knife in your senses, cutting through the dizziness and the red vision and making your heart leap into the pit of your stomach.

“Who?”

“Your ex, from university.”

Minho’s cock reached depths inside of you that no other man had ever discovered before in your entire life. With his cock pounding into you at an ungodly speed, and his fingers digging into your hip and playing with your too-sensitive tits, it was a true wonder how you hadn’t come yet.

“No, baby, he didn’t.” You found yourself answering, your throat dry and raw from all of the moaning and screaming you had been doing for what felt like the past century. And it was all for him- because of him.

“Hmm, but I wonder…” He continued, finger pinching at your throbbing nipple at the same time that his cock found an entirely new spot inside of you, hitting it with each shallow breath you took. “Were you fucked so good like this by him? Did he completely ravage you whole with his cock alone?”

You choked on a gasp at his words, finally coming to realize that he had been jealous the entire time.

Jealous of your ex whom you had dated back in your university days.

That’s why he had brought him up earlier in the night, while the two of you were making dinner in the kitchen. Your ex must’ve been on his mind for some obscure reason.

Nails scratching down the length of his exposed, proud back, you offered him what you hoped was a reassuring smile. But from all of the tension that coursed through your entire body at the moment, you doubted that it looked all that believable.

“M-Min, no- no, he wasn’t as good, never could be, compared to you…” You whispered, voice turning desperate and strangled at the end of your words. You were quickly chasing your high, wanting it so very badly.

Minho was silent for a few beats, and you could feel him grow even more rigid inside of you. Like, your confession was a huge ego boost to him and he liked everything about it. Then suddenly he was yanking his hand away from your breast and going back to digging his nails into the tender skin of your waist.

“Where do you want me, kitten?” He grunted out as he struck a particular spot inside of you that sent a wave of fire to pass through your entire being.

With the way his thrusts were turning frenzied, you could tell he was close to the edge too. So you clutched a little harder at his hair, locking eyes with him and trying to covey every raw emotion you had bubbling up and out of you at that moment.

“Want you inside… wanna feel your cum in me- wanna be bred by you-” You sobbed wildly as your orgasm was quick in approaching. You felt your walls clench around this length that was buried so deeply inside of you. So wonderfully.

He twitched inside of you at your begging. It all went straight to his dick. “Then come for me, baby girl.”

And finally, you let yourself completely unravel.

Thread turning bare and unspooling from the tight knot that had been building up in the pit of your stomach for so very long.

Galaxies were cast across your vision as you screwed your eyes shut, throwing yourself into the bliss of it all. Your mouth fell open and from it came the most gut-wrenching, pleasurable scream you had ever made. Your heart felt like it was completely seized up in your chest, the beating having been long stopped from all of the desire and edging.

And then you felt a burst of warmth coat your insides, and your head was quickly thrown back onto the pillow beneath you. Your entire face felt like it had exploded into a vat of licking, wild flames, the shockwaves of release gripping onto your body viscerally.

You felt Minho’s hips stutter against yours, as he rode out both of your orgasms. Your walls fluttered around his cock, sucking him back in with each push and pull.

“You love it when I fuck my cum back into your little hole, kitten?” He taunted in a low, thick voice. Minho tipped down into you then, attacking your lips with a newfound intensity, lapping at your mouth. You moaned into him, the flush encasing the entirety of your body as your legs shook around him. “Want me to breed you every fucking night - just like this - until you’re so full of me that you can’t breathe?”

“Y-Yes!” Is all you could manage to say right then. You clutched at his shoulders frantically, nails raking across his skin as you felt his essence drip out of you. His hips jerked as he threw himself into the feeling of it all.

Minho pressed his sweat-slick forehead against yours, both of your chests rising and falling in tandem with the momentum of your releases. “Fuck- you’re so beautiful.” He said before he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead just as he stopped moving altogether.

And when he finally pulled out, you whined at the absence of him. At the feeling of being so empty once more. Because if you could, you’d wish to spend the rest of your days with him buried so deep inside of you that you can no longer think. That you could no longer stand or walk anymore.

He cooed as he looked down at you, brushing a few damp strands of your hair away from your head. His hands drew languid patterns into the sensitive skin of your thighs. “Look at you- all fucked out and just bursting with my seed.” Then his eyes flitted down to your exposed core and he tsked disapprovingly. “You need to take all of it, hmm? Can’t let any go to waste…”

You felt his fingers ghost over your swollen lips before he was gathering up the remaining cum that coated your inner thighs in his hands. And you had no time to react, as he was pressing gentle fingers back into you, between your folds, fingering his very seed back into your cunt.

“You didn’t even have to use the safeword,” his voice trailed off as he focused on his work, all while you squirmed underneath him from the stinging overstimulation that radiated across your body. “Been such a good baby for me, yeah? Taking everything I give you without complaining at all.”

When he was finished, Minho brought his hands up to his mouth and licked his fingers clean, giving you that wide, familiar smile you always loved. The one where he looked incredibly pleased with himself and especially, you.

He positioned himself on the bed so that he was laying on his side, facing you. When you turned and caught sight of the smile he still had on his face, you frowned in question.

Minho shrugged nonchalantly like he didn’t just rail you into oblivion for the last hour and a half in so many different ways. “You’re just super adorable when you’re fucked out like this- so quiet and calm.” He moved closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you towards his lovely body.

“I-I’m not fucked out.” Your stammering did not work to your advantage and seemed to prove his point as Minho let out a hearty chuckle from the way the pink spread up through your neck and pooled in your cheeks. You hit his shoulder playfully, too tired to deal with his antics any longer.

Because truthfully, you were fucked out.

Your brain was murky all over and your limbs were shaky and your core was numb from all of the touching and loving.

Even still, it felt amazing.

To feel everything, all at once.

And with the man you had been in love with for so very long.

“Can you just shut up and go to sleep already?” You finally managed to say in a clear voice without stumbling over your words like a bumbling fool.

Minho rolled his eyes just as you tucked your head into the warm spot of the crook of his neck, reveling in the way that he smelled faintly of sex and sweat.

It was a good scent on him.

A really good one.

One you would surely not forget for a very long time.

“Fine, fine- goodnight then, darling…” He muttered against your hair, pressing a kiss there as you heaved out a long, contented sigh. “Love you.”

You wrapped your arms a little tighter around his waist, burrowing into his calming presence just as the first waves of slumber overtook the forefront of your mind. “Love you too, Min.”

To be continued

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therealslimshakespeare · 8 months ago

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missing sarge and lil mama right now…

Aww this makes my heart swell. Here, have a (completely unedited straight from drafts) little 1963 domestic morsel:

Elvis was sat on their unmade bed, Jack snoozing in a pillow oasis beside him. Elvis was writing furiously. Sharpie in hand, silk pajamas still in place, rumple bed head without a stitch of gel and reading glasses perched on his nose.

Elaine watched him in her vanity mirror as she got ready.

Cue cards, that’s what he was writing, little white cards with prominent, block letters of prompts for Elaine to ask the attorney general this evening. An absolute first in their marriage, Elaine was the one headed out for a social engagement while Elvis, who the invitation and arrangements did not incorporate, blithely agreed to stay home with the children and wrote cue cards as Elaine prepared to go. His love for the man she was meeting overshadowed any disappointments and his natural tendency to be unsure of himself in glitzier settings had him obligingly unfussed about it all.

Save for the cue cards. But then again, one doesn’t meet a Kennedy every day, and certainly not “the brains behind the operation” as Elvis surmised Bobby Kennedy was. He’d certainly had the capacity as attorney general to be more vocal on subjects that interested Elvis himself, subjects and opinions he himself was forced to keep a tight lid on in his role in entertainer, and to avoid being made Conscience Arbiter of the People.

Elvis may have been sat, and he may have been cross-legged and he may have been writing but the entire bed was visibly vibrating from his excitement, as she glanced back at him in the mirror, suspecting most of the cards might be illegible. Not to worry, ever since she had won a date with the attorney general on the something-or-other raffle program, Elvis had been preparing her.

Of course he knew she’d have her own conversation to make with the man, of course he did, he was sorry, he really was sorry, he was just so excited as well.

Elaine smiled fondly at the soberly concentrated nerd on her bed, “And if you can, ask him about those hearing’s Laney, I know that ain’t usual talk in between passin’ salt but if you can manage it…”

“Yes baby, I’ll try, of course.”

Elaine rose from her brightly lit vanity table, kicking out with bare feet the long and narrow hem of her skirt. She felt a bit of a tart, the styles only becoming slimmer and more streamlined as the decade went on, and here she was swelling with her sixth child. She made Elvis swear that he would nix any choice too vulgar for this evening, and he had sworn up and down on his knees in the Sunset Boulevard boutique that she looked like the ripest goddess in the land, not a bit tartly, just entirely majestic.

Pulling away from the table with her clutter of cosmetics, Elaine eyed herself in the mirror and smoothed out the wrinkles over her figure, noting with some satisfaction that he hadn’t been entirely pussy addled when he’d swore it, she did look very well. And that’s all one needs to look when meeting a servant of the nation.

“Five minutes out, baby.” she notes to him as he’s still writing and he jumps in surprise, laying his pen down with regret and taking to blowing on the ink to make it dry in between a bit more excited chatter.

“Mhmm” Elaine agrees absently as she tries to fasten an earring, the backs on these ones have an odd little curve and much as she loves the gaudy baubles -and they do so suit her peach dress- they’re a terrible trial to secure.

Elvis notices her plight and discards his cards, jumping off their bed in a flurry of blue silk and comes up behind her, pushing her dark hair over her shoulder as he takes over the task. She hears him ask timidly in her ear as he fiddles with the clasp, “Do ya think he’d ever want to come for dinner here? Or -or Graceland?“

She smiles softly, knowing her homebody would be in his element hosting like that.

She turns around and pats his soft cheek, a little bristly from not yet having shaved, at 6:30 in the evening with a dark winter sky shrouding California, Elvis’ day is just beginning. “I'll be sure to arrange a playdate for the two of you, Naughty.” she teases and he rolls his eyes, too happy to take the least bit of offense.

“You’re gonna be late, mamas.” he suddenly recalls and dashes into their spacious closet and after some fumbling and much cursing, comes back out even more disheveled with three different pairs of shoes. “We shoulda done this earlier.” he cripes, settling on his knees with one little pump cradled on his palm. Elaine excavates her foot from the yards of silk and presents it.

“They’re all some shade of nude, darling.“ She points out amused, quite sure it’s not that essential with the color of dress she’s wearing. One would be as good as the next.

“They got different toes!” Elvis cries out, aghast at her indifference, and shimmies away a little distance to take in the effect of his chosen shoe under her hem, Elaine cocks a pose but it does nothing to alleviate his scowl. “Rounded I think.” he decides and shimmies back to her on his knees and yanks the footwear off, choosing a round toe heel with a pretty ankle strap and fastening it with speed yet care. He stands up for this review and eyes her entire image, hands just below his hips, slipping on the silk, hip jutted out and mouth pursed. “Sweet Lord I coulda stare at that all day.” he admits and he doesn’t even crack a smile, he’s too stunned before shaking himself and snatching her hand, tugging her towards the door, “you’re gonna be late Laney, I’ve told you, you can’t keep the Attorney General waiting, it’s just not fittin’. No, no don’t wake Jack, he’ll be a terror if he knows your goin’ just come o-“

“Elvis I’m trying to get your cards!” she laughs and snags them with a clutching hand as they sped past the bed.

“Oh, oh ya got ‘em?” He asks without pausing in his pace.

“Yes! But- my purse!” she giggles, finally managing to plant her feet at the top of the stairway and tug Elvis back from his headlong rush.

“Aww shit, well, I’ll get it. Hey Hooligans!” he calls loudly to his kids and it echoes along the tiled expanse of downstairs, “Get over here and see how pretty your mama looks.”

There is the slapping clatter of bare feet smacking the terra-cotta tile as their children pour into the foyer from each wing of the house. Congregating in a little huddle at the bottom of the stairs while Elvis slowly spins Elaine around at the top in a well worn tradition, like she’s his pretty little mannequin and he is her designer.

“Mama ya look gorgeous!” Jesse gushes with his hands hiding his mouth like he’s been shocked out of himself, been watching too many movies that boy.

The girls coo like turtledoves with a various motley assortment of compliments, chiefly to do with jewels and hair and the shimmer of peach silk.

“And I really like your shoes!” Daisy expounds, highly eager for her own pair of heels, Elvis tells her regularly God gave her ‘built-ins’ with how long her legs are.

“Ella Bug, go on up and get mama’s purse won’t ya?” Elvis asks his eager daughter as he leads Elaine downstairs, “mama is running late, and I’m going to get her tucked into the car. Don’t wake Jack up, whatever you do!”

#sarge blurbs #mine #archive #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #love notes #elvis fanfic #elvis #elvis imagine #sarge asks

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the-scandalorian · 2 years ago

Note

Ok idk if this works for drabble tonight or not but I’m eager for whatever you you have-

Mutual Din’s thoughts/actions while waiting to hear from her. Did he take other clients? Obvs he did after a while but like was he a lil hung up on her at first? Or was he right back to business just distracted? What went through his head? I know you gave us a lil in part two I’m just greedy 😛

for you, my darling xx

Mutual!Din x f!reader cw: angst, spice, drinking, blow job, masturbation note: takes place between part I and II

Every day for that first week, Din tells himself: there's still time. Three days, four, five... There’s still time.

His nights are booked with clients. His days, for the most part, are long and slow. His com is quiet. He reads, he exercises, he checks in with the covert.

Six days. There’s still time.

Every night, every client makes him think of you—either in similarity or in difference. One has a smile that looks a little like yours. He gets request after request to keep every piece of clothing and armor in place down to his gloves: the exact opposite of what you’d wanted. One woman’s perfume has the same delicate floral notes as your shampoo.

Another client reaches toward his helmet—accidentally, innocently, a natural reflex when he’s fucking them so hard that their hands search for an anchor to prevent them from sliding too far up the bed—and he jerks away so fast that they gasp, their wrists caught tight in his grip.

Why had that reflex disappeared completely with you?

Nine days. Twelve. You could still call.

On a rare night off, he drinks too much from the minibar in his room. He can’t remember the last time he got drunk, but there he is, sprawled out on a too-big hotel bed, buzzed. It’s just enough to knock the edge off his inhibitions.

He fucks his fist to the thought of your mouth on his, to the perfectly-remembered feeling of your tongue slipping past his lips. He imagines you poised over him, crawling down his body slowly, lavishing attention generously, in a way only you’ve done for him. He strokes himself faster when he pictures you dropping low to breathe along the trail of hair that leads to his cock and ghost your lips along the v of his hipbone.

You’d make him wait, just a little. You’d make him hurt, just a little. You’d want him flushed and leaking, his quads tight, his hips just barely flexing upward in invitation despite his iron restraint.

But he knows that you’d be just as impatient. You’d be biting back a mischievous smile and fighting your own anticipation, forcing yourself to build it as you tease him.

You’d take him in your hand and kiss up his shaft slowly, lick a gentle circle around the head, and leisurely lap up the precum that beads there.

And he’d be shaking, fists clenched in rumpled sheets.

When you finally did take him into the wet heat of your mouth, it would be a little sloppy, a little eager. You’d want to take him deep, even if you are a bit inexperienced. You’d grip his hips and encourage him to fuck into the back of your throat until your eyes watered, until you gagged.

He’d have to be the one to slow you down, to pull you back.

Easy, easy.

He’d have to guide you with fingers wrapped around the nape of your neck and lead you into a steady, gentle rhythm. And he’d tell you how good it all feels.

Fuck, just like that. Feels so good, baby.

You’d like the praise. You’d be fed by the low pitch of his moans, by the way his voice cracks when you hollow your cheeks around him and suck.

And he’d be fed by the look in your eyes when they flick up to watch his face. He’d see something like hunger mingled with affection and the faintest glimmer of pride, your desire for validation completely satisfied by his words and the salt on your tongue.

Din finishes to the thought of your lips wet and glossy with him, shiny with his come. He wants to watch you swallow. He wants to kiss you right after, when you taste like him.

He wants to do so many things.

After two weeks, with a heavy heart, he thinks it’s still possible. Unlikely, but possible.

The days start to feel too long. He updates his online profile to include escorting and security work to help fill the hours that drag. He packs his schedule full, the calendar on this datapad a solid block of appointment after appointment.

Fifteen days. Twenty.

He doesn’t give himself time to think about you. He manages it all the same.

He finds himself replaying your conversations and thinking of questions he wants to ask you. He falls asleep imagining you tucked against his side, your head on his chest.

It’s not until one full month has passed that he truly stops hoping.

#mutual #mutual!din #ficlet #drabble #din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian x you

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strwbrrykss · 2 years ago

Photo

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 | 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓

sylvie wakes you up early with one thing on her mind. you’re all too happy to oblige, giving her what she wants and more before you part ways for the day.

𝐂𝐖: mild language, D/s dynamics, Mommy Kink, tiny mention of a tummy bulge bc I can’t help myself, praise, overstimulation, oral (f), fingering, use of a strap-on, lil bit of squirting, Sylvie is a Pillow Princess, reader has a tongue piercing, if I missed anything lmk

18+ 𝑀𝐼𝑁𝑂𝑅𝑆 𝐷𝑁𝐼 | 𝐼 𝐷𝑂 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝑆𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝑀𝑌 𝑊𝑂𝑅𝐾 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝑃𝑂𝑆𝑇𝐸𝐷 𝑂𝑅 𝑆𝐻𝐴𝑅𝐸𝐷 𝐴𝑁𝑌𝑊𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝐸𝐿𝑆𝐸

The warmth against your chest stirred you from your sleep, and when you pried your eyes open, a smile grew on your lips. Sylvie had taken your right breast in her mouth and was lathing her tongue across the warm, plump mound of flesh.

“Good mornin’ Mommy,” she greeted softly when she finally pulled away, leaving a shiny patch of skin behind.

“Morning sweetheart,” you coo back and she smiled, moving to reattach herself, but you stopped her with a gentle hand.

“Let me show you how it’s done, Bunny...” You guided Sylvie back so she lay amongst the messy sheets and strewn-about pillows. With a devious smirk, you lowered your mouth to her exposed chest, kissing around her pert nipple at a teasing pace, making her shift and moan slightly beneath you.

“Be patient,” you chided before pressing your tongue flat against her nipple, the sting of your tongue piercing against the sensitive flesh made her arch off the bed, though you made sure to rest your weight against her to keep her still.

“- Feels good...”

“Does it?”

“Yes...” Sylvie sighed as you played with and marked her skin for a while longer before trailing

“Mommy -” she whimpered, head thrown back against the pillow, her hands curled into the rumpled sheets.

“Tell me, baby, what do you want?” Playful nips and open-mouthed kisses continued down her stomach, over her hipbones with the intention of leaving a mark behind.

“Words,” you stated bluntly and briefly stopped what you were doing to make sure she heard you.

“- Mouth... I want your mouth, please -”

“Good girl,” you praised and went back to what you were doing. Thankfully, the night before had meant Sylvie had slept without underwear on and was free for the taking. Slowly and deliberately, you parted her thighs and took in the sight before you.

“Who’s got you this wet, huh, Bunny?”

“You, Mommy -” You cut her off with a hot, flat stripe up her cunt, dragging the barbell of your piercing through her folds. The whimper that left her made your stomach flutter.

“Hands to yourself, Bunny.” With a frustrated huff, Sylvie removed her hands from your hair and grabbed fistfuls of the sheets again. With each press and lick of your tongue against her clit, Sylvie unwound piece by piece. All you could pull from her were broken moans and cries that turned into whimpers.

If you had it your way, you’d spend every hour of the day between her thighs, devouring her like the last good meal on earth. Her thighs clenched around your head and kept you firmly in place as you pushed your index and middle finger into her, slowly and all the way to the last knuckle.

“Fuck!” she gasped, head thrown back and her eyes screwed shut.

“Now, now, Bunny...” When you continued with your ministrations, she was practically grinding against your fingers and face.

Your fingers curled - almost expertly - against that one spot inside her that made her toes curl and her thighs close even tighter around you. Every muscle in her legs twitched and quivered as you pushed her closer to release. The lewd noises of your mouth against her pussy and Sylvie’s moans filled your bedroom. It was a wonder that the neighbours hadn’t complained before.

“I - I’m gonna -” With a particularly harsh flick of your tongue against her clit, Sylvie came undone with a loud, drawn-out moan. You coaxed her through it with gentle licks and kisses, gaining more intensity as the first wave ebbed away and left Sylvie breathless and at your mercy.

“You want more?”

“Yes, please.” She keened at the absence of you between her legs as you got up to get the strap-on from the nightstand. Through hazy, half-lidded eyes, she watched as you connected the harness around your hips and thighs, unable to tear her lusty gaze away from the soft purple silicone that you now sported.

“What colour are you, Bunny?”

“Green,” she sighed in reply as she lay back against the mattress. After applying a liberal amount of lube and making sure nothing was at risk of being pinched in buckles or come loose, you returned to the bed.

“Are you ready?” Thighs parted, cunt exposed, Sylvie nodded, eyes not leaving yours as you got comfortable. No matter how many times you’d had Sylvie beneath you at the mercy of the strap on, the look on her face the first time you rock forward will always be priceless.

“You like that, baby?” Her breathing was shaky as you shifted your hips slightly. It surely was a sight to see and you’ve got countless pictures on your phone and in your shoebox under the bed to prove it.

“You gonna be good and take Mommy’s cock, hm?” you cooed, reaching over to stroke your thumb across her cheek. She whimpered, bottom lip between her teeth as you pulled back slightly, retracting just a couple of inches before pushing forward again.

“If you don’t talk to me, Bunny, I’ll stop,” you stated with a punctuated thrust into her full pussy, making her gasp in surprise at the sensation.

“Yes! Mommy, I’ll be good! I’ll take it!” That was all the confirmation you needed to set a fair rhythm. Something that was easy to be maintained but still made her cry and clench in reaction to each thrust.

You remained kneeling to begin with, getting a decent grip on her thighs to keep her in place. Blissed out and taking each thrust with an open-mouthed moan, Sylvie looked borderline Angelic. Then something caught your eye mid-thrust, prompting you to slow down.

Watching with full curiosity, you rocked forward and watched as her lower stomach reveal the vague print of the silicone cock you were filling her with.

“Holy shit...” As you regained your pace, you reached out and pressed your hand flat to the shifting bulge. The new kind of pressure brought a near-scream out of your petite blonde girlfriend.

“Fuck - Fuck! Do that again, Mommy,” she pleaded, tears shining in her eyes as you obliged and thrust a little harder.

Your other hand came down so your thumb could circle and brush against her clit. To say that Sylvie was now reduced to a babbling, tearful mess would be an understatement.

“You gonna cum for Mommy?”

“Yes! Yes please -” You pulled out for a moment and flipped her over. When you pushed back in, her pleas and cries were muffled by the pillows. She pushed back against your hips, desperate to be full and mindless.

“Since you asked so nicely...” With a hand curled into her hair and the other reaching underneath her to play with her aching clit, you returned to rocking in and out of her. Having a vocal girlfriend certainly had its perks.

“M’cum - M’gonna cum -” she sobbed into the pillow, overwhelmed by pleasure as it spilled into her limbs and up her spine.

“Cum for Mommy, be a good girl,” you prompted with a hot breath against the shell of her ear.

The lewd sound of the strap pushing in and out of her dripping cunt and the repeated sharp snap of your hips against hers pushed her closer and closer.

“Mommy... Mommy, I -” Her chanted mantra of your title was cut off by a loud, frankly pornographic moan mixed with uncontrollable sobs of pure bliss. And as you continued to thrust against her and revel in the pleas and whimpers that continued to rip from her throat, a small gush between the two of you made you slow to a stop.

“Holy shit, Bunny...” The backs of her thighs shone with the sudden release of fluids and it dripped down the now flush skin onto the sheets below. Some of it dripped off the base of the strap on, which was still firmly seated inside of her.

“Feels s’good,” she confessed, a fucked-out flush on her cheeks and neck as she nuzzled against the pillows beneath her face.

“You like being full of Mommy’s cock, Bunny?”

“Yeah.” Slowly, you pulled out and watched as her thighs trembled at the withdrawal. More of her slick release dripped down her thighs. Yeah, mornings spent ruining your girlfriend before she had to go to work were definitely your favourite.

#sylvie brett x reader #sylvie brett x f!reader #sylvie brett smut #f!reader #chicago fire imagine #sylvie and mommy #strwbrry writes

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