#sky high lovin
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Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1
Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.
Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George
Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary
Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.
There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.
It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.
A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.
Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.
Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.
Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.
Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.
Forever, my ass.
Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.
The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.
Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.
He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.
That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.
Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.
The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.
Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.
Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.
As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.
Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.
This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.
Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.
“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”
It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.
“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”
Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.
Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.
Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.
“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”
Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,
“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.
“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.
He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.
He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.
The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.
There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.
Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.
Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,
“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”
sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.
Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.
Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.
Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.
She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.
Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.
It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.
She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.
Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”
Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.
“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.
“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”
He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.
“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.
Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.
“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”
She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.
“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.
Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.
“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.
“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.
One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.
Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.
“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.
“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.
“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.
“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.
“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.
“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“
Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.
“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.
“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.
If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.
Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?
“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.
The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.
“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.
Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.
Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”
Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.
“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”
She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”
Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.
“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.
One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.
Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.
It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.
She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.
Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.
“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.
To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.
“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”
That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?
“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.
“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.
“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.
“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.
“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.
“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.
“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.
“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.
“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.
“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.
The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.
“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“
Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.
“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”
“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”
“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.
“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.
“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”
When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.
Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.
“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.
Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.
And maybe dread.
#elvis fanfiction#elvis presley#sky high lovin#Prima Nocta#elvis fanfic#elvis imagine#elvis x reader#elvis au#70s elvis#elvis the king#elvis film#elvis aaron presley#austin elvis#elvis x you#Elvis#elvis movie#elvis photos
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Sky High Lovin’
Elvis Presley Mile High Club Series
Wendy (70’s Elvis)
Honeymoon (60’s Elvis newlywed)
Prima Nocta (rights of the first night)
#cannot believe alllll these links are broken YET AGAIN whew here’s to hoping this stays#elvis fanfiction#sky high lovin#elvis presley#elvis fanfic#elvis imagine#elvis#archive#masterlist
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Just spreading some love, hope you know how special you are 🫵🏻💋
giggling and kicking my feet rn 😭🫶 thank you!
and don’t mind me- just bowing down to the lovely and incredibly talented lady (🫵) who was the first to give us “big daddy elvis”
you have my whole heart for what you have done for this fandom!! the Shakespeare of our time I swear
#raise your hand if Marina changed your life when she dropped ‘sky high lovin’#✋#elvis presley#big daddy elvis
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Sour diesel // dealer Chris
Warnings: Chris smut / blowjob / male stimulation / throat fuck / usage of drugs / smoking / shotgun kiss / drug dealer!Chris x fem reader / hair pulling / switch Chris / exhibitionism / slapping / slight degradation + begging kink? / Chris + lip pierced
Summary: Chris is the reader’s drug dealer. And a very close drug dealer at that. Close enough for him to want to get high and horny with her when she unexpectedly shows up at his doorstep.
Author’s notes: don’t do drugs kids!! For some strange reason, Chris suspiciously fits this role perfectly irl. I don’t know what it is about him… Maybe it’s just the fact that he constantly looks high, or maybe it’s his hair and clothes… idk. Anyways, yes, proceed to enjoy some good ol’ weed smoking lovin’ ;)
“Legs in the air, all dirty again… smoking some more, I’m in her space… she touches me there, and then I do it again” - Sour diesel, Zayn
Police sirens wail from outside of the busy apartment complex. You knock on the brown door with a brass metal ‘4’ screwed onto the top of it before stepping back and cautiously peering your head down either side of the corridor to check if anyone else is around.
It’s a dreary but bright day, the sun pale with grey clouds flooding the sky. All throughout the city impatient cars honk their horns and the bustle of the crowds is never ending.
The twist of a lock on the other side of the door snaps your eyes back to the peeling front paint. The door creaks open a crack, and the familiar face of the man on the other side peeks out of it sneakily to examine who it is that is at his door, before realising that it’s you and gasping quietly.
He shuts the door quietly once again and you can hear the scratching of the metal chain being slid off of the door hook so that he can open it fully.
Once he does you see him with a white shirt resting on the hooks of his elbows, as if he was half way ready to put it on when you had knocked on the door. His messy dark brown tresses of curls are dishevelled and dust about his forehead in a fluffy nest, like he had just woken up. Equally, his naked, pale chest is on full display before he shoves his head through the t-shirt hole and uses his hands to pull it right down to his hips, where a pair of black sweatpants rest lowly below his hipbones. This only furthers your guess about him napping before seeing you.
‘Ayy! Doll face, come on in pretty!’ He quips in a friendly manner, a toothy grin lighting up his face whilst he steps aside to let you into his apartment. The labret lip ring nestled into the centre of his bottom lip glints with every move his mouth makes in the fluorescent hallway lighting.
You cheerily muse back a quick ‘long time no see Chris… started to miss you’ as you walk past the threshold, unconsciously looking up to one of his hands that grips the door right above his head whilst he leans on the wood.
Chris laughs fondly at your statement, slamming and locking the door shut behind you which encloses the both of you into his dingy apartment with dirty laundry scattered about the floor and the dishes still undone in his kitchen area.
‘Was it me you were missing? Or the drugs?’
Scanning around the apartment more thoroughly this time, you start to notice the little things… like a marijuana crusher, as well as messily stashed small plastic baggies with white powder or pills in them and joint rolling paper scattered across his already busy coffee table.
Chris is your drug dealer.
But… he is also somewhat of a friend as well. To be honest though, this is about as friendly as one can get with their supplier. Chris normally does his deals outside, in sketchy alleyways or at 3am with an all black attire and his hood up all the way.
You are the only customer who knows where he lives, because he’s fond of you, and you’re also a regular, so you often pop by if you’re feeling like it to have a nose into his endeavours and recent transactions.
‘Joint?’
You turn around at the sound of Chris’ question and watch the way he walks over to his old worn out green couch. ‘Yeah of course’ you respond whilst Chris groans as he bends his knees to sit down, quickly getting to work by bending his torso over the coffee table.
‘Got a weed preference? Gelato? Blue dream?’ He asks politely once again over his shoulder at you, because you’re still standing in his open apartment, breathing in the scent of strong narcotics and relaxant drugs. Taking that as a cue to sit down, you round the couch and plop down next to him whilst he slides out a little foot stool from underneath the couch.
You watch his hands flip up the top of the stool to reaveal a secret boxed compartment inside of it. Humming, you purse your lips in thought whilst he opens the compartment’s lid to reveal a bunch of different weed bags, looking at you with raised eyebrows as he waits for you to make a decision.
‘Umm… surprise me’ you land on finally, shrugging and grinning whilst Chris gives you a playful look and a cool nod. ‘Ooo dangerous girl today are we?’ he sniggers, before humming himself and biting his lip whilst his hand rummages around in between the different baggies to pick one out for you two himself.
‘Hmm, this one!’ He finally says, selecting out a small bag with a really dark green hybrid in it. ‘Yeah? How much do I owe you?’ You mention, before stuffing your hand down the front left pocket of your jeans to fish out a couple of bills.
Chris only smacks his lips and bats your hand that is extending money out to him away. ‘Yo- don’t be stupid, this is my treat’ he scolds as he fishes out the drug and weighs it, before putting it into the grinder and working against the plant root.
His arms flex as he twists the grinder to break up the drug into a fine consistency, all the while frowning at you to put your money away. ‘Ugh Chris, you can’t just keep giving me your supplies for free, that’s not how it works… drugs are fucking pricey bud’ you roll your eyes, before stuffing at least a couple of bills into his sweatpant pocket before he could stop you.
He sighs.
‘Ugh fine… but it’s not like you’re my only customer y’know… trust me I have plenty to pay the bills’ he finishes with a cocky tone, before opening up the grinder and swiftly pouring out the mixture into a line on some rolling paper. You silently watch him in awe as he expertly rolls the joint, before licking the side of it with his tongue and twisting it into place like a professional, all in under a minute. You can tell he’s rolled quite a decent bit judging by how easy it is for him.
‘Balcony?’ He questions, raising his eyebrows and pointing to the screen door that leads out onto his small balcony, two deck chairs sitting side by side. You nod happily, and then follow him outside onto the balcony.
*
‘So, how’s business?’ You ask whilst comfortably seated in one of the deck chairs, watching Chris tentatively as he perches the joint within his lips and wraps his hand around a lighter. Quickly he flicks it into a spark and lights up the joint before relaxing into his own chair and taking it from his mouth.
‘It’s actually been pretty good lately! Got a lot of new shit I can’t wait to try out…’
As he speaks, the smell of potent weed fills the air and a white plume of smoke trickles out from in between his lips. Holy shit this is strong stuff. But of course it is. This is Chris we’re talking about, and he always saves the best stuff for you.
‘Yeah?’
You respond whilst Chris leans over to pass you the sparked joint from in between his fingers, which you take and inhale yourself. He hums in agreement. The smoke coats your throat all the way down and instantly relaxes you whilst the drug stimulates your brain and melts your limbs further into the chair.
‘Oh… by the way- I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to smoke some sour diesel. This specific strain that I have is supposed to make you feel really horny… so just a little heads up in advance’.
Chris guiltily rambles on with a laughed smirk, his thighs manspread out widely and his fingers clasped together on his stomach whilst he waits to receive the joint back. You clench… did he pick that hybrid to smoke with you on purpose? Or were you just kidding yourself. Because the way he was gazing at you currently made you naturally assume that he had unholy intentions.
‘Oh um… yeah that’s fine. I suppose if we both end up high and horny then that’s just how it’s gotta be’.
You shrug and nod jokingly whilst passing back the joint. ‘Shit, awesome, thanks, I can always count on you’ Chris muses excitedly before slipping the joint back into his mouth. Depending on how he moves, the silver lip ring pierced into his lip glints in the dull sunlight as he opens his mouth yet again to do a French inhale with the smoke blowing up towards his nose. I watch as it then calmly dissipates into the air.
‘Wanna shotgun?’ Chris then pipes up, sweetly offering to second hand smoke with you so that you could use more of the joint and not waste any of the valuable drug. Okay this can’t have been a coincidence, first the sour diesel and now offering to shotgun kiss with you? There’s no fucking way.
Nodding nonchalantly, you try to hide your heart flipping dramatically as best as you can whilst both you and him lean forward. Chris passes you the joint so that you get more of the hit than him, and you feed it into your mouth slowly, concealing your jittering hands by harshly pinching the rolling paper.
Leaning forward more, it all happens so fast as you drop your mouth and start to expel the smoke. It’s not needed, but Chris’ hand sneakily snakes around the back of your neck to keep the both of you close and steady as he recieves the second hand smoke. Both of your lips almost brush one another as Chris holds the smoke in his mouth for a moment before giving a quiet moan mixed with a sigh as he blows it back out into your face.
He then giggles cutely after you scrunch up your nose since you’re not expecting the white cloud to make your eyes water. ‘This is good shit’ you sputter, to keep yourself as distracted as possible from your sweating palms and throbbing nerves. You hate to say it, but you have the biggest crush on your drug dealer.
You know, it’s fucking stupid, but he’s just so hot, who fucking wouldn’t have a crush on him? He’s around your age, is attractive, and has impeccable charisma. It’s harder to not have a crush on him. Sometimes you trick yourself into believing that he only lets you come to his apartment to chat and see all of his stash first because the feelings are mutual.
If only you knew how right you actually were.
‘I know right?’ Chris chuckles back, before his deck chair squeaks underneath his lean, muscular body after he puts the joint back into his mouth and this time knocks his head back. You can’t help but get distracted from your surroundings in favour of looking at his sharp jawline and hollowing cheekbones whilst his neck bends and he expertly blows out a set of three smoke rings into the air above him.
‘How do you do that? It’s so cool!’ You laugh shyly, snuggling down into your sweater because of the chilly breeze that blows by suddenly whilst you cover your mouth with one of your sweater pawed sleeves. Chris gazes over at you with his already sunken eyes, a little half smile curling up one side of his face in proud achievement.
He loves trying to impress you then succeeding.
‘Lots and lots of practice baby cakes, I’ll teach you next time you come around…’
He replies back with one of his plethora of nicknames for you. You could tell straight off of the bat from when you had first met each other that giving people nicknames was sort of his thing, and you thought it was really very sweet.
‘But today…’ he starts, before groaning quietly as he leans back over to you to pass you the joint from his slouched sitting position.
‘We have some good weed to finish off…’
*
‘I am so fucking high right now’ Chris giggles before snorting, trying to hush his own laughter by slapping his hand against his mouth as his shoulders shake in place.
From the opposite side of his ratty green couch, you lie there simply looking up at the ceiling whilst opening and closing your mouth in stupefied awe.
In the background, the gentle scratch of SZA’s ctrl album hums quietly through the vinyl that he had put on his record player earlier after coming in from smoking on his balcony.
‘How much of that weed did we smoke?’ You slur back to him, tilting your head upwards so that you can look over at his tipped up chin and spread thighs. His back lies cosily tucked up on his side of the pillows as he screws up his eyes and sleepily blinks a couple of times.
‘Is it even fuh-fuckin’ working?’ He mumbles to me whilst shifting his heavy feeling arms to rub his hands all the way down his black sweats tantalisingly. ‘Cause all I feel is slightly sweaty… and a little tingly’.
All of a sudden you’re sweating yourself. But it’s not because his apartment is hot, it’s because you’re looking at him and the way he toys with the drawstrings of his sweats absentmindedly. ‘Which isss, which is pretty fuhckin’ normal conssssidering we’ve just smoked-’ Chris hiccups ‘-a fuck bunch of diesel’. Then he giggles again to himself, as if finding it absolutely hilarious that both of you are probably high out of your minds.
‘Uh- umm… dunno if it’s working for me…’ you lie, before desperately trying to retract your eyes from the way he gently tugs on the drawstrings and rolls them in between his fingers and thumbs.
You just hope that Chris can’t hear the way you shuffle your legs closer so that you can squeeze your thighs together secretly. The last thing you want to attract is attention, clearly in denial of the fact that you certainly feel the drug seeping through your nervous system now.
It’s bad enough that you have a crush on him already, now you think some higher being just wants to punish you for it. Something within you is definitely working, because you feel extra horny…
Chris shifts a little, bucking his lower body up with a meek groan coming from his mouth before you hear his hip bone crack. Then he goes still with a content sigh, clearly enjoying the certain blissfulness the drug provides him with.
He seems a lot less bothered than you about this. But you suppose taking drugs is practically what he does for a living, so he’s used to it.
You continue to stare at the roof, lazily trailing your eyes all the way up the various cracks in the ceiling plaster that have resulted because of damp infrastructure, just trying to keep yourself calm for the moment.
But then he starts up his squirming again a little later, and it’s as if he just can’t get comfortable this time because occasionally his socked feet will subtly nudge your’s or you’ll hear him moaning in relaxation every time he moves.
The drug seems to have this god awful effect on your body that simply makes you ache all over. It feels like your inner thighs have a million pins and needles in them.
You know he’s just trying to get comfortable… but within your lack of vision and your current state of heated wetness you can’t help but transform those softly uttered sounds into something a lot dirtier. How unfair of him to sound so much like a porn star.
Meanwhile, Chris is currently going through every stage of horniness that he thinks he could possibly imagine one would experience.
First the small tingling within his gut starts that signals to his brain that his body wants sex. Next comes the unbearably uncomfortable and itchy state his burning skin goes through, whilst disastrously filthy images travel through his mind and hang there like suspended thoughts.
Thoughts like what you, one of his clients… would look like naked. What your tits would look like, whether or not they are a nice shape or not. If you have smaller and sweeter nipples or if you have ones that he can really wrap his tongue around. Whether you prefer to sit commandingly on top and listen to the guy underneath you or flip it and have it the other way around. Are you into threesomes? Because Chris sure is, and he has a friend he can call on speed dial if you ever were to wish it.
Any thought currently floating within his mind always redirects itself back to you lying opposite him with your closed thighs that he so badly wants to pry open himself. He feels as though he has to check himself now. It’s not much of a surprise when he registers the heavy feeling in his lower gut because he knows it all too well. He’s already sensitive and aching.
He’s hard.
But who wouldn’t be if they were thinking about having sex with one of the prettiest girls Chris had ever known, that also just so happens to be someone he dealt drugs to on the side…
*
The more you listen in to Chris’ annoyingly erotic sounds, the more the darkly temping thought of just saying fuck it and jumping on top of him edges your already infected mind.
Not looking over at him to check what he is actually doing kills you, and soon you just can’t help yourself but take a quick sneak peek at your drug dealer. You have to stifle a gasp though, because when you look you do not quite expect to see what you do.
Lying down right opposite you is Chris in his original position, with his black sweat-pant clad legs spread outwards and his feet planted to the couch cushions whilst his knees are bent upwards lazily. The grey zip up hoodie that he had slipped on earlier slouches open to put his white t-shirt on show whilst his rosy cheeks appear flushed and his face screws itself up in pleasure.
You practically gawk at the way he has his whole entire hand shoved down the expanse of his front waistband.
His pierced lip ring catches in between the bite of his teeth whilst his eyes lie squeezed shut and his legs spread unconsciously further the more his hips buck whilst he fucks his hand.
The hand tucked beneath his sweats, you notice, bulges slowly as he pants through his bitten lip and releases a gut-wrenchingly horny moan with his back arching and his chin tipping unbearably further up into the couch armrest.
The drug clearly seems to be in full swing now, because with every corner your mind turns, the dead end spells out ‘sex’. It seems to be all your body wants in this very moment. You don’t even think you can get up from the couch no matter how hard you try, because Chris is simply right here, wet and ready just for you.
There seems to be no sense of urgency around Chris to get rid of his seemingly prominent boner, in fact, you’ll bet he’s just leisurely strolling his way through the feelings of ecstasy.
‘Chris what are you doing?’ You decide to stupidly bumble in a small voice to catch his attention, but Chris doesn’t seem to care all that much that he’s openly thrusting up into his hand in front of you.
‘Sorry I- I couldn’t help how sensitive I was…’ he finally whines into the air apologetically before his breath hitches and he almost cries out a gulp of air after you see a finger - seemingly his thumb - move up from behind the fabric to rub his tip in slow, circular motions.
He almost begins to shiver whilst his head hopelessly twists from side to side, just to give him some form of distraction from the stimulation he feels.
Never before in your life have you seen a man so sensitive because of his cock before.
Curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to crunch up to a sitting position, your eyes trained on a babyish looking Chris that lies almost in a crumpled heap with his forehead sweating and his pupils blown drastically in size.
He pants and looks directly at you whilst jerking off, making your stomach flip again as he gazes at your body with hungry eyes.
Dripping. You’re actually dripping for him.
Never before in your life have you felt more like a piece of meat that a lion is simply salivating to get his teeth on.
His eyes keep a hold of you for the whole entire time it takes your body to crawl up to his. As you reach him, your own brain begins to fuzz, and you sort of forget where the fuck you are. You loose touch with reality.
Must have been the drug.
All you know is that Chris is here, clearly as horny as you, and in need of your help.
‘Shhhh… shhh… don’t cry baby’ you gently whisper yet another slur to him through your state of heavy intoxication coated with the rings of compulsory sexual desire. God, you had no idea that the diesel increased people’s libidos either, because regularly you’d never have the guts to utter something like that to someone you liked, especially Chris.
Chris slowly stops and he gulps after you drag one of your fingers down his lips, only to tug on his pierced one so that you can watch it recoil back up into its original resting place. Quickly he feeds about half of the lip back into the bite of his teeth whilst gazing up at you with glassy doe-eyed pupils.
‘What’s gotten you so worked up baby boy?’ You coo to him yet again, before smoothing your hands down his waist and his hipbones, which causes him to gently shiver and whine into the back of his throat. He swallows and tries to speak. But he can’t, because instead he has to squeeze his eyes shut and careen his body forward in pleasure after he tightens his hand just that little bit more around his hot, stiffened skin.
The feeling is unmatched and spit almost comes freely tumbling out from his open mouth due to gravity. His shoulders heave, and you pet his hair gently whilst sitting on your haunches and pressing one of your heels up into your heat to suppress your unbearable wetness. You pout before clearing the floppy hair from out of his eyes and asking him if you can get rid of his pants because ‘it must be awfully tough to move around in them hey?’.
So you gently slide them down his haired thighs after he struggles a ‘please… fucking please- I can barely take it anymore’, before also deciding to hook your fingers into his boxers to take them off too.
He is thicker than he is longer, but still has decent size. He’s also obviously damp and sticky from where his hand has been holding him because his pretty-looking cock glimmered slightly in the white light protruding from his ceiling fan. Pre-come readily drips out from the top of his aching prick, and leaks its way down the rest of his shaft.
Chris only looks up at you with a sloppy smirk, before reaching out one of his hands to squish them against your cheeks and guide your eyes to look up at his own.
‘Stop your drooling doll face and eyes up here… just you wait ma, as soon as you get your mouth on me I am going to be moaning your name for weeks after this one…’
You feel like almost fainting on the spot as your head aches and your core throbs with damp heat. You feel like you can’t even speak anymore, because all of your words have been sucked from your mouth. Sitting in between his spread thighs, his back props itself up against the arm of the couch whilst you can’t help but look down at his once again.
‘You wouldn’t believe how sensitive I get… and I fucking love it, I could be squealing the whole entire apartment block down and I still wouldn’t give a shit because of how fucking good it feels’. Chris rasps from his position below you, still hot and still sweaty from the affect of the drug but 100% ready to get his hands all over you.
Both of your hands are layered on each of his thighs and without warning, you squeeze them. This makes him hiss slightly in stimulated pain, but it also gives him pleasure because he smirks through it all. ‘Go on… put your tongue on me… I know you want to…’ he taunts in a low whisper, like Adam tempting Eve with an apple and playing with her biggest weaknesses.
Your heart beats down at your clit easily through the influence of the drug, and you don’t hesitate, not after Chris mumbles ‘I know you like it… and I know you wanna know what it feels like when I hit the back of your throat’.
Your mouth waters at the huskiness of his whisper and you swallow, looking up at Chris with devilishly hooded eyes that Aphrodite gifts you, especially for a task like this.
‘I dare you…’
You don’t give him much time to say anything else, because you’re eagerly spitting a thick string of saliva right onto his cock instead. You watch as it slips all the way down the base of his thickness slowly whilst you hear Chris pant deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyelashes feathering dreamily at the sensation of your spit mingling with his pre-come.
His large hands grab onto any part of the couch they can find and hold onto it for dear life after he stutters a whiny little ‘Oh- oh god…’ with his breath hitching and his stomach convulsing under the sensation of your tongue. You sit on your knees properly, your hands caressing his thighs as you drop your head right down so that you can nuzzle against his throbbing nerve.
As you get closer you spy a thick blue vein on the underside of his dick and try to remember where it is for later stimulation. But for now you simply look up at him with your own little smirk decorating your face whilst he gazes down at you, looking helpless and needy. Puckering your lips, you decide to tease him a little by placing pathetic, minuscule kisses up on his wet tip, before nudging it with your nose. Chris whines a little in annoyance at this with his back arching babyishly as though he’s about to throw a temper tantrum.
‘What a pretty little boy’ you muse generously, before whispering ‘you’d hit my g-spot easily baby…’ up to him, which has his hips bucking uncontrollably into the air. Although, one of your hands comes down to slap his thigh at this.
‘Hey! Don’t be naughty now… you’ll get my tongue in a minute… let me have a look at you first’ you scold him harshly, now holding down both of his hips before you peek out your tongue to give him a short kitten lick. You can tell he wants to thrust up into your mouth so badly based off of the resistance your hands face, however, you don’t let him just yet.
‘You let me have my fun, and then you can have your fun, Chris’ you bark at him which seems to put his filthy mouth in place.
Leaning back up again on your haunches, you now decide to spit into your hand and wrap it around his pulsating cock. You can tell Chris isn’t expecting this due to the way he cries out into the air slightly before you start to slowly stroke him. You feel some form of heart beat throbbing underneath his thickness whilst your hand works against him. You make your hand tight and slow to allow him enough sensual pleasure whilst not going too fast so that you can also savour the moment.
Whilst keeping your hand going, you manage to get onto your hands and knees so that you can lean up closer to his face and really look at how he squirms about helplessly below you.
‘Gotta get you ready for my mouth, don’t I?’ You innocently speak down to him, but Chris only tips his head back in return to hit it against the armrest and squeeze his eyes shut. His panting breaths are raggedy and laboured whilst he tries to focus on his breathing above all else, but he can’t help but feel slightly tortured under the influence of your palm.
‘Fuck- fucking lick me… please gorgeous… I- I need you so bad’ his voice reduces to pathetic begs as he finds the time to now viciously twist your shirt in between his knuckles and yank at it like a pouty child. You roll your eyes and tighten your hand, mumbling a quick ‘needy boy aren’t you?’ Before finally giving in to his agonising cries.
You lower yourself back down with Chris putting a somewhat happy smile onto his face through the pained pleasure after getting you to crack and give him what he wants.
This time, you don’t beat around the bush. If Chris wants it he can fucking have it for all you care. Letting go of his cock, you substitute your hand for your tongue and lick a bold stripe all the way from the base to the tip.
‘Jesus Christ…’ he whines in overstimulation, only the torture doesn’t stop there, because he has to repeat himself louder when you quickly slide his tip into you mouth, briefly lollipopping it and coating it with more of your saliva before you slide it back out with a wet ‘pop’.
‘Ugh… more… please- please give me more!’ Chris moans impatiently, whining like a fucking spoilt brat as he finally makes a decision to tangle his hands within your hair and keep them there so that he can pull on your strands whenever he feels like it. His cheeks are a furious red, and even his brow is sweating whilst he looks down towards your kneeling figure.
You roll your eyes with a glare, and he shies away at this, averting his eyes so that you won’t shout at him or slap his thigh again.
Going back to your work, your tongue playfully slips out once so that you can roll it over his tip. This seems to give Chris a wild rush of euphoria because of the way he’s cursing and groaning.
Jesus… he wasn’t kidding when he said he liked to squeal his whole apartment block down.
You smirk.
But your eyes also water because of how harshly Chris is clawing at your hair.
So you decide to give him a fright and deep throat him.
It works, because as soon as you slide him down your throat he moans into the air once again, his back arching and his hips instinctively bucking up, which makes saliva drip from out of your mouth and down the rest of his glistening cock after you gag slightly.
As Chris’ thickness stretches out your mouth you do indeed feel the tip of his cock rub against the back of your throat when you start to bob your head.
Chris - clearly - has no problem with helping at all and decides to use his grip on your hair to greedily push your head at his own pace, which - you’re not going to lie - is extremely hot, but also pisses you off.
‘Fuck you’re so good at this’ he mumbles within a daze of erotic edging, his orgasm easily bubbling along the lining of his gut from how well you’re sucking him, but you don’t quite let him cum just yet because you want to try something…
Slipping him back out of your mouth, you grab a hold of his utterly soaked cock before jerking him slowly once again, this time pressing your thumb right into the bulge of his vein, which makes his eyes flutter and roll into the back of his head.
‘I want you to fuck my mouth baby…’
You breathe lustfully, staring at him with sparkling eyes as your core squeezes in excitement.
‘I want you to absolutely choke me…’
You beg to him once again, which catches Chris’ attention.
He’s greedy for his orgasm, and so complies immediately with a panting smirk.
‘…Get back down there then’ he muses cheekily, his straightened teeth on show before he forces your head down there himself. Your nose nudges against his pulsing cock for one last time before you slide him back into your mouth and this time, let him do the work.
His chest and stomach rise and fall rapidly whilst he manoeuvres one of his hands to now grip the centre of your hair whilst his other one finds its way to the couch cushion so that he can prop himself up.
Slowly, he barely gives you any time to adjust before he is fucking his hips upwards, pushing himself further down your throat every time he pulls away and comes back again. You gag once more, but don’t put up much of a fight because you instead love to hear his groans of sheer effort that turn into something carnally primal the more he does it.
Suddenly he gets louder, and you actually feel him twitch within your mouth, hinting to you that his orgasm is coming thick and fast.
‘I’m- I’m gonna c-cum’ he incoherently whines with his neck thrown back once again as it struggles to bring his voice up into the air.
Tears roll down your cheeks, but you ignore them in favour of allowing Chris to finish into your mouth. Sliding his cock up towards the opening of your lips slightly, it gives you enough room to wrap your hand around the base of his prick so that you can help him cum. Whilst he does, you continuously stroke him as he cries and white knuckles the couch cushion seat. His cum spurts out in hot, thick ropes and drips all down your throat.
After you let Chris go, you make him watch you swallow all of what he gave you.
He slouches onto the sofa with exhaustion, breathing heavily with his shoulders rising and falling dramatically.
Both of you are silent for a second, panting and looking at one another as if your brains are deciding to voice aloud what they’re both thinking.
Chris makes the first move.
‘Umm… are you- are you still as horny as me? Even after… that?’. His voice is timid, as if testing the waters between a make or break point. However, you still feel an absolute wave of arousal batter against your clit, and so nod in confusion.
Chris only laughs in disbelief whilst rubbing his forehead.
‘Shit that is strong stuff…’
Author’s notes p.2: wow. Well umm… that was long. I always get WAY too carried away with my writing lmaoo. Can someone please tell me why I literally made a fucking Spotify playlist dedicated to exactly this piece of writing?? (Who wants on it? 😏). Also, I took the liberty of giving Chris a labret lip piercing in this one because HOT, and idk, I just think it suited his vibe- but yes, obvi he doesn’t have one irl so everyone can just pretend 🙄. This piece of writing is dedicated to @ellie-luvsfics bc she’s ‘a slut for drug dealer Chris’. And @strniohoeee bc she’s my bbg <3 hope people enjoyed, and as always send any requests and whatnot!!!
#matt sturniolo#sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#nick sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#the sturniolos
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Honeymoon
A Sky High Lovin’ segment, the swingin’ 60’s
Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu
Warnings 18+: (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🌷🎀🌷
Repost here from my main: @precious-little-scoundrel
There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.
What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.
He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.
He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.
He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.
The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.
Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.
Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.
The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.
You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.
“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”
You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.
“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.
He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”
He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.
Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.
“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”
Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.
He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.
He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.
“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.
It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.
“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.
He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.
“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.
You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.
If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.
“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.
“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”
“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”
You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.
It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.
“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”
You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.
“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”
That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?
He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.
Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.
And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.
He earned your trust.
“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.
“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.
“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.
“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”
You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.
His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.
His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.
“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?
“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,
“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”
The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-
“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.
You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.
You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”
He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.
You flush red hot at the sight of him
lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.
He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.
“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.
“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”
He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.
“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.
He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.
You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.
“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”
You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.
You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.
“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.
He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.
“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.
The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.
His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”
You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow
“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.
It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.
Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”
You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.
“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”
Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.
“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”
The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.
“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”
“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”
You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.
“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”
“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.
He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”
You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.
“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.
“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.
“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.
“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.
“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”
“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.
He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.
“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”
With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.
You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.
You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.
You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.
He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.
The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:
“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”
It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.
Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.
“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”
It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.
“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”
His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.
“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.
“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.
Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.
Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”
You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.
“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.
“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.
You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.
Married life, he could get used to this.
“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels
“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.
This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.
Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.
Hope y’all enjoyed. This is a repost from my (currently censored) main blog @precious-little-scoundrel and in turn it’s a repost from the original written over a year ago on my deleted OG Elvis blog@aconflagrationofmyown I want to start collecting my fics here in case anything happens with my main. Xoxo
#repost from main#honeymoon#elvis presley#elvis fanfiction#elvis fanfic#elvis x reader#elvis imagine#elvis#lana del rey#pricilla presley#priscilla presley#priscilla movie#priscilla 2023#elvis and priscilla#elvis and me#elvis smut#elvis presley x reader#elvis presley fanfiction#elvis presely smut#elvis x y/n#elvis x you#elvis music#mine
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Hard to be Soft | 2,546 | stereobone / @stereobone
Summary: Eddie's had sex on a bed before. A lot, actually. Face down, usually, sheets dirty, barely able to breathe, someone holding him bruise-tight and pressing his face into the mattress.
But Steve, Steve kisses him soft, hands caught up in his hair. Not to pull, just to feel him, or something. Steve kisses Eddie like he wants to keep him.
The Best Remedy | 3,098 | beetlesandstars / @beetlesandstarss
Summary: “Wanna get off with you,” Eddie murmurs like he’s admitting something dirty, something forbidden.
“Yeah?” Steve breathes.
“But,” Eddie smoothes his shaky hands down Steve’s back. “I think I might pop and die immediately.”
better in the dark | 3,242 | AO3 / Anonymous
Summary: Now Steve can smile what he’s been told is his sexiest smile. “Does that mean you’ll want to do it again?” He mimes checking his watch, even though his watch is somewhere on Eddie's bedroom floor. “Because not to brag or anything, but I’ve been known to go a few rounds in a night. Give me, like, half an hour, maybe twenty minutes.”
“Well, I’ll be,” says Eddie. He looks adorable and extraordinarily fuckable with a blush staining his cheeks. “Will Harringtonian wonders never cease.”
Do Me, Baby | 3,285 | beetlesandstars / @beetlesandstarss
Summary: Steve takes a breath, fiddling with the phone cord. "Look, tell me to shut up, but, um. I could, like… help you?”
A pause. Then, voice disbelieving, Eddie says, "Help me?"
“Yeah, like, talk you through it.” Steve cringes. He sounds so stupid. Hi, Eddie! Want me to teach you how to jerk off again?
go ahead, go way low (in my honey-lovin' arms) | 3,558 | Gorgeousgreymatter / @gorgeousgreymatter-x
Summary: Honestly, there is a small (maybe not that small part) of Eddie that’s expecting to get punched for this, but that’s not what Steve does. Eddie’s pretty sure it’s not loud enough for anyone else to hear, thankfully, over the sound of whatever explosions were currently playing out on the screen in front of them, but Eddie does. A breathy little noise, almost like a purr, when Eddie’s nails just barely skitter over Steve’s scalp.
Interesting.
Please see below for more recommendations!
ink you up | 4,560 | Adure / @toburnup
Summary: "It looks good." Steve takes in the fine black lines, notes how the skin is raised and red. Figures it must be new. "When did you get it?"
"Oh, I did it last night."
Steve looks back up to Eddie in surprise. "You did it? Like to yourself?"
He laughs, tosses his empty into the sink. "Hell yeah. Why not?"
Steve drains his own and leans back. "I could never."
"I could ink you up." Eddie looks at him like he's assessing, eyes trailing from fingertips back up to shoulders and then up to his eyes. "Would be a good look for you."
memorize my number, that's why I got a phone | 4,581 | QueerOnTilMorning
Summary: "So how have the shows been going? Score any groupies yet?"
Shit. Eddie's never going to get a better opening than that, is he? He laughs, high and breathless, his heart beating a stampede from his chest up to his throat. "Actually, that's an interesting question, Steve, and it brings me to an important point. Something I've been wanting to talk to you about for a while, some relevant information I should probably divulge, but I thought it might be prudent to wait until I was out of punching range."
"Sometimes I can't keep up when you talk," Steve says. "You wanted to tell me something?"
"Yeah. Yes. I absolutely did, and I'm going to tell you. Right now." Eddie twists his rings around his fingers, takes a deep breath, and says, "I'm gay, Steve."
"Oh," says Steve, and Eddie dies a thousand deaths, each more intricate and painful than being eaten by demobats. Then Steve says, "Boy groupies, then?"
hands of loving | 5,397 | kafkian / @kafkian
Summary: ‘Proud owner of twenty years pent-up hormones and counting.’ Eddie sighed, looking up at the sky and muttering something under his breath that Steve didn’t catch.
Steve was so surprised he stopped walking. ‘What?’
Eddie loudly didn't say anything, continuing on their route. When Steve caught up to him, he was bright red in the face.
‘No way,’ Steve said, stunned. ‘You’re a virgin?’
Eddie rolled his eyes. ‘Shut up, man.’
‘No, I didn’t mean – just. Really?’ Steve asked. ‘You've really never ...?’
‘I run a DnD group, got held back in school twice, and live in a trailer with my uncle,’ Eddie said flatly. ‘What part of that screams dick magnet to you?’
In the Woods Somewhere | 5,526 | AidaRonan / @aidaronan
Summary: Steve grew up hearing campfire stories about the Black Woods Monster.
He just never expected it to be real (or for it to want to seduce him.)
Eddie's Spectacular, Awkward, Very Safe, Very Fun First Time | 5,557 | alligator_writes / @riality-check
Summary: "Though he’s never had it, Eddie thinks sex will be its own kind of story.
He has three (3) thoughts in that moment:
1. He’s hard.
2. Steve’s hard.
3. He wants to ram Steve into a mattress, like, yesterday."
I'll Be Your Captain | 6,029 | plutosrose / @plutosrose & yammz / @yammz
Summary: When Steve gets out of the bathroom, he gets exactly five seconds before Eddie is crowding him against the wall. “Why are you dressed like a Playboy centerfold?” Eddie reaches out to run his fingers along the ascot like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Were you a stripper at one point and just forgot to mention it?”
“This was what we had to wear every day at that stupid job,” Steve manages, feeling a little like he might drown in Eddie’s intense and focused gaze. “Making three dollars an hour.”
Anything Goes in the Winnebago | 6,207 | ChronicRabbit
Summary: “Harrington’s got her. Don’tcha, Big boy?”
That’s what Eddie had said to him with that huge shit-eating grin he always seemed to flash after one of his cheeky little jokes.
Because it was a joke.
There was no reason for Steve’s heart to thud in his chest like it was trying to escape the prison of his ribs.
He was so fucked.
Scorpio Moons | 6,377 | Oonionchiver / @azrielgreen
Summary: ‘Hi.’
Eddie flinches hard, tries to back up but he’s already pressed into the wall so he just sort of bangs his head. ‘Ow, hi, hello, um, sorry.’
It’s Steve.
Steve Harrington is standing in front of him.
Eddie reverts back to a single celled organism.
‘Sorry for what?’
‘Sorry?’
Steve blinks, gives a little smile. ‘My bad, start again?’
‘S-sorry?’
Eddie would actually rather be a single celled organism.
At a medium pace | 7,147 | dartlekey / @dartlekey
Summary: "Okay, okay, fine. Jeez. You're not stupid, man, I'm stupid. And a baby."
"As you said."
"As I said," Eddie agrees, and takes a deep breath, "and I'm also a liar, because I didn't pop those stitches falling out of bed, actually."
Steve blinks, mercifully leaning back. "No?"
"Nope," Eddie presses out. "Actually, I was, uh." He forces himself to exhale, and says, "I was trying to rub one out."
Steve stares at him. "What?"
"You know," Eddie says nervously. "Crankin' the hog. Whacking off. Jerkin' the gerkin. Stroking the one-eyed snake -"
"No I got that," Steve says, and Eddie immediately shuts up, "you're saying that's how you tore your sutures?"
"Yes."
"By -"
"Yep."
"Oh my God," Steve says faintly, then starts laughing.
So Newly Charming | 7,604 | glorious_spoon / @glorious-spoon
Summary: Eddie leans against the van to peer over his shoulder as he connects the leads. He’s close enough that Steve can smell him; close enough that he can feel the shift of air on the side of his neck as Eddie breathes. If it were one of the kids, he’d shove them off and reassert his personal space, but it’s never really bothered him when it’s Eddie. It’s distracting, but Eddie is always kind of distracting. Steve doesn’t mind.
Can you pass this to Steve? | 7,772 | Thisusernameisunavailable
Summary: Note passing goes awry for Eddie when a simple prank goes a little too far.
t'hy'la | 8,036 | sparklyslug / @sparklyslug
Summary: “Because of biology,” Steve supplies, trying to steer this thing back on track.
“Because of Vulcan biology,” Eddie sighs, and seems to give in.
“Okay,” Steve says slowly, “But what–”
“Because of Vulcan sexual biology,” Eddie grits out, and puts his face back in his hands.
So he misses how Steve goes bright red, thankfully. Given how the tips of Eddie’s ears are a vibrant green, he’s in a similar situation.
“Oh, well,” Steve clears his throat. “No shame in that, Ensign,” god, he’s fallen back on rank now, if Eddie wasn’t so clearly a mess he would absolutely make sure that Steve never lived it down. He attempts a laugh, his mouth dry. “The birds and the bees do it, after all.”
“Fuck youuuu,” Eddie groans, parting his fingers to stare balefully at Steve. “The birds and bees aren’t Vulcans, Steve.”
come get your man (he got lost in my DMs) | 8,446 | hexiewrites / @hexiewrites
Summary: It’s weird because it’s not that weird. Actually, the weirdest thing about it is the guy seems to be commenting from an account with his entire name attached. It’s just weird for Eddie to open up his notifications and see:
Steve_Harrington replied to your video: Great job, this was really excellent. Loved the way your pitch changed subtly to indicate that Aeilin was turned on!
Which. Again.
Weird for multiple reasons.
600 Square Feet | 9,412 | InkandOwl / @sfintii
Summary: There’s no response from Steve and Eddie is contemplating swapping out his bun for donuts when Steve starts laughing. A full bodied laugh that has him pressing his wrist to his mouth to keep from losing his lunch all over the car and Eddie finds himself smiling despite his confusion. “Are you— Are you experiencing a medical event? What’s happening here?”
Steve chokes down some water and sighs, “My parents really sold me on this idea that I was gonna get out of school, go to college for business, take over for my dad, live in some— some mansion on a lake.” He gestures between them, “And now i’m waiting on tourists and sharing table scraps with Eddie Munson.”
Eddie huffs out a small laugh, “Bit of a downgrade, huh?”
“Are you kidding me?” Steve shoves his fingers through his hair, “This is— kind of perfect, actually.”
the moon changes colour | 9,647 | jk_rockin / @jkrockin
Summary: Steve gets bitten by a strange dog one hot summer night. It takes him a month, and a little outside help, to work out what's wrong with him.
Master Reclist · Personal Masterlist · Blog Nav.
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Hi! Thank you so much for your wonderful blog! Could you please do prompts from songs that feel ✨orange✨? Some energetic, bright, optimistic lines would be so nice! Thank you in advance!
Orange Prompts
-> writing prompts from songs that feel orange. feel free to edit as you see fit.
"I don't know the way, but I know that I belong out here on this journey that I never thought I'd make." - The Color of the Sky by Thrice
"Welcome to the land of the permanent sun where the flowers are melted and the future is fun." - The Valley of The Pagans (feat. Beck) by Gorillas, Beck
"You are the bullet in my head." - Spiderhead by Cage The Elephant
"You are my radio. Turn you up when I feel low. You are the soundtrack to all I know. You are the rock to my roll." - Rock To My Roll by Anarbor
"How can I help it if I like the way she makes me feel?" - Break Up Every Night by The Chainsmokers
"You know I talk too much. Honey, come put your lips on mine, and shut me up." - Talk too Much by COIN
"Who needs money when love is gold." - Rock To My Roll by Anarbor
"I turn each day into night, I stand there waiting for you." - Natives by blink-182
"Let's go paint the town on our way home." - Razzmatazz by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME
'You're only going up from here." - Bummerland by AJR
"Well, he talks like an angel, but he looks like me." - Brazil by Declan McKenna
"Lovin' you's a recipe for disaster, hurts like hell but damn it's fuckin' heavenly." - Crazy by Makeout
"If I'm feeling right, I'll go out tonight and meet some strangers like me." - High Low by The Unlikely Candidates
"Tell me where we were and what we did last night." - Suicide Sunday by The Friday Night Boys
"You got to know that I meant it when I said that I liked you." - Ghost by Confetti
"In your head, I'm a junkie for your desperate love." - My Heart Needs to Breathe by The Faim
"Nothing has changed, he is the same." - He Is The Same by Jon Bellion
"I've found love in the strangest place." - Problems by Mother Mother
"We'll be the envy of the gods above." - The Cult of Dionysus by The Orion Experience, ORION, Linda XO
"Loving is easy when everything's perfect. Please don't change a single little thing for me." - Loving is Easy by Rex Orange County, Benny Sings
"What keeps me sane is you." - Paradise by Bear Ghost
"Well, maybe I'm a mess. And maybe I'm depressed. And maybe I'll just find out who I am, and I don't like who it is. And I'm a wreck. I do it for the sex. And maybe I gotta realize this is as good as it gets." - Good As It Gets by Little Hurt
#prompts inspired by lyrics#writing prompts#prompt list#story prompt#my prompts#writing ideas#lyrics#song lyrics#lyric quotes#lyric prompts#song quotes#rp prompts#ask box prompts
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fall from grace;
pairing- groupie!sirius black x rockstar!reader
warning(s)- 18+ content.
a/n- this failed the last time. posting it again.
prompt- voyeurism
ps- it's not exactly voyeurism??
masterlist
kinkotober rules
kinkotober masterlist
'and this,' you pant into the microphone as the music surges within your veins, 'is for you,' the crowd breaks into a howl. you chuckle softly into the microphone and say,
'now obviously i can't sing better than the fucking music industry, do what you will,' the crowd breaks into applause again as you slowly start tearing the lyrics off 'don't blame me' by taylor swift off your lips.
the 'you' in question is your backstage groupie, sirius motherfucking black. it excites your insides as your stomach erupts in butterflies. according to stage performance and your 'plan' one of the background dancers grabs you by your waist, pushing you towards him. you feel the hotness of his breath wash over you, fingertips hot on your body as you kneel down on your knees, your voice echoing throughout the stadium.
'Don't blame me, love made me crazy If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right
Lord, save me, my drug is my baby
I'll be usin' for the rest of my life'
you roll your hips, as the dancer grabs you by your hair, pulling you to face him.
I've been breakin' hearts a long time, and
Toyin' with them older guys
Just playthings for me to use
Something happened for the first time, in
The darkest little paradise
his hand lands itself on the small of your back, and you bend backwards and you meet the stormy gray eyes for whom your ploy had been plotted.
Shakin, pacin', I just need you
you see his jaw tighten among the flashing lights and you smirk, turning your back towards the dancer. you lay your head on his shoulder, singing into your microphone, as his hands trail across your body.
For you,
I would cross the line
I would waste my time I would lose my mind
They say,
"She's gone too far this time"
the crowd jeers you on, as you sing with your heart thumping against your ribcage as the image of sirius' cock buried deep inside your throat flashes through your mind. you lock eyes with sirius as you continue singing.
Don't blame me, love made me crazy If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right
Lord, save me, my drug is my baby I'll be usin' for the rest of my life Don't blame me, love made me crazy If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right
Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby I'll be usin' for the rest of my life
madness surges within you as images of you getting drunk with pleasure on his cock flashed into your mind with every lyric that you sang. you knew your plan worked, and he knew it was your plan. he knew it and it made it even more sinister.
his face looks even more handsome lost among the crowd which screams for you, as you roll your hips against the dancer's crotch. the echoes of his voice as he breaks you apart crawl into your head.
My name is whatever you decide
And I'm just gonna call you mine
I'm insane, but I'm your baby (your baby)
Echoes (echoes) of your name inside my mind
Halo, hiding my obsession I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy
you feel like an angel with broken wings soaring through the dark sky, falling down as sirius' eyes turn maniac as he gazes into yours. it's like a drug and you continue singing.
Don't blame me, love made me crazy If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right
Lord, save me, my drug is my baby I'll be usin' for the rest of my life (yeah, ooh)
Don't blame me, love made me crazy If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right
Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby I'll be usin' for the rest of my life
you're singing it for him. and he knows it. he knows you're crazy for him, he knows you're a maniac for him. he knows you're too far gone for him. he knows he gets you to a high you've never reached before.
I get so high, oh
Every time you're, every time you're lovin' me
You're lovin' me
Trip of my life, oh
Every time you're, every time you're touchin' me
You're touchin' me
he makes you soar. it's a trip for you, your secret moments and the your fans don't know what a crazy woman you are for him.
Every time you're, every time you're lovin' me
Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby
I'll be usin' for the rest of my life
Usin' for the rest of my life, ohh-oh
his jaw tightens harder lip pursed together.
Don't blame me, love made me crazy If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right (doin' it right, no)
Lord, save me, my drug is my baby I'll be usin' for the rest of my life (oh)
Don't blame me, love made me crazy (ooh) If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right (you ain't doin' it right)
Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby I'll be usin' for (I'll be usin') the rest of my life (I'll be usin')
he grits his teeth. you know he's angry. 'i'm gonna fuck you like a fucking ragdoll,' he says through his gritted teeth.
I get so high, oh
Every time you're, every time you're lovin' me
You're lovin' me
Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby I'll be usin' for the rest of my life
and you want him to.
#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter#marauders#sirius black#sirius x reader#sirius black smut#the marauders#sirius black x reader#sirius black imagine#sirius black thoughts#sirius black fluff#sirius black x you#sirius black fanart#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black x oc#marauders era#kinkotober
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Title: True Peace {One-Shot}***
Title: True Peace {One-Shot}***
Lewis Hamilton x Undefined FWB Best Friend Reader
Warning: Fluff, 18+ Mature Content, NSFW, SMUT, Male & Female Receiving, Mild Crude Language, No Glove Lovin, Mild Angst
Words: 3.6
Summary: Lewis' tension and stress levels are at an all time high and it has him in quite a mood. Luckily there is one person he can always count on.
Note: While writing this I envisioned reader from “One Night”, so there are slight references to that fic relationship. You guys are free to envision anyone you like or even yourself.
As always, thank you for reading. I appreciate it.
If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! ❤️❤️
***NOT Edited/Proofread***
~~~~~~~~~~~~
To say he was in a bad mood was putting it mildly. He was in one of the worst moods he'd allowed himself to be in for a while. It had been a shit week, with shit results where he'd had to take more than enough shit. It was too early in the season to be dealing with a repeat of seasons past. He was beyond tired, beyond annoyed and just feeling done.
It had been a while since he'd felt these emotions and the last time he found himself in a funk like this it was you who sat with him for an entire night until the sun was bighting the sky the next day playing video games with him, not letting him beat you in MK, Street Fighter or DC vs. Marvel but then peacefully taking all the Ls when he won every F1 driving round.
Then when he got tired of playing you listened as he vented everything that was weighing on him until there was nothing more to say and he fell silent leaving only the sounds of the city outside trying to burst the bubble of peace and contentment. Then you'd both fall asleep on the couch watching cartoons.
After your relationship changed after that one night, one afternoon and several nights, mornings and afternoons since, it ended with you gently sliding onto his lap and hug his head to you while letting him squeeze you as tightly as he wanted. After venting it always left him feeling hopeless and vulnerable and needed to anchor to something. It was you he anchored to. You he found solace in.
It was comforting and dangerous all at once. It was a danger neither of you needed, let alone him. It was that reason he did not call or text you to come over even though he could feel himself ripping apart at the seams. It was like drowning and then pointedly ignoring the lifebuoy in front of you. It was stupid but sometimes there was necessary stupidity.
Sighing, he turned off the water in the shower but stood there for a few more moments letting the water drip from his body. The shower was supposed to relieve some of the weight bogging him down, but it barely worked. He still felt encumbered by more than his body weight, it was the weight of all his ambition and expectations and disappointments.
Did he expect too much from everyone? From himself? Did he want too much?
They were questions he'd asked himself many times before, questions he never seemed to be able to answer. After he'd slipped into his walk-in closet, he went through his routine though every motion took more and more effort. By the time he'd finished and slipped on a comfortable t-shirt and grey sweat shorts he was ready to just get lost in something distracting and probably bad for him.
Planting himself on the couch in front of the tv, he let the light of the screen light up the room while he silently scrolled through his social media. Again, your face popped into his mind as he looked at the messaging button. He knew the last thing you'd spoken about in DMs. It was barely three days ago, and he'd been the worst texter with one or two word replies. You hadn't called him out on it so hopefully you hadn't taken offense.
Just then he heard the sing-song tone of his door opening while his phone lit up with the alert that someone had walked inside. There was a limited amount of people who had keys to his house, but everyone would have called or texted before they came. They knew and respected his rules.
"Lewis?"
At the sound of your voice his belly flipped and heart rapidly thudded. It was a reaction that had only intensified over the months since your relationship drifted to the other side of platonic.
"Lewis? I know you're here. Find my big dick bff with benefits pinged you here."
He was tempted to snort but his mood wouldn't allow him. When he saw you appear you had both your hands filled with bags. You smiled then walked to the kitchen.
"I cooked your favorite dish earlier and thought through the goodness of my heart I would share and not eat it all."
You placed the bags on the large island then started unpacking the glass containers. His eyes raked over your back taking in the way your tight skirt hugged your hips and showed every curve you possesed. You were bad from the beginning but now you were fine as fuck. He felt his body come alive and knew just what distraction h was going to have.
"I know you don't like people showing up unannounced, but I am using my exception card to veto that shit outta here and if you don't like it oh well, I'm already here."
You walked across the kitchen to put the bags away in a drawer and he watched you bend over. For the love of God, you looked so good. Over the last several months, he's gotten very well aquatinted with your body. He knew every inch, every dip, curve, and slope. He knew your reactions and knew everything you needed before you even said a word. He had new admiration for your body, new love for it.
With a sigh, he stood and sidled across the room to you. Before you could move, he was right behind you. Your signature scent bombarded him, Lotus, Peony, Lemon Verbena, and lite notes of vanilla. Your scent was all over this place but long gone from his skin. It was time to rectify that. Inhaling deeply, he let your scent wrap around him like a cocoon of comfort and warmth.
"How much can you handle tonight?"
Your body stiffened letting his hand rest against your belly. A thought of breeding you attacked him and that thought made him so much harder he was sure he could poke a hole through his shorts. He felt you lean your back against his chest giving him your weight. He didn't feel encumbered though, he liked the feel of you against him especially in a nonsexual capacity.
"Uh--we--well it depends," you purred, your voice hinting at your playful mood.
He turned your head to the side then brushed his face against the side of your face, his lips lingered against your jaw. He then pushed you forward so your front and face were pressed against the wall while he pressed up against your ass making sure you felt every hard inch of him. Your moan was wanton and matched the rising desire within himself. He could envision the way you looked right now--eyes closed; teeth sunk into your bottom lip.
God, you'd always been perfect to him. The perfect fit for him in more than one way, hell all ways. Shaking his head, he suppressed any thought like that. He would not go there, would not entertain any thoughts as such because that was not how tonight would go. It wasn't what tonight was for.
"Fuck, you're so hard," you mewled.
He grabbed the back of her neck.
"Tonight, you only say these words. Yes, No, Please, Deeper, I love your dick, Fuck me harder, I'm cumming. Understood?"
"What about--."
He cut your words off with a sharp slap across your ass. You gasped, flinched and moaned all at once.
"Lewis--."
For further emphasis on what you'd done wrong, he hiked your tight skirt up around your hips then groaned when your bare ass was revealed to him. He then ripped your thong off of you and finally cupped your sex. Again, you gasped.
"Again. Yes, No, Please, Deeper, I love your dick, Fuck me harder, I'm cumming. That's it. I've had a horrible week and I'm beyond frustrated, and I'd hate to obliterate that beautifully tight pussy. So, you're gonna obey me and take every inch of this long thick dick. Every fucking inch. Understood?"
You whimpered like an injured cub and the hardness in his pants impossibly increased. He was going to completely wreck your shit whether you obeyed or not. He squeezed your sex tighter dipping two of his digits inside your molten lava core. You released a high-pitched sigh as you bared down trying to take more than he gave. Naughty girl, he thought and chose to reward that naughtiness by adding a third finger.
"Mmmm!"
"Understood?"
"Yes," you panted.
"Good girl. Now get on your knees and put this dick down your throat."
Pulling his fingers free he watched you turn and drop to your knees. He dipped his fingers in his mouth and licked your juices savoring the sweetness of you. He noticed you watching and offered you one of his fingers to finish off. You seductively licked and sucked his fingers clean giving him a preview of what his dick was in store for.
"Get to it. This dick ain't gonna suck itself."
You pulled his shorts down along with his boxer-briefs and watched his dick bob in the air before you. Grabbing him with both hands, you jerked his need in both your hands moving in different directions. A low sigh escaped him as he watched you prepped him. Your hands felt so good, soft and gentle, but powerful. When you guided him to your mouth he watched as you circled your though around his head then suck it between your lips only to pull it free seconds later.
"Gah!"
He should have expected this. You'd always been a tease. It was what you enjoyed. You liked driving him crazy, liked seeing how far you could push him before it was too far. You even liked when he was too far gone. The feel of your lips sliding down his shaft brought him back to the present. You lowered your mouth down his length until he'd disappeared completely in your mouth. For show, you wiggled your fingers in the air as if to say, "look no hands".
Cheeky little minx, he thought.
Thrusting forward, he lodged himself in your throat then held your head still when he felt you retreating. Your eyes locked and understanding shined through. You shook your head while opening your mouth wider and the feel of the angles in your throat sent his head back. You slurped his flesh then bobbed on his dick never letting him escape the tight confines of your hot and hungry throat.
"Fuck, Y/N!"
He released your head and lifted off his shirt. The short reprieve allowed you to pull your lips off of him, however seconds later you'd brought them back to wholeheartedly suck on him. With your hands attached to your lips the suction of your mouth and swirl of your hands drove him so much closer to his release. He bit into his bottom lip then drove forward fucking your mouth with quick, deep strokes. You took everything he gave no matter the speed or the force and the sight of it only made him want you even more.
"Shit!"
Pulling from your mouth, he squeezed the base of his dick hoping to stave off the strong urge to cum across your lips.
"Come here."
You stood and he instantly went to the zip at your hips. He yanked them down then completely ignored the buttons on your blouse and ripped it open. You didn't complain or argue. You stood before him in just your bra now and a look of complete seduction on your face. He couldn't hold himself back anymore.
Dipping down he lifted you, hoisting you onto him. You wrapped your legs around his waist as his lips claimed yours. The urgency of his kiss matched yours and together it made a sweltering amount of hunger. You sucked his tongue as he walked back to the living room.
Standing before the large sectional couch, you held yourself onto him with the sheer power of your thighs around him. Once he unhooked your bra, you allowed the garment to fall from you and his hands cupped your mouth-watering breasts. Using his thumb he swiped across your nipples, thoroughly enjoying the way your back arched and you jutted them out to him every time he did it. He couldn't get enough of you.
Lowering you to the couch, he looked over you pressing the way you looked to memory. Perfection wasn't the right word. He needed one that meant so much more.
"Flawless."
You smiled then beckoned him forward. He dipped down hovering over you and kissed you once, then twice before he kissed a trail down the center of your body to your dripping core. After placing a sloppy open-mouthed kiss right against your clit, he went to work. He didn't plan on going slow or teasing you until you begged him to fuck you, no he planned on ruining you right off the bat.
Slurping your flesh, he flicked his tongue wildly across your clit then delved it inside of you. You gasped then gripped his free hanging braids as you rocked across his mouth.
"Mmm, yes, yes, yes! Fuck yes!"
He bit down on your clit, it wasn't enough to hurt but enough to send a jolt through you.
"Ah, Lewis!"
It was a reminder to you about your words but when you wrapped your thighs around his head, he knew you liked the bite. Fuck, he thought. You were too perfect for him. You loved mixing pain with your pleasure just as much as he did. Prying your legs apart, he pressed them down to the couch then slammed into you. Your scream echoed throughout the open concept first floor of his home, and it fed his ego even more. The euphoria he felt being inside of you nearly had him spilling his seed on contact, but he fought the urge with everything in him.
"I love your fucking dick!"
You reached for him pulling him completely into your body. A growl escaped him as you clenched around him tempting him further.
"Fucking hell!"
"Fuck me harder. Fuck me Lewis!"
That was just what he did. Flicking his hips forward, he slammed into you hard enough that your breasts swung. With another thrust then another he rocked into you with reckless abandon increasing his speed until he was jackhammering into you.
"Fuck! Yes. Yes. Yes!"
You gripped your breasts as your back arched off the couch. He could see the goosebumps prickling your skin telling him how close you were.
"Does princess love this dick?"
"Yes!"
"Does princess want more?"
You nodded unable to form words.
"Beg for it."
You whined as he ground his hips into you.
"Pl--pl--please. More--please fuck me deeper."
He spanked across your clit making your body jolt.
"I'm cumming Lewis!"
He watched you cum all over his dick and he lost it then. Before you came down, he flipped you onto your knees so your chest was pressed against the back of the couch with your ass poking out to him. After gripping your rounded derrière, he lifted then released allowing it to rise and fall as it willed. He loved your ass, and you knew he did. He watched you gyrate sending your ass bouncing against his needy shaft. With every bounce he became more and more mesmerized.
How could you still get him like this after all these months? How hadn't he gotten tired of your tricks? It still felt like the first time, still felt new like something he never wanted to stop doing. You were it.
Without wasting anymore time, he propelled himself forward filling you once again. Just as he was about to move you beat him to it. You bounced on him again flicking your hips back and forth fucking him, taking from him what you needed. A heavy-handed slap landed across your ass making you flick your head backward. Grabbing the back of your neck, he pulled you to him and held you right there and lost himself in you and the ecstasy you gave him.
"Yes, Y/N. You have no fucking idea what you do to me."
"Harder!"
Obeying, he gave you every fucking thing he had and when you screeched and braced your hand over his, he knew you'd begged for too much. Yet still, you took it and whimpered the entire time. Soon he was chasing his release and lost in the sensations he felt, lost in the stress and disappointment that was leaking out of every pore of his body. You were infusing him with so much more, pleasure, peace, harmony, contentment, joy, and so much light. The heaviness he'd felt all week melted away, the tension his body held on to faded making him feel nimble and carefree.
Somehow you felt like salvation. Biting down just where your neck and shoulder met, he lost all control and shattered filling you with every drop of his seed, every single drop. As you screamed, he burrowed deeper and deeper inside of you wanting only to remain right where he was for as long as he could. Every worry he'd had before was gone and replaced with you, a hunger and need he knew he would never be able to satiate.
"Aaah!"
Your moans and pants melded together as you both relished the intoxicating pleasure your coupling brought. He reluctantly pulled from you and tumbled to the couch but seconds later you'd crawled over him and slipped him back inside of you then laid your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you then sighed as if he'd found his peace.
Slowly, he expressed everything in his heart. He told you everything he'd kept in this entire week, all his frustrations, his worries, his stress--everything. You said not one word, you listened while rubbing soothing circles onto his neck urging him to continue until he felt better. He didn't know how you knew he needed you, but he was so fucking thankful to have you in his life. He was so grateful that when the context of your friendship changed nothing else had between you.
When he finished, several minutes of silence stretched. His body relaxed even more, and his thoughts slowed until he felt more like his usual self. After a few more minutes of silence, you kissed his chest right over his lion tattoo.
"You are this lion. Strong, powerful, commanding, brave, unique, caring, ambitious. It is your perfect spirit animal."
Again you kissed his chest. "You are powerful beyond measure. Don't every doubt that Lewis."
You lifted your head, cupped his chin forcing him to look at you. His throat became tight with emotion that you easily dug up in him.
"You do not expect too much from people. You expect the levels you give to everyone around you--100%. You expect what you give of yourself--loyalty, dedication, everything. Everything you expect from yourself is not too much, it's called ambition, it's called drive. You have all of it babe. You have the vision, you have the ambition, you have the will and drive. Everything you deserve will come to you, every greatness in this world and this life plus the next is coming love and I will be there every single step of the way. Every boulder you have to push I have your back and I'll push it with you."
No matter how many times he swallowed the lump in his throat wouldn't go down and he knew he must have looked so open and vulnerable right now, but it was a level of vulnerability he was comfortable showing only you.
"So--I don't want too much?"
"Fuck no. You should want it all cause that is what you deserve. Every motherfuckin thing."
He smiled, grabbed your face and pulled your lips to his. There was no hurry in this kiss, he wanted you to know how much he appreciated you, how much he truly cared for you. Slowly his tongue swirled around yours as one of his hands roamed down your back. You moaned against his lips quickly getting into the kiss. You nibbled his bottom lip and wrapped your arms around his neck.
His heart beat so wildly the vibrations went all through him. Three words pounded in his head. Three words that he'd often felt near bursting to utter but had restrained himself every time. Those three words were at the tip of his tongue right now and at not one of his brain's finer moments he let them lose--against your lips.
You pulled back from him with your brow crooked. "What was that?"
He laid there frozen in place as his mind ran through a plethora of scenarios, reactions and endings. He had no confidence in any of them though. Sighing he smiled softly.
"Thank you."
You snorted. "For the fuck?"
"For being the only place I can find true peace."
You held his gaze for a few moments then you gently clutched his chin before you softly kissed him.
"Anytime. You know I gotchu."
He held his pinky up and you rolled your eyes. "So childish," you replied as you hooked your pinky with his. Both of you then kissed the other's pinky sealing the unspoken vow between you.
Forever whenever you need me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TagList:
@chaneajoyy @caramara3 @valkryienymph @babyflowa07 @est1887 @halfrican-heat @mauvecherie-writes @nunya7394 @lovebittenbyevans @gardenwonders2 @sweetlikecoffy @dillie60 @ olabelle757 @ophiaedits @kenequa @triton08 @skyesthebomb @shipatheart @keytodespair @xsweetdellzx @labella420 @coldmuffinbanditshoe @ak329 @shar74nett @youremysuperstar @whore-like-behaviour
@alookintohersoul @asiaaisa77 @jd-now-jq @naturalthrone22 @mrsbarnes-rogers @beyourownkindofbeautiful @beccacupcakesxo @toni9 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison00 @queenoftheworldisdead @doublesidedscoobysnacks @sophiealiice @richonne4life @coffeebooksandfandom @siempremamita @raveviolet @dumbchick @amennariee @briellableu @leebabe444 @31miw-inkpsycho
@rororo06 @disaster-rose @bugngiz @yourwonderbelle @queenbetter @melaninhawtie @bekindbecoolbeyou @heartfullofgolden @idkiwantchocolatee @missuniee @avngrsfangirl @a-highly-opinionated-mess @19jammmy @nunya7394 @eltima02 @motheroffae @luckydiorxoxo
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#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton fanfiction#f1 fanfiction#f1 imagine#true peace one shot#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton imagines
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you must get this all the time but every time i see the gifs/clips of Priscilla + Elvis walking to their honeymoon it literally makes me feral because all i can think about is sky high lovin’ - do you have any other plans for the plane? more 70s elvis on the lisa-marie perhaps?
I actually don’t get it often but it thrills me so much!!! Ha, I feel bad for just glamorizing the hell outta it but, isn’t that what all the biopics are doing? High budget fanfic? 😏🫶🏼
Anyway, yes I am working on a 73ish Sky High Lovin’ and it’s a dark, psychologically warped smut fest with post divorce E on board his jet.
muah 🌹
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Elvis Presley Masterlist
The old links weren’t working so here we are, compiling yet again 🤌🏻💋
Requests: CLOSED
~Crawfever Series
~Mile High Club Masterlist~ (sky high lovin’)
• Trash Magic (big daddy trailer park cop AU)
• Bringing up Elvis (one shot, a Michael Corleone/ Elvis Presley crossover)
•Sweet like Cinnamon (Hollywood Elvis one shot
•Somebody’s Daughter (one shot)
•Ain’t no one going back to Nod Empty (70’s Elvis new dad one shot)
Series:
A Whole Man is Hard to Find (ongoing series: 1870’s riverboat AU)
Regency Elvis Series:
One
Two
Gigi Masterlist ~ (70’s Elvis fix it series)
Sarge & lil Mama Masterlist Below: (ongoing series)
• Sarge Spouses
• Sarge Headcanons (start here)
•Birth Chart
50’s—
•The Beginning
•Proposal
•The Great Elvis and Elaine Conspiracy of ‘58
•Even Educated Fleas Do It
•Memphis to Fort Hood
•Like Lightening
•The Birth of Jesse and Ella
• Welcome to Germany Mrs. Presley
•Stitch (50’s)
•Ten Minutes (50’s)
•D Rations (50’s)
•K Rations (50’s)
• Good Husbandry (50’s)
• Fort Dix to Memphis
60’s—
• Wouldn’t it be Nice?
•Ann Margret’s Three Way Script (60’s)
•Ann’s the Name (60’s)
• Hop to it Tink (Ann and Elaine)
•History of the Hollywood Hullabaloos (60’s)
•Goldfish in the Privacy of Bowls (60’s)
• Marlon
• Favorite Face (60’s Sarge)
70’s—
•Road Head
•Let’s Fall out of Love
• Patch it Up Baby (Sarge 70’s)
• What About Wendy (short Daisy blurb)
80’s—
-A Little Devil’s Lettuce
90’s—
• Marie Presley’s Rolling Stone Magazine (90’s Sarge)
• Snow Bunnies (90’s Sarge)
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After Summer (Jeremiah Fisher x O/C)
Chapter 3- Summer Lovin'
Last Summer
Everything changed last summer when he kissed me. It was the last day of our summer at the beach house. I was enjoying a late night in the pool relaxing in the water. Jere, obviously in Jeremiah fashion, cannonballed into the water and our laughter echoed each other when we both came up from the water.
“Can I tell you something, Fel?” His facial expression turned from laughter to seriousness, when I noticed this I too returned a similar look. He swam closer to me, I was intimidated by how close he was to me but part of me felt excitement. I couldn't quite believe it when his lips hovered over mine. There were inches between them and all I wanted him to do was smack them together. I was almost sure that was about to happen, would this mean that our friendship would be tainted? If something went wrong would we ever be able to be just friends again? Maybe he wasn't leaning this close to kiss me, maybe I had something in my hair. His left hand started on my cheek, his thumb rubbing softly under my eye. I felt every movement as he moved his hand to my neck where he touched me gently. I watched as his eyes went from want to need in seconds. The next destination for his fingers to roam was my midsection, he ran his fingers across the line of my bikini bottoms.
“Do you like it when I touch you like this?” His voice was soft whispers as he leaned into my ear when he spoke. I didn’t speak, I hummed in agreement and nodded, I was speechless. I heard him growl in pleasure as he then moved his hands to my waist, he squeezed and manoeuvred my hips into the moment that he kissed me. It was needy as if he had wanted to do this in forever but the way he stroked me delicately the kiss was full of care and control. I’d only ever kissed Jarrad and one other boy when I was fourteen. Jeremiah had kissed so many and though that scared me I felt utterly safe, like I was his first kiss all over again. I don’t know what came over me because I jumped up and wrapped my legs around him, his hands found their way to my back and ass to keep me in the position we were in. It wasn't till he pulled away to look up at me, a look as if to ask if I was okay and that was when the feeling of the kiss changed. I leaned back down and this time it was delicate and slow. It was a kiss that felt cherished and special. That night we spent observing the sky, we pushed the sun loungers together and I snuggled into Jere, one leg hooked over his legs, my head resting on his chest. He had one arm around me and the other behind his neck.
“What are we Jere?” I was scared to ask but I needed to know. I was scared because I didn't want this to be a one time thing like Jere was often prone to. Jere lifted my chin so that our eyes connected.
“You’ve been my best friend for ten years Fel, but there were times I wanted it to be more. I think about you day in and day out and that's all year round, not just summer. I think you're so beautiful and I love the way you have tiny snorts in your laughter. I love it when you wear your strawberry lip gloss. I love it when you pull your hands into your sweatshirt when you get nervous. The year you bought Jarrad here was the most difficult. Watching him hold you, kiss you and whisper things in your ears was vile for me.” I smacked his chest playfully as he scoffed the last part of the sentence.
“C’mon, we weren’t that bad” He was right I did add a tiny snort in my laughter, I don't think I'd ever noticed that before.
“It was bad enough. What I’m saying is I don’t want any high school seniors digging their dirty claws into you this year.”
I was confused. He didn’t give us a label but it also felt like he was making us exclusive. He planted a kiss on my hair and held me tighter to him. I woke up the next morning, not on the sunlounger but in my bed in a t-shirt that definitely wasn’t mine, but definitely smelt like Jeremiah. I looked over at my phone, I’d received several messages but only one that mattered. ‘Good Morning Beautiful Fels.’ I dropped my phone to my chest and pressed my hands to my face to hide the smile that was beaming across my face. My smile soon faded as I realised it was the day summer ended as we were leaving the beach house. I would be four hours away from Jeremiah and Finch college. He would be enjoying college life whilst I fretted over my final exams.
After that summer everything went wrong.
#jeremiah fisher oneshot#jeremiah fisher imagine#jeremiah fisher fanfic#jeremiahfisher#team jeremiah#jeremiah fisher the summer i turned pretty#jeremiah fisher#jeremiah fisher fanfiction#jeremiah fisher x reader#tsitp jeremiah#jeremiah fisher x o/c#gavin casalegno
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Hiiii! Do u have any recs?? 🫶🏽
oh gosh - absolutely!!
i really think she needs absolutely no recommending because you must have read pink scarf it’s like the da vinci code of elvis fics it’s everywhere and so it should be - but *just in case* @missmaywemeetagain ‘s pink scarf!! (and her new series broken glass.)
marina’s (@precious-little-scoundrel) sarge + lil mama series & sky high lovin’ - and ofc a whole man is hard to find if you want more plot!!!
@wanderingelvis the innocent reader series completely inspired me!! one of the BEST for that!!
@thatbanditqueen - norah’s one of the reigning QUEENs of big daddy imo, and no-one walks out is a masterpiece and so is the only sure thing!!
@butlersxbirdy who we have to thank for much of the big daddy elvis content!!
@elvisabutler - all of their writing is great but specifically the professor presley series and the new series spark!! both of them are fresh + different and wonderful.
@plasticfantasticl0ver - i mean all of them but esp, the ‘68 comeback special
@whositmcwhatsit ‘s an enjoyable side to oblivion series is so so good!!
@ellie-24 ‘s bde + assistant series is also a little bit plotty!!
it’s been taken down for editing atm but @from-memphis-with-love ‘s gambling on your love is fantastic! so when it gets reuploaded you’ll be in for a treat
@ab4eva ‘s fics but especially the time travelling tomorrow will be too late!!
@prompted-wordsmith's writing is so poetic and wonderful and I love their one-shots but also everything else!!
@emmymaehereeeeee - I really love the fluffy dad!elvis fics but also the sugar daddy series!!
@powerofelvis - all of them are fab, but I really really like aloha to my heart.
@crash-and-cure who also runs the @literally-just-elvis-fics acct and that is absolutely a goldmine!!!
@woundmetender - First something + Tempt by the hour are my top favs.
@headfullofpresley there's almost too many to recommend so honestly I would just work your way down their masterlist lol - it's all great!!
i’m positive i’ve left off someone i love and this is literally off the top of my head so I've also linked here where there was a little chain going around with author recs last month!!
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After Eddie gets back, he’s haunted by nightmares. They all are, really, but the rest of them have been through it before. Eddie doesn’t tell them what happened to him in the week before they managed to retrieve his body, and no one knows why he isn’t dead. Steve thinks that’s probably what he dreams about, but he doesn’t ask.
Eddie stays at Steve’s house for a while, until his parents come home and he goes over to the Byers’ for a few days. But Steve didn’t prepare Will for what happens during Eddie’s nightmares, how their friend seizes and twists, how he spends hours unresponsive, his eyes staring blindly at the ceiling.
Will shows up at Steve’s house the next day, furious, wanting to know how Steve could have let this happen. Will makes them all sit together in Dustin’s bedroom, Eddie curled up in the corner with his arms wrapped around his knees, brainstorming together as if it wasn’t futile.
Steve’s in the kitchen making mac and cheese and cutting up cucumbers for a salad – they’ve got to eat something healthy once in a while – when the music starts blaring. He doesn’t recognize it, except to assume that it’s a hit list of Eddie’s favorites. Dustin has concluded that just like with Vecna, playing Eddie’s favorite songs will stop his nightmares. Steve doesn’t tell them he’s already tried this, maybe it will be different this time, maybe they’ll play just the right song at just the right time.
That night Dustin and Will give it their best shot, but it doesn’t work.
The next day Steve finds Eddie sitting outside on the back porch, eyes red and practically swallowed by the bags underneath them. He looks like shit. Steve asks him if he remembers his nightmares, and this time Eddie actually talks about it. He says when he’s in the dream, he thinks he’s dead, he feels the demobats eating him, carving their teeth into his skin, and even though he hears the music, it doesn’t make any difference, he’s still stuck there.
That night Eddie comes back to Steve’s house. His parents are away again, and the Byers need a break. When Eddie’s eyes fly open and his body tenses, Steve turns on his tape player and starts singing along, off key, into Eddie’s ear.
Jitterbug. Jitterbug.
Eddie stills for a minute and blinks. Steve keeps going.
You put the boom-boom into my heart (ooh-ooh)
You send my soul sky-high
When your lovin' starts
Jitterbug into my brain (yeah-yeah)
Goes a bang-bang-bang
'Til my feet do the same.
By the time Steve gets to “wake me up before you go-go” Eddie is staring at him, breathing heavily but awake and aware. Steve sings another verse just for shits and grins, and then breaks off, laughing at the astonished look on Eddie’s face.
“It worked,” Eddie says, his eyes wide. “How did it work?”
Steve shrugs. “Figured you’d never voluntarily listen to Wham! – even in a nightmare. So you’d have to realize this was something different.”
Eddie never criticizes Steve’s taste in music again.
-----
Read my more fic-like Steddie story here: Let in Light and Banish Shade.
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You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To (Toji x Reader)
ー rewriting this again because tumblr deleted the first one :(… just a self-indulgent piece to comfort myself since i'm kind of in a rut lately. don't worry there's no smut, just toji lovin' u. mentions of mental health related stuff and sex are there though. song is by helen merrill!
You had a lot on your mind: the project due by Monday, the appointment to the psychiatrist the next day, an upcoming exam week and the constant existential crisis that have decided to evolve into a seasonal thing in your life.
These days have been exhausting. You are beyond exhausted and you just want to be home.
Glancing up at the starless sky, you feel your gnawing existential dread seeping into you similar to how the moon slowly shifts into a hue of blood red.
Just a little more and you'll be home. Just a few more steps out of this empty city park and you'll be greeted by your soft bed and the warm, crimson lights that decorated the hallways of your apartment building.
And there you were, finally at the doorstep of the apartment that you call home.
You were always greeted by these crimson lamps that seemed to see and hear whatever it is running in your mind. And for once you found comfort in it, because at least you felt seen.
"You'd be so nice to come home to."
When you got to your room you immediately laid down and heaved a tired, but contented sigh. You didn't bother to change your clothes and do your routine like usual. You did want to be with someone. You want to be with him ー to feel his kisses and his touch and his warmth ー
You want to be with Toji.
But you never know if he'll come. When he does, you never know if he'll stay for a day or two or leave at the first hour of the morning. But you wait, even in your sleeping state.
You always wait for him.
2:00 AM. You felt your shoes being taken off of you along with familiar, heavy footsteps pacing around your room. You shifted in your sleep already knowing who it is, a faint smell of aloe and beer lacing together with the scent of your space.
"You'd be so nice by the fire, while the breeze on high sang a lullaby…"
Toji sits beside you in an attempt to quietly take your coat off. However, along with the midnight breeze you awaken to his face, immediately noticing an air of exhaustion around him.
"Hey doll, sorry for comin' this late at night. Just wanna check up on ya." He says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.
"Toji…" You sat up and buried yourself in his chest ー in his embrace, to which he immediately responded with a tight hug you so missed.
Right then and there, you broke.
You cried and sobbed incoherent words until you managed to gather yourself up to face him. He sat there in silence with you, gently caressing your back and fixing your hair.
"Hey, Toji… can we not have sex tonight? I just… I'm just really exhausted right now and I'm scared. I'm scared of failure and rejection and the future and I ー" Your tears stopped you from finishing your sentence as you cried again.
After a while, Toji spoke.
"Bold of ya to assume I wanna fuck right now." He says almost too seriously.
Sniffling, you let out a chuckle and slapped him on his arm.
"Hey, that was so out of line! Please let me have my moment." You say.
"But I answered your question?"
"Yeah but the way you said it-"
"Okay, alright let's just get ya changed okay?"
Toji looks through your closet for a set of pyjamas and hands it over to you. You thank and coo at him.
"Aww, never knew you'd have this caring side to you Mr. Fushiguro."
"Ugh, will you stop calling me that?" He groans in annoyance as he sits beside you on your bed.
There was a moment of silence where you just leaned on his arm and he played with your hair, letting the hours of dawn pass you by.
"You'd be all that I could desire."
Times like this are rare. You're both the type of people who'd rather die than talk about their woes in life. You both seek diversion whenever this happens and it often leads to sex. Sex is where this relationship between both of you began so you appreciate it when he goes out of his way to initiate something with you. You're comforted at the fact that he needs you as much as you need him and god forbid sometimes, you think to yourself that's all you could ever ask for.
Toji motions you to lay on your stomach to face the window as you both watch the lunar eclipse.
"Wanna take turns in talkin' about it?" He asks, kissing you on your cheek.
You nod in reply.
"Under stars chilled by the winter, under an August November moon burning above"
"Is it a new clinic?" He asks, propping his head with one arm as he turns to face you.
"Yeah, and thank goodness she's a woman. I keep on having a hard time dealing with male psychiatrists and the interns for their impatience, though I'm sure there are great male psychiatrists out there. I feel bad for public institutions though, they always have to deal with so many people every day free of charge." You complain. "What about your sword? Is there any way to fix it?"
"Yeah. But it would take a long time. I have a shit ton of missions piled up on me right now so I have to find a way to find or create an alternative."
"Toji, I'm curious."
"Huh, about what?"
"Why don't you want to fuck?"
Toji shakes his head laughs a little too loud and you glare at him for not taking the question seriously.
"Come on, I wanna know." You persist.
"Nothin'? 'Cus I wanna talk and I'm exhausted like you are. Plus, it would be unfair for ya if I decide to do it with your state right now."
"Aww, look at him. Mr. Fushiguro is all about kinship and fairness. That's so cute-" You coo and try tickling him but Toji stops you when he hovers on top of you with a playful look in his eyes.
"Do that again, I swear and I might change my mind about not fuckin' ya."
Your jaw fell for a minute but then you both burst into laughter.
"You'd be so nice, you'd be paradise…"
Being with him feels like one of the best days of your life where you get to be a giddy teenager again. But, even if you both know that you love each other, this love is fleeting. This love isn't forever. This love won't last like how you both want it to because of the nature of his job. Loving him is like letting go of a paper plane from the top floors of an apartment in New York.
You know that he's there and he will be there, but he's a man who follows the path of the wind, and in turn, you'll never know if he will return once he leaves.
Quiet tears started falling from your eyes again and Toji is quick to pull you into his arms again.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong now?"
"Nothing… I just feel relieved right now that you're here." And at that, he hugs you tighter.
"Aww, look at my sweet sugar pie actin' all grateful and shit." He coos, returning back your teasing.
"Ugh, shut up!" You feigned annoyance and pinched his cheek.
Another moment of silence falls between you both before Toji says,
"Hey."
"Hm?"
"I love you."
"…To come home to and love."
"I know, Toji. Thank you for being here. I love you too."
You reply, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips.
ー Lolita
#lolita writes#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fluff#toji x you#toji x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#toji headcanons#toji fushiguro headcanons#okay#i need to sleep#i still have an appointment tomorrow#my head is throbbing
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Stethoscopes & Triangles - Chapter Two ❤️🐞
Sam Winchester x Reader
A/N: Awww !my bugsies, this is just soooo freaking cute, don't get me wrong!!!! I'm still a 'Dean girlie' but 'Sam' is growing on me🥹😱
Side Note: Thank you all for the love and support, I love each and everyone of y'all 🐞❤️🩷🥳
Warnings: Fluff, Hospital scene's, mentions of blood, if anything else, let me know!!!🐞🩷
'You put the boom-boom into my heart (ooh-ooh), you send my soul sky-high, when your lovin' starts, Jitterbug into my brain (yeah-yeah)' her eyes flung open as the alarm went off, a smile crept onto her lips, tapping on Sam's chest with her fingertips to the beat, her voice fruity, when she starts singing with 'wham' ... 'wake me up before you go-go' ... She starts showering him with little kisses, "wake up, sleepyhead" a sleepy smile tugs at his mouth, his eyes soft as he looks at her beautiful face, "morning sweetie" without any warning he puts his hands on her hips, rolling her over so that he's hovering on top of her, she let's out a giggle, "morning babe".
His lips brushes over hers, the kisses getting more passionate with every second passing, pulling a little back, to come up for air, breathy and with a teasing smile she asks "aren't we going for our morning jog babe?" A devilish grin, forms on his handsome face, "oh I can think of another way we can burn some calories" and with no further hesitation, he kisses her lips, tracing down to her neck, then towards her collar bone, her body reacts too his lips gracing her skin.
Spending the better half off the morning in each other's arms, "I love you so much babe" her voice sweet.
"I love you too sweetie" he says placing a kiss at the crown of her head.
"I wish I could stay like this forever, your arms around me, hearing your heartbeat, but my shift is starting soon" saying with a half smile.
Glancing at the alarm clock his eyes widens, "oh shit, Hun, I'm late again!" He exclaims
"What?" Concern evident on her face
Teasing her, "it's your fault, don't act so innocent"
Pouting now! "How is it my fault"?
"Well it's your alluring beauty, that forces me to stay of course!" He mocks
Both of them burst into laughter as they get out of bed, while there busy getting ready for the day, they laugh and chat, like they do every morning. In the kitchen she makes the coffee, throwing some muesli and yogurt into 'to-go' bowls, as they will not have time to eat at home.
Getting into Sam's car, driving her towards the subway train station, kissing each other goodbye, he drives off to his office, as she gets on the train, the hospital being on the opposite side of where they live, its just easier for her to commute this way.
---
Looking at the watch, what Amy gave him, for his birthday last year, engraved with, Love, Amy , cussing himself for walking into his office so late.
''Morning Sir,'' the woman's voice sounded sugary
Confused expression on his face ''And you are?''
A smile on her, face, her almond eyes friendly ''I'm Ruby the temp standing in for Margie, while she's on maternity leave''
Scratching the back off his head ''Oh is it today already, I'm sorry, Hi, I'm Sam Winchester''
A giggle escapes her lips ''Its okay it looks like you had a busy morning''
''You have no idea, Miss? sorry your name? he questioned
''Oh, It's Ruby Jones'' her voice sweet
''Nice to meet you, Any messages?'' he asked
''Yes, two men called, a detective Novak, in connection with a case your working on, and another guy, he wanted to know how your doing, but didn't leave a name or contact details, sorry, would you like some coffee?'' she cheered
With a lifted brow, but with a smile, ''Thanks Ruby, I appreciate, I'm fine with the coffee for now, I'll howler if I need anything else''
''Alrighty Sir'' her voice rang
''Call me Sam'' he shouts as he walks into his office, closes the door behind him, glancing at the notes, his thoughts drifting off to the day he said he was going to college, off course his dad wasn't happy about, but nor was his older brother, Dean, at the time he thought it was because, he wanted to become a lawyer, as he gotten older, he realized, it wasn't the fact that he went to college, it was that he was leaving him behind, Dean has always taken care of him, when they were still little, his older brother carried him out of the house fire that took their mother's life, leaving their father bitter, and ever since that day, Dean swore he'll take care of him, but the day he moved to the city, to study, was like it broke something in their bond.
Every now and then he'll get a call from a man not leaving a name, but he knows its Dean, checking in on him, now and then, he'll wonder what Dean did with his life, of course he misses his big brother, but he has no way of getting in contact with him, and as for his father, he tried giving him a call on the first Christmas, but John was more bitter than ever, cussing Sam out from a side, the only thing he could make out of his dad's drunken slur, was that Dean has left him as well, but he had no information on were he is or what he's doing!
The beeping sound on his phone, breaks his thoughts, 'Hey babe, have a great day, you've got this, I'm so proud of you, I love you' he loved getting texts from Amy, always telling him that, she's proud of him, and that she loves him, it gives him always that little extra nudge, to do better. Just quickly texting her back, 'Love you too babe, xoxo' before he dials, Detective Novak back.
---
As she walks in the big hospital doors, she reads Sam's text, she smiled, saying underneath her breath ''oh the love I have for that giant man'' walking towards the doctor's lounge, the charge nurse approaches her, her short platinum blonde hair, nicely styled with her longer side bangs, pinned behind her ears, making her high cheekbones more prominent, her olive-green eyes, sparkling and her full lips are turned upwards revealing a big smile, her voice sing-songs ''Hello Doctor Summers''
Her smile still evident on her face showing the dimples, ''Morning Nurse Brown, don't you look full of energy''
''You would be too Amy, George asked me last night to marry him'' she cheered, showing her the princess cut diamond ring on her slender finger.
Excitement in her voice, ''Ada that's amazing, congrats, I'm so happy for you'' pulling her into a celebratory hug.
''Thank you, it was so romantic, tell you all about it over coffee'' she claimed
''Looking forward to it, Nurse almost Tucker'' she mocks
Only hearing the sing-song laughter as she walks towards the ER, thinking to herself, Ada Brown, is the only real friend she has in the whole hospital, for some reason, she's the only one who could see through her cold exterior, and even though she was reluctant letting a co-worker become a friend, Ada stuck by her side in the four years, she's been working here, and some where along the line, they became like sisters, of course the other staff, has no clue how the friendly outgoing nurse, can be friends with the cold doctor, but if anyone, tries to tell her about how cold and rude Amy is, she'll just shake her head, letting them know, ''you don't know her like I do''
Tying her hair up into a high ponytail, pinning her bangs back, so it doesn't fall in front of her eyes, as she works, reveals her delicate face. Walking out of doctor's lounge with her dark blue scrubs, hugging her hourglass figure, ready for whatever the day holds. As she walks towards the cafeteria for her fifth, espresso, her pager goes off, running towards the ER, ''Where do you need me Nurse Brown''
''Trauma Bay 3, Dr. Summers'' she expressed
''Got It'' she exclaimed, as she approached, grabbing a pair of medical gloves, observing a older man, eyes open, confused look on his face, her voice low and gently ''hello, I'm Dr. Summers, mind telling what happened''
The man's voice croaky ''I..I can't remember, I were driving and everything went dark''
A smile on her heart shaped lips, ''Okay well let's see what we can do for you'' her fingers gently runs over, the man's bushy brows, ''this is going to need stitches for sure'' holding her finger, ''follow my finger, from the right to the left please'' the man just whines in response, still confused. ''What's your name'' she questioned
''M..Mike, Mike Sanders'' he answered
''Well MR. Sanders, wish we met under other circumstances, but I'll tell you what, once we've done an x-ray to see in you have any fractures, we'll send you for a head CT, I'm also going to run some labs, to see, if we can spot the reason, why you blacked out behind the wheel okay, and then when you come back, we'll have a nice little chat, about how to make you better,'' saying with a assuring smile.
''Sounds good Doc'' he expresses
Once she's done with the stitches, she asks the porters to take him for the other tests. Removing her gloves walking over to the nurses station, ''at least he didn't get to hurt in the car crash''
''Yeah, the medics just said, he slightly crashed into a tree, the bystanders said he went very slow,'' nurse Brown said.
Before Amy could reply a man drenched in blood ran in, holding another man in his arms, unconscious, and bleeding from his neck, ''I need help now'' his rough voice demanded
Amy ran towards them, two others nurses went into the closest trauma bay, to be ready, for what Dr. Summers needs. The man placed the wounded man on the hospital bed, ''He's not breathing, no pulse'' she starts to resituate him, while the other nurse holds pressure on the bullet wound in his neck. The male Nurse let everyone know to stand back, as he places the defibrillator on his chest.
After a few minutes, and no pulse or heart beat rhythm, Doctor Summer calls it. Walking out towards the man, distorted look on her face, her voice apologetic ''Sorry sir, unfortunately he didn't make it, his blood loss was just to severe.''
The man's face hardens his rough voice, almost screaming, ''No! You better save my brother, now!''
''Sir, I'm so sorry for your loss, but, there's nothing else, I can do'' her voice stern
The man glares at her, his eyes frighteningly dark, walking closer towards his brother, but then suddenly he turns around, pulling out a knife, grabbing the doctor from behind, ''save him now dammit'' he orders
Amy just stands there, her heart beating rapidly as she feels the blade's, sharp edges to her neck, piercing the skin, letting the red liquid seep through, barely breathing, scanning the room as everybody's eyes are glued on her, some shocked, some frightened and some even crying a little. He's warm breath sending shivers up her back, as he demands, they save his brother. In a small voice she tries to talk him down, but the security guard getting closer, upsets the man, making him...
Chapter Three Here ;)
#spotify#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x reader#jared padalecki#jensen ackles x reader#sam and dean#benny lafitte#castiel spn#dean winchester imagine#eileen leahy#stethoscopesandtriangles#bugsies#d nesca
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