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sadderdaazee · 1 month

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“Daddy’s Best Friend”

♡︎> toji fushiguro (listen to florida kilos by lana del rey or the playlist linked) <♡︎

it felt odd. a little exciting. a little impish. with teetering silence brimming in your throat, your eyes drool against him.

on a sad, sad, fortunate evening, when your father was out on an unplanned business meeting to algeria, his best-friend of two years finds you alone in the house.

he had plans with your father, to play shoji with him and sip on some extra expensive wine, but fate has different plans for him.

and while you see the man standing by your doorway, a little arch pulling his right brow up, you're composed.

so, so composed.

that's what you tell yourself when you invite him inside the house.

and oh, he knows. he definitely knows. if he didn't, why would he walk in anyway?

"sir," so you say, voice low in a purr. its so low, so graveling, so seductive.

because in the twenty-two years of your life, you've never wanted a man to fuck you as bad as when you met toji.

it was a beautiful nocturne, moon's eloquent rays peeking by the expensive restaurant's window. a family dinner. and it was also your twentieth birthday, with your daddy's rich shenanigans to spoil you perfectly, he hosted a family dinner. a family dinner where your father also introduced his new friend, which so happened to be toji. when his eyes met yours, you knew this toji would be the death of your sanity.

now, your distance with your daddy's best friend is close. almost unfamiliarly close. a kind of close where you can smell his cologne but not enough to feel his searing skin.

then he sits by the sofa, and you sit right next to him. so close, your bare thighs touch his own.

"tryna seduce me, l/n?" he replies, voice as sultry as yours.

this isn't unfamiliar to him. he's grown. known. he can read people. women. their intentions. and he can clearly read yours. well, he has been reading yours since he first met you.

his elbows are by his knees in a confident way, fingers entwined among each other.

he doesn't know why he stays, what he waits for. but he stays. his chin is by his shoulder and his eyes are on you.

"brilliant job trying to guess, mr. toji. but you're wrong." you sip into his eyes.

his eyebrows raise, an almost cocky curve tugging by his smirk. you lean a little till your hands find his shoulder.

"i can read your eyes, l/n. read that look. i'm older, less naïve." he says, eyes running through yours to your lips.

"what look, sir?"

"really, sweetheart?" a smirk again. "you wanna play it this way, hmm?"

"think you know that well, sir." your eyes linger by his lips, a coquettish drag of desire falling against them.

he sighs.

"your father is my friend," agitation drapes his voice when he feels your breath pool on his lips.

"such a saint." your eyes meet his in a sarcastic manner, and for a moment, he's holding back. hating himself for even getting in this situation.

but he's not a man of morals, and definitely not someone who lets opportunities burn.

"fuck," he whimpers. "c'mere," so his lips are on yours. the crave for his hands and the ache of him finally slowly burning, his spark embedding with your inflammable desire.

his lips love to kiss your neck, and his hands find your body like a lost lamb. they trace. draw. paint. an eager hold of his searing palms under your loose shirt, as he's pulling it up.

you're wearing nothing underneath. and he's shocked. toji never knew he was friends with the father of a slut.

his fingers pinch your nipples, palms grope your tits. his lips write their soliloquies against yours, much more desperate than yours.

"what've you done t'me," his lips find your neck again, and he pulls your shirt up till your collar. his kisses drip between your tits, over the supple flesh of them and finally against the perky nubs. he sucks with fervor, eyes drawn lazy with lust as they waltz by your face. you're laying on your back on the sofa, his knee between your legs and other on the ground. "so fucking beautiful."

"not worried about d-mmh-dad anymore, hmm?" you coo mockingly as his lips trail down and lower.

"what can i do when y'such a dirty little whore, hmm?" he says, head trailed between your thighs.

his scorching breath loiters by your groin, a shiver sprinting across your bones and settling somewhere in your core.

"gonna take this off," he's breathless as his fingers hook and slide off your panties, your fingers desperately lacing among his strands of hair. you softly mutter a moan in response, an ethereal gesture dripping like honey through his ears. and toji never knew someone's voice could unravel such thoughts in him. he wants to devour you and make you sing his favorite chorus of moans.

his lips softly kiss your inner thigh, palms groping the supple flesh of your outer thigh as you let out a breath of desperation.

for once, he just stares at your pussy, like a man thanking the heavens above.

then his lips are slowly finding their way by your lower lips. he softly kisses your slit without hesitation and you swear all the breath among your lungs had vanished when he did.

his kisses are gentle, soft, dripping like honey against your slit as he furtively looks up.

"fuck, toji," you caress his hair between your fingers as he slowly kisses his way up your pussy.

the kiss he plants by your clit is a little harder than the rest, and he smirks. smirks when he feels how sensitive you are as your thighs involuntarily close around his head.

"keep your legs open for me," he breathes, spreading apart your legs. "good, y'doing so good for me." his voice is a purr as his thumb meets your slick slit, spreading it out to gain more access to you. he kisses again, a little harsher than before than has you breathing heavily.

he's waited wayyy to damn long to have this.

he pushes his tongue out, not being able to resist the urge to feel and taste you on his tongue any longer. and if he had been addicted to something before, it'd be nothing compared to the taste of you. he's addicted.

your arousal slips on his tongue, and he has to lick again. and again. and again, till he's pushing his tongue inside your pussy while you're gripping on his hair and messing all over his face. your back is slightly arching, trembling when his lips wrap around your clit.

"that's it toji," you pull on his hair and for a moment, his eyes close, relishing within your taste. "fuuck..."

but he's more of a grunter. grunting into your pussy and moaning like that's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

he's silent, tongue speaking the loudest words of pleasure at your cunt, lips hard sucking at your clit. his fingers find their way, from drooling by your thighs from keeping your legs spread to falling by your slit.

he loves it. your moans. your taste. and fuck, he wishes he'd fucked you the day he met you because shit. he's fucked by your taste.

your honey leaks by his lips and he has to pull back for a breath, finger still massaging your folds up and down.

"fuckin' filthy," he licks his lips and drinks you all. his fingers move and slither into your pussy with ease. it has you gasping. trembling for air because although you've fingered yourself on many instances before, the stretch of his big fingers were just something different. "n' tight. startin' to think you're not as much of a whore as i thought."

"why, don't you like running your mouth a whole lot," you sneer through your fluster. your eyes meet his and he chuckles, taking his finger out of your cunt.

the ache of his touch rattles among your hips as you find a small whine falling by your lips. before you get to whine and mourn the lost feeling, his hand meets your pussy in a spank.

"oh my— shit," you moan, and find that his he had added two more fingers into your vagina. he's fingering you with three of his fingers ruthlessly, lips wrapped tight around your clit and tongue relentlessly flicking it. you're a mess, but he likes it messy.

he likes you messy.

he curls his fingers upwards as the tip of them meets your sweet spot.

and oh, how he's proved how much he loves to run his mouth on you.

you're closing to your climax, fingers threaded into his melting strands of hair that feel like silk under your touch. and he keeps ravaging like a man starved, the greed for you finally relenting when you chant his name and feel his fingers go in and out at a pace.

"cum for me, let me taste you." he must've said but you're melting like a wax with no coherence, deaf to your surroundings as your orgasm approaches. and it approaches intensely. his fingers don't stop their motion, fingering you faster as you finally reach the point.

you moan when you orgasm, and you feel it so, so deeply within your bones and nerves. with your heart erratically thundering beneath your ribs and your ears ringing, you still feel his touch even when he's kissing your lips through your ecstasy.

"there, there," he kisses you more and then goes down on you again. not to ravage but to drink everything you've elicited from your pussy. "you're doing so good for me sweetheart." he licks everything up as every swipe of his tongue gathers your sensitivity.

his words soothe you through your orgasm as your breaths fall heavy.

"fuck," and when you're finally back to reality, you sit up. "never knew you would've been so good at this..."

your gaze drags from his chuckle to his crotch, his hard erection threatening to poke through the fabric of his clothes. so you fall to your knees, your shirt falling and covering your body.

but that's not what he wants.

"no, sugar. think that's enough for today." his finger meets your chin, making you look up at him from between his legs. and your eyes, fuck, they're the most beautiful ocean of flaming fire he's ever decided to burn himself upon. and he was hard. so achingly hard that he has to question if he's ever been this aroused before.

"but i haven't even—"

"no, you listen to me." anew sort of agitation drapes his voice. a kind you know that he's aching to not hold back. "we can't continue this. your da—"

"please," your desperate words twist something within his gut, and fuuck his cock. it aches to be touched. touched by you. his carnal gaze drinks upon your sultry words melting into the way you seem so vulnerable to him.

he looks down, and your pleading features wrecks his conscience. shatters till the shards are seeping and slicing into his skin. because suddenly, he's pulling you so harshly against his lips, hands sliding beneath your ribs and circling around your limbs.

your eyes widen, and in a whim, you're kissing him back, hands on either sides of his thighs.

you kiss deeply. so deeply, you think your lips might swell.

and toji has never been so lost in a kiss before as he is now. with such passion, he has to question his own sanity.

his fervor entwines with your own in soliloquies. he loves it. you love it.

your hands are trembling by his jaw and neck, carving your desires by his lips. you can almost taste yourself on his lips.

"why can't you understand," he says among breathless kisses, "i will ruin you. this will ruin us.

"ruin me then," your replies steep under the cries of pleas. you want this. and you want this so badly, "ruin us, toji."

he pulls you up from your knees till you're sitting on his lap, kissing intensely.

"god... y/n," he breathes in a swoon of agitation, trailing his kisses to your jaw as you arch in his warm hold. "you're making this so hard for me."

"once," your pleas, your eyes, the look on your face — he just can't fucking resist it. resist the way you're furtively grinding your bare pussy on his clothed cock with that gaze, with that desperation. "please."

and if you knew how his own desperation pars your own, you'd be surprised.

you're intoxicating. and he's a drunkard.

so he says fuck it to his conscience.

his grip on the curve of your waist grows taut, a small stifled moan leaving your lips as you continue to grind on him.

after all, he too is a man who sins.

he kisses the side of your neck in a manner of subtle affection and in a swift motion, he takes off your top, kisses between your breasts with such fervent breaths, you're sure that's gonna leave a bruise.

he pulls away for a second, panting against your lips as he tilts his face, eyes desperately drooling against your lips, "speak of this to anyone and i'll—"

"i won't." you say as if swearing upon your life. he chuckles, falling into your chest again. his eyes are sultry, half lidded as if so drunk.

he licks, sucks your breasts with greedy licks and kisses them more. your hands are falling to his belt, and he moans softly, voice rumbling beneath your bones and heart.

his head falls by your shoulder, eyes meeting where your hands unbuckle his belt.

"you seem so inexperienced," he chuckles, kissing your shoulder to whisper within your ear, "sure you can handle me?"

you fluster upon his words, taking in a breath to flush it out. "wanna help me find out." a smirk kisses your expression, and he loves it.

by now, you can feel his cock. its rigid. warm. heavy. your touch against his length sears his skin, and he lets out an agitated impatient gasp.

and you're surprised.

it falls by your stomach, and your pussy clenches.

his touch is sultry, even when he's slowly lifting you by your hips, eyes on yours with such intensity, you almost float by his gaze.

"take it," he breathes, and you nod. he rubs his tip over your lower lips, back and forth till he's generously sinking into your pussy inch by inch.

the stretch just by his tip is delicious, albeit painful. and he knows it would be painful, so despite his licentious urges, he lets you take him in slowly.

by when you're fully sheathed atop his cock and he's bottomed out fully into your tight, tight walls, you're breathing in unison, bodies almost one together. toji's eyes meet yours again.

something's so oddly sensual about you, that he can't help but fall into your ludicrous antics. something so dreamy about you, he just can't help but moan into your feeling.

"y'so fucking tight," his head falls back on the headrest of the sofa, eyes closed as his hands grip your hips.

"you're too fucking huge," you grunt in both pleasure and pain, trying to move against his cock, but his grip on your hips cease your movements.

"stay like this for a moment, please." he's whimpering.

you flinch, and so does your pussy. so deliciously that toji has to take a moment to catch his breath .

then he's lifting you up by your hips, and harshly slamming you onto his cock. it hurts so good that you almost urge to cum against him then and there itself.

"s'tight but still swallowing my cock," he grunts as you fall into a fit of moans. "aren't you a pretty girl."

and before you know it, he's laying you on your back, placing one leg over his shoulder, pushing and pulling out of your pussy. so harshly, it tickles your lower abdomen.

"fuuck baby," he moans, "takin' me so, so well. my cock's fucking stretching you out but you're just takin' it."

"yes, fuck, fuck, yes right there-" you gasp, feeling his tip graze a certain spot that has a vaguely familiar sensation stirring into your abdomen.

"makin' me feel sooo good," he moans, his hands falling by your face and tucking the wayward strands of your hair behind your ear, taking your chin between his fingers, "look at me, fuck, look at me, pretty."

"yes, fuuck, i'm so fucking close toji, fuck, fuck," his pace is animalistic as he goes raw on you, thrusting so deeply that his tip kisses your cervix.

“fuck baby, gonna cum. gonna pump you full." but before he can even say another word, you clench around him so impossibly, it's almost hard for him to thrust deeper.

you hit your orgasm as you pull him in and kiss his neck to soothe the flinches and stutters coming with the orgasm, the electricity running across your spine and rattling every bone within your body.

his arms circle around your waist as he groans, finally letting himself go. his cock stutters and swells into your walls, till he's filling your pussy with his cum. his thumb slowly strokes your cheek, slowing his pace as he groans and lets him fall through his own high.

then he pulls out, watching his tip pop out of your puffy slit. his cum trickles out of your pussy, dripping on the sofa as you sigh, settling within the breaths among your ribs.

"y/n? are you home, honey?" fuck. your dad.

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star-girl69 · 4 months

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Music To Watch Girls To

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

sypnosis: is it wrong to be obsessed with clarisse? obviously not!!

a/n: i cant just write a drabble what is wrong w me it’s always gotta be a full fledged fic damn anyways i don’t like this one that much so don’t crucify me, but i hope you all enjoy!!

Music To Watch Boys To - Lana Del Rey

warnings: FRIENDS TO LOVERS GOOD LORD, all clarisse know is be mean to her friends, like girls, and lie, reader is a little insane this time…., it’s not watching clarisse train bc i got struck with inspo but you all will like it dw, there’s still muscles and watching clarisse fight, swearing, violence, mentions of weapons, reader is an honorary ares cabin member bc i think it’s cute and i do what i want, y/n gets hurt like 20 times ITS FOR THE PLOT OK, kissing!!!!, like angst for half a sec not rly tho, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

The only word you think of when you think of Clarisse is fuck.

It describes your feelings about her so accurately. The first time you saw her, you knew you had to have this girl. And the first time you heard her talk, she was calling some Hephaestus kid a dumbass for not fixing a dent in her armor correctly.

She was an asshole, a bully, whatever, and she was also the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. But, thank the Gods you became close friends with her brother Matty, and then Carrie, and then you practically knew everyone in the Ares cabin like your own siblings.

Even just friendship with Ares kids is an intense rollercoaster.

They admired your for your deadly skill with a bow, a few of them even openly claiming you were probably the best at camp. They were loyal and fierce, protective, funny and everything you could want in a replacement family. Your mortal parent went down a dark road after your godly parent went back to Olympus, and you had never felt that love that everyone craved.

Clarisse hated you at first, like she does everyone, until one day at the bonfire you were sitting with her and a few of her siblings, the fire was hot and it was never the same. You still remember her eyes on you, feeling intoxicated under the moon. Besides, the nights are made for secrets.

And it became a tradition.

You would look at each other next to the fire, and never speak of it again.

The rest of the time, she was like any friend. That same loyalty, focus, but sometimes you could swear she seemed to look a little longer.

After the arrival of Percy Jackson, Clarisse was especially on edge. She was supposed to be training, but she was instead sulking and ranting to Matty and Carrie.

“And he really thinks he killed that Minotaur? Doesn’t matter. That’s what everyone else thinks.”

“Talking about the new kid?” you ask, sitting on top of the picnic table next to their cabin.

“Oh, yeah,” Carrie mumbles. “Talking all about the new kid.”

Clarisse stops her angry pacing to send her a harsh glare.

“He’s just a baby, Clarisse.”

She slams her hand down on the table next to you, pointing her finger in your face.

“He’s a liar,” she hisses. “I’m gonna make him admit it.”

“Hm, okay,” you say, pressing her foot against her stomach and pushing her back. “And that’s totally logical. But have you considered that he actually killed the Minotaur?”

“I’ll punch you.”

“Oh, you love me, Clarisse,” you smile, sweeping your arms out in a big circle. “I’m the brightest part of your day.”

She glares at you.

Matty coughs to hide a laugh.

“Just ignore him!” you say. “I don’t get why you’re so obsessed over him anyways.”

“I’m not explaining myself to you,” she huffs, stubborn as ever.

“Okay, Clarisse,” you say, drawing out the words.

You miss Carrie and Matty shooting each other looks.

—-

Chiron announces the next capture the flag game later that day, and the next morning you’re heading off to the Ares cabin with your bow and armor in tow.

You walk in. They’re all adjusting their armor, polishing their weapons. A few smile at you and wave, but you head straight towards the back. Clarisse is there, helping some of her younger siblings pick out weapons from the secret weapons stash the Ares kids have curated over the years.

It’s Danny’s first game. He’s only twelve.

She looks up at you for a moment, which is about as much acknowledgment as you’re gonna get. You sit at the end of someone’s empty bed, right next to Danny.

“How you feelin’?” you ask. His face is twisted into a stone cold mask.

“Excited,” he says, like he practiced it in the mirror.

“Well, I’m scared.”

He looks at you and frowns.

“You’re the best archer in camp. Matty says so.”

You shrug. “I may be the best archer, but I’m nowhere near the best fighter.”

He nods, thinking hard like the whole world is suddenly starting to make sense.

“Hey, if I promise to keep a look out for you from the trees- will you watch out for me on the ground?”

He doesn’t need your assurance. He’s a child of Ares, they’re prebuilt with the lust for battle. But you know how to play all of them like a fiddle. They like feeling important, and he’s only twelve. It doesn’t hurt you to give this to him.

You stick out your hand and he grabs it.

“Deal.”

“Y/N,” Clarisse says. You realize she’s been standing there for a while. “Are you here to distract everyone or for a reason?”

“You know, I would welcome you into my cabin warmly.”

Her face remains stone cold. Danny runs off. Clarisse can be some sort of halfway nice, but rarely, and most of the time everyone just knows her cruel words, her ruthless tactics in battle, and her misleading words and smiles.

“You’re no fun,” you pout.

“You’re the one who sticks around. No one’s holding you hostage- you can leave.”

“I need a dagger.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking. “Wow, you actually came here for something? What happened to yours?”

“Broke,” you shrug. “The handle fell off. Weird, whatever.”

She hums, looking through the daggers hung on the wall. “This one.”

She hands it to you. It’s similar to your old dagger, except a lot sharper and a lot more sturdy. But it’s the same style you’re used to. You wonder if she knows that or not- Ares kids do notice everything.

But for Clarisse to actually do something like that with intention is rare.

“I like it,” you say. “Thanks!”

She hesitates for a second.

“Keep it.”

You look at her. “I can give it back.”

“I already told you to keep it. Don’t be pathetic and make me reassure you.”

“Okay, Clarisse,” you roll your eyes.

—-

Your position on capture the flag is always the same.

Carrie, Matty and Clarisse hunt in the woods on the ground, and you get thrown up into some random tree to shoot arrows at anyone you see.

The idea is, they see the arrow coming from up above and look to the trees, only for Clarisse, Matty and Carrie to ambush them on the ground.

It’s only the third game you’ve employed this tactic, so the blue team is starting to catch on.

After Chiron gives his speech you could probably say yourself, you head over to the three of them, holding your arm out to Matty and the red bandana. He ties it around without saying a word, Carrie reaches over and scolds you for not tying your armor tight enough.

“Blah, blah, blah,” you say. “I’ll live.”

“Yeah,” Carrie snorts. “Because I fixed it.”

“Shush,” Clarisse hisses. She finishes talking to a few more of her siblings, and they take their companies off into the woods. She turns back around. “I have a different plan today.”

Carrie and Matty grin dangerously.

There’s something in between the three of them, some sort of matching glint in their eyes.

“Okay, did I miss something? Why are you guys being so… scary?”

“You’ll see,” Clarisse says, her eyes dark.

Gods, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

—-

The great thing about being up in the trees is you get to see everything.

You get to see the way Clarisse grins while she fights, the way she whips her spear around like it weights nothing, the way sweat forms at her brow- and the way her muscles flex. That’s the best part.

Her arms, her legs, her stomach, every part of Clarisse is just lean and toned muscle.

It makes you want to betray yourself in a way that would permanently embarrass you.

You follow them, of course, even though you have no idea what the hell is happening or what the plan is. There’s a reason she’s not telling you the plan. Why?

When you walk past the woods where you normally hunt, you start getting fidgety.

“Ok, guys, seriously. Tell me what’s going on.”

You realize you’re heading towards the side of the big hill, starting the climb up through the trees and rocks.

Clarisse turns around.

“Stop. Worrying.”

You grit your teeth. “I’m not worried. I’m just confused.”

She sighs, signaling to Carrie and Matty.

“You know,” she mutters. And they leave, so it’s just the two of you.

They spit up, making their way on the farthest two ends, all leading to the same ledge.

She grabs your wrists. “Stop cracking your fingers. It’s annoying, and you’ll hurt ‘em.”

“Then tell me what’s going on.”

She lets go of one of your wrists, but keeps her tight grip on the other, forcing you to keep pace behind her.

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Y/N. Don’t worry. I’m not going to put you in danger, obviously.” She laughs, as if the idea is ridiculous. “You’re a damn good archer.”

“Oh, my Gods. Did you just compliment me?”

She tenses up, finally realizing she did it.

“D-don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, I won’t. It will just be our little secret, won’t it?”

You bite your lip as you smile so you don’t burst out laughing.

“Sure,” she mutters, and you don’t miss the way she stares at your lips. She clears her throat, finally letting go of your wrist. “Percy Jackson-”

“Who’s a baby.”

“-attacked us last night.”

You raise an eyebrow, walking next to her. “Did you attack him first?”

She doesn’t answer that.

“I doubted you would join us. I just didn’t want you to be alone in the woods.”

“Why?”

“Hm, I saw Annabeth as we left the bathrooms. She knows, she knows we’re gonna get revenge so Luke’s gonna go straight for the flag because we’re not in the woods.”

“So you’re just sacrificing the entire game for revenge? Against a 12-year-old?”

“Revenge,” she mutters, thinking over it. “That’s a fun word.”

She smiles, looking at you.

“Oh, Gods,” you mutter.

—-

The rest of the walk continues in silence, until you can see Carrie and Matty in the distance, both waiting for Clarisse’s signal. She grins.

“Now, why don’t you just stay behind me and draw an arrow, and tell me if anyone’s coming. And when he’s distracted, you’ll sneak around behind him and block him from escaping, hm?”

You look around the forest. “Okay. But, Clarisse-”

She smacks her hand over your face. “I don’t need your morality right now. I just need you to keep those pretty eyes open and be our lookout.”

“Fine,” you hiss as you throw your hand off her mouth.

“Thank you,” she smiles, sarcastically. “Was that so hard?”

You mock her under your breath, but she signals to Carrie and Matty. They all start walking forward, trying for stealth, but your feet make sink into the gravel. He hears them. He sits up.

You don’t know anything about Percy Jackson, except for the fact he supposedly attacked the three musketeers you call your friends and possibly killed a Minotaur.

True to your word, you stay behind Clarisse, watching as she lifts her helmet off, throwing it to the ground.

Her spear sinks into the dirt.

“Flag’s that way,” Percy says. “It’s not here.”

“We know.”

You start walking out from behind her. His eyes flick between all four of you.

“Yeah, glory’s fine.” You can feel her eyes on you. “Revenge is more fun.”

She looks up at her spear, slamming it down, and you hear the familiar crackle as it lights up. Red hot electricity.

She laughs a bit.

He scrambles for his sword and spear, forgoing his helmet. They close him in. You walk around Carrie and behind him. His eyes move between you and Clarisse, but there’s nothing he can do to stop the four of you from surrounding him.

“No maiming. It’s like the one rule.”

His stance isn’t even close to correct.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll lose dessert privileges for a while,” she fake frets, looking up at her spear. She smiles and looks back at him. “I’ll live.”

Her face twists into a mask of focus and she swings out at him. He manages to dodge her first hit, and block the second with his shield.

She looks at Carrie and Matty. They lunge forward, attacking him together, and he certainly is a demigod- he has a natural talent.

But you can only really focus on the way she lifts her spear back over her head.

She grunts and spins, shocking him, before jabbing forward at his armor, making him fall back over the log he used to be laying on, right at your feet.

“I’m actually not interested in maiming or killing you, believe it or not,” she says, standing over him. “I just want you to admit you’re a fraud. It’d make me feel better. Are you feeling up to that yet?”

The way she holds her spear, the way she says it’ll make her feel better- you miss the way he swings out with his shield, hitting you in the shins.

“Fuck,” you hiss, leaning down to touch your burning leg. “Oh, fuck, that hurt.”

Percy grunts and takes off running.

“Y/N,” Matty says, a silent question in his concerned voice.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, shaking your leg out.

Clarisse glares at his retreating figure.

“I guess he has a fucking death wish,” she whispers, voice full of a deadly promise.

She grunts and launches herself over the log, Carrie and Matty following. You straighten yourself and take off running after them. You leg does burn, but you still manage to keep pace. Besides, Matty is already far ahead, surprising him and knocking him down from the path, making him tumble through the woods and land on the beach.

Matty and Carrie wave their swords at him from the right. He pants and breathes heavily, backing up, but when he turns around to run- Clarisse is there.

You draw your bow again, out of habit.

The arrows you use aren’t actual arrows of course, but filed down to little circle rocks at the end. They won’t kill you, but they fucking hurt.

You can’t help but giggle as he falls onto his back, scared just by Clarisse being there.

She laughs too, before all three of them launch into an attack.

They push him back, towards you, and you step back with them, waiting for the perfect moment.

But your eyes drift up to Clarisse. She’s hanging back for just a second while Matty and Carrie jab at him. She looks… proud. She looks really fucking proud that you’re laughing at this 12-year-olds misery.

But Clarisse was right. Revenge is fun. And you hate it, but you can’t stop it.

You smile back at her, and it’s like those nights at the bonfire, you know you’ll never speak of it again. It doesn’t matter. Right now, there’s angelic music playing in your head, and you’re watching her. You’re watching her, the sweat on her brow, the way her hands clasp her spear.

Her face twists into something else.

“Y/N!” she shouts, but Carrie and Matty pushed him too far, you didn’t move back enough- distracted by her- and you slam into each other, a tangle of limbs and metal.

He does this awkward sort of flip over you, landing a few feet behind you. You drop your bow in favor of catching yourself, and it gets caught on his shield and dragged along with him.

It’s a blur, you yelp as you go down, Percy groans.

They’re all standing there, tense and watching the way Percy stands up with your bow in his hands. His stance is nowhere near correct, it actually makes you cringe more than your bruised side after the fall.

Why the hell are you the one who keeps getting hurt?

Percy let’s out a breath. “Why don’t we all just walk away and forget this happened?”

“You just made that impossible,” Clarisse hisses.

You just want to get an ice pack on your leg and sit down. You’re tired. You want to boss Clarisse around as payment for bringing you here.

“Okay, okay, just stop. This is stupid, all of you. He’s, like, 12. He didn’t do it on purpose, you’re just attacking him for no reason.” Carrie and Matty look at the ground. Clarisse glares at you.

You turn around and face Percy. “Just go, okay.”

He looks between you and Clarisse.

“O-okay,” he breathes.

You can feel her move, hear her footsteps in the sand, her spear cutting through the wind. She comes around you, and Percy gets scared, so he raises up the bow and let’s it go- pointed straight at her face.

But it never hits her. It hits you, of course, because you have the worst luck in the world.

It hits you right in the chest, and it doesn’t kill you, but Percy is strong and it knocks the wind out of you.

Clarisse throws her spear to the ground and catches you, screaming your name at the top of her lungs.

Gods, this was so stupid. All of it. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to stop her from attacking him. Because Clarisse is bloodthirsty. She cares about no one else but herself.

You were stupid to think she ever did.

But even through all of this, everyone treating you like a rag doll, you stare into Clarisse’s eyes. She’s frozen. She’s watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, she’s watching the way you press your hand into your chest, trying to breathe, she’s looking at the fear in your eyes.

You’re terrified. And Clarisse looks the exact same way you feel.

You mouth her name.

Carrie and Matty are gathered around you, telling you to just breathe, take a breath in, but you can’t.

Clarisse let’s go of you and ignores your hands trying to hold her back, ignores Carrie warning her.

Oh, Gods, you’re in love with her and she’s just your friend, but it all hurts and you just need her right now.

Percy tries to scramble away from what he’s done, but Clarisse grabs him by his shirt and holds him up.

You think she’s actually going to kill him- then the conch sounds.

You all turn around.

The blue team runs to the beach, sticking the red flag into the ground. They all cheer loudly, Luke and Chris at the center of it.

Clarisse throws Percy back down on the ground.

She picks up your bow. Matty helps you stand up, you can breathe now, and you’re really fine. You just couldn’t for a minute. You don’t look at Clarisse, even though you want to.

—-

The four of you end up at the sword practice field, sitting on picnic tables like you did that one day.

Matty touches a few scratches on his arms from where he burst through the woods, scraping himself on something thorny.

Clarisse walks towards a dummy and starts attacking it. She lets all her anger out on it. They didn’t win, and her revenge is incomplete so, its not even worth it. You could have told her that from the beginning, but whatever.

Clarisse can do whatever she wants. She doesn’t listen to you, she doesn’t care about you- not as much as you want her too. Not as much as you care about her.

She’s so wonderfully in her element it makes you want her more. This is where she belongs, in the field in the sun, with her spear in her hands. She belongs here, where she feels closest to her father and farthest away from her responsibilities, from the constant battle it is for her to keep her emotions in check.

Even after a minute of her obliterating the dummy, she seems better. Finally, after another minute, she slows down until she stops.

You don’t stop looking at her until she turns around and looks at you. She breathes out.

“Are you okay?” she asks, sitting down on the opposite end of the bench.

“Fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

She hums.

“C’mon, Matty,” Carrie says. “Let’s go back to the cabin, I’m thirsty.”

You’re not ready to get up yet, you’re too comfortable here on the bench, it’s too easy to breathe in the valley.

Clarisse flexes, stretching her spear over her head, and you watch her. Of course you watch her. You don’t think you’ll ever just be able to look at her in passing- you’ll always have to focused, you’ve always have to have your eyes totally and completely on her.

Like she’s some book you have to study. Like she’s all you’ve ever wanted to look at.

“Stop staring at me, weirdo,” she mumbles.

You sit up straighter. “I’m not. You’re just flexing dramatically all over the place, of course I’m gonna take notice of it.”

“Okay, sure,” she taunts, and you remember what happened, you remember how you felt when she walked away from you to continue with her revenge.

“I-I’m gonna go back to my cabin.” You don’t wanna be around her, not right now at least. “See you later, Clarisse.”

She stands up immediately. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, thanks, it’s fine.”

“Y/N, you got hurt because of me.” She crouches down and tugs up your pant leg. “How’s your leg? Your side?”

Matty, Carrie and Clarisse too, sometimes, are always touching you and doing things for you. It’s sweet. They aren’t good with the words, but they show you they love you, and that means more than anything else.

If she hadn’t done what she did, if she really cared about you, then you wouldn’t mind her touching you like this. You would love it.

“Clarisse- get off of me,” you shake your leg out, which hurts a bit, but she lets go and stands up.

Her face twists into one of anger, her fists clenched.

“I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry you got hurt. I feel really bad about it, so just let me do this for you.”

“It’s not about that,” you mumble, cursing yourself and hoping she doesn’t hear you. Of course she does.

“Then what’s it about?”

You try to turn away, but she clamps her around your wrist and tugs you back towards her.

“What’s it about, Y/N?”

She holds your hand to her chest.

You both know what it’s about.

“Just stop, Clarisse,” but your body betrays you and you make no move to push her away. She notices, of course she notices, and she pulls you closer. “We’ve been dancing around each other for months.”

She blinks and her grip on your wrist loosens.

“And it was fun. It was a fun game, okay, Clarisse. But you can stop playing it now. You showed me today that your care more about yourself then you ever could me. I’m sick of it.” You tug your hand away. “I’m so sick of it, Clarisse.”

She grips you tighter again.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m running around looking like a fool, and you think I care about myself? You think I don’t care about you?”

Your breath is a little shaky again.

“You could have helped me and you chose revenge.”

“For you.”

“What?”

“He slammed his shield into your leg, knocked you over, and then shot you in the chest. Of course I wanted revenge. Not for me, it was about that at first, but then, Gods, did you do something to him?”

You laugh. She smiles, staring at your face like she’s seeing you for the first time.

“Like, he just kept coming after you, I don’t get it. But I… I like you. Like, like you. And I don’t know what that means, but I don’t really care. I just… want you. I want to be near you all the time. And I go crazy when you’re with someone else. I want to touch you all the time, hug you, hold you… I want to kiss you so bad I think I’m gonna fucking explode.”

Fuck is always the first word you think of when you think of her. It used to be because she made you so angry with the secrets, but now it’s just the things the says make you wonder how much more you can fall in love with her.

“Well, I don’t really want you to explode,” you roll your eyes. “That’d be too messy. Besides, I-”

“You’re always such a fucking worrier.”

She plants her hands on your face and presses her lips to yours. You can feel the slight desperateness she won’t say, but she’ll tell you with her body. You can feel everything she won’t show, won’t say. How beautiful you are. How scared she was. How much she wanted you and for how long.

You feel it all just by her lips, and you can’t help but wonder what more she can tell you.

She pulls back and smiles.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it.”

“I’m the light of your life, Clarisse.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, grabbing you tighter and kissing you again. You grab onto her arms, smiling. You always wondered what he muscles would feel like against you.

There’s only one word to describe the way it feels.

Fuck.

—-

clarisse when she accidentally told y/n she has pretty eyes: PLEASE DONT NOTICE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

y/n my ladybug not noticing: 🧍‍♀️

—-

y/n and clarisse just being insane together WDYM YOURE LAUGHING WHEN A KID FALLS OVER STOP

—-

clarisse: bitch stop WORRYING

y/n: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME SHUT UP

—-

clarisse and y/n both pretending that clarisse giving her a dagger wasnt literally a declaration of love and also clarisse throwing her spear down to catch y/n???? bitch she’s in LOVE

—-

taglist:

@jazhandzzz

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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soobnny · 10 months

Text

classmate au | yang jungwon

❝ i’ve retired from the student council lmao ❞

yang jungwon

where do i even begin

in the first year of highschool, he used to be THE class president

resident teacher’s pet, sits in the front, yada yada… typical good student stereotype

BUT NOW??? 😭😭😭😭

he just goes to school to be silly

don’t get me wrong like he is smart n still receives good grades

but he isn’t the 100% school jungwon from 7th grade

MOVING ON

how do you befriend yang jungwon

he’s actually a friend of a friend!

apparently, rei had met him when she was in the student council for like a year

so naturally, you eat lunch together at the canteen

he always has those cool lunchboxes and just rly GOOD food for lunch that he doesn’t share

you didn’t know what to expect from the boy when you first started eating lunch together

maybe timid??? shy??? bossy?? you don’t know bc he’s in a different section

you certainly don’t expect him to know about every single possible GOSSIP in the school

he says it in such a funny way too like

yang jungwon storytelling skills 10/10

and he laughs so hard like he will draw attention to your table bc he’s laughing so hard

but it’s valid bc the things he says sometimes are so unhinged that even YOU can’t help the loud cackles

tho you don’t rly become close friends until sports fest season

you hang around each other ++ additional friends BUT they’re always in some contest so you’re left with jungwon most of the time

“do you want to leave and go to the mall??,” you’d ask more as a joke

but he agrees

YANG JUNGWON agrees to skip sports fest to go to the mall with you im in tears

that’s how you find yourselves in a small karaoke room at the mall

he drags you to the arcade too

the original bet was loser pays for the winner’s lunch

but then u lost every game and u looked so cute pouting that jungwon suddenly changes the rules

“FINE… winner pays for the loser’s lunch”

he pretends to be so upset about it too so that you can grab his arm and shake it around to try and get his attention

he gives in obv

then he takes u to lunch at one of like ur fav places and ure like omg ??? u think it’s telepathy that he knows

BUT NO he listens to your stories during lunch time and you’ve mentioned eating here and loving it before

he even has your order down but he tries not to be too obvious about it ☹️☹️

yang jungwon listens to you even tho you’re seated a few people away from him

womp womp it rains when u decide to go back to school

you two end up running in the rain together

WELL technically at first you tried to share his umbrella but then the both of you got too flustered

so when u started to stray away from his umbrella .. he CLOSES it

he takes your hand and goes running for the school so you can take shelter from the rain

the teachers and students look at u like 🤨🤨

anyways jungwon and (name) ABSENT from sports fest

the only thing you remember the event by is bc u joined picture taking before leaving the school grounds

it’s so natural hanging out with him

nothing ever feels forced bc he’s just so goofy and silly that you never feel crazy when talking to him

ever since then !!!!! he’d sit closer to you during lunch time

then he’d start waiting for you outside your classroom just to tell you something ??

will find every excuse to talk to you

and if the teacher needs something from your room? bye he’s VOLUNTEERING just to see you for a few seconds

ofc the teachers just think typical Jungwon behavior

but no … this is typical Jungwon with a Crush behavior

ALSO picture this

his classes end earlier than yours

he will literally pass by your classroom a million times and peek through the open door to make like brief eye contact with you

sometimes .. u don’t notice him and he just admires the way you look on forward to the teacher

also pretends his class ended late so when ur class dismisses he’ll be like “oh let’s talk to the cafeteria together!”

he’s not slick abt it

WHAT DID THAT MALL TRIP DO TO HIM

why is he suddenly so down bad and willing to do everything to hear you laugh

(he starts sharing his food with you btw i know… very shocking for him who ltrly Never shares)

he finally confesses after a school event that ran longer than it should’ve

so he sprints at you and tells you he needs to tell you something bc he is going crazy

CONFESSES !!!!!!!!!

ofc who are you to reject him.

be careful when you start dating bc i firmly believe he LOVES kissing 😹

like he is obsessed and will just be kissing you all the time i’m sorry i’m pushing this agenda

tho ofc in hidden areas!!!!!!!

he doesn’t want his beloved teachers catching him who still has an image of being a teacher’s pet

soooooo like……

“come here, let me kiss you”

you even receive TEXTS as if you’re some sort of sneaky link (you’re not)

“please meet me under the stairs beside the student council office and prepare your lips 😘😘😘😘”

under the stairs, the side of the basketball court, an empty classroom … everywhere

BEHAVE yang jungwon

he’s so clingy and so smug too

has you as his lockscreen

it’s so funny bc someone would borrow his phone and your zoomed in face would just flash in his phone

talks about u to his friends all the time

“isn’t my girlfriend so pretty?,” with this smile 😊😊😊😁

lets you wear his school blazer

sometimes he even switches ur pe shirts

HE DOESNT TELL U

He just likes seeing the big fat “yang” printed on your back

STUDY DATES

he makes his kisses a reward sometimes like if you get this question right he’ll SMOOCH u

he’s honestly so good at being academic support like he knows exactly what to say bc 7th grade him was a different breed n be was so eager to please and always felt so pressured

jungwon a Veteran u guys

helps you in the subjects you’re not so good in

tbh teaches better than your teachers sometimes

like he’d stay behind in class and it’s only the two of you in the classroom and he’ll start WRITING on the whiteboard

just starts lecturing to help you for an upcoming exam

ANYWAYS

honestly just good luck to you and your poor lips

oh also your poor stomach bc he will always make you laugh

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

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natsmagi · 5 months

Note

I want to cry your fem koga looks so good

THANK YOUUUU I LOVE HER!!!!

ive had this vision for her for a while now but i only draw like. 2 charas. So i never got around to properly visualizing her BUT! she had been on my mind for a while and i thought fuck it, i need the world to see how i envision her

#pixie cuts with bangs in the front are SO GOOD!!!! I LOVE THEM!!!!!! AND I THINK THEY REALLY SUIT HER!!!#i often see ppl hc fem koga w a wolf cut which first of all #funny as fuck considering the name #but also i just dont see it...........#shes a pixie girl to me.........................#and my adonis also has an undercut i need them to be partially buzzed hair besties #if rei and kaoru can be mullet besties i think they should be allowed to have this too.#Guys im like creating an entire universe for these characters in my head and i just never talk abt it #bc if i dont draw ntmg i will literally die.#but i DO wanna come up w stuff for more of the charas......#omg actually wouldnt it be so fun if i did like a survey where i asked producers how they think their oshi would look as a girl #and then i could see what the general consensus is matched with my own impression of the charas #to create designs for them......#I JUST HAVE SO MUCH FUN W DESIGNS #ask

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matenrou-fan · 1 year

Note

ueueuehehehehehe barbatos tailfucking the reader. like holding them with his hands and using his tail to fuck both holes *smiles* and like overstimming them too (fem reader if so 🙏🏼🙏🏼) -rei boobie anon

Barbatos tailfucking fem! s/o + overstimulation

omg you said that he needs to hold the reader and everything but I get a little bit carried away while writing this.. Hope it's okay.. <3

femreader, teasing, begging, humiliation, overstimulation, semi public sex, rough sex, slut shaming, oral (giving), double penetration, Master/pet relationship;; 3026 words;;

NFSW UNDER THE CUT

;MINORS DNI;

The way Barbatos touches you clearly reflects his whole personality - playful, almost weightless, and always so confusing, as you never can say if it was an accidental brush of his hand on your body that feels too intimate or he just teases you, maybe even torturing you with these games.. Every time you visit Demon Lord's Castle he approaches you too rarely to actually make you aroused but too often for you to not pay attention to light strokes of his arms that just knows where and how to tickle to make you bite lips. Yet today..

Today was some kind of special occasion, indeed. One of the casual tea parties that Diavolo loves to make so it's easy to run away from his responsibilities and paperwork but today his loyal servant finally accepted the offer to join you all and also relax. And oh what a miracle, the only empty chair was near you?!

But the fact that Barbatos also would just drink tea with you all didn't bother or even surprise you that much, before.. Before you choke on the silver spoon in your mouth, suddenly feel the cold leather of his gloves on your thighs.

"S/o..? Are you alright?!"

"Strange, I make sure that there's no Solomon's cooking this time, why did you choke on this strawberry pie?"

"Mm? And how can my cooking be related to this..?"

Ah, everyone around you is so worried, almost jumping from their places to pat your back and help you. When the hero of the occasion keeps drinking his tea, absolutely enjoying your blushing face and this awkward laugh as you try to calm everyone.. While his hand already lifts your skirt, caressing naked skin here.

"S/o, is everything okay? Maybe I should lend a helping hand for you too?" - he finally turns to look you right in the eyes just to get even more amused by your adorable reaction, as you're really trying to keep your voice calm. The moment your eyes meet, Barbatos just moves his fingers forward, tickling inner thighs oh so close to your panties.

"Yes, yes, I'm alright.." - and despite you wanting to hint with a glance to stop you have no idea how… Everyone around is still looking.

"Good." - He takes off your panties.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Well, maybe you shouldn't have given a damn about everyone else as now things get even harder to hide.

For a moment you thought he would just tease you with his hand for the whole tea party, but then his tail appeared. And it was much worse than his fingers can be. One tip of it was slowly sliding up and down, titillating your folds, when the other one pressed to your clit, drawing small circles in a sensitive place.

All you can do is just eat more than usual to muffle your gasp in another bite of cake. How good Mammon was also here, in his casual goofy mood that Lucifer hated so much, making everyone around laugh. And you laugh too, trying to hide your whines and sobs under the mask of a strong fit of laughter, eyes already red and watering when you act like you finally controlled the spasms.. Oh if they all know what exactly spasms you try to control..!

Will you be able to hold yourself for the whole evening? Your hand slides down to squeeze Barbatos' knee, not in the attempt to tease him too but to warn him, warn that it's starting to be unbearable. Even when you tried to control your breath he was hearing your small gasps and whimpers, and quickly found just the right pace to rub your clit while his other tip played with the clenching entrance of your pussy, not thrusting inside, just tickling, making you be the one who wants to feel more. And you were afraid you would not have enough strength to not just start moaning out loud.

"Mm.. This time it was much more funny than usual.." - Simeon smiles, and you just now notice that everyone has already finished their tea, and the party is getting to finish.

"Oh yes! The fact that Barbatos was with us this time as a friend and not as my servant was making everything better..!" - a loud laugh of the Lord thundered across the table, but you almost didn't hear him, more concentrated on the heat between your thighs that made you cross your legs. Are you on edge now..?

"I don't think my presence change anything, but your words flattered me, my Lord.." - with a slight nod Barbatos keeps looking at everyone but not you.

"Hehe.. But do you remember that you still need to prepare rooms for our dear guest to stay overnight?"

"Of course. I will return to my work immediately." - maybe no one heard this, but you clearly notice some sight mockery in his tone. And of course this mockery was addressed to you, as at the same time all touches stopped and his tail quickly pulled away.

You whine, this time not even carrying how loud you can be, as your pussy was still throbbing, asking, begging for just a few touches before blissful release..

"I'm no less disappointed than you are, s/o.." - Lucifer furrowed his brow, looking at his boss. - "You probably should tell us that you're planning an overnight stay a little bit earlier..?"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Never in your life have you experienced a more hard time than this evening. All this activity with the demon brother in Castle just annoys you, as you still keep returning to these moments with Barbatos, almost feeling the ghost of his touches on your warm skin all over again.

But this sinful servant just knows how to make you struggle even more, not even showing near you for the whole time, too busy with his responsibilities. And it was both good and bad, cause despite you yearning to see him again you also were afraid that you would just melt in the same second you see him again.

And only when everyone calls it night and goes into a different room, whining about how lucky Belphegor and Simeon are to spend the night in the same place with you, only then he approaches you again, catching you all alone in the darkness of the corridor.

"It seems that I left my poor darling right at the most interesting moment.."

"You did it on purpose..!" - you whisper, fighting the urge to just cling to him right here, but the shine in his bright green eyes tells you to not even try.

"Am I? Then please, meet me in my room tonight.." - leaning closer but only with his shoulders, still not touching your body, Barbatos whispers in your ear, hitting the core of your mind with goosebumps. - "I'm ready to fix my bad attitude.."

"But how I can-" - you mumble under your breath but he's already gone, almost faded away, leaving you all confused again.

Just HOW you still tolerate such unfair teases? Probably because you start to be addicted to these intoxicating games that always leave you with a light head and warm wetness in panties. Not even Lucifer with his playful flirting can make you feel the same thing that this side servant that is always in the background, hiding in the shadows, can. And you love that.

Well, maybe this whole sleepover was also just part of his plan, and the fact that you get in a room with two pretty peaceful guys was maybe also just his little touch.. Cause Belphie just fall asleep immediately, before you even enter the room, and Simeon, trying to act as quiet as possible to not awake him, also quickly get drowsy.

Just an hour, and you were absolutely sure these two wouldn't notice you go away. Well, maybe not 'just an hour', as every minute was like a torture for you, especially when you realize you would probably receive something more very soon.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Oh my. So I really picked your interest today, am I?"

You just whine as a response, melting in his arms the very second you crossed the threshold of Barbatos' room. Clinging to him with your whole body, you grasp his shoulders, waiting to feel his touch again, but his hands don't even move from your waist, and the whole hug feels… kinda stiff.

Oh, do you really think everything would be so easy? When you look up at him all you can see is a wild smirk, as your lover was absolutely amused with such pathetic needy gaze. One arm pat your head as he pulls away from you.

"Barbatos, why-"

"On your knees."

Not even any second thought as you already dropped on the floor, sitting in front of him. From such an angle his devilish face looks even more hypnotizin and you whine, both from shame and arousal.

But he just looks at you for a few seconds, before walking away and sitting in his bed, calling you with a beckoning sign. Oh, and of course he wouldn't even try to hide how much he enjoys your trembling figure as you quickly get closer on all fours. Like his own little pet..

For a moment you just look at each other in absolute silence, before he leans a little, resting his elbow on his knee:

"Do I really need to say that? I thought you were pretty smart to understand that good girls get rewards only after they ask nicely.."

"But.. Barbatos.."

"Mm, and I thought you got here for something more than just to show me how pathetic you look in such a pose.."

Digging your nails in the carpet, you sobs, as your face starts heating up. Of course you know when he plays and when not, and now you're absolutely sure you will receive nothing if you wouldn't beg.

"Barbatos, please.. Please, just touch me again.." - your small whine makes him chuckle and he nodded approvingly, waiting for more. - "I don't even ask for fucking, just touching.. Please.."

"Oh, how pitiful.." - your lover sighs, and despite his smile still on his face, the tone of his mocking voice was disinterested.

"No, really.. Barb- Master.." - you lean closer, clinging to his legs. - "Master, please.. I'll do anything.."

"That's better.."

Finally, FINALLY he touched you, spreading your legs roughly with the toes of his shoes as his tail quickly slid under your skirt, pressing onto the sticky fabric of your panties, that was absolutely soaked in your juices.

"Lift it up." - his gaze drops on your clothes and you quickly obey, too excited to finally get the right attention. Pulling your shirt up, you take it in your mouth, revealing your bra, while hands lifting the hem of your skirt.

"Oh, you decided to show me your whole body? Then go on, take everything off.." - still with a mocking tone, Barbatos surveyed your naked skin with the same calm gaze. ..did he even aroused or not? Or is it just a very twisted game for him, to humiliate you more?

But you don't care, as the main thing for you is that his tails already move your panties aside and start stroking your hot, trembling pussy again. Still holding your skirt with one hand, you tried to unhook your bra, as he ordered, but it was too hard, too hard when all your already small thoughts completely disappeared, leaving you with an empty head.

"What's wrong? Few touches are enough for you to get so useless?" - Barbatos sighs, leaning down and taking off your shirt along with the bra in one movement. - "Never thought what a dirty slut you are, letting a man treat you like this?"

The way his voice quickly changes from light mockery to straightforward insults just makes your stomach tickle. And this absolutely cold gaze on your blushing face and sweaty body just makes everything worse.. It's amazing how he can keep such a collected face when his tails are literally rubbing against you like that, one in front, teasing your folds, when another tip slowly creeps to your ass, tickling a tight hole. Another high pitched whine burst out of your lips but he quickly shut you up, grasping your chin.

"If you want to keep your mouth open, then at least use it properly.." - with such commentary he forces you lean closer, pressing your face to his crotch. Warmth of his hard dick that was felt even through fabric sends shivers down your spine and you let go of your skirt, instead trying to unzip his pants.

Not even trying to help you this time, Barbatos just keeps watching your weak attempts to do it, feeling just how much your hands tremble when brushing against his bulge. All he does is just keep telling how you demean yourself with such useless behavior. Oh, he's too harsh? But his tails also have nerves and he clearly can tell how much your both holes are clenching from his merciless comments, begging to be finally stretched out. But it's not the right time yet.

Only when his cock finally slaps your face, revealing from his pants, he grabs your hair again, controlling the pace with you licking his whole length. And only when Barbatos starts forcing his dick inside your mouth, his tails thrust inside you in one moment, making you moan right on his skin, tickling glans with vibration of your throat.

"Is it actually so good, to be fucked in all your holes? Well, why I'm asking.. Sluts like you love such things, don't you?" - even after his breath gets heavier from your hot tongue around his cock, your lover keeps mocking you.

Mock your sloppy movements, mock you for being so wet that he doesn't even need to prepare you, already pushing his tail deep inside you, mock you for choking around his cock and think about your own pleasure, not his, just mock and mock you every second. But your face with furrowed, twitching brows and muffled moans just tells him that you're absolutely enjoying it.

His darkened eyes now were filled with more lust, as he enjoyed every thrust of your mouth in just the right pace that he controlled all by himself, still pulling your hairs with his tight grip. For a moment Barbatos presses your head to his hips again, making you choke on the thick base of his cock and just stop, admiring your hazy eyes, full of tears.

"Such a good, whorish pet.. You want to cum, don't you?"

All you can do is whine and nod just a little, begging with your gaze instead of words. Oh, and of course with your hips that keep bouncing up and down on two tips that now speed up, moving in one aggressive rhythm. This mind shattering feeling of double filling was so new but already so pleasant to you, both your tight holes tremble from the rough resistance of his tails. God, of course you want to cum now.

"That's it.. Only dirty whores will cum when all their tree holes are stretched like this, so go on and show me how slutty you are for your master.."

The same rough wild speed that titillates you down here now was wrecking your mouth too, and you just closed your eyes, surrendering utterly to the pleasure. But a rough pull on your hair makes you gasp and open it again, just to see the smirking face of your lover.

"Did I give you permission? Look your Master in the eyes like a good and obedient pet.." - a low chuckle sends shivers down your spine and he suddenly starts to slow down. - "Or you enjoy when I throw you away in the most delightful moment?"

You shake your head a little and keep sucking his dick, begging with every move to not stop, to not stop right now, when your legs start trembling so much you barely can sit like that and not fall down, your thighs tried to squeeze together but his boots still were forcing you open, spreading your legs..

Just a few more rough, merciless thrust and you moan around his dick, sending more vibrations all over his sensitive skin while orgasm finally hits you. Your whole body freezes and if not his hand on your head you would probably stop sucking, as all other muscles in your body tensed up, concentrating in your burning pussy that now clenched tight around his tail. Your vision is blurry and you can only see Barbatos' smirk and deep dominating gaze, and it just makes these waves of pleasure inside you hit your core even harder.

Still pushing your head up and down, he admires such a pathetic view of your cumming face, absolutely enjoying your hot walls and their pressure. Just how much tighter you would be when he would pound into you with much thicker length..? This thoughts makes him bite lip as he also get too close to the edge, showing his dick deep in your throat.

"Keep your mouth like that.. Let's use your throat for its only one declared purposes.."

With these words Barbatos come too, burning your inner skin with thick hot sperm. Oh, and of course as a good pet you will keep sucking, milking him to the very end as sticky liquid running down into your stomach. Only now you were able to hear more of his groans and gasps, but not that much.. After all, if you want to hear more of his delightful deep sounds then you should work even harder now.

And of course he gives you this opportunity, pulling away your head to undress himself completely.

"On a bed, now. If you continue being so obedient, then I'll let you stay here for the whole night, pet.."

#barbatos smut #barbatos x reader #barbatos x you #obey me barbatos #om barbatos #barbatos obey me #Barbatos obey me smut #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos smut #obey me #smut obey me #obey me smut #obey me x reader smut #obey me x you #obey me x reader #obey me imagines

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marinas-drafts · 7 months

Text

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

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