save yourself, I'll hold them back.

A million different things went through your mind when he first asked you to step away to his office, and it showed on your face when you first stuttered through an excuse to stay at the party. 

“Tell you what, why don’t we just continue our conversation about your ideas over better booze than what they have down here? I’ll behave as long as you do,” he offers, his sonorous baritone washing over you like a warm bath.

It was more than easy to agree with him; he just had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room.

As the elevator lifts, August leans against the left wall while you stand in the center. You try to maintain the silence that is only interrupted as the floor indicator dings every few seconds. The anxiety of feeling like you have to perform is strong, and you want to come up with something that he will find interesting.

But all you can come up with is, “You know, you can’t say happiness without saying penis.” 

August’s head whips to you so fast, you think his neck may have broken. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Sometimes, when I’m nervous, I spout useless trivia. It’s the worst superpower,” you admit, hoping he would let it go.

“Sex is ten times more effective than Valium. So, maybe we shouldn’t be so coy,” he hums, pushing off of the wall and coming to stand next to you when the elevator stops.

When the doors open, you are greeted with quite a sight. The entirety of the top floor is closed off by walls, except for his secretary’s desk, which sits just outside double doors. 

You are so surprised by the fact that you are in the CEO’s space that you just gawk at everything while staying in the elevator. It’s only when August stops the doors from closing on you that you close your mouth and follow him to the doors to his office.

Once they open, you’re greeted with a modern office space with two conference rooms around the left and right corners. His L-shaped desk sits in the center of the room, and the polished ebony wood stain reflects the lights of the city from the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the back wall. A leather sofa and armchair set that seems rather inviting fills the carpeted area in front of the mini-bar. You spy the bookshelves that line the right and left walls and wonder to yourself if he’s even read half of them.

Walking around the desk, your feet carry you to the right bookcase. You read the titles of book after book about business and the economy. How fucking boring!

From his spot at the mini-bar, August gets your attention. “So, what would the lady like to drink while she snoops?”

“I’m not snooping. Just looking,” you advise, your fingers swiping the various spines as you walk toward him. “And I would love some bourbon if you have it. No ice.”

“I think I’ll join you,” he remarks, retrieving two lowball glasses and a decanter of the amber liquid. Pouring about two fingers into one glass and then the other. He takes both glasses and places them on the glass coffee table that sits between the sofa and the two comfy chairs. He picks up his drink and turns to you. “What shall we toast to?”

The anxiety running through you is replaced by lust as you join him on the couch, close enough to feel his body heat. Pheromones must be wafting in the air because he smells like sex on legs. You bend forward to pick up your bourbon, and the top of your dress reveals some cleavage. Out of the corner of your eye, you see August tilt his head as he sneaks a peek.

“To not being coy,” you insist, offering your raised glass.

August clinks his glass with yours and says, “To not being coy.”

You both take a sip and when you put your drink down after a sizable gulp, August mirrors you and sits back against the couch. You turn, and he is watching you with hungry eyes. Now or never, you think to yourself.

Leaning in, you kiss the smirk right off his face. His soft, pink lips part and his tongue licks into your mouth. Deepening the kiss, you allow him entry and massage his tongue with yours as you move to his lap. His hands caress your thighs before sliding up your leg to land on your hips. You know what he is after, so you start to rock your hips and are awarded with a deep rumble of a groan from August.

With his hands grabbing onto your ass, you grow bold and swivel your hips once, then twice. As August bucks up into you, you whimper, and he breaks the kiss. Maintaining eye contact, he reaches up your dress and stops when his fingertips touch your panties.

“May I take these off?” he asks, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip as he looks up at you.

“Fuck, yes,” you yelp, your desire becoming too much to handle.

With your permission, he pulls them down your legs as far as they will go with you kneeling in his lap. Positioning you to lay back on the couch, he removes them completely, then dives in between your legs with his hands wrapped around your thighs to hold you close. 

He kisses your inner thighs before focusing on your wet pussy. To say he must have been starving for you is an understatement. The way he licks from your hole to your swollen nub was just this side of overwhelming. Swirling his tongue around your pearl, he waits until you begin to buck your hips to take your clit into his mouth.

Your hands go to his hair, clutching his chestnut locks as he sucks your soul out of your body. You’re near tears when he slowly inserts a finger between your folds. You barely hold yourself together as he strokes your inner walls, paying attention to the inner bundle of nerves that drives you wild.

Inserting another finger, he picks up his speed while massaging your G-spot. Listening to your body, he knows that you are on the very edge. One wrong move, and he could ruin it completely. 

But, lucky for you, he knows what he is doing.

He lets your clit slip past his lips, changing his tactic. Flicking his tongue up and down on your bud while adding a third finger to stretch you out, he puts on a master class at foreplay. Within moments, the hold you have on your faculties is all but forgotten as you are brought to orgasm. Your walls clench around his fingers, and he continues to play with your sweet spot. The noise of your sopping hole echoes in the office.

“That’s it; let it go. Such a good girl for me. So fucking delicious, too,” he praises, talking you through it. “You sound so fucking sexy right now.”

When you come down from your high, August is right there to kiss away the tear that escapes your eye as he caresses you. Your entire body is afire with sensations. His hands on you feel feather-soft. Looking up into his face, you can’t help but bring him down to kiss him. The kiss starts slow, but as it continues, tongues and teeth make an appearance. He nibbles and sucks on your bottom lip, eliciting a moan from deep in your throat. 

He breaks the kiss again to kiss and nip at your jaw and neck. You wrap a leg around his waist, shoving your hand between you to stroke him through his slacks. The groan from him at the contact radiates through you. You can tell he has a monster under those clothes, and you want it.

Echoing his politeness from earlier, you speak up, “May I?”

“Please,” he gushes, sitting on his heels to give you better access.

You unzip and unbutton him, reaching inside to take him out. You thank him silently for prepping you with three fingers, because damn. The uncut snake in his pants is heavy in your hands. While you want nothing more than to have it inside you, you would also love to gag on it. August’s hand under your chin lifts your face until your eyes meet.

“As much as I would love your pretty lips around me, I need to be inside you,” he implores, his thumb ghosting over your lips. “I promise you can choke on it later.”

You gasp as he removes your hand from his dick and pushes you slightly to lay back down. He throws your legs over his shoulders, lining himself up with your core, before pushing in slowly. He takes his time, letting you get used to being so filled and allowing him to adapt to your tight heat.

Folding you into yourself, he retracts his hips and thrusts forward. You groan in unison. Pulling out until just the tip remains inside you, he slams back in, kissing your cervix with his cockhead. He picks up the speed, and you can hear how fucking wet you are. The sloshy slaps of flesh on flesh are enough to have you close to orgasm already.

The entire room smells like sex, and it is intoxicating. Your gasps and whines as he fucks you only spur him on to help you chase after your climax. Parting your legs, he grips your thighs, fucking into you harder and faster. The look of determination on his face has you reaching down to play with your sensitive clit.

He swats your hand away in favor of using his fingers to make you cum around him. It happens quicker than you planned, a testament to his expertise. He fucks you through your release, your overworked pussy leaving cream all over his cock. He slows down to a more intimate pace as you come back to yourself.

You tangle a hand in his messy curls and pull him down to kiss you. With your hand on his hip, you urge him to move again. He kisses you deeper as his hips pick up the pace fucking you. You swallow every grunt and grumble from his thrusts. When his lips part from yours, you see the want in his eyes. You know he’s close by the way his hips stutter and his dick twitches.

Tightening your legs around his waist, you push your heel into his ass, and he gets the hint. 

“You want my cum? Ugh, fuck, I’m so close. Shit! Argh, fuck,” he gasps, his cock spasming as he spills inside you. He collapses on top of you with his face in your neck, and you rub his back while he comes down.

Once his softening length slips from you, he grunts and picks himself up to sit back on his heels. He watches as his cum leaks out of you and licks his lips. He gets up and tucks himself away before motioning for you to stay right where you are. He grabs a towel from the mini-bar, coming back to clean up his mess from between your legs. He tosses the towel on the coffee table and picks up his drink to take a sip.

“I wasn’t lying earlier, you know,” he discloses, moving to sit down when you pull yourself into a seated position.

“Huh?” you ask, wracking your brain to find out what he’s talking about.

“I still want to hear your ideas on how to expand our market reach. I mean, you don’t even work in our marketing department, and your ideas have my attention,” he praises, his voice sincere in tone.

“I do have a few ideas on how the company can grow,” you beam, happy to be noticed. “But I think I’d like to discuss that first thing on Monday. Right now, I’d rather enjoy this bourbon and spend time not talking about work. If you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind at all,” he affirms, sipping his drink before smiling at you. “I am actually looking forward to Monday for a change. But before then, would you let me take you to dinner? I promise there will be no work talk.”

You look into your glass, swirling the amber liquid while you think about it for all of three seconds. “I’ll let you take me to dinner on one condition,” you advise, a smirk playing on your lips.

“And what would that be?” he asks, his arm going to the back of the couch.

“You let me choke on it before tonight is over,” you flirt, holding in a giggle.

The way his eyes darken is a thing of beauty. He lowers his drink from his lips and says, “Fuck, where did that coy little thing go? I’m not complaining, by the way. I’ll make sure you get a taste; don’t you worry.” 

You suddenly feel very warm, and you can’t believe this man is real. You wonder how his words can make you want nothing more than to kiss him until you can’t breathe. You put down your glass after downing the last bit in one go. Liquid courage, don’t fail me now, you think to yourself.

August puts down his glass and leans back. You crawl into his lap again, a knee on either side of his hips. Entwining a hand in his hair, you lean forward and capture his lips again. This time, the kiss is slow and sensual. Your tongue dances with his until your lips touch again. Nipping at his bottom lip elicits a whimper from him that is music to your ears.

His hands move to your ass, gripping the globes as if his life depended on it. When one hand leaves, you only miss it for a second before it lands back on your cheek with a slap. You moan into his mouth, and you can feel the rumble of a chuckle in his chest.

He’s got you right where he wants you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A/N: This story was super fun to write. I would love to know what you think!!! Feedback is appreciated!

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Ever the gentleman, ever possessed by the fine arts of propriety, justice, compassion, and self-discipline…all the qualities for which you find yourself more deeply in love by the day…Sherlock has become increasingly distracted, sometimes even dismissive, of your endeavors to cultivate closeness, as the day of your wedding draws near. You do not know what precisely has caused his detachment; never once has he expressed any regret for his proposal, nor suggested he does not wish to proceed with the marriage, but something has changed.

You cannot recall the last time he was tender—if ever he truly was. No soft words, nothing of your beauty, certainly, rise to your memory, even as you entertain the recollections of shared laughter, discussions of books or music, your eager interest in his cases and his equal enthusiasm to share his work with you. Meanwhile, you long to pour out your heart on the subject of his handsome face, his gorgeous eyes, how much you long for his touch, his kiss, his…

Well.

Sherlock’s true feelings for you are a mystery that only he could solve, and finding the time alone to ask him to unravel his secrets has been nigh impossible. But tonight, at another interminable dinner party for your family and his, a challenge from Enola to discover the secret passages of the Holmes estate has led you to the library, opening a hidden door behind a bookshelf to your delight…and the surprise of Sherlock, whom you discover pensively staring out the wide window behind his desk. He looks back over his shoulder, slightly startled, but smiles when he recognizes your familiar form emerging from the shadows.

“Very well done, Miss —,” he praises you, and your heart flutters happily at the accolade. “My sister will be most pleased to have such a companion as yourself with whom to roam these halls. When we can coax her back home, that is.”

“I hope you will find me a fine companion, too,” you offer, stepping out from the passageway and into the library proper. You look about you: no one else is there. Good.

“Naturally,” he replies, leaving the sanctuary of his desk, but still keeping a polite distance. “It will be entirely pleasant to share a home with you, here or in London. I have too long breakfasted alone, beginning the day in sullen silence, only to let supper grow cold, too, for want of more companionable nourishment.”

“Yes, I quite look forward to that, too,” you reply politely, a few tears of disappointment pooling in the corners of your eyes. His once ardent interest truly does seem to have waned into a wish for company over meals. Still, your hope preservers; perhaps this is only a gentlemanly demurring from more intimate matters? You have had some success in delving into his captivating mind. What line of inquiry might unlock his heart?

“And you must never hesitate to make use of this library.”

“Thank you. But…Mr. Holmes…”

“Yes?”

“I mean…certainly we shall share other…other rooms, too?”

“Of course. You must be honest with me in the correction of my bachelor habits.”

“Yes, and you must similarly address the conventions of my customary solitude.”

 These mirrored platitudes are maddening. You steel your courage and make a bolder proposition.

“But is it not true that, as is only proper, to my understanding, that when we marry, we will be…as one?”

At this, he meets your eyes for a brief, flickering moment, then turns away from you entirely, and begins to meticulously examine the books on the shelves, uttering a monosyllabic: “Ah.”

You wait.

And wait.

And wait.

At long last, he clears his throat slightly and says, “I hope that if you should have any concerns of that nature, you might seek out the counsel of a recently married woman of your own age—Mrs. Watson, for example, is a lady of faultless virtue and excellent education, and might allay your fears—“

“I have no fears!” you exclaim. “I have…great anticipation. Longing, for a closeness I thought you equally desired. Sherlock, please I long to know and be known as a wife, to share with you every facet of my life, including—my…our—“

“Please, Miss —“

“But of late you scarcely look at me—“

“Dear girl,” he interrupts again. “I beg you to cease this line of inquiry!”

Your frustration bubbles over. Determinedly, you cross the room to where he stands, and slip around his hulking frame, insinuating yourself betwixt him and the bookcase, demanding his attention whether he will or no.

“What is it, Sherlock?” you ask, gazing up at him through your eyelashes, feeling your pulse quicken at his nearness. “Do you not want me?”

“Do I,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Not want you?”

In an instant, he has you restrained against the bookshelves, one hand pinned above your head and the other left to grasp frantically at his lapel, feeling the hard muscle and pounding heart beneath his fine coat, like an ember burning beneath your fingertips.

“Every moment I am plagued with wanting you! Do you not understand why I have withdrawn from you, why I must keep my distance from the woman I love?”

Sherlock lays his palm against your cheek, then slides his fingers down your neck, across your collarbones, coming to rest against the heaving swell of your breast over your gown.

“This is why. To prevent this.”

Hands over hearts, you are more closely entwined than you have ever been, and you can see with perfect clarity that his eyes burn with deep, profound emotion as well as increasingly unbridled yearning. Pinioned there by his full weight and bulk, you are completely helpless to his whims, and nothing has ever felt so freeing in your entire life. Finally, finally, finally, you exalt in your mind, and you sigh his name, unable to suppress a slight moan, which only seems to afflict him further.

“Oh, Sherlock…”

“I am a gentleman of unimpeachable conduct, but you would turn me into a brute. The more time I spend in your presence, the closer the day draws near when you will be mine, the more I find my resolve tested,” he despairs, drawing in a deep breath, and shuddering as the scent of your hair, your skin, permeates his senses. “Look at us, look what you have done! All this time I have resisted, but you undo it in a mere minute…”

His lips are practically touching yours, his grip on your wrist grown tighter, the press of his unmistakable hardness against you firm and unyielding.

“This,” he explains, his voice gone ragged and low. “Is your only warning, my dear sweet bride. If you speak another word of wanting before I may lawfully, licitly show you every way a man may possess his wife, if you touch me—or, or, you perfect minx, my gorgeous tormentor, if you with all your whiles force my hand…if you insist I kiss your glove in public, or ask for my arm to cross the street…I will make you pay for it the minute we are wed. I will turn you over my knee and spank your backside bruised. I will have you in every room of the house; damn who might see us. I will hunt you down across the estate and take you in the fields or the forest like an animal, for so you make me, darling. I will bind your hands to my bed and make you come for me over and over again until you have not a single thought left in this brilliant little mind, and then I will fuck your pretty weeping cunt until I’m sated and you are dripping with my seed. And that for a start.”

Sherlock, eyes glittering with his barely leashed lust, presses a light, chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Are we understood, Miss —?”

“Yes, yes,” you gasp, and, with the final indulgence of skimming the pad of his thumb across your trembling bottom lip, he very gently, courteously releases you, and then promptly flees to the opposite side of the room to pour himself a substantial drink. He downs it in one gulp, then takes several very deep breaths, and though he keeps his back to you, you can tell, with a secret thrill down your spine, that he is adjusting his clothes in a futile attempt to disguise his arousal.

“You were best return to the drawing room at once,” he instructs, almost bashful at his body’s insistence against his mind’s prudence. It is incredibly endearing. “I must compose myself.”

“Of course. Forgive me, sir, that I have discomposed you so.”

“No, no, it is I who must apologize. Can you forgive me, dearest girl, that I have not made clear to you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen? I was never a man of sentiment until now, and feared that to linger too long on the object of my desire, might make me lose all control. But I will tell you every day, ten times a day—from now until the end of my life, that your loveliness of body and soul is to me as vital as the air I breathe.”

“Are you becoming a poet, Sherlock?” you tease, melting all the more at his rush of tenderness, so looked for and longed for.

“Only for you,” he sighs, and you almost faint away as his hand drops to palm the outline of his cock through his trousers. Realizing the nature of his reflexive gesture, he gives  a frustrated groan and points at you accusingly.  “Only a romantic fool, and only a devious, seducing scoundrel, because of you.”

You laugh together, and, sneaking one last fervent look over your shoulder as he sinks into his chair and begins to unfasten his trousers, you close the door behind you depart, practically skipping through the halls of the home that will soon be yours, too, to rejoin both sides of the family in the parlor.

About ten minutes later, Sherlock rejoins the party, too, and no one seems to suspect anything untoward, clearly a relief to you both as your eyes meet across the table with a shared, secret glow. Once all parting pleasantries are exchanged, Sherlock follows you and your family out to the carriage, keeping a painfully respectful distance all the while. He offers only a formal bow and a stern, “Good evening” by means of farewell, but you have other designs.

“Good evening to you, too, Mr. Holmes,” you reply with a cheerful smile, and then, in front of the whole company, you elegantly present your hand to your fiancé to be kissed…

 I am so, so honored by all your kind replies and reblogs! Thanks to those who commented on my other prompt fic, Pulse Point:

You sigh and put your phone on the side table. Your glass is empty. You really didn’t want to indulge in a second before Andy got there but alas, he is pushing your tolerance, in more ways than one. After the day you’ve had, you desperately need to unwind. 

You get up and the sheer layers of fabric tickle along your lower stomach. Ugh, you should just get out these ridiculous pajamas. Simple is better. He probably wouldn’t even notice the effort. It hardly matters. It’s just sex. 

You take your glass and clink it down on the kitchen counter. You pour some more merlot and swirl it as you consider the dark depths. You taste it and the bitterness stains your tongue. You should just reply and tell him not to bother. You’re tired of more than waiting. 

You spin and a knock sounds at the door. Too late. He’s there. You roll your eyes and set the glass on the granite once more. You sweep through into the entry way and steel yourself. You try to figure how you should proceed. You could get some steam off. It would do him well to be used and tossed back out into the night. 

You open the door, ready to reproach Andy for his delay but stop short. Your hand pauses midway into an accusatory point and you lower it slowly. You purse your lips as you swallow back your surprise. 

“Elijah,” you greet the bearded man, overly aware of your current exposed state. His eyes betray his notice of your limited attire. You can’t recall if you can see through and you’re too embarrassed to look down. 

You stare at your unexpected visitor. The implications of his unannounced appearance do not elude you. Not only do you wonder why he is there but how he knows where you live. 

“Doc,” his voice is grizzly as he rubs his buzzcut, “hey.” 

“Hello,” you respond tritely, “you are aware that it is after midnight, Elijah?” 

“Syverson,” he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Doc, please...” 

You watch him warily as your unease rises. He’s in one of his moods. He’s walking the tightrope and one slip will send him plummeting. Of all your patience, he has shown the most progress yet the most concern. 

“We have an agreement. We use our names. Our real names, yes? You are not Captain Syverson here.” 

He sucks in a breath through his nose. His hand twitches at his side. The tick in his cheek and the restless sway in his stance unsettle you. He’s about to bubble over. You can’t let him go, as much as you want to tell him too. He’s in a dangerous state. 

 “Well, come in. I’ll make you some tea and we can talk,” you step back and open the door wider. 

“Thanks,” he accepts the invite and you wait for him to enter then shut the door. 

“Please, have a seat,” you gesture him into the front room. 

He all too easily accepts. He goes into your living room, boots still on, and drops onto the couch. You give him a clinging look then detach and proceed into the kitchen. You turn on the kettle and circle around through the other doorway.  

You come up at the other end of the sofa and slide your phone off the end table. You quickly send a message and hope it reaches your intended company. 

“So,” you put the phone down again and move to stand behind the arm chair, hoping to block out the whimsical pajamas. “Elijah, what brings you here tonight?” 

“Doc,” he fidgets and turns his head back and forth. “I...” he tilts his chin up and inhales again. “I’m struggling.” 

“And what brought this on? Was there some event?” You prompt gently. 

“Mmm, no... maybe...” he drones and drops his head into his hands. His elbows rest on his thighs as he shudders. “I did... something. I...” 

You notice then the split on his knuckle. Smaller cuts higher up his fingers, his skin is tinged around his nails. Is that blood? 

You glance over at your phone. 

“What did you do, Elijah?” You ask. “Did you hurt yourself?” 

He whimpers and shakes his head. He rocks and pulls a large hand away from his skull, only to box himself in the ear. He whines. 

“I didn’t want to. It happened fast.” He gulps in air and sits up slowly. “There was a noise. Like thunder. Then it all--” He claps and winces at the loud impact of his palms. 

“Right, well, let’s have the tea and we’ll talk about it,” you say calmly as you sidle out from behind the chair.  

You subtly reach for your phone as you brush against the table. He’s faster than you think. He puts his hand over yours and stops you. Before you can recoil, he latches on. You repress your alarm and look him in the face. His eyes are foggy. They don’t stay on your face. They slowly scale down your body. 

“Doc, you look nice,” he says. 

“Thank you, Elijah,” you bring your other hand to pat his. “That’s a very nice compliment. Let me go get the tea and a robe.” 

He doesn’t let go. He stands, keeping hold of you, stretching your arm over the table. He leans his head to one side as his gaze roves up and down your body. 

“You dressed up for me?” He rasps. 

“Now, Elijah, I wasn’t expecting you,” you say. “Please, let go so I can get dressed.” 

He breathes heavily. He grabs the table with his other hand and shoves it aside. Your phone and the lamp crash onto the floor, the latter bouncing over your foot. You gasp as he yanks you closer. 

“Elijah,” you say more firmly. “You’re scaring me. Remember our exercises. Let’s count and breathe--” 

“For me,” he pulls you against him, hooking his arm around you. 

“No,” you push on his chest, barely tamping down your panic. “Ten, breathe in-” 

“Stop,” he warns as he hugs you closer. He toys with your hand and angles it to kiss your knuckles. Your eyes snag again on his tortured skin. “I just wanna...” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. His touch slides down your back and he gropes your ass. You squeal in surprise and slap his chest, “Captain Syverson,” you slip as you snarl through your teeth, “you quit this right now. Get off--” 

“Captain,” he repeats and nods. “Yes, you can call me captain.” 

He digs his nails through the flimsy shorts and pulls your arm over his shoulder. You try to pull away but he’s too strong. Your fear breaks through in a throttled whimper. 

“Elijah--” 

“Captain,” he corrects you and once more slings his arm around you. 

“You are being--” 

He encircles you entirely with his arm and bends his knees. He lifts you off your feet and swings you around. You kick out in shock and wrestle with him as he carries you around the room. He falls onto you, crushing you into the couch cushions. 

You wheeze as his weight knocks the wind out of you. He untangles his arm from under your and grabs your face. He turns your head straight as you grit your teeth. You slap his thick arm. You can smell his sweat and the iron of blood. 

“Elijah,” you whittle out, “please... let’s just talk...” 

The kettle quakes noisily from the kitchen as he keeps you pinned. You squirm but can barely move. He smothers you with his body. You feel how the cushions thin under both of you. 

He pushes his knees down and forces them between your legs. You whine and clasp onto his camo shirt. You puff out in short spurts, your ribs aching beneath him. 

“I’ll be nice, doc. I just wanna be nice,” he purrs and rubs his nose against yours. “Like you want me to. You told me... told me I can be good. I wanna be good for you.” 

“Eli--” you chuff out and your eyes sting. You’re not used to feel like this. To being powerless. 

The kettle clicks off.

He plants his elbow and keeps your head locked in his hand. With his other, he feels along your side and plays with the blousing of the shorts. He pinches the sheer fabric and growls. 

He slides his hand under you and reaches up to the elastic. He tugs the shorts down past your ass. You whine again as he digs his feet into the couch and lifts himself. He strips the shorts down your legs as you kick desperately. 

He feels along your pelvis and pets the trimmed hair along your vee. You twitch in horror as he hums and kneads the flesh of your thigh. You fight as hard as you can but he’s too strong. He drops onto you again as the shorts hang from your one ankle. 

“Elijah,” you beg. 

“Call me captain, doc,” he snarls. 

“You can’t-- my boyfriend is on his way--” 

“Shh, shh, shhhhhhh,” he hushes you. 

He scratches your naked thigh as he picks at his fly. You stare past him to the ceiling as your stomach knots and your breaths trap in your chest. You push on his thick arms. 

“N-n-no,” you croak out. 

He wiggles as he leans into you. His length presses against your triangle of curly hair and he shifts back. He prods at you as he blindly guides his tip down. You squeak and jab your nails into his rounded shoulders. He rubs his fingers along your cunt as he nudges his pulsing dick back to your entrance. 

You bend your legs, heels jabbing down into the couch, and try to push him off. It does nothing. He presses against your cunt and you open around him. You feel as if you’re tearing as he dips into you. You snarl into a shriek as he sheathes himself in your walls. 

You whimper and groan as he thrusts to his limit. You drag your nails down his cheek and clutch onto his beard, tugging as you roar. 

“Arggh! Get off!” You go to claw him again and he swats away your hand. 

He clasps onto your wrist, then the other as you thrash with that. He pins both above you and lifts himself. He rocks his hips as your legs slips over the edge of the couch. You scream as he keeps his motion steady, each pump straining you past your limit. Each intrusion is fiery and dry. As if he’s scraping your inside. 

His eyes fixate on the joining of your bodies as he puffs through his nose like a bull. His eyes are dark as he watches himself impale you over and over. Your tits bulge against the cups, falling out as he hammers you into the cushions, bouncing your body like it’s nothing. 

He ruts down into you with all his weight and force. You fear him breaking your bones as each tilt of his hips is harder than the last. Your lashes web with tears and you bite down into your lip. 

“Stop, please,” you babble, “my boyfriend--” 

He snaps his hips up and you cry out again. You push your head back and choke through the pain. He slams down, over and over and over. 

He lowers himself over you, resting his arms around yours as he squeezes your wrists until the ache. He presses a kiss to your cheek as you stare at the wall. You shake and spasm, giving into the futility. 

You stepped out of the master bathroom feeling like a brand new woman, empty wine glass in your hand and your body practically glistening with the amount of expensive moisturiser you used. This is what you needed, a boiling hot everything shower to wash off the stress of the week. From your shitty manager laying off yet another one of your coworkers and giving you their workload to learning that your fiance was about to be deployed again for the second time in three months, you needed a proper refresh.

The bedroom was significantly cooler than the sauna you turned the bathroom into. Goosebumps bloomed across your exfoliated skin as you eased yourself into the plush chair in front of the vanity John had built for you. The dark green satin robe slipped from your shoulder but you ignored it, your gaze instead on the line of oils just below the mirror. 

A pair of warm if not slightly chapped lips descended upon your bare shoulder, he wasn’t quite kissing you, just pressing as much of himself around you as he could. You hummed and leaned your head against his temple, breathing in the smell of tobacco and cheap cologne and something so wholly John that clung to him.

“Good shower?” He muttered, his large calloused hands coming around to rest on your plush stomach, the tips of his fingers barely brushing against the sliver of bare skin revealed by your robe. 

“Mmm very good. I needed it so badly.” Your nose trailed along the edge of his hairline, your eyes fluttering shut as his hands began to wander downwards. John released a low sound from deep in his chest as you spread your thighs and granted him exactly what he had come to the bedroom for. He knew just how pliable you got after your showers, barely needing any prep for his thick cock with how relaxed and soft you were. 

You held onto his forearms as he finally reached down and… froze.

“Everything ok there, cap?” You teased. John grunted in reply and cupped your pussy in his massive hand, the heel of his palm digging against your clit as he probed around.

“You shaved.” 

“I did.” You confirmed, wiggling forward in the seat so he could feel even more of you. “Decided I wanted to clean up a bit.”

You received an almost feral snarl in reply. “I thought I told you this was mine.”

——————

The headboard slammed into the wall with such force that the drywall had begun to crack and flake away but the special forces captain refused to stop, not when he was so close to proving his point.

You wailed and squirmed beneath him, your nails digging into his strong back as he continued to pound into you viciously. “Please!” You cried, your voice broken and hoarse. Your stomach twisted with pleasure and you tightened around him. John glared down at you.

“No.” Immediately, he changed his pace, ripping your orgasm away from you. You sobbed in frustration but John was unforgiving. “She is mine, I know what’s best for her, not you. I know when she needs to cum because obviously you can’t be trusted taking care of her anymore.”

Your body bounced with each thrust, your words only coming out in short bursts. “It’s. My. Pussy.” You ended with a bitten off moan as John slammed into your g-spot, the fat head of his cock making your vision blur.

“She’s fucking mine.” John angrily pressed down on your lower stomach. “I trained her to take me. I know exactly what she needs to feel good. She loves me, she knows I take good care of her.” You grumbled as he once again shifted, lifting your hips from the bed so your shoulders pressed into the mattress. 

Your thighs shook violently, the breath being knocked from your lungs by a precise strike to your cervix. John reached forward, his palm meeting your bare cunt with a loud smack. You cried out and he did it again, his lips pulled downwards in what his boys dubbed the ‘Captain Face’. He clicked his tongue and delivered one last slap to your over sensitive pussy.

“Look at her, she’s so cold now. Guess I’ll just have to warm her up.” His thumb flew to your throbbing clit, finally letting you cum around him. Your back arched further up as your jaw dropped open. He huffed out a breathless laugh at the way your body locked up so tightly, he could barely pull out. “That’s it. See, knew exactly what she needed.”

As soon as your muscles relaxed, John readjusted his hips and slammed back into you, his pace immediately picking up again. Your stomach burned with the stretch of his cock and the sensitivity of your first and long overdue orgasm. “John!” You tried to protest but the man only lifted your legs higher onto his waist with a victorious grin.

“Like I said, I have to keep her warm until her coat comes back.”

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John ‘Bravo-6’ Price

After giving his eldest a once over to make sure he was tucked in and comfy, he snuck from the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. With a quick glance down the hall, he confirmed that his mother’s door was closed and her light off before he crept to the last room at the back of the small farmhouse.

A soft orange glow still emanated from under the door, illuminating the old carpet Martha refused to replace. “You know, I expected you to be asleep by now.” He spoke quietly to her as he entered his childhood bedroom, not wanting to break the peaceful atmosphere that had settled over the home.

Y/N looked up from her book, her e/c eyes half lidded with exhaustion, wearing one of Clark’s flannels. “Was waiting for you.” Her voice slurred with sleep and if he wasn’t mistaken, a slight tinge of pain. “Uh huh.” He said skeptically, stepping further into the room so he could get ready to join her in bed. 

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re obviously in pain?” He raised a dark eyebrow at her, blue eyes flicking down to her generous chest that she was doing her very best not to touch. Y/N sighed, flopping backwards onto the many pillows behind her. Clark just chuckled and pulled off his shirt, leaving him in gray sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips.

“I feel like Jon isn’t eating enough.” She murmured behind her hands, her plump body wiggling as her husband crawled on top of her, settling between her thick thighs. He rested his weight on his left hand which was planted firmly beside her head, while he cupped her wide hip with his right, rubbing soothing circles into her skin with his thumb.

Y/N relaxed below him, comforted by the familiar weight of her giant husband and the heat that his toned body radiated at all times. Her soft arms wound around his muscular neck, palms settling on his shoulder blades. “No matter how much he eats, I still feel so full.” Clark’s full lips turned up into a cheeky smirk. “Oh shut up Kent, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I know sunshine.” He kissed her forehead gently and allowed his hips to relax into hers, his half-hard cock connecting with her covered mound. “Is there any way I can help?” A small moan slipped past her lips.

“’m not sure.” She muttered, purposefully burying her head in the crook of his neck to avoid his gaze. But Clark could smell the sweet scent of her arousal and hear the way her pulse picked up in speed, indicating she was lying, turned on, or both. “Are you sure? Because I think you know.”

His voice dropped an octave, near growling now as he let his hand wander up her soft stomach, coming to rest just below the fatty tissue of her breast. “I think you want daddy to help you, take away all this pain hmm.” Y/N gasped as he pressed harder into her, feeling his entire length against her pussy now. Her body thrummed with desire as he went still above her, teasing her.

“Clark please.” His warm lips traveled down her jaw, nipping at her skin. “Tell me sunshine, tell me what you want daddy to do.” Heat pooled at the apex of her thighs, soaking through her flimsy panties. Her back arched up from the mattress and wrapped her legs around his hips. 

Clark rolled his pelvis down into her and felt her wetness through his sweatpants. “Fuck sunshine, is that all for me?” He knew how desperate she was, he could feel it bleeding into the air, feel it in the way she dug her nails into his skin, trying to pull him closer. She was getting lost in the feeling of him against her after so long, her stomach already tied in knots for what she knew was about to come.

Her hips bucked below him, forcing the tip of his cock to brush her throbbing clit. “Fuck!” She cursed, biting down on her lip in a vain attempt to keep quiet. “Please daddy, please.” His teeth sunk into her throat, moaning against her skin as they moved in rhythm. The push and pull of their bodies was exquisite but Clark pulled away, making his wife whine in protest.

“Tell daddy how he can help you, little one.” But her lips remained sealed, refusing to tell him what he already knew she wanted. “Do you want daddy to drink from you? To drain your full tits?” He let her drag his hips back down for only a second, granting her momentary reprieve before rising up once more. 

Y/N clenched around nothing as her mind began to go hazy. “Let daddy drink your milk sunshine, let me fill my tummy.” His lips connected back to her neck, nipping the delicate skin as he spoke, encouraging his perfect little wife to answer him. “Yes daddy yes.” She chanted, taking no notice of how Clark’s fingers slipped into the spaces between the buttons of her shirt until he pulled and the room was filled with the sound of tearing fabric.

“It’s ok sunshine, let daddy do all the thinking for you. Just relax and let me take care of you.” He cooed and placed a quick peck to her lips. Kneeling between her spread legs, Clark cupped her engorged breasts, lightly tracing the darker skin of her areolas with his thumb. “Oh darlin’, these must hurt so bad huh.” 

The usually soft flesh was almost rock hard with milk, the skin straining under their weight. Giving her left tit a delicate squeeze, a droplet of liquid gold gathered on the tip of her nipple. Y/N whimpered to something of the affirmative, her eyelids fluttering shut when his warm mouth finally enveloped her breast.

Clark groaned as the almost almond milk flavour washed over his taste buds. “Fuck.” He growled. “Tastes so good sunshine.” “G-god.” Y/N trembled underneath him, desperately grasping any part of his body she could, finally settling on burying her fingers in his black curls. Her ankles locked across his pert ass as he continued to feed from her, his other hand massaging her other side, droplets of milk flowing over his fingers.

Y/N’s head thrashed against the pillows, furiously tugging at his hair in a feeble attempt to keep herself from screaming out in pleasure. The pressure in her boobs slowly released but she needed more. “Cla-ark, need you in me.” She whimpered, nudging down his sweatpants with her heel. 

He reluctantly released her tit, droplets of milk still clinging to the corner of his swollen lips. “Ok sunshine, lemme prep you first.” She shook her head, pulling his face back up to her own. “Please.” If he had been standing, Clark’s knees would have buckled with the need in her tone, her blind lust for him.

Their tongues tangled together as they took off the remainder of their clothes, tossing them on the floor to be dealt with later. “You ready sunshine?” He asked, needing to double check before he lost all control. One hand was at the base of his dick, tightly squeezing as he tried to keep a level head, guiding the uncut tip to her weeping hole. “Take me daddy.” She sobbed into his chest as he finally pushed into her, his god-like cock prying her apart.

Y/N couldn’t breathe as he finally settled above her, filling her to the brim. “That’s it, that’s my good girl. You’re taking it so well darlin’.” Puffs of air escaped her lips. She could practically feel him in her lungs. It had been so long since he allowed himself to fill her completely, to push her body to the absolute limits with just his cock. His chest filled with pride knowing it was him who could bring her such pleasure just by being inside her, unmoving.

“Good girl, sunshine.” He murmured into her h/c hair, resting on his forearms that caged her head against the pillow. She was clenching so tightly around him, he could feel the beat of her heart and it was driving him crazy. But he didn’t move, letting her adjust to his size while his lips traveled back down to her chest, lathering her with delicate kisses, licking up the remnants of her milk that had escaped his hungry mouth.

She whined as the light stubble along her husband’s jaw scrapped her skin, leaving behind a delicious burn that only aided in tying the knot of ecstasy in her stomach even tighter. “Move.” She gasped out, unable to form more words than that. His thrusts were gentle at first, merely a roll of his hips that made Y/N moan loudly into the air.

Clark’s hand slapped over her mouth, ears straining in case they had woken up anybody in the house. When he realised that the others slumbered on, he breathed a sigh of relief. “You gotta be quiet, sunshine. Can you do that for me?” He expected her to agree, resorting to biting her perfect lips to keep her sounds of pleasure contained but she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Ok, is it alright if I try something?” She nodded at that, trusting him entirely. Resting on his heels, he pulled her thighs over his hips so her lower back bowed off the bed. Her hands shot to his forearms, digging her nails into them as she suppressed a whimper. His cock was pressed perfectly against her g-spot, sending shockwaves through her body.

Clark’s jaw clenched as her pussy fluttered around him, internally cursing. “Open.” He growled, tapping her lips with his index finger. She obeyed him dutifully, letting her jaw drop open and her tongue loll out like she would when presented with his cock. A smirk came over his face, blue eyes sparkling with lust. “There’s a good girl.”

Two of his thick fingers were laid on her tongue and she did not hesitate to suck them down, her lips sealing around them. The bed frame shook as his pace picked up once more, driving deeply into her. Y/N’s nostrils flared, her breath hitching every time he buried himself to the hilt. Confident that she would not make any more noise, Clark let his head fall back to her breasts, this time taking the other nipple in his mouth to resume his meal.

Y/N’s mind went blank. Her cunt burned with the stretch but she welcomed the pain, letting it drive her higher and higher. She held onto his wrist tightly, like an anchor keeping her tethered to reality as she began to spiral. Clark’s sharp nose pressed into her breast, desperately suckling from her, quickly losing any remaining control he had. 

He felt her thighs clamp down on his hips, her heels crammed against his pert ass. He knew she was close, she just needed a little push. Just as his unoccupied hand made contact with her clit, she exploded. Pleasure washed over her like a tidal wave, making her eyes roll back into her skull as she continued to cum, her high continuing to build with no end in sight.

Clark groaned and released her tit. “God, you’re so beautiful when you cum darlin’. But do you know what makes you even more beautiful?” She couldn’t answer so he kept going. “When you’re pregnant. You’re positively divine when this big belly swells with my seed as you grow a life we’ve both created. You gonna let daddy cum inside you? Let me knock you up again?”

“Daddy.” She whispered, voice strained and fucked out. “Can we have a girl this time? A little princess to spoil and adore. Maybe twins. Do you think I can cum so deep inside you that I get you pregnant right now? That I can plant a little baby right here.” He rambled on, his hand moved from her over stuffed pussy to her plush lower stomach, pushing down hard enough that he could feel himself moving within her. 

Her vision whited out and she peaked once more, this time Clark followed with a silent howl, his cock twitching violently as he filled her with his cum, giving a few more thrusts for good measure. Y/N gazed up at her husband as she finally came back to herself, watching as the god above her glowed in the moonlight streaming in through the small window beside them.

“What’s that look for?” He mused, running a hand through his curls in an attempt to tame them. “I want our daughter to have your eyes.” He immediately flushed a bright red, suddenly becoming his normal shy farm boy self again. “Oh come on, that’s what gets you? Not the fact that you were just drinking my breast milk?” 

Clark rolled his eyes and pulled out of her carefully, watching his seed drip from her. Y/N winced. “You ripped my favourite flannel.” “It was my flannel sunshine and I have a dozen more you can steal.” He slipped from the bed to pick up a packet of wet wipes from Jon’s diaper bag and pulled a few out. The wet cloth was cold against her hot flesh but soothed the burn she usually got from taking her husband fully.

“You just like destroying my things, supes.” The evidence of their coupling was carefully and lovingly wiped away, the leftover sweat and milk that had cooled against her skin gone with one swipe of his gentle hands. He glanced down at her, a fond smile on his face. “Yes, you’ve caught me. I just adore destroying shirts.” 

“And my lingerie.” “And your lingerie. Now do you want a cup of water or anything?” She shook her heat and opened her arms for him. “Just my loving husband holding me tight and maybe getting up to change Jon when he inevitably wakes up in the next hour.”

Laying down beside her, Clark did what she asked, letting her rest against his chest, winding her arms around his waist as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and a hand on her stomach. “Get some rest sunshine, you’ll need it for round two.” He felt her smile against his skin before her breathing evened out and she fell asleep, him following soon after.

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Clark blushed and looked away, although he was conscious not to look even vaguely in your direction anymore. “It’s not being creepy, it’s being in love.” He retorted with a pout. Bruce scoffed.

“Actually the technical term is stalking.”

“She’s my fiancée.”

“She’s my sister.” Clark harrumphed and slumped down in the conference room chair. Obviously Bruce was going to get the kryptonite from his “super secret safe” if Clark even dared think about looking your way again, so the Kryptonian focused his ears and began to listen to your heartbeat instead. “Don’t.” Batman growled.

“I wasn’t even doing anything!” He whined, throwing his arms up into the air like a petulant toddler. 

“You two are already getting a whole day where the two of you can fawn all over each other and I am being forced to be there. So please, spare me the love-sick glances and blatantly inappropriate thoughts you are having about my little sister, until then.” Considering that the end of the conversation, Bruce turned back to his work, assuming that Clark would follow his lead. 

But instead there was a rush of air, causing the documents that had been carefully laid out on the table to scatter everywhere. With a heaving sigh, the older man looked up to see his future brother-in-law cradling you in his arms, lathering your face with sloppy kisses as you screamed with laughter.

Yet Bruce couldn’t help but smile. He remembered only two years ago when you would frequently collapse onto his couch, spouting about how in love with Clark you were and no matter what you did, he never reciprocated. In desperation for saving not only your happiness, but also his own sanity, Bruce had outright told Superman to ask you out. And he had been living to regret it ever since. 

Yes, you were happy and so was his best friend but the honeymoon phase had never ended. That led to an overabundance of pda, way way too many pet names, and a legitimate concern that Clark would drop dead the moment he saw you in your wedding gown.

You were trying to push your fiancé away, but he wouldn’t budge, instead one large hand slipped under your large shirt to cup your soft stomach. You placed your own hand on top of his as your lips met in an achingly soft kiss. Clark’s blue eyes sparkled with tears as you cooed something to him that your brother could not hear.

By the time the hero fell to his knees to kiss where his hand had just occupied, the realisation slapped Bruce in the face. This has just gotten worse.

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Clark Kent