I Thought I'd Watch This And Swoon Over Austin As Usual..

Jodi girl, how did you even deal with that 🫠

Imagine Austin looking at you like this. I wouldn’t be able to focus lol

You can't tell me he wouldn't..

I know this man is shy but he's tOO flirty not to pull this move - TELL ME I'M WRONG !!

(lifting up her) SUNDRESS (to grope her in public) SEASON IS ALMOST HERE.

No bc I get shy too..

Genuinely have to look away

Actually blushinggggg LIKE AUSTIN STAWPPP

what does it say about me if i love austin butler but can’t look at him for more than 15 seconds in fear of throwing up

I'M GONNA EXPLODE

Eden found

Summary: In the shadow of a secluded New Mexican commune near Eddington, you, as journalist, seek answers from Vernon Jefferson Peak, a preacher shrouded in mystery at the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic. What begins as a quest to uncover his cult-like following spirals into an intoxicating world of biblical subversion, unbridled liberty, and a surreal journey through desire and control. As the line between observer and participant blurs, you are drawn deeper into a vortex of psychedelic rituals and forbidden ecstasy, orchestrated by Vernon’s commanding presence, in an attempt to find ultimate freedom in a worldly Eden. 

Tags: MDNI, erotic surrealism (explicit), cult fiction, biblical allegory, psychedelic rituals, spiritual awakening, gothic sensuality, pandemic exploration, psychological entrapment, power dynamics, hedonistic utopia, journalistic descent. 

Word count: 4.2k 

Note: inspired by Aphex Twin's Windowlicker on repeat for hours, pictures by @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal 

List of Austin inspired one shots

+++

You were scrolling through the Instagram page of a preacher from a small town called Eddington in the US, while your Amtrak train glided through the New Mexican landscape, through deserts and mountain ranges. As nearly every journalist, you too had been looking to cover the implications of the Covid-19 pandemic. With this profession you were exempt from several travel limitations, and your newest subject, a man called Vernon Jefferson Peak, had been more than willing to invite you out to his commune.

Stories reached you that he tried to have his little oasis protected against governmental restrictions. But why he was so adamant, what exactly he was trying to protect, that remained a mystery for you to uncover.

What you did not know as you cruised cross country, was that you would never use your return ticket back home. 

Clad with a mouth mask, you listened to his sermons for hours at an end. Rants, they were better called. He spoke about his absolute distrust of governmental authority, about his desire for ultimate freedom, his refusal to wear any protection. He spoke about the guns he owned, the drugs he used, the sanctuary he created. 

An intriguing man, scruffy shoulder length blond hair, deep dark eyes. With time, he seemed to become more ominous, as if emotion was eating into all his constraint. While he was an obscure, not well-known nearly 40-year-old preacher before Covid hit, his audience changed overnight. His teachings of complete autonomy appealed to many.  

You, not doubting the good intentions of the government, were not appealed by that part of his message. But you were captivated by his delivery, his passion, his shroud of mystery. He was so easy to listen to, yet so difficult to grasp.  

What made him like this? What was his background? How did he come of this vision? All questions you hoped to find. But none you would gain. 

After a long travel, a driver brings you to his commune, and wishes you good luck, while giving you a knowing wink. It grabs your attention, but not too much, as your focus soon shifts to the place you have arrived at. A ranch it seems to be, built in traditional New-Mexican architecture, showing influences of many cultures coming together into a melting pot.  

As you step through the front gate, smells of incense and marihuana plants hit your nose. Unapologetic.  

You traverse the plain to the main building. The distances between the walls surrounding this part, the gate and where you are walking towards are so grand, they nearly distort your view. Halfway you stop to close your eyes and shake your head, as if you are trying to recalibrate yourself. Probably the expedition and lack of food have taken its toll. But this would soon be resolved, as Vernon had kindly promised you a place to stay and bread to eat for as long as you decided to observe him. You had offered him pay, but he said the lord would decide how you would repay. 

It felt like ages before you arrived. As you stood under the steps you needed to take to climb up to the porch, it opened with a soft creak.  

And there he stood, as you lifted your head to look upon him, the sun coming from behind him, as if he was wrapped in god's appraisal. Wearing white flowy trousers and a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up displaying his sun-tanned underarms graced with veins and tattoos, the strings left dangling showing his chest, giving a glimpse of more tattoos that covered his otherwise lily-white skin. Broad shoulders. He was fit, for a priest. His hair as wavy as you saw online. A man true to himself.  

Yet, still an enigma.  

“Come, my guest. Let me get you something to eat, so you can be refreshed.” Hearing these words caused a shiver to run down your back. His voice, softer than on social media, while still remarkably intense. It was the first time you heard his voice life, as he had refused to speak with you. He only sent text messages, at random times and long intervals apart. You did hope you would not be spending the coming three days and nights, before your return home, following with a man who only recited bible verses.  

He walked down the stairs to grab the backpack from your back, as he extended his muscular arm into the space beyond the porch: “All for you to traverse. You will find rare and beautiful treasures in every corner.”  

“Thank you, mr Jefferson Peak” you replied, thinking how you never knew a man of the lord could be so... so strangly appealing. There was something about him. Something that drew you to him. 

“Please, call me father Veron.” 

You followed him through his path of musk, orange and incense. Looking around you, in the cool and softly lit hallway, the rooms you passed held faint shadows of what appeared to be people wearing white dresses. He had told you before quite a few people lived here in freedom, under his protection. He did not wear a white dress, his lined trousers did a good task in hiding his curves, although you could not avoid seeing the sculpted round shape of his behind as he stepped up some stairs and the tattoos around the uncovered skin of his ankles.  

He brought you to another courtyard, about 10 by 15 meters of sand with a bit of shrubbery, surrounded with white painted walls, holding white painted wooden doors and windows covered with white painted shutters.  

“I will bring you to your room” looking over his shoulder, showing you a hint of a smile. For the first time, you felt there was life behind his dire eyes.  

Reaching your room, he pushed the door open, waved his arm to emphasise the room and said: “refresh and find me.” 

And that is what you did. You walked through the room, which was filled with the same smell as he had radiated. As if he had spent considerable time in this very place.  

You splashed water in your face, trying to get the lightness out of your head. As journalist you had learned that in places like these, you needed to be on your a-game not to be swayed by sweet words and pressing gestures. Emptying your backpack into the closets, you found similar white robes as you saw earlier. 

The water did not help. Whether it was the journey, the lack of food and water, or the penetrating smells, your brain was trying to escape your head. You tried googling to get some idea on how to quickly relief yourself from the pain, but your phone did not seem to have any reception here. A quick nap of 15 minutes might help you, you decided, together with a large sip of the carafe of water placed on the table. Your host did not give you any pressure to be somewhere on time, so he surely would be fine with this. 

15 minutes turned into 3 hours, feeling like days, awakening in the dark. You had overslept. But, your head no longer felt like exploding. Light yes, but no longer painful. You felt relaxed, at ease. More than you had experienced for a long time. Going this far from the city you grew up in, was a way to find a new story. But it was more of an escape from the daily pressure of your family's hope that started to mount on you. Expectations you would never be able to meet, as you decided – as their only child – not to become the desired doctor or lawyer. 

With a little bit of guilt, you took another sip of water tidied up your clothes and went out to find the man you came to visit. Walking past the courtyard, your path was lit by low-burning torches. The premises even more beautiful than during the day, you could not shed the eerie feeling this place gave you. There was something unalive about it. Something was off. As if you did not see everything. 

The walk brought you through different parts of the compound. Past many other white doors, buildings, trees.  

There, entering through a narrow gate, you found him. Sitting on a white wooden chair behind a fire, which was surrounded by a few dozen people sitting or resting on their knees on the ground. Big platters of food laying next to them, from which they jointly ate with their hands. Chatting. Nothing surrounds this place, other than mountains and far away forests. They are in the open, yet so secluded.  

Vernon saw you, as he lifted his arm to softly wave at you. 

Walking as softly as you could, not to have any dust arise on the dishes, you circled around to say hello. 

“I hope you slept well” he asked with a smile, the fire crackling as the light radiated on his face, emphasising his sharp jaw and high cheekbones, while making his eyes look darker than before. 

“Yes, thank you... father Vernon.” 

He chuckled softly. 

“Come, sit next to me” as he pointed at a place next to him that was evicted that very moment.  

You decided to play game. That is what you always did. That is why people trusted you. You immersed yourself, allowing you to paint the full picture. It made you a respected observant. 

Kneeling next to him, the only person not clad in white, you looked up and saw his eyes slowly grace over his followers that surrounded him in the circle. He looked pleased, until he found your gaze staring at him. 

His smile disappeared as he pursed his lips. “Why are you here?” 

“To learn about you” you replied, “father Vernon.” 

“Hmm. I see” he replied. “If you want to learn about me, you will need to understand why these people come to me to show them the path.” 

“I am all ears, father Vernon. I am here to be taught, to understand” you replied, truthfully, while glancing around and seeing his followers lean against each other, finding each other vicinity, chatting softly.  

“I see, my dear” as his smile returned. “Do you want to immerse yourself in my teachings?” he asked. 

“Yes” you responded immediately. 

“You know what this means?” he asked, as the wind blowed softly, giving the fire a bit more room to grow. 

“Uuuhm” you replied. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Please, do explain, father Vernon” with the smell of the incense infused bonfire hitting your nostrils, spreading through your veins, while the chatter of his people seemed to turn into something softer. But you only paid attention to him, so you failed to see the mood shifting around you. From a light feathery ambiance, transitioning into something more suggestive, more amorous.  

“I believe in liberty. Unencumbered liberty. We believe that through the ingestion of certain medicines we become conscious. We open a spiritual gateway to god through our joint entanglement. This combination will set us free” he bellowed as if he was preaching. At the same time, he spread his arm to your shoulder, as if to exemplify what he meant with entanglement: a physical touch. Human's becoming one. Finding each other. 

“I prepared the food myself, as I do every day for my flock” he said at a normal tone again, extending his other arm as if to embrace his people, only to find his heart. He did not offer you anything, nor did you long for it. 

You finally tore your gaze away from him, following his lead, and saw the people surrounding you finding one and other. Not just embracing, unpacking, cherishing, touching, kissing. You managed to zoom into what was happening, the new sounds now reaching your ears. 

It suddenly dawned on you. This was not just an innocent embrace, this was set to become a full-on psychedelic infused fest. As your mouth nearly dropped open, you heard him start to prepare for yet another rant: “take each other, ravish each other, become one. The lord has always intended that all people in Eden devour each other, regardless of bond and sex. The garden is meant to eat, to live, to enjoy - not to be ashamed and bound. Never did the lord proclaim that enlightened and free people should be shackled. Live, as life was meant to be in paradise. In this paradise we know no sin. Man and woman were both naked and were not ashamed in the holy gardens of Eden. We are made to consume, to unmake, to ruin, to claim, to desire, to take, to worship.” 

Upon hearing those words, the crowd responded: “to unmake is to worship, to take is to glorify.” 

As he continued to evangelize, nearly oblivious to what was happening around his feet, you just sat there and watched the sight unfold. In an atmosphere filled with divine lust, people started to fall on top of each other, help each other undress, bring each other to a state of oblivion. Every now and then united through another chant. Another mantra, solemnly spoken. All, to satisfy their god.  

Their bodies turned to unify into one throbbing thrusting mass, producing obscene yet blessed sounds, under the watchful eye of their father, Father Vernon, who enticed them with his rapid fire, almost speaking in tongues as the night grew older.  

Every now and then he would look at you, benevolently. See how you were still there. He enjoyed your presence, he saw the awe that you had for his work.  

You were not taken aback, or perhaps a bit, but only momentarily. You looked in trance at the marvel unravelling before your eyes, the people that came apart at his mere will. You did not consider to participate – you did not yet know that this would come sooner rather than later. But you allowed the sight to pass straight through you, and the react to the little particles within you, setting a chain-reaction in motion. 

That night, he physically only touched you on your shoulder, and only once. It was sufficient.  

Mentally, he already started to settle you to receive him. 

But you did not know that, not yet. 

“Sleep well. I will see you tomorrow night” he whispered, knowing you would return.  

+++ 

He knew. He knew that you would sleep for many hours, a longer stretch than usual. Breakfast displayed in your room, lunch brought to you on the porch where you sat staring at the never changing landscape.  

You were not sure what you had witnessed yesterday evening. You tried finding more information online, but your cell phone connection was still not working, and wifi was not available.  

So, you needed to rely on your other sources: other guests and your own deduction.  

Other guests remained shadows during the day, fleeting past you without making a sound. You knew you were not alone, yet you only saw servants.  

You did try to find your host, but not with too much urgency. You had two days and two nights still.  

On the porch, looking in the distance, you found solitude you had yearned for. It allowed you to dive deep into your mind. Yet, however you tried to formulate the right questions you needed to research here, you could only think of him. The man that had created this little oasis san sin. The preacher who tried to recreate Eden on the face of earth. The man that started to occupy you, dictate your thoughts. Vernon Jefferson Peak.  

Mesmerizing. He had this glow over him that drew you. Wild yet sophisticated. Dark yet welcoming. Enrapturing yet distant. The man was an enigma.  

What did you know of this man? Why did these people follow him? How did he manage to create this place?  

All legitimate questions, to which you would perhaps find the answer, after yet another lightheaded day. 

A day on which you failed to make any notes. 

+++ 

The second night repeated as the first. You woke up after a long nap, finding darkness broken by torches that set the path. 

A path you followed.  

Again, the person next to him allowed you to sit, the psychedelic laced food was served while he spoke. While he preached. Lecturing on freedom.  

This time, you ate.  

You knew that you ate. Not much, but a bit. You knew what this would mean. It would cause you to shed the line between observer and participant. 

But you decided, after all, you needed to experience the world he was creating here. And that meant following in the steps. 

The ritual of the day before was repeated. People started to undress and find each other.  

And that was when the drugs kicked in. That is when you started to understand. The impact of what Vernon had prepared in his kitchen found path into your brain to shed your inhibitions. You looked from the mass of people to the fire and back, and saw how this was all connected. They were just... recreating the dance of the flames. Recreating how paradise must have been, when all of humanity was still united. They were seeking and finding their salvation through this ancient ritual.  

It suddenly all made sense. You now knew why you felt off before, a feeling that had vanished. 

One follower found Vernon, as he sat in his chair, having finished his second monologue. She kneeled between his legs, and asked: "I am here to worship and receive blessings, father Vernon” while letting down her head. 

She was fully undressed while he was fully clothed, and he responded kindly: “come, my child.” Her signal to move closer and start to massage his thighs and waist, while he moved his pelvis a bit forward to allow her better access. 

As she opened the buttons of his shirt, he allowed himself to relax and look over to you, one hand on her head, while the other reached out to yours. “Observe, my dearest guest, this is what praise of the lord means” nodding at the sight in front of him.  

Soon, his chest and arms were fully bare, showing the ink that covered his body. Pictures that depicted Eden. Beautiful trees, water running, people in happiness. It could have been a fifteen's century Dutch master, recognisant of the style of Jeroen Bosch, were it not that it was covered on his sculpted body and not displayed in a museum. Beneath all of this, the constraints of his loose-fitting pants were starting to show. 

Her hands sought the divine, as she caressed his torso in a gesture of blessing. First with her hands, later with her tongue. 

You just felt, you just knew: ‘this is not what Vernon wants. He wants something else. His need for absolution is somewhere else.’ 

Just that moment, you saw Vernon lose some of his control for the first time. Just the tiniest of growls came from him. You eyes shot to his face, where you saw his smile disappear behind his luscious lips, his jaws clenching, his eyes further darkening. It had the right impact, causing an immediate reaction within her. She fell to her knees to unbutton his trousers, to allow her to unleash his growing length from its holding. This was less ceremonious, as she did not take a lot of time before opening her mouth and welcoming him in. 

You looked at this picture unfolding in front of you without any shame or constraints, your mouth falling open ever so slightly. As if you were readying yourself as well.  

It was a holy sight of a man who clearly received the blessings of his lord. She struggled to wrap herself around his girth and length, and he let her. He looked at you as he spoke: “this is her path. This is her struggle. She needs to earn her place in heaven by becoming a vessel for the sacred intent of god” as he petted her head, complimenting her for her efforts with soft hums.  

His other hand was still resting on your neck as you were still kneeling down: “you are no longer an observer, you are a participant. Disrobe. Take off those foreign threads.” 

A shock waved through you, but you did not protest. You had decided to see more of his world, and that meant following. It was just for one night, so you told yourself. And truth be said, being the only person not fitted in white linen, or now clothed at all, did make you stand out. 

“Yes” you responded, adding softly “father Vernon.” 

“My lamb” he answered pleased with his husky voice, while your clothing softly dropped to the ground. 

With his cock being consecrated and you kneeling next to him with his hand softly around your neck, undressed, he started yet another sermon. But the words did not find you anymore, it was the tone, the sound, the melody that hit you.  

It brought you euphoria. 

It brought them euphoria. 

It finally brought him euphoria. 

And that is when you understood. 

+++ 

On the third day, you woke up with an excruciating headache.  

Scavenging through your bag for pain killers, you found your return ticket, and hold it in your hand. You will be leaving tomorrow. Leave this place. A last day to find the answers you were looking for, to be able to finish your article. 

Again, breakfast has been brought to your room. Lunch served on the porch. 

Gazing over the mountain range, you found yourself, asking: ‘I feel so at ease here. Why is that? Is that not the question to ask?’ 

You could remember in vivid colours, sounds and smells what you witnessed the night before. 

It hit you. You knew. You knew what you needed to do to find the answers. 

That night, you followed the path in flames again, after you awake from your nap. For the first time dressed in the same robes. 

As you entered the ceremony, something was different. You could not identify what it was, as your eyes were drawn to the fire to guide you to your place next to father Vernon.  

No-one was sitting there, the place next to him was already yours. 

“Come, my child” as he pointed at the place next to him. “But don't sit. Today, I have a trial to show if your faith is genuine.” 

You gulped. 

“Have a drink” as he handed you a glass of water. “Fear not.” 

You took a sip. The water had tasted... differently in this place. You blamed it on the local sanitation process. But perhaps, perhaps that was incorrect. 

“The flock is yours. Tell them what you saw” he instructs with a tender yet forceful voice. “Stand in front of the spiritual fire and declare. Lead us tonight.” And on those words, he placed his hand on the small of your back, gently pushing you to take a step forwards, guiding you stand exactly in front of him. 

There you stood. A journalist, a writer, an observer – being observed, being witnessed. Eyes open in anticipation, nobody engaging with each other as all focus was on you. 

What more could you have ever wanted, than such undivided attention for your words? 

You started to speak, softly, but soon rapturing into reverie. 

You spoke, first of pleasantries. Of the nice architecture, the hospitality, the weather. 

His hands soon found you, separated just by fabric. Starting on the top of your buttocks, moving up, slowly, to the small of your back. You thought you felt him ever so softly raise your robe. 

Soon you declared. The kindness you met here. The solemnness. The liberty.  

One hand held the dress up, allowing his other to find the path underneath to the back of your thighs. 

As you proclaimed, he mapped. He mapped every single centimetre of the skin of your upper legs, getting closer and closer to your heat. 

You recited, as the top of hand and thumb graced your folds. 

He whispered: “you are doing well, my good and faithful servant.” 

Soon, your sermon transitioned into your observance of the absence of limitations and inhibitions. 

His fingers rewarded you, pressing into you, sight hidden from the flock. 

You thought you were still making sense, failing to notice that you had started speaking in tongues, all eyes still burned onto you. 

Your arms lifted up to the sky, as you declared. Your response to his machinations. Through his thrusts he handled you as a puppet.  

The end of your homily coincided with the peak he brought you, his long fingers offering you salvation as your eyes were fixed on the fire. 

“Fall” he told you, and you fell, on your hands and knees. Worn. Spent. 

“Brothers and sisters, today we will embrace a new sister in our midst” he declared, as he let himself fall behind you. Folding away your linen, unearthing himself from his own, he took his length, placing it behind you, having the tip wait at your entrance, to entice your anticipation.  

“Followers, find your own way” as he joined your bodies with a fluid motion. The sign they needed as the group slowly but surely erupted into their own oblivion. 

While they met each other, embraced each other, mixed fluids and feelings, you were initiated into this group. This very group, led by the man behind you. 

You knew you did well, as he showed you the stars by thrusting into you with divine intent. 

You knew you found your place, as he allowed you to gain enlightenment through his torch. 

You knew you would not leave, as he blessed you with his holy seed. 

Your exile from humanity was over. You belonged. 

+++ 

Post note: daily sermons for our dearest Austin Vernon, taking naps every day, being fed, living a god alike – I mean... I would follow him... wouldn't you @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @f3ytal @austinbutlerslovers @peageetibbs-ab @houserautha @sandwormrp @thefloatingpickle @arianatheangel-girl @wiseyouthinfluencer @jjubilee-fluff @unicoo @pomtherine @buckysteveloki-me @eternal-love @aust-een @destinymoore05 @nextlevelstupidity @slowsweetlove? Thank you for engaging into my rambles, yesterday and today.

List of Austin inspired one shots

It takes three to forget

Warnings: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only, fellatio, cum swallowing, cunnilingus, Unprotected PiV (play safe ya'll!), cream pie, 'sloppy seconds', cheating (but also kind of not... sorta?)

Summary: They need to forget from the terrors of the sky. She needs to forget the terrors on the ground. War is hell any way you slice it. But tonight, tonight they are gonna all reach for a little piece of heaven, all three together.

A/N: Thanks to all who voted on the perspective for this story. Third person won out 58% to 42%. For all you first person perspective lovers out there, I will take that into consideration for the next fic I write. Message me or ask me if you have any ideas for me on that front. :)

Just a wee threesome fic with MOTA Gale 'Buck' and John 'Bucky', inspired by @austinbutlerslovers Bucked and Fucked! (what a great title that is!!!)

Here is a link to my Masterlist of stories, should you be interested. Please message or comment if you'd like to be tagged in future works.

@purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef

It Takes Three to Forget

It was early in the evening on a Friday and she was sipping her drink. She liked this pub as it had ample room for dancing, unlike most traditional pubs in London. They immediately caught her eye when they entered. One was dark, one blonde and both were tall and achingly handsome and both were dressed in the pinks and greens of American officers. They were exactly what she needed, tonight of all nights. She needed to forget, and she did that best with an attractive man between her legs. And here were two gorgeous specimens that wouldn’t care that she was a war-widowed Lady of Means. 

"What do they raise those yanks on over there to make them so damn ..." her sentence peters out as she turns to the empty stools beside her.  Her companions from the WVS had already been swept away by local boys. All of them. She shrugs and prepares to fly solo. These two looked like they needed to forget too. At least one of these boys is coming home with her tonight. What was the saying:  ‘overpaid, over sexed, and thankfully for her,  over here.’

They strolled in, John was happy that he could drag his buddy out for the weekend pass, they both needed it. Needed to forget the horrors of the sky. The sky both of them had once loved so much, yet had become a place of torture that they just had to endure.

"I gotta get you laid Buck," the tall one was saying, slapping the other on the back. "I know, I know, you are loyal to a fault, but you gotta live a little in case you die. I promised her I'd take care o' you, and this counts pal."

They walk up to where she is at the bar and set down their satchels. The blonde one is closest to her. She had casually moved over, leaving her drink strategically on the bar, to create a space for them to order.  

“Whisky on the rocks and a ginger beer,” says the dark one, “what do you say, Buck.”

The blonde one, ‘Buck’ she presumes,  just shakes his head with a little smile, saying nothing. Turning he sees her, his eyes going wide almost in shock.  “Marge?” he whispers.

Dark one follows his gaze. She raises an eyebrow, thinking maybe he is just painfully shy. 

“Well damn,” says the taller, darker one, looking her up and down, “You’ll have to forgive him, Ma’am.  You are the spittin’ image of his girl back home.”

‘Buck’ won’t stop staring at her.

“Oh my,” she says “It’s ok, I understand the longing for someone,” her fingertips brush his hand understandingly, “look all you want.” Her smile is warm and kind and shoots right to his heart. 

“I’m Bucky and this is Buck.” Bucky holds out his hand to her. 

“Interesting, I’m Margaret,” she had stopped introducing herself as Viscountess Ullsworth a long time ago. War made everyone equal.  She takes his hand, he kisses it with a smile.

He is definitely charming. 

She holds her hand out to Buck, still fixed on her face. He shakes his head slightly, finally blinking and coming to his senses.

“Gale, my name is Gale, Major Gale Cleven Ma’am,” his voice is deep and smooth.  

“Well Gale Cleven, Major,” she reaches for her drink and sidles between them, “where is home?” She inhales their cologne, American men smell so good.  Bucky downs his whisky then asks for a double. 

After a few minutes of introductory talk, she turns to Gale. 

“Care to take ‘your girl’ for a spin around the dance floor?” she asks boldly.

“Oh no, he doesn't dance, hates it even. But I love to dance,” says Bucky before Gale can even open his mouth.  He leaves his full drink on the bar and offers his hand to her. 

“Yeah, just don’t let him sing.” Gale smiles. His face brightens as he teases his friend. She likes it, his face like that.  Maybe she shouldn’t try to break this pretty pair up for the night.

“You look good with a smile. Don't you go anywhere” she says to Gale. 

He raises his ginger beer to them as Bucky sweeps her out on the dance floor. He is actually a lovely dancer, not all of the American’s know how to dance. He is fun as well as charming. 

“Are you two in London for the weekend?” she asks as a slow song starts and he wraps his hands around her waist. 

“Yeah, we needed a break,” he says, “flying in war is…. .” he lets the sentence drop. There is no way to make anyone understand the things they have endured. 

“Ah, pilots.” she nods knowingly. “Well that’s completely understandable,” she tries not to think of her own witnessed horrors. “Do you have somewhere you are staying?” 

“Um… not yet, I know a place nearby. We were just stopping in to get drinks first, y’know how it is.” he says shrugging.  “I didn’t expect to run into someone like you, not yet anyway.” 

“What is your given name?” she asks suddenly. 

“Oh, well, it’s John, John Eagan, also Major,” he smiles, mimicking Buck from earlier. 

“Well John,” she ventures boldly, “I overheard you saying he needed to get laid,“ she glances at Gale, he is staring them down. She can’t tell if he’s mad or yearning. 

“Oh uh… sorry about that Ma’am” suddenly less boisterous, realizing he’s talking to a lady, wondering if all his dancing would be in vain, if she was actually interested in Buck. 

“Oh no, nothing to be sorry about. It’s fucking war. To be honest, I also am looking for more intimate company tonight.” She looks him in the eye unabashedly “And I wonder if you need it too. You have ghosts in your eyes John, nearly the same as he does.” She brushes a longer hair back from his forehead. 

“Since we is bein’ honest, yeah, I do. Fucking war,” he slips easily into the vernacular figuring since she cursed first, she brought it up, it’d be ok. 

“Maybe we” looking pointedly at Gale then back to him, “can all help one another?” 

“Wait, like all threes of us? Like at once?” he feigns shock, but  really his heart leaps in excitement. He isn’t really sure why.

“I know how French of me, but I have a lot to forget about tonight and could use more than one… distraction.” 

“Forgive me, but I have to ask, you’re not like a prostitute, are you?” his eyebrows raise, unsure that he should have said it the second it popped from his mouth.

She giggles, other women would be offended, but not her, she’s been through far too much. 

“No, I’m just …. needy today,” is all she can reply. Thinking they don’t need to know about how a year ago this night was when her home was bombed, when she lost everyone that mattered to her, her mom, her husband. The day that caused her devastating miscarriage and subsequent infertility, according to the doctors. She literally has no one left, only the money and country house, where she refuses to go. Refuses because the war effort isn’t there, it’s here, in London. 

“Well that's a brainchild if I ever heard one. I don’t know if we can get Buck on board, but hell, it’s fucking war, we might as well try.” He spins her around with a wide grin. 

“Well, you’ll have to follow my lead, John. Do you think you can do that?,” she says, laughing as he dips her. 

Gale was watching the doppelganger of his girl dance with his best friend. He was confused, pulled in more than one direction. His heart was swelling to see her face in real life, his cock was too. He was jealous that Bucky was holding her waist, leaning down to talk with her. God she even smelled like Margorie, it was uncanny. But his logic was saying it wasn’t her, it was some Brit gal, her voice didn’t sound a thing like his darling, all high class. But lord how he wanted her. He had never been so conflicted in his life. He turns, spies Bucky’s double and without thinking, gulps it down. Making a shuddering face, he orders another, slams it too. He wonders what the hell he was doing, he never drank. He orders another leaving it for Bucky and pays for all the drinks. 

Laughing, they meander back to Gale, his ginger beer in hand. He smiles at her, taking a deep breath. Bucky throws back his double, glancing at Gale. 

“Are you sure you don't want to dance?” She offers again to Gale, a gentle hand on his arm, “we could go slow, just the old hug and shuffle.”

Her smile is kind, warm,  and caring. She is everything he is missing right now. 

“Uh no,.. No Ma’am, thank you,” he can feel the alcohol seeping into his brain. 

“Please I’m tired of formality, it’s Margaret or Margie for short,”  she says. 

Gale, who had taken refuge in a big swig of his ginger beer, spits it out all over the fronts of both his companions. 

“What the fu-” John blurts out. 

Margie starts laughing.

Gale is too shocked to be embarrassed at first. That this woman, who LOOKED like his darling Margorie, smelled like her, moved like her, had the same nickname too? This was more than just coincidental. It was uncanny, bizarre and maybe, just maybe a sign that he really did need this R&R. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry Ma’am,” he reaches into his pocket and hands her his handkerchief. She blots her decollete and down the front of her dress. He watches as she wipes between her breasts, unable to stop thinking about how much he’d like to help her with that. 

John is whipping out his own handkerchief and with soft curses trying to clean himself too. He gives Buck a look of exasperation. He knows why it happened, but that didn't mean he liked it. 

“Alright gentleman,” she bends down and picks up their satchels, passing them to John. She loops her arms in each of theirs, “come on.” She marches them both out the door of the club. Gale is too stunned to protest, plus he is starting to feel the alcohol. Bucky is already one hundred percent in for whatever she has in mind. 

She guides them down the street  and around the corner about a block and a half. She stops at a door, opens it and waves them in after her. “Wait,” says Gale finally, holding the door for her, “where are we going.”

“My flat” she says simply, pointing up.

John pats his buddy’s shoulder reassuringly. Gale shrugs and follows her inside.Gale isn’t sure what he’s doing, but following the swish of Margaret's skirt up the stairs stills all his doubts. 

“Make yourselves comfortable,” she says. Gale sits down on the arm of the couch, while John starts to unbutton his wet jacket.  

“Here let me,” Margaret says, pulling his jacket from his wide shoulders,”I can wash it out.” She turns her back to Gale, “unzip me.” It’s not a request. 

Gale’s fingers shake a little as he pulls at her zipper. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Is what he should be asking himself, but tipsy Gale can only think of her creamy skin under his fingers, on his lips, under his body.

She walks toward the kitchen, her dress gaping at her back and slowly slipping down her shoulders. 

She slips off her dress and sets it and his jacket to quickly soak in the sink. 

“It may take a while to dry,” she calls out. “You know, London weather and all.” 

“That’s alright,” John calls back, “we got no plans.” 

 When she emerges in just her underthings, the boys are silent.

“Um, can I use the bathroom?” says Gale, trying and failing to not stare.

“Yes, it’s through the bedroom,” she says, nonplussed. 

Gale looks at John, who is uncannily quiet. John just shrugs and motions toward the bedroom. 

Gale blows out a big breath, shakes his head and goes. 

“You look delectable,” says John. 

“Thank you,” she steps closer to him, “It’s only polite to match your hostess,” she says, loosening his tie.  

“Yes Ma’am,” he says with a smile, yanking the tie off and starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Let’s surprise him,” she says and motions towards the bedroom. He follows, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake. 

Gale is looking at himself in the mirror as he washes his hands. Seeing Margret in her underwear was so breathtaking. His cock immediately got hard.  His thoughts are running rampant. 

‘It’s not her,’ he keeps telling himself, ‘It’s not Margorie. But it IS her, it might as well be her. Let Bucky have her, leave and let him fuck her. Go find a room and stay there, get sleep, rest, read a book.  Shit 4 shots in as many minutes is 4 too many. What was I thinking?’ 

He is feeling warm, so he takes his jacket off. The picture of John and Margorie naked together flashes in his now drunk mind. He thinks he should be pissed at the idea, but weirdly, it’s arousing. No, that is just wrong. But the two people he loves best in the world? 

“How could that be wrong? It’s not, it’s not at all, as long as I could be there too,” he tells his reflection. 

Why is he having these thoughts? This Margaret out there is a lady, she’d never do such a thing.  It’s crazy. He definitely should not stay. 

“Gale,” he points to himself in the mirror, ”you are gonna walk out of here say goodnight and leave them to each other.” He nods in the mirror and opens the door.

It’s like he stepped into his own crazy fantasy world. There, not 3 steps from him and blocking his speedy exit is Bucky, in his shorts and nothing else. Margie is in his arms kissing him. Her back is to him and she is clad in nothing but loose panties, a bra and a coveted pair of what looks like actual nylon stockings. He stood staring at the two up and down for a long minute. He is kicking himself to leave, but he just can’t move. Hearing the door open, she pulls away from Bucky, turns and takes one step towards him. 

“You are overdressed,” she says gently and softly, pulling at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He is mesmerized by her as she undresses him and makes no move to stop her. 

Shirt and tie fall to the floor, white undershirt over his head. John is just rubbing up and down her back an arms length away. 

“Let me make the moves, you hang back and shut up, though I can tell it’s not your forte,” she had told John, just before she pressed those gorgeous lips to his. It’s like he was kissing Buck’s girl, but not at all. Marge was sweet, but not bold like Margaret. God, if he could find a way, he’d never let her go. He starts to get a glimpse into why Buck was so devoted to his Marge. 

She slides a hand up Gale’s chest and around his neck. Her lips are inches from his own. 

“May I?” she says, eyes flitting between his plush lips and his blue eyes. 

He closes the gap, giving in to his imagination, to his fantasy.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows it’s not her. But  fuck it, right now, it’s her.  His arms pull her close as he inhales through his nose. Their lips move in concert, she probes gently with her tongue and meets his own doing the same. She thinks she tastes whisky on his tongue. Which is odd, John said he didn't drink.  But who knows, she didn’t mind a little liquid courage. 

Her hands run down his naked chest, and land on the top button of his trousers. Her fingers deftly undoing them as he deepens the kiss. Her fingers lightly brush his already hard cock through the fabric. 

He moans softly into her mouth as she peels off his bottom layers, teasing him with her fingers. He automatically toes off his shoes.  He is so lost in her kiss, he doesn't even care that his shorts are off, that all he has on are his GI issued socks, or that his best friend is watching all this. He only cares that his hands are full of Margie. 

She pulls away, looking down at his free cock. It’s long and hard and beautiful. She immediately knows she wants it inside her. His eyes are half lidded with desire. His tongue runs over his lips as if to catch the feel of her on his tongue again. 

She holds his hands to her waist, turning to face John. He was still being a good boy and following her directions to keep quiet and let her draw Gale in. John had removed his shorts in solidarity with Gale. His cock was gorgeous too, thicker than Gale’s and just as long, he too, was hard and ready for her.  Standing now between them, she could see just how big a man John was. Alone, Gale was tall, with a lovely set of muscled shoulders and gorgeously trim. Next to John’s wide shoulders and extra two or three inches in height, Gale looks almost small. She wanted them both so much it made her pussy weep.   She reaches for John and he is immediately in her arms with a mouth hungry for her own. 

How different these two kiss. John is full of fire and wanting. Gale is soft, slow and needy. She likes the juxtaposition. 

Margaret brings on hand down to cover Gale’s. His thumbs slip under her waistband. Cocking to one side, she pulls his hand and her panties down over one hip. Gale gets the drift and slowly drags her silken panties down, exposing her naked ass to him. Well, naked but for the garter belt that held up her stockings. Her panties puddle at her feet and she steps out of them, already having kicked off her shoes in the sitting room. 

Gale’s hands run up the perfect line in her stocking. Fuck, they actualy were real, not painted on. He fucking loves stockings, especially their removal.  He’s not seen enough of them, with the war making them so scarce. He was turned on already, but this skyrockets him. 

John’s kiss becomes insistent. His body presses up against hers. His cock nudges the fronts of her legs, leaving little wet dots from his precum. She pulls away,  mouthing the word ‘patience’, then smiling deviously at him.

“Gale, will you roll my stockings down?” she asks sweetly over her shoulder. Only men who love stockings run their hands over them like that. 

“God yes,” he breathes. How did she know?

With practiced ease, he undoes the clips with a pinch and snap of his fingers and slowly begins to roll down her nylons, relishing every inch.  His breath is hot on the back of her legs as he plants kisses all the way down each leg. 

Meanwhile, she holds John's face in her hands, their mouths now familiar enough to feel free opening to one another. One hand embraces the back of his neck, fingertips in his hair. The other lands on his strong back.  His arms are under hers, his large hands wrapped onto her shoulders from behind. Their tongues play against one another lazily as she sucks on his bottom lip.  She reaches towards her back,  to the clasp of her bra. 

“No, let me,” he whispers against her lips, grabbing her hand.

He reaches one handed and undoes her bra, releasing her tits. He runs his hands around her ribs, massaging where the band had dug in. 

She sighs in pleasure. 

Gale unhooks the garter belt, laying it on the dresser aside the two perfectly rolled nylons. Her bra dangles from her elbows. John slides it off and hands it to Gale. So far the two men have not made any sort of eye contact, both fearing it would break the spell. 

She had never before been so turned on. Having her most intimate clothing slowly removed by two gorgeous, naked men who know exactly what they are doing? Yes please, any and every day. 

She turns toward Gale, raising one hand to his check as he stands up. 

“Thank you” she breathes against his soft, plush lips. 

She is standing  sideways between them, one hand on each man. John's hand is rubbing lightly along the seam of her pussy lips. Her muff is trimmed down short. He is not surprised to find wetness seeping between them. His fingers glide in between her wet lips to taste the heat inside her. She lets out a wavering little moan. 

Gale’s fingertips are tracing her ribs. She pulls his hand up to her breast, encouraging him. The rumble in his throat and the way his hand kneads her, shoots tingles to her core. She breaks the kiss and turns her head to John.  She grabs his chin, and pulls him down to her. Each of their hands are on her ass cheeks, gripping.  The stretching of her ass between them is delectable. A shiver runs down her spine.  

She lets go of John’s chin, still kissing him and  trailing fingertips down his chest to his cock. She wraps her hand around him, lord she hadn’t realized how big he actually was. He groans in his chest at her touch. Gale is planting kisses on her neck and shoulders. She can feel his cock rubbing against her thigh. 

She pushes John to sit on the bed, just behind him. He plops down unceremoniously. She turns to face him, keeping one hand on Gale, so he knows she hasn’t forgotten him.  

Keeping Gale’s hand glued to her ass, she bends over, pushing John to lay down. Her face lowers toward his groin. Her hand looks small wrapped around him. She licks her lips, making them glisten with spit. She pushes her mouth over his tip. She finds she can fit him in her mouth,  but there isn’t much room for error. She sucks up, moving her mouth on him, pushing him as deep as she can. Her mouth is so full of him. 

Holy mackerel! He’s not met many women who could be convinced to suck a cock, especially when  faced with HIS cock, and here she is just doting it.  She was a fucking icing expert. 

Margie arches back, expecting Gale to push his cock into her, she is wet enough  and ready for him. Instead,  she feels both of his hands on her ass pulling her apart and his tongue lapping against her labia.  She is astonished when she feels his fingers rub circles around her clit.  A man that actually knows how to please a woman is a rare find indeed.  She moans around John's cock in response. Her spit runs in rivulets down his shaft. She slides her hand up and down him under her mouth.  With her mouth stuffed and an attentive man  between her legs,she starts to feel a tightening inside.  Her moans get louder, reverberating in her chest.

John’s hands alight on her shoulders, not wanting to force her head down. His hips start to pulse up into her mouth of their own accord. 

Gale is rubbing her clit faster, his long tongue dipping into her folds as far as he can, tongue fucking her. He loves the taste of pussy, would pick eating it over fucking it, if he had to choose just one.  Not that he doesn’t plan on driving himself deep into her. He just  misses the sweet taste of pussy on his tongue. 

God she is so close to exploding. Her hips are rocking back and forth, wanting Gale deeper, wanting his cock. She seems to pull away from him and  his hand locks onto her thigh, pulling her towards him. He growls into her pussy. She realizes he is enjoying this as much as she is and holy hell, is that hot. 

She pulls off Johns cock just enough to say over her shoulder,”Fuck me please, Gale”

“Oh sweetheart, I will, but I need that sweet juice in my mouth.” he says. It’s the longest sentence he’s uttered since they met.

He flips onto his back on the floor, pulling her knees to either side of his head. “Sit that kitty right down here on my face. God I love it.” 

He wraps his arms around her thighs, pulling her lips apart with his fingers as she nestles her clit down onto his tongue. 

John sits up, his cock still in her hand, and moves to the edge of the bed. He watches his best friend suck and lick her pussy. He can see the cockstand he has, nearly as big as his own. Huh, things he didn’t know about Buck. He had always wanted to try it, eating a girl out,  but was a little intimidated. Just watching her eyes roll back in her head and hearing her moans, he bet that Buck was pretty good at it. He’d have to ask for pointers some time. Then her mouth was on his dick again, her head bobbing up and down in time with her hand. She knew what she was doing too and seemed to really love it. Spit was dripping off his balls and onto the floor near Bucks’ head. He could feel his balls tightening. He breathes deep, controling his urge to paint her tonsils. 

This must be a hedonistic dream, she decides. Gale starts sucking her clit hard, his thumb pushing at the entrance. She nearly comes unglued, it feels so good, almost too good.  Her body jerks away, afraid she had to pee. But Gale has a lock on her hips and won’t let her leave his mouth. He doubles down on his tongue-lashing of her clit, sucking and licking hard. Suddenly, she is keening, John’s cock still crowding her mouth.  Her spine undulates and she shivers.

Her dam breaks and she floods into Gale’s mouth and on his chin, little runnels of her sweet juices running down his neck. He groans into her, he might cum right here.  He laps and laps at her, sucking the sweet fluid from her tight little slit. Moans of pleasure rumble in his chest. 

She pulls off of John’s cock, panting. Jesus did he know what he was about. She dismounts from Gale’s face. He sits up, wiping his chin and spins around with a growl. The smell of her sex was flooding the room. 

John and Gale glance quickly at one another. In a split second, they each know the question and John gives the answer with a little nod of acquiescence and a tilt of his eyes at Margie. He loves Buck in ways he can’t explain, he’d never deny him such a real pleasure. 

Margaret is still panting when John pulls her up from her knees, laying her onto the bed next to him so his best friend can take her pussy. He wraps his arm around her neck, making a pillow of his bicep for her. He leans down and kisses her beautifully dirty mouth. 

Gale hovers over her, his cock head nudging her lips. He closes his mouth over one, then the other of her nipples, tonguing them and sucking them in turn.  He realizes as they stiffen, that even her nipples were the same. 

Margie's lips and tongue engage with John’s while her legs open invitingly to Gale, begging for him. She reaches, guiding him with one hand, rubbing his tip onto her wet folds. He pushes, she groans into John’s mouth as he enters her, stretching her gorgeously.  Gales closes his eyes, giving himself over to pleasure. 

She pulls him in with her hand on his ass. Her other hand is in John's lap, stroking his wet cock. His hips press up, fucking into her hand.

The men are so lost in the moment, so lost in this woman,  that when their legs rub against one another, they barely notice. Or if they did, they just don’t care.

When his eyes open, Gale watches his best friend in the whole world kiss her, kiss his girl as he plunges inside her. It’s like a heaven he didn’t know existed, having these two most important people in his life sharing such an intimate moment.  He truly has forgotten she’s not actually Marge. She turns her head from John to smile at Gale. She lets go of John’s cock to pull Gale down to her mouth for a demanding kiss. He returns her kiss with equal fervor. John snakes his arm out from under her neck. 

Gale tucks his head down into the crook of her neck.

“My love, my darling”  he breathes just barely a whisper.  His hips tuck as he moves in her.  

Seeing their intimacy, John backs away, just wanting to give them a moment. Margie's hand reaches out and grabs his leg at the same moment Gale grabs his wrist. Gales fingers dig in hard for just a moment before letting go. It’s clear that neither of them want him far away. 

Gale  pounds into her. She grasps John’s hand and clings to Gale with the other. 

“Yes, oh god yes.” She whispers in his ear.

He slows, pushing up to look at her. His blue eyes blown to nearly black, his breath merely a shaky pant. 

“No, don’t stop,” she nearly whines. 

“I’m gonna…” His eyebrows drawn together with a question.

“S’ok, I can’t” she says, knowing the question.  No man of this caliber wants to think there is some child out there with his eyes that he isn’t gonna get a hand in raising. 

“Oh hunny,” he saw the look of pain flash in her eyes, covered quickly with a smile. 

The look on his face just before he kisses her is one, not of pity, but of empathy. He thrusts into her,  giving her this, at least. He stares into her eyes, holding her head as fucks her harder and harder. His jaw tightens and his forehead creases. He grunts, his eyes shutter closed as his hips stutter. He covers John’s and Margaret’s grasped hands in his, squeezing as he cums, emptying deep, deep inside her, groaning softly. 

Gale lays with his forehead on hers for a moment, his breath recovering. It dawns on him that he’s never cum inside before, not like that anyway.

“Thank you,” he whispers to her. 

“Oh, I am nowhere near done with you yet,” she smiles as he rolls to the side, slipping himself out of her.  She tugs on John’s hand, looking at him with an arched eyebrow. Something has ignited in her, she wants,- no- she needs more. The weight on the mattress shifts and John kneels between her legs without question.  The fact that Buck’s cum is dripping from her is no obstacle to him. In fact, it’s hot as hell. 

He had watched Buck on her. He stroked his cock as her hand dug into Gale’s shoulder and as his hips rose and fell between her legs. He could barely breathe for being so turned on as Buck’s pelvis tucked and his glutes flexed as he came, gripping his own hand. Hearing his soft vocalizations and her sweet moans was fuel to his fire. Being a witness to this lovemaking was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. 

John looks askance at Margaret as he survey’s her swollen pussy, easy to see the wetness with her extra-short ‘short and curlies’. Women who groom their pubic hair only do it for one of two reasons; they are selling it or they actually like it. 

“Please,” is all she says.

He grasps her thighs and pulls her hips up onto his lap. She lets out a little squeal, not expecting to be so manhandled.

Gale moves his legs out of the way as Bucky pulls her toward him, meaning to give them space, the way Bucky had.  He tries to keep his eyes solely on Margaret, he can’t help but want to watch as his best friend lines his substantial johnson.  God it’s hot,  hot in ways he had never imagined, to watch as Buck slowly spreads her lips with his dick. Even though he just shot his load, he feels himself wanting her again. He glances up at Bucky, They lock eyes for just a second. Each catching the intensity of one another’s gaze. Bucky just nods.

“Can I kiss you while… “ he tilts his chin towards their joined crotches. 

“You better,”  is all she says, reaching for his neck.  Propped up on his elbow, he cradles her head. Her kiss is insistent, intense. She is far past niceties. He swallows her little moans as John presses forward slowly.

Holy Mother of Saints, John feels far bigger than he looks, even after being in her mouth. Her tight little lips distend around his head. He is towering over her. With her legs wrapped around his waist and her hand grasping at his thigh, she descends into that narrow gap between pleasure and pain. Thankfully, Gale’s lovely cock had prepped her, what it must be like to go from nothing to John must be intense. Maybe she’ll get to try it someday. 

Gale continues to kiss her face and neck as John slides into her fully,  stretching her that much more. 

“Oh my god,” her eyes widen as he moves slowly in her. Her grip tightens on Gale’s neck. Gale’s fingertips lightly drag over her nipples.

John is watching himself slide in and out of her, his big hands clutching to her hips for leverage.  He knows how big he is, he knows he needs to go slow at first, let them get used to him. Gale having her first was perfect, she was ready and so wet. She molded to him quickly. ‘God damn, pussies are fucking amazing!’ he thinks to himself.

Margaret’s free hand migrates to Gale’s cock, she wants to make him hard again, wants more. As her hand closes over his cock, Gale shakes his head with a tiny curl of his beautiful full lips. 

“No hunny, this is about you right now,” his voice is like honey’d whisky in her ear.

Her spine shivers. He gently moves her hand off him.  Lacing his fingers in hers he brings her hand up and kisses it leaving it wrapped around his neck. Then he drags his hand down  between her breasts and over her belly. His eyes flickering between her mouth and her eyes. He suddenly closes the gap and his tongue is deliciously in her mouth again. 

John watches as Gale's hand slides downwards. He comes dangerously close to John’s dick, but alights on a spot right above her opening. He would never admit it out loud, but he wishes Gale hadn’t stopped, that his fingers were encircling his dick as he plunged in and out of her sweet pussy. Instead, Gale’s fingertips start rubbing in little circles on the nodule of flesh there. John starts to fuck her faster. 

The angle at which John is fucking her is intense, rubbing against a place inside her that she’s never felt before.  Gale’s fingers and mouth, John’s cock and the positioning inside her, it is the perfect storm. Oh god she never knew it could be like this! An orgasm like no other is building in her.

“Yeah, that’s it Margie, cum on his cock for me,” Gale finds himself saying to her. He loves to see a woman pleasured well. 

His words send her over the edge and she is in the throes of pure ecstasy. She starts going wild, hips jerking, fist torturing the sheets at John’s knees. She is screaming into Gale’s shoulder, her nails biting little moons on his skin. His voice is steady, a continual string of murmured words urging her on. 

“C’mon baby, you can do it. Yes ,there ya go, that’s it.  God you are so gorgeous when you cum,” he doesn’t even realize he is doing it. 

John can feel her pussy fluttering around him in a way he’s never felt before. Then his balls are wet with her juices. She squirms away from him, legs pushing against him.  He lets go of her, suddenly worried that he hurt her somehow. 

“Geeze, are you ok?” he blurts out. 

She doesn’t answer, panting, shaking. 

He looks at Gale with something like panic in his eyes. Gale, who is grinning like a cat that got into the cream, just nods. It dawns on John, that he’s never seen a woman cum like that before.

Once she catches her breath, her eyes flutter open.

“Geeze boys,” she lifts a corner of her mouth, flicking her eyes between them.  “that was… wow.” 

She looks up at John, seeing his erection still rock hard and the slight disquiet on his face. She sits up and pulls him into a deep kiss to reassure him. Her hand strays to his cock. 

“Please John, '' she says against his mouth, “please put this back in me, you feel so good.  Will you finish in me?”  The question is rhetorical, but he nods anyway, his blue eyes black with desire.  She rolls over in front of him, back to him and is on her knees. She dislodges her crumpled ribbon from her disheveled hair and pulls it quickly back into a knot at the back of her head. With expert fingers, she ties the ribbon around it, prepping for what it is she wants now. 

 “And you, sir,” she motions for Gale to sit up by the headboard, “I want you in my mouth.” The fact that he is hard again is not lost on her. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that darlin’,” he shakes his head, shy all of a sudden.

Her eyebrows shoot up. Her hand lands on her hips. John’s hands are already on her tits, his lips on her exposed neck. 

“Are you denying a lady what she wants, and here I thought you were a gentleman.” she points insistently where she wants him to go. John gives him a look over her shoulder that says, ‘she’s right.’

“Well, now,” he says placatingly, “ since you put it that way.” 

Watching John fondle her nipples from behind was tantalizing.  He adjusts his body to be right in front of her and he leans back against the headboard. He’s never had his dick licked and is both excited and nervous all of a sudden. 

John is nearly shaking with need as she pushes her ass back against him and leans down to all fours over Gale’s lap. 

“That’s better” she murmurs, wetting her lips. Holding his shaft in her fist. Her tongue rims his tip, then her mouth covers his head.

He gasps a little as she sucks, pulling her head away.  She dives back again, her tongue waving on his underside.

“Oh my god” he moans, his head and eyes tilting back. 

John takes a moment, watching her work Buck’s cock. Jesus this woman was hot to trot. His thumbs peel her cheeks apart, his tip rubbing against her lip as his dick finds its way into her. 

She moans on Gale’s cock as John’s dick spreads her again. John is tentative with his thrusts at first, but she pushes back to him, her body willing him to go harder. 

He does. In fact he becomes the engine pushing into her and subsequently,  fucking her mouth onto Buck’s cock.

‘It’s nearly like fucking Buck,’ the thought flashes in John’s mind. It fires him up so much he can’t even begin to judge the taboo. He starts pumping into her, watching her slide onto Buck’s dick. 

John is fucking her so hard that her ribbon is worming it’s way out of her hair. Gale pulls it  and her hair back from her face and into his fist. Her spit is dripping down and covering his balls. He can feel the back of her throat contract on his tip as she is thrusted onto him. 

The slap of John’a hips on her ass and her full-mouthed moans are only punctuated by soft grunts from the pair of them.

John speeds up, feeling his balls tighten. His grunts become groans. A tingle spreads across his thighs and belly. His groans become loud,  open-vowel growls.  His fingertips dig into her hips, likely to leave bruises. His face goes red and his neck muscles pop as his orgasm rockets from him and into her. He cums hard and loud, full stop. 

Her eyes flutter as John cums hard in her pussy. She is still sucking Gale, bobbing her head up and down. She reaches between her legs, rubbing her clit, his shaft and his balls. 

“Oh god don’t stop,” she says into Gale’s dick like a microphone. 

John feels her hands and reaches under her, rubbing about where he reckons Buck was earlier. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she moans, then plunges back onto Gale’s waiting dick. 

Holy smokes this dame gives as good as she gets. John keeps sliding his cock in her, though not as rough. He’s not sure how much more he can take this overstimulation. What a glorious problem to have. 

Gale’s hips are starting to pulse of their own accord, his cock wanting deeper in her mouth. She gags just a little but keeps going.

It doesn’t take her too long, keyed up as she is. When she cums her  hips wind in circles on John. Her muscles clutch at him from the inside and he pulls out, unable to take it any longer.

Gale is whispering “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god” over and over as she dashes her mouth and hand up and down on him. She is fucking magnificent. She shakes and shivers, vibrating his tip with her moans. The sight and sound of her pushes Gale over the edge. 

“Oh fuck- I’m gonna…” He tries to pull out of her mouth, thinking he shouldn’t let loose into her mouth, but she chases his cock slurping hard. He gives in, thrusting deeper into her throat. He groans, shooting his cum into her mouth. She swallows greedily. 

When she pulls slowly off him, sucking him clean, his shaky hand brushes a stray hand away from her face. 

“Oh my lord,” he pants softly.  

It’s still her. It will always be her in his mind, forever and a day. He gathers her up to him. Holding her against his chest, he tries not to cry, simply overwhelmed with so much emotion.  

John, having collapsed next to her, wraps one arm around her waist, spooning her lower half and planting soft kisses down her back. She laces a hand through each of theirs, content. Gale moves his arm, letting John snuggle up to her. She doesn't see him drape his arm around John too, holding them both. 

For a few hours, at least, they all forgot. Margret forgot she was alone in the world, John forgot the horrors of the sky, and Gale, well, he forgot how much his heart ached. 

They all slept soundly in a pile of loving arms and legs. In the morning they forgot on the breakfast table and later again on the sofa. That evening, they were going to go dancing, but were too busy forgetting again. They tried to get out and see some of London on Sunday, but out there was the war, so they turned back around and forgot one more time before the boys had to leave. It was one hell of a weekend pass. 

How Buck reconciled it in his head, Bucky never guessed. He had seen him down those two drinks and knew he was three sheets to the wind. But that didn’t explain all weekend. They never once spoke of it, of the nights and days they spent together in her arms. John did notice, though, that after the war, he never once called his wife Margie, only ever Marge or Margorie.

John tried to find Margaret again, but it was like she had vanished. They would never know the real gift they gave her that weekend and she would never know which of their blue eyes it was that she cooed to, sang to, and loved with every fiber of her being. Little Johnathan Gale would never know either. 

Masterlist

Caught Feeling

(A Hank Thompson x Reader Fic)

Tired of her quiet, predictable life, a woman takes a spontaneous detour into a gritty bar. What begins as a distraction becomes a night of rediscovery, as an encounter with a captivating bartender brings her face-to-face with her own fears—and desires.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Epilogue

Tricks, Treats, and Temptations - Halloween One Shot 🎃

Pages and Promises - One Shot

The Edge of Desire - One Shot

Wild Card - One Shot

A Table for Two - One Shot

Close Shave - One Shot

Sapphire and Steel - One Shot

Night Terrors - One Shot

A Stroke of Intimacy - One Shot

Austin Butler

Series:

What Are Friends For?

Callum Turner thinks he’s a genius matchmaker. Angie, his best friend, thinks he’s meddling. Austin? He’s just curious. But as sparks fly, one question lingers—is this just a fleeting moment, or something worth holding on to?

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 -

Requests/One Shots:

Operation: Love

Back to Graceland

Feyd’s Darling

What Comes After

Let the World Wait

The Little Things

The Way Back

Headliner

Unscripted - Part 1 - Part 2

Best Laid Plans

No Doubt, It’s Funny

All of Us

#DDoAB - Love Bug

Rumour Has It

The Space Between Us

Good Girl

What If?

Paper Roses

The Happiest Place on Earth

Dude... this is cute ;_;

Vanessa trying to get Austin's attention by being a weirdo... an absolute CRETIN, being chaotic... just such a cute interaction

And I looooove

The cool boyfriend, weird girlfriend dynamic is so cute 😭

Also - bee tee DUBz - a DISCLAIMER if you will... I'm not a Vanessa/Austin "shipper", they ended things for whatever reason they did and I genuinely don't care if they never got together or someday did - it's just none of my business rly 🤷🏻‍♀️

I genuinely just think these photos are cute and I'm feeling extra single because of them :')

PhD in Praising his Dick YESYES

This is actual poetryyyyy

Thankyou for informing us on Austin's Grower status 😩🙏🏻

Tucked up and held close.

He's on to us 😂 he knooowsss we are feral. Probably trying to save us from having a collective aneurysm, so for that I'll thank him.

Man's just got serviced

I CANNOT THINK ABOUT THIS BEFORE WORK ...

Haha jkjk

But yes I also volunteer 😂

We can be in a line up, give this man the multiple O's he deserves 🥰

Ooooowh. Happy, booty, packing, smiling, making love to the camera...

Makes me a happy fangirl

This is beautiful 🥰

iInspired by jeff buckley's lover, you should’ve come over (aka bucky's yearning song)

will i ever see your sweet return? lover, you should've come over.

IT'S HERE

It's FUCKING HAPPENING