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#tart crying for real.

seattlesellie · 5 months

Text

Jealous. 🎀

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

cw: mean dom!ellie sub!reader, jealous kinda toxic ellie, eating it through the panties, orgasm denial, spit play (literally spits down ur panties like), exhibitionism, some dude named michael.

an: pls be gentle, i haven’t written in a long time! 💗 credit to angel gbc for the mod used in the picture above <3

something we can all agree on is the importance of aftercare — right?

Ellie is big on that obviously, as she should. Caressing her slim fingers down your body, planting wanton kisses on your shoulders, running her palms across your shaky thighs, whispering words of encouragement in your ear;

“Did so good for me, babe”

“I love you, so much”

“Need anything? hm?” She’d murmur against your skin whilst cradling your body from behind.

And she always insists on cleaning you up. She consistently renders you nothing but an achy mess, dried up juices staining your wobbly jelly thighs, combined sweat on your breasts and ribs, back of your neck. The ritual of bringing a wet towel to bed, swiping it’s fabric across your inner thighs, your face, your behind — is a sacred one for her. Not solely because she loves hearing your sweet, exhausted sighs of relief as she cleans the soil away, but also not solely because she gets to see your naked body in all of its glory again.

It’s the act of taking care of what’s hers. In a way, when she wipes your cum away, she’s taking care of herself — too.

Here, lays a solid proof that she can break things apart and put them back together again. She’s not a total fucking fuckup.

The ability of making you scream and cry, then moments later have you whisper in that saccharine voice of yours an airy “love you s’much, Els…”

It’s fucking exhilarating.

She loves it every time, she does it every time.

But today… today you pissed her off. You poked the bear, for real this time.

There’s this new Michael guy in Jackson. He’s handsome, tall, has coal black curls that somehow stay soft and shiny even in this apocalyptic hellscape. He told Ellie and you where he was from, what he did, why he came. Ellie didn’t listen to a thing he was saying. It was like he turned into a fly and started loudly buzzing in her ear. He kept looking at you weird. Smiling at you, smirking, laughing at your jokes, even the ones that weren’t all that funny. She knows you have this affect on people, that damn charm, hell — you have this affect on her.

And she’s usually just playfully jealous, manages to keep it relatively tame and simple by tightening her grip on your waist.

But you just wouldn’t stop bringing him up. “Michael” this, and “Michael” that, “Michael invited us for dinner”, “Michael said this funny thing earlier”,

For all Ellie knows Michael could die in a ditch and she wouldn’t give a fuck.

You're on your way back home from the Tipsy Bison on a chilly Thursday night. Jesse was there, Dina, Maria... and Michael. She thinks of his name and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, tart, pungent.

"Meh, I'm more of a Tequila girl, Whiskey tastes like shit" you announced with a giggle. Michael rested his hand on your thigh, and agreed with a nod and a chuckle. For you, it meant nothing.

For Ellie, it meant everything.

Her blood pressure was usually low, steady, healthy as a bull. As of now, Ellie felt like she just ran a marathon. The blood rushed to her head and her brows furrowed without intention. She cracks her neck and moves it left and right, takes a long and burning sip out of her Whiskey and shuts her eyes. She repeats a mantra in her head; "I'm not angry, I'm not angry, It's fine."

But you're so damn intuitive.

"Els? y'tired?" you murmur towards your auburnette girlfriend. She suckles on her bottom lip and considers saying no, but she lies.

"Exhausted"

You leave the humble bar hand in hand, wrapped up in her big coat that smells of mint and wood and Ellie. She prays you won't mention his name, prays you could just go home and forget about this whole thing, but you do, innocently.

"Oh, Michael said one of the horses is sick, I'm thinking of helping out in the barn tomorrow an—"

She stops you mid sentence with a scoff and a tightening grip on your hand. "Oh, mhm, Michael said that?"

Her voice mocks your own a little.

You stop and shift your gaze towards Ellie who has her lips tucked in a tight line. Internally, she's cussing herself out. You don't deserve her anger, but she can't help herself. Your answer is an unsure hum. Her grip tightens even more, and it hurts your palm but you keep on walking side by side, quietly. Five minutes manage to pass with no words being muttered by no one. That's until she shakes her head and lets go of a husky chuckle.

"Did I do something?", you mutter doe eyed. Ellie stops in her tracks and inhales. She grabs you by your waist and walks towards you, making you have to clumsily pace backwards until your back meets a cold grey brick wall with a resounding thud. "Uhg!" You hiccup, breath catching down your throat. You even sweetly giggle, thinking in your head that this could possibly be just a sweet attack of PDA.

But her eyes are dark, gone from emerald to pine, pupils pitch black as big as a button. Her warm whiskey breath meets your nose and your top lip, you gulp. Why isn't she laughing? teasing?

"El?" your voice is still candied, always. Ellies mouth is agape, scarred eyebrows scrunched and furrowed as if she's confused, or pissed, or provoked. Her forehead meets yours so automatically, you attempt to connect your lips with a kiss but she backs away meanly. Albeit her taunting position, how intimidating and truly scary she looks whilst you're caged within her frame, your'e still smiling, you're still thinking she's just teasing.

You're not used to this, she knows, but god knows she yearns to teach you a lesson.

You don't fuck with what's hers.

She licks her bottom lip before she starts speaking.

"Take off your skirt"

Her voice nearly renders you drunk, It's huskiness, gruffness, it's depth, and really, you've only had one shot. Your cheeks heat up and your ears feel as if they're nearly burning. Her lips are so damn close to yours and she still won't let you kiss her.

"Wh... we're in public, we can't—" you stutter, eyes shifting downwards towards the knee she has shoved near your barely covered crotch. When she brings it upwards just to brush delicately on your inner thigh, you let go of a small gasp.

She responds to your gasp with a barely audible "Mhm?", her eyes sharpening with intent.

"Yes we can", she tsk's, and her voice taunts. Her eyes graze over your face, and you expect her next sentence to bite like the last one did, but her voice goes softer. "For me?", she cocks her head to the side.

And it simply pushes you over the edge.

You peel your skirt off of your body, asscheeks plastered over the brick wall as her body squeezes you further back, and you're left half naked with a piece of fabric scrunched below your knees, resting on your shoes. She eyes your body up and down, meeting your pleading and still confused eyes — and for a moment, thinks of just carrying you home and taking care of business once you get there. No jealousy, none of that.

But it's still bitter down her throat, and she can still picture his disgusting hand meeting your soft thigh, her soft thigh — as your body is hers, so that thought is ever so fleeting. It's either now or now.

Her cold as ice finger traces faint circles on your lower tummy, making the fine hairs of your body rise like soldiers. You whimper quietly as her finger snaps the elastic band of your panties and lets it smack down your pelvis. You rub your thighs together, but you're ever so pliant as she makes your legs spread wide with a boot covered foot opening up your calves like a gate.

She whispers in your ear. "Are you wet?", it makes you shiver.

"M'cold" you whine.

She scoffs.

She kneads your bra cup with her palm, squeezing an erect nipple with her thumb and middle finger. "Didn't ask that"

Her eyes meet your gaze and again she reconsiders this whole thing — because you truly look so needy, and your lips are so pouty and sweet and red with cold, you look as if you'd die if she didn't kiss you right now so how can she even be worried, let alone be jealous?

She knows how much you love her, how much you yearn for nobody but her, how her touch leaves you speechless time and time again.

But it's like something takes over, a dark figure, a figure that's thirsty and starving and wants to prove a thing it already knows.

It's an internal struggle, she doesn't want to be possessive,

She can't help it.

Your panties are striped with pink and white, and she looks at them as if they're the most expensive lace in the whole entire world. Her breathing gets heavier as she curls her fingers inside the cotton fabric, pupils darkening when she notices a sweet clear string of your arousal clinging from the entrance of your cunt to the bottom of your underwear.

She chuckles, followed by a sigh of relief that you notice. You are wet, right in the middle of the street where an innocent soul could catch you at any given moment. "Didn't answer cause you're shy?" She knows you so well. You bite your lip and nod, butterflies fighting in the pits of your stomach. A chaste kiss on the lips is all you get from her, and you deeply whine into the air. "At least kiss me!" you beg, — god, you're so cute when you're pissed.

Before landing on her knees, Ellie looks from side to side in order to check that there's truly nobody around, and no — not because she's scared to get caught, but because she'd die before she let someone see her girlfriend half naked with her skirt down her thighs.

Ellie is face to face with your quivering, pantie covered cunt. A wet patch greets her — a fuckin' pleasure, one she can't help but swipe her tongue across. Your choked up, terrified sound of a moan is a symphony to her hears, fuck Mozart. Her eager muscle of a tongue is so warm against your pussy you nearly forget it started snowing yesterday.

You buck your hips inwards, she groans. "No moving", she warns — simply to assert a dominance that has already been asserted. She kisses your little clit, coo's at the way it slightly pokes out of the fabric, erect and pumping on her tongue. "Ellie... Ellie... Ellie", you babble like a prayer, which she nods to. "S'my name, that's fuckin' right", she groans as her husky voice is muffled by your soaked panties.

"Ellie..." you repeat, thighs beginning to ache as you try and spread them further apart, almost sitting on her face.

Ellie, not Michael.

She smiles, greedy, triumphant.

She flicks her tongue on your clit, once, twice, three times before biting on your meaty pussy lips. You bite your knuckles in order to keep your voice down, but she glares up at you. "Do that again n'I swear to god I'm stopping" she growls.

You're not used to this side of her at all, but her voice makes your hole leak a small stream from deep inside. She feels it's wetness on her tongue, eyes closing in ecstasy as she audibly suckles your sweet, tangy, heavenly juices from the now sheer fabric. Her own spit runs down her chin, she doesn't even bother to wipe it off. All you can hear are your breathy, whiney moans, tiny begs of "take 'em off, please", regarding your panties, and Ellie's throaty groans. You're so wet from your own juices and her saliva it nearly gets uncomfortable, but then again you're so goddamn close to cumming.

You try taking matters to your own hands, attempting to peel off your panties from your waist with a shaky hand but she snarls and slaps your wrist away.

"Nuh uh, pussy's fuckin' mine, don't touch it"

With relentless sucking on your drenched clit, and soiled panties, she opens her eyes to merely glare at you again with a warning look. "When you're close, you let me know" she bites.

You don't respond.

A stinging slap meets your pussy, which makes your thighs shake, whole body jolt, and throat ache with a high pitched yelp.

"You're not listening" Ellie warns.

"You listen when I talk" she warns again. Her tongue meets your clit and it pushes it further and further up. You shake, eyesight gone blurry, you're close, you know it by the way the coil down your stomach threatens to snap, and by the way it tickles down there so damn bad.

"M'close" you brokenly wail.

She grunts deeply and stops completely. your heart nearly breaks, no no no no no. "Ellie, Ellie, Els, no!" You try and buck your hips forward but she holds you in place with an iron like grip. You buck them again and she peels off the fabric of your underwear, slightly rising up as she stares inside at the mess she made of you. There's a devilish smirk that creeps up from her lips, apple of one cheek rising. You let out a sigh of relief, thinking that perhaps she'll actually fucking eat you out properly instead of letting you suffer inside a warm, wet material of a mess that truly doesn't look like something wearable anymore. Instead, she audibly spits inside with a "Ptu'", letting the band snap shut. Her saliva mixes with your warm sleek. You're so confused she nearly feels bad, but she's such a cunt that she really doesn't.

"Were going back inside," she murmurs so casually as if she didn't just fuck you up in the middle of the street, as if her chin isn't shiny with your precum. "N'if Michael puts his hand on you again, I'm eating it in front of him"

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x you

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tarjapearce · 7 months

Text

Crimson Crown (Pt. 3)

Royal! AU Miguel O'Hara x Princess! Reader

Special thanks to @pinkiemme for this amazing fanart for this fic ❤️✨

WARNINGS: Angst, Sibling bonding, awkward talks, mild squeeze of jealousy if you squint, Bit of fluff, meaningful talks, slow burn, apologies, tension, arranged marriage.

Summary: In the admist of a feely chaos, a common ground is found.

Thanks to my beta reader @oharasmommymilkers00 <3

Every bendable joint stretched, and some popped as you awoke, but in all honesty, functioning today wasn't something you wanted to do. Thoughts rooting heavier in your head upon remembering last night's events.

Your face sunk into the pillow, allowing its plush and warm embrace to cradle your face longer. Bloodshot eyes turned glossy and soon one tear fell. Another followed and so on, as if your body had finally released all the bad things that you had been bottling up.

You didn't cherish it, just finally dwelled on it, giving in to the sadness you had pushed away for so long that it came biting back at you before reaching for your diary and writing all your suffering away. Some tears certainly had stained the pages as you wrote.

Dainty hand scribbled angrily and pained but eventually stopped after a couple of pages. The servants announced their presence to bring your first meal of the day. A bit of gruel and fruit.

One of the servants stared at you for a second, but quickly returned to her duties, leaving you alone once more. Appetite wasn't something you wanted to indulge in too much, but certainly, you'd need the energy if you wanted to go out.

You ate in between stacking all the paintings back in the wooden box. The colorful landscape of your room was slowly returning to its dull color. The sheets and the hardened tainted tips of the paintbrushes were the only things that popped out.

The paintings were stacked into a corner as you made the space for another hobby, almost leaving the place as you had originally acquired it. Cold, empty, home of the darkness that loved to sit and watch you from the corners.

You'd miss your mother's comforting words after a terrible day, you missed Lucille. Sometimes you'd indeed wonder what would she be doing. Why Miguel forbade to bring her in was a mystery to you. The only thing certain is that you needed your friend. You needed a friend.

Of course, you missed the little cherry tart Lucille gave you every time she'd find you crying. The strolls through the castle she'd take you to whenever your parents discussed things so carelessly before you. But none of that mattered anymore.

A princess's duty was far more than just training oneself in the arts and being well-versed in many things. The ugly side of it, something you'd recently been acquainted with, had taught you the real meaning of being a royal. Sacrifice.

Even though your kingdom was now under the protection of Arachne, the price in return seemed a bit too high. Your happiness. But again as your mother had said

Our wishes matter little when men decide it's fun to play war.

Those words have stuck with you ever since. Marriage was something you didn't though too much, despite your father's attempts to marry you to a king of abroad lands. He even had considered offering your hand in marriage to Kraven if it meant to keep the peace. Of course, your mother had opposed greatly, but she was only saving you up as her last card under the sleeve and handed you over to the biggest player in the war-waging game, Miguel.

Miguel had won. Like usual. You were to marry him within two months and a week. It finally dawned on you—cold and bitter truth. You dreaded marrying him and just acting like a public figure for both kingdoms. He didn't need you, much to your maudlin reasoning, you knew he was more than capable of leading the kingdom on his own.

He doesn't need you

Your mind chanted. And for a moment you believed it. The way he acted, showing little glimpses of kindness to then completely ignoring you until he saw fitting not doing so, either by his counselor's advice or a little guilt.

Guiltiness

Of course not. The man had slayed without remorse anything that meddled with his kingdom. You were sure that if your realm would have much more resources, you'd be at war with him.

But this kind of war, an inner one, was something you were losing.

You had seen his little to no reaction to what his brother had called you. The word made you sick, but it made you sicker to know he let everything unfold.

So so cold.

Mere politics. A game in which you were a pawn. His pawn. It kind of made you wonder what kind of mistresses he had.

Had you met them without realizing it? Hopefully not, and you prayed for it to never happen. You wouldn't be able to stand it. A reason why you admired so much your mother.

On rare occasions, you had seen her cry because your father preferred a mistress' than her own company, but she always held her head high, face cold and proud. Never allowing the rest to see her waver.

Fresh tears were wiped off your face as the servants came once more. You bathed and prepared for the day. Peter came in once you were ready, frowning for a moment at your reddened face, his eyes noticed you had cleaned up the painting area, leaving it bare.

"Your Majesty" Peter greeted

You bowed at him.

"Could I have Lady Gwen and Lord Hobie to accompany me today?"

Peter tilted his head in confusion, "Beg your pardon?"

"I will go to the city, I need some supplies."

"You could ask and the king-"

"He's done enough. I don't wish to keep using his good faith when I can get them myself, ser Peter."

The words felt sharp as they came out of your mouth, but in truth, you didn't want to keep adding to his stress.

You sighed as your fist clenched for a moment on the skirt of your dress.

" And I need to clear my head. A trip to the city would be good."

"You've got to understand that I cannot leave your side, right?"

"If you get in trouble, I'll take full responsibility for it."

Peter's eyes softened and nodded.

"I'll call them."

-------

"Are you awake?" Gabriel spoke as he entered Miguel's chambers. The king received him with a grunt as he looked at some new reports Jessica had brought him.

"Of course you are. Did you even get some sleep?"

"No."

"Surprise, surprise." Gabriel shook his head and took one report. Miguel's gaze fixed on him, a little hidden smile creeping on his face.

"What are you doing?"

Gabriel's hand unfolded yet another report, "Helping you."

"I can do it myself."

"It's my kingdom too. Of course, I need to know what is happening around."

Miguel chuckled and let him. They remained quiet, going through the many reports. Some weren't as urgent as the others, surveillance of areas, economics, politics, and letters incoming from other kingdoms.

A couple of ones directed to you. Your parents mostly and one from a woman named Lucille. He put your cards away and let one of his agents, Margo, deliver them to you. He didn't trust regular servants to deliver such personal things, too much of a risky move.

"What are the plans for today besides pouring yourself to work?"

Miguel sighed and went through the last report before looking at Gabriel.

"I need to test some things before making advance in something else."

Gabriel rested against his chair and put his feet on the table, which Miguel quickly removed.

"Thought you'd like to apologize to your future bride."

"She doesn't want to be disturbed, and you're the one at fault. Not me."

Gabriel's eyes widened softly and he nodded.

"Still, I might send her a letter."

"No. You're to ask an audience with her and apologize. Make it right."

"What about you?"

Miguel waved him off, a sign to which Gabriel understood as 'I'll find a way later'.

"You know... heard the servants talking"

"I don't have time for gossip, Gabriel."

The younger O'Hara snorted and gestured towards him.

"They say they have seen your little princess crying. A lot, ever since she came here actually."

Miguel tensed for a moment and put the papers down.

"I know it's been forever since you've courted someone. But-"

"Courting doesn't lead a country"

Gabriel shrugged and stood. "In any case, I will apologize once she returns from her trip."

His words snapped Miguel's attention back at him.

"What trip?"

Gabriel smirked at his demanding tone, "She's in the city, looking for things."

Miguel pinched his nose bridge.

"She could've asked..."

"Peter sent her off-"

"What do you mean Peter is here?! He is supposed to be her guardian!"

Miguel secured the sword to his hip and darted out of his room. Gabriel seemed pleased as he followed him. He thrived in seeing his brother antsy and panicky over silly things.

A present reminder that he was still human, and not a belicista monster at heart like everyone made him to be.

Peter's eyes darted away from him upon his arrival.

"Why aren't you with the Princess?"

"She asked me not to come with her. Asked for Gwen and Hobie instead"

Miguel's icy glare remained on a scowling Peter.

"Why?"

"Ask her yourself."

Gabriel's excitement died upon sensing the tension between the both.

"Ser Peter, my apologies for interrupting your duty. But, do you know by chance where she has gone to?"

"She needed some space."

Away from you both.

Peter's mind wanted to say but it would surely gain his title removed. His mouth kept in a straight line as Miguel kept on glaring at him.

"She wanted to get some things for herself."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Peter sighed and shook his head.

"Because she said you'd done enough. And she doesn't want to be disturbed."

Gabriel cringed, his eyes darting back and forth between Miguel and Peter. He didn't mean to offend you, but something worse was happening. And it was his fault, yet Miguel was already seizing that burden as his own.

" Will you let us know when she arrives? I understand her wish to be left alone, but the distress I put her through yesterday needs to be addressed as soon as possible."

Peter just nodded as Miguel entered your chambers. His frown immediately deepens upon seeing the current state of your room. Just like he had given it to you. Bland, dull, and with no colors, just like your ongoing emotions.

The paints were carefully stacked in a corner, his gift stored back where he had sent it. The faint scent of your perfume, the only indicator you had been here, was subtly overpowered by the smell of dried oil paintings.

Your desk was neatly organized, but a couple of crumpled sheets ruined the pristine image. He took one and unfolded it bit by bit. A single word scribbled and scratched with such violence it tore the page.

Concubine.

He rubbed his face and crumpled the sheet once more. Angry steps guide him away from your room. Gabriel was out of his sight.

Good.

----

The trip had surely made your brain ease the anguish and bad thoughts your mind was spiraling into.

One thing you certainly liked about Arachne, was the many imported products you could find. That would mean, finding the golden Thelerian thread you used for your embroidering back at home.

Crimson, golden, green, indigo blue, and black along some hoops and needles. You also got some other materials. Hobie and Gwen followed you but kept their distance when sensing the gloominess taking over you. They just followed wherever you went. They gave you your space.

You'd stop at the baker's for his tarts, obviously. You got half a dozen of them. Along with some more books about Arachne.

There were a couple of interesting things that caught your attention. The machinery used was something you'd never seen before; and surely the affluence of foreign people.

If you paid close attention, you could distinguish the people from their origin country. Erunians’ upper class always dressed in fine linens with subtle armoring pieces, a couple of them paraded through the market.

You could spot some fellow Thelerians in the art and fabric shops. They'd be probably looking for supplies, as well for a new upcoming activity in the arts academy. A wistful and longing glance was thrown their way before your eyes met a flamboyant man, dressed in the silkiest fur coat you had seen so far.

An Onerimian. You saw other people, probably people from even further kingdoms of Enethor.

It made sense for Miguel to go to such extent as to marry himself in exchange for his country thriving. He was a king after all. No monarch would want their land suffering unless it was a terrible one. Which you had heard stories about.

Once your shopping ended, you got back into the carriage and returned to the palace.

-----

The news of your arrival fell upon both Miguel’s and Gabriel's ears. The latter got himself ready to talk to you.

"See you later, Miggy"

Miguel just grunted in response as he watched you from his window and rubbed his face on your melancholic expression.

The servants always talked, but seeing your face with saddened and dull eyes, made the headache grow gradually.

The council held less power than him, but even so, their influence was something he couldn't deny. An extension of his power. They helped him as well with so many other things, or else he'd never had a break.

Being a ruler wasn't easy, being the head of a whole nation was worse. For once, the questioning of his worth came into mind after so many years.

He had even sacrificed his health to keep the kingdom striving and together for the past seventeen years on his own. And in all that time a marriage never crossed his mind. Until now.

----

"Princess!"

Gabriel bowed with a serious face, and your discomfit grew, but you still pushed that aside and bowed back.

"My lord."

Gabriel sighed and clasped his hands before you.

"Could you spare me some minutes of your time for a hearing, your highness?"

Your heart thumped with violence inside your chest but you nodded

"Certainly, sir."

"Good. I... Thank you. I know you wanted to be left alone for the day, but I must apologize to you for my actions yesterday. It was completely out of line."

Gabriel sighed and looked at you, honest words and eyes fixed on your defeated form.

"I didn't know my brother had gotten engaged. I was out on duty and found out when I got to the castle. It has never been my intention to insult you, your highness."

"Your honesty is quite admirable, ser. Thanks for that"

"Do you accept my apologies?"

"Yes. Now if you'd excuse me, I must go"

Gabriel bowed and left you be.

The servants took your things inside your room as you bowed to everyone that greeted you.

Dinner time approached and the food was brought to your room.

Your mind gravitated towards Miguel. Thankful that he had respected your wishes to be left alone for the day.

What about tomorrow and the day after that?

Your hands faltered and a heavy sigh escaped your lips.

As long as you were kept busy, the rest didn't matter, right? He seemed way too contemptuous of being away and meddling with his affairs.

Probably with a mistress

Your breath hitched as you rubbed your face in disgust at your thoughts. What he did in his spare time was none of your business. Yet it was unavoidable to feel your chest constricting at your hurting thoughts.

Enough

Your mind rumbled as you focused on the new task before you. The embroidery was one of your favorites, it was calming and required your full attention. It helped you back at home.

-----

The next day went like nothing had happened. You were still in your room, embroidering. You were so engrossed in your task that got startled when a woman in her elite uniform cleared her throat, finally making her presence known to you.

"My apologies for startling you, your highness. I am Margo. One of the king's agents."

She bowed and you followed

"He sends this to you."

Margo delivered a little paper with a note scribbled on it. Penmanship sloppy and hurried but legible enough.

Meet me at the main hall within an hour.

You frowned upon reading the note and sighed.

"I'll be there. Thanks for your service, Lady Margo."

"Please, just Margo. I'll let him know of your reply right away."

She left, and you groaned inwardly.

Nervous steps guided you through the main halls of the castle. Finally, they stopped a few meters away from what you thought was his office. He was talking to Jessica and then excused himself as soon as he saw you.

Oh dear.

-----

He was before you within a couple of strides, long legs reached your presence, and his forever stoic yet deep eyes settled on you. Breathing felt heavy and stuffy.

"Princesa" his voice held a bit of a gruff. He cleared his throat and pointed the way ahead.

"Walk with me."

It wasn't a suggestion or an order. And still, you followed. His hands clenched and relaxed as He walked with you, matching your pace.

"Is there a specific reason why you have requested my company tonight, My lord?"

He chuckled, glad that you were addressing things without sugarcoating them.

"I want to apologize."

"Whatever for? Prince Gabriel has already apologized. We have... reached a truce regarding that situation."

Miguel glanced at you with curious and soft eyes as you both kept walking through the castle.

"I know you are aware of what our marriage implies, Princesa."

"Of course. Even though my family was the one to orchestrate such union, I’m a firm believer that our kingdoms could mutually benefit from it."

"My thoughts exactly. What are your prospects for Theleria? "

"We might not be the realm we used to be centuries ago, but I believe we have been turning into something better. I don't favor war, and many might see it as a weakness, but as long as there are more options, I won't be afraid to explore them."

"What if war is the only way?"

"Is it truly, though? I know there are times when war is the only way out. And as much as it pains me, it must be seen through. To me, war is the last resource."

"On that, we agree."

Miguel nodded as you stared at him with a curious gaze.

"Contrary to what everyone outside my kingdom's walls believes, I don't engage in war because they're fun. Wars are the result of several failed attempts at dialogue. My last resource."

You smiled softly at his words and he smiled back.

"I must apologize to you, then. My initial judgment has been proven wrong. And I'm glad it did."

"How so?" Miguel inquired as you both walked wherever your feet took you. The soft and sweet scent of the gardens tickled your nose.

"This arranged marriage was quite sudden for both. I know much. You weren't looking for such a thing, neither did I. Yet-"

"Here we are."

Miguel slicked his hair back as Peter's words finally started to sink in.

"I know a kingdom is the most important thing for a good ruler. It is important to you as it is important to me."

You spoke as you faced him.

"My parents might have arranged this, but... It doesn't mean we can't influence the path it takes. As your future... ally"

Your words hesitated, "I want to be seen as more than just a public figure, but someone you can rely on if the chance presents itself."

Miguel's heart thumped with strength at your words. His gaze remained on you a little longer than it should.

" What do you aspire to accomplish in Arachne, Princesa?"

" The same thing I'd want for my future kingdom, My lord. For it to keep striving, improving, and marching towards a better future, where its citizens know they can have the same opportunities they'd get in abroad lands. For them to know that we have their back. Like it should be."

Miguel's hands tingled upon your words. The urge to reach for you and hug you at finally finding someone who understood his reasoning was a bit overwhelming, in a good kind of way. His heart seemed to be pumping in excitement.

"Seems we share a vision."

"Indeed. Our kingdoms' well-being is the thing that brought us here. Would be foolish to think differently."

"I apologize if... I've underestimated your reasoning, Princesa."

You shook your head with a lax smile.

"It's alright, sir. It's only natural to be guarded towards stranger's opinions."

"You're certainly no stranger"

Your brows rose in surprise "Oh?"

Miguel blinked at his own words

"I mean..."

He rubbed his neck softly

"I think allies would be too soon since I've got yet, to prove my worth to you and your scary council. Acquaintances, it's the right term."

You spoke with a soft smile. The kind of smile one would wear when facing an awkward truth.

"Acquaintances, then."

He didn't like that word, as true as it was. It didn't sit right in his head and it had left a bad taste in his mouth.

"I must know though, Princesa. Why would you order Peter to stay behind?"

"Well, poor man needed a break. He's always looking after me."

His jaw clenched softly at the compassionate words for Peter.

"You must understand he can't leave your side, right?"

"I take full responsibility for that, my lord. I know I shouldn't ignore your authority. I'm sorry for that."

The servants ran around the castle, some looked your way with keen eyes, whispering among them as they saw you and Miguel.

"In any case, thanks for listening, my lord. I hope your doubts have been cleared a bit with our conversation. Your company is always enjoyable"

"Certainly."

His mind slapped himself inwardly as you chuckled.

"Then I bid you a goodnight, ser."

You bowed to him and made your way back to your room. He went back to his office.

His mind ran a mile per second with all sort of thoughts.

"Certainly" He groaned in annoyance. He also wanted to say your company was good, but instead, he came out as a self-centered man.

"What's wrong?"

Peter entered his chambers in casual dressings and Miguel glared at him upon remembering the other bits of the conversation.

"You don't need a fucking break. I do."

Peter's brows knitted together in confusion at his sudden words. Your genuine concern for Peter didn't sit right either.

"Then, spend more time doing what you like. Or more time with the princess."

"She said we're acquaintances."

"Which is not far from the truth. Why are you upset?"

"Because you were right. And I hate it when you do."

Peter's smile grew wider "Told you."

"Cállate."

Peter chuckled and sat before him.

"What did you talk about?"

"She told me that she wanted to be a reliable ally. She... understands my vision."

Peter's eyes widened softly as his smile turned into a smirk.

"Seems you did right in approaching"

"Told you to keep your allies closer."

Your sincere words regarding your concerns about the kingdom had his attention fully enraptured into you. The attention that he only put into little selected things. A sort of attention he'd gladly address you again with, just to hear you talk so fervently about your common goals.

"Si si, ya. Vete." (Yeah, yeah. Leave)

"Sleep. Tomorrow's a long day."

He just nodded and watched Peter leave.

Acquaintances were better than strangers. It was a progress, a baby step, but a step closer nonetheless.

-----

Taglist:

@tayleighuh @obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @nxrdamp @a--dedicated--fangirl @rin0r1na @queenofroses22 @sofi786 @murnsondock @okayiamkassandra @kimmis-stuff @ceoofmiguel @meeom @handsomeprettytoes @ladymoztaza @chiikasevennn @mxtokko @gabrielarose29 @oooof-ifellforyou @minalovesyoubabes @kikisstrawberrie @know-that-its-delicate @aikoiya @st0r-fruit @ittybxttykxttytxtty

@local-mr-frog @liidiaaag @berlinswifey @eepybunny0805 @vonev

@cheerrioeoz @solesurvivorjen @zaunsin @ange-grayson @peachsteven @kdrosebme @geraskier-thots @rjasmin2021 @yehet-moi-ohorat @misswonderfrojustice @mars-notavailable @jdbxws @amelialysm @firstl0velatespring

#king miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #astv miguel #miguel atsv #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x y/n #t writes✨

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qinluofu · 3 months

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤrhodochrosite 🫧 shidou ryusei x gn!reader

in which shidou tries his best to comfort you from your toxic ex rin + asshole rin is very real in this au so beware

sfw work + 400++ wc

"it's me or them"

You couldn’t even look at Rin, trying to hold your tears. You could feel his gaze upon you, as you waited for an answer.

Rin sighs, “don’t make this difficult for me”

“I just want to know”, in your heart you already knew a definitive answer, you just wanted to hear him say it, say it so you can know he doesn’t love you, so you can move on

“I’d choose them”

And that’s all you needed to hear to never look back at him ever again.

You know that feeling when something heavy falls onto your stomach and you start crying uncontrollably? Yeah something like that

During the first day, you lay in bed all day with no appetite for any food and especially the pastries from the coffee shop just down the street (he always bought you the egg tarts). You kept checking for your messages, never blocking Rin just to see what he had to say, staring at the chat histories.

During the second day, everything sinks down to you and you realize you have lost the only person that cared about you. Were you really not enough? You tried to find fault in everything, everyone, but at the end there was still no one by your side.

During the third day, you felt rage inside you. You wanted to ruin his football career, you wanted to ruin his new partner, you almost could feel the motivation to get out of bed and properly confront him, to get the closure you deserved.

because rin isn’t the type of person to just cheat out of nowhere. because rin isn’t the type of person to be able to fake his love for someone for 5 years because you can’t accept the fact that he doesn't want you anymore

shidou knocks on your door. he knows your home, he knows you broke up with rin, he knows your sad.

despite his external layer of brassiness he knows well that its time to invade your personal space and rescue you from the pits of your bed before you suffocate of emotional damage.

shidou has to juggle between beating rin up or giving you a hug, beating rin up can satisfy his personal needs but might intensify your sadness so the latter seems more promising.

you slowly opened the door after knowing it was him after seeing the cameras and he nervously holds out his hands to embrace you, unsure if you would accept his hug.

surprisingly you didn't push him away. his hug felt warm, warmer and more sincere than any hug rin itoshi could ever give you. shidou slowly closed the door and coo's at your crying.

"everything's gonna be fine from now on."

a/n: there's gonna be a part2, i think.. this has been sitting in my drafts for a considerable time so i hope this was fine to read

#shidou ryusei #blue lock #blue lock fanfiction #bllk x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou ryusei x y/n #bllk scenarios #bluelock #shidou x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock angst #rin itoshi

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chocolatecake47 · 10 days

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The Dragang found family is like:

Soren carrying Ezran up to bed when he falls asleep somewhere else, Callum braiding Rayla’s hair when she’s had a bad day (even when she’s too shy to ask), Rayla tearing up when Ezran is finally taller than her and she has to look up to talk to him, Callum tucking Ezran into bed and waiting for him to fall asleep sometimes rubbing his back or arms if he’s stressed out, Soren and Rayla eventually tearfully opening up to each other about all the abusive behaviors and screwed up things that happened in their upbringing and bonding over mutual understanding, Callum and Rayla comforting each other when they wake up screaming and crying from nightmares, Callum constantly drawing Rayla and his breath catching in his throat in awe a little when he sees her in a dress for the first time, Rayla making little flower crowns for Ezran and him wearing them just because, Ezran stealing jelly tarts from the kitchen and Soren going along with him just for the fun of it, Rayla and Soren brutally roasting each other and flipping each other off while Opeli stares gasping in shock at this “improper behavior” but everyone else around is trying to hide their laughter, Rayla sleeping curled against Callum’s chest some nights, Callum and Rayla doing the stupidest harmless best friend shit for no reason and Opeli just rolling her eyes, Callum telling Ezran about the memories he has of their mother, having little picnics in the gardens outside the palace on some warm days, Callum wiping his thumbs lovingly over Rayla’s markings, Ezran crawling into their bed after he has a bad nightmare and promptly falling asleep cuddled in between them, Rayla and Soren sparring together routinely, Callum and Rayla running their fingers through each others hair and sometimes running their fingers through Ezran’s curls, Rayla and Ezran teasing Callum about something “inappropriate” and watch him get bright red and start sputtering which sends them off into peels of laughter at his awkwardness, Rayla doing the girlfriend pout (not that she would even need to do this, lets be so real right now 😅) and Callum giving her the last bite of his food, Callum and Ezran just randomly crying together sometimes over their father passing, Rayla telling Ezran stories about the Silver-grove trying not to let her voice crack but Ezran noticing anyway, giving Soren random hugs when he feels lonely or misses Claudia, Callum closing his eyes and turning away sometimes as Ezran gets older and pretending for a moment that his dad is still there, Ezran sitting behind a pillar in the ballroom and watching Callum and Rayla slow-dance and pretending for a minute he’s watching his mom and dad, sitting around the fire enjoying each others company, Callum and Rayla immediately knowing when something is wrong with the other person and learning communication together, Soren giving Ezran unsolicited first kiss/first date advice, Soren light-heartedly teasing Callum about his disastrous first kiss, Callum taking Ezran’s crown off on hard days and kissing the top of his head where it rests, everybody laughing uncontrollably about something that is not funny at all in the middle of horrendous stress and sleep-deprivation and that only makes it more funny. Shooting looks to kill anyone who’s crossed lines and hurt one of them. That fierce protective streak they all carry for each other. Holding each other while they sob not caring about the tears falling all over them. Sending each other pointed glances and smirks from across tables full of fancy dignitaries. Finding pretty flowers and giving them to each other just because.

Impulsive hugs. Forehead kisses. Draping blankets over each other. Curling up on each others laps. Leaning heads on each others shoulders. Late night whispers. Tearing up with joy at milestones..

Everybody reaching for each others hands in tough moments and gently squeezing as reminders of their presences, and sometimes just doing for no reason other than closeness and security and comfort and to just, hold each others hands.

I love you’s. Lots of them. Heartfelt and sincere and emotional and naturally and full of unconditional love. After bad days, after good days, after heavy conversations, after fun times, just random I love you’s so nobody forgets how loved they are despite all they’ve lost.

This is found family ❤️.

“The stakes are high, the water’s rough, but this love is ours” - Ours

“The best people in life are free” - New Romantics

“It was letting go of everything but you” - The Band And I

“Wherever we’re together, that’s my home” - You’re My Home

#the dragon prince #tdp callum #tdp ezran #tdp rayla #tdp soren #tdp opeli #rayllum #found family #unconditional love #the little things and gestures #arc 2 #tdp #Tdp dragang #the obsession will never end #ours #new romantics #the band and i #you’re my home

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imma-write-stuff · 1 year

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Dragon S/O Who Can’t Use Magic Getting Bullied (Riddle, Leona, and Malleus)

Background: Y/N is a fae dragon like Malleus but can’t use magic and has been picked for it.

CW: Vague talks of bullying, some spoilers of Leona’s past,

Riddle

- That’s a way off pissing Riddle off and getting a collar from him. The bully won’t be casting magic for awhile.

- “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

- Riddle will take you to the Heartslabyul dorm away from the bully and even let you stay in his room. He isn't the greatest with comfort but he'll let you vent, cry, or whatever you do to let it out of your system as long its not hurting you.

- Will make you some calming tea and get you a tart if you want it. This may end up with you spending the night in his room.

- Riddle will remind you not to be hard on yourself just because you can’t use magic. He won’t let any idiots take you down.

Leona

- Congrats to the bully, by picking on dragon s/o, you get an angry lion planning to hunt you down for what you did. I think out of everyone, Leona would be the least tolerant of bullies. (Well torwards people he cares about, I don’t see him having a lot of real friends.)

- And he would be the most understanding, hey he was bullied for being the second born prince and inferior to his brother. Like Riddle, Leona isn’t the best at comforting but makes up for making the bully pay.

- If you ran off and hide somewhere to cry, Leona will look for you, he knows your scent well so it wouldn’t be a problem.

- He’ll take you to the garden or somewhere private to cuddle.

Malleus

- RIP bully you pissed off a another dragon, this time Malleus himself, run. (If you can run,) Dragons are naturally protective of their mates, so the bully will have to be a total idiot to think its a good idea.

- While Malleus may not know what its like to be bullied or not have magic but I think he could be good at comforting you. One of the things you two enjoy is transforming into your dragon forms and fly.

- You two don’t talk you just quietly enjoy each others company Malleus knew you probably didn’t want to talk about it at all.

- He understands and lets you speak on your own time.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #malleus draconia x reader #riddle rosehearts x s/o #leona kingscholar x s/o #malleus draconia x s/o #twisted wonderland headcanons

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blues824 · 1 year

Note

I see your love for trey and have a challenge the challenge is to write a fic inspired by this picture I'm not going to add anything else its your choice.

Have fun 😊

Gender-neutral reader. Yandere Trey. I do not condone this behavior in real life.

Trey Clover

“I know that this situation isn’t ideal for you, darling, but surely you can understand why this had to happen?” The voice sounded familiar. But you didn’t want to believe it.

“Darling? Are you not going to answer me? Your husband?” You could feel the ring on your finger, but he was not your husband. He was delusional.

“You aren’t my husband.”

You could hear his chuckle, but you couldn’t see him. He was smart: he blindfolded you. Trey let out a sigh of amusement before he picked something up and started walking towards you. You thought that this would be the end, but he stopped right in front of you.

“You know, I knew you were the one when I saw how tenderly you treated Deuce. But, it seemed that the two of you were getting a bit too close. So, I decided to remind you who was the one that you truly love. I’m not going to hurt you, but you will stay here until you remember that you are my spouse.”

It was hard trying not to cry, but you were terrified. Would you never see your friends or family again? How long would you be stuck here? Maybe the Headmage was to blame here. If he had found you a way home, you wouldn’t be stuck with the crazed version of Trey.

Then, you heard the sound of a utensil scraping across something like a plate.

“I baked something for you, sweetheart. I will have to thank Rook for the advice. Open wide.”

From the smell, you could tell that it was a tart. Most likely strawberry, considering the nature of his dorm. But the mention of Pomefiore’s Vice Housewarden made you queasy. Was the tart poisoned? You jumped when you felt the dessert pressed against your lips.

“Mm-mm”, you shook your head in refusal, which in turn knocked the bite-sized piece drop to the floor.

“Love, if you don’t eat then you won’t feel good. Oh, fine. I guess I’ll have to force you to eat it”.

He wrenched your mouth open as he quickly took up another piece of the tart onto the fork in his hand and he quickly shoved it into your mouth. What you figured out was that the treat was laced with a love potion.

“You will soon see that you do love me, just as I love you, my dear.”

#twst #twst x reader #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #trey #trey x reader #twst trey #trey clover x reader #twst trey clover #trey clover #twst trey clover x reader #twst trey x reader

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tangledinink · 1 year

Text

whoa, i wrote a thing. the first chapter of my tmnt "sorry, teenage mutant what now?" au is live on ao3, or can be read below the cut!!! complete with sketchy title card and dumb chapter title. do i have any real experience writing fics??? no!!! am i gonna do my best anyway!?!? yes i am!!!

“Did you drink all the milk AGAIN!? Dude!—"

“What?! You know I need an exact milk-to-rice-chex ratio in order to enjoy my breakfast, Leo!”

“Have any of you seen my dance bag? It’s not where I left it!”

“Why do you need it, anyway? Isn’t dance on Thursday?”

“Leo, today is Thursday.”

“What? No, it’s not. If it was Thursday, then my American Literature essay would be due, and I haven’t even started it yet, so there’s NO WAY—“

“If my toaster is destroyed, I will be making whichever child is responsible pay for the replacement!” The warning rang out over the general chaos of the morning.

“Oh shoot—“ Yoshi could hear the frantic scrabble of a belated attempt to rescue the burning pop tart, which Yoshi could smell from all the way in the living room. Parked in his reclining chair, the TV playing in front of him, he munched contentedly on his own breakfast which he had acquired earlier before his teenage sons descended upon the kitchen. He was not much of a ‘morning person,’ but it was a necessity if he was to eat in any sort of peace in the mornings.

This was a typical morning in the Hamato household.

Yoshi was used to it by now. The bickering, the bumbling, the hectic last-minute "wait I forgot something's--" it was all just a part of the routine. Sure, it had been a bit exhausting at times when they were all still children, and he had to scramble about like a madman each morning to ensure they had everything they needed to get where they were going. But at this point? He could more or less just ignore them and allow them to work things out by themselves, only occasionally needing to step in and offer a bit of guidance. He had always been a bit of a... Hands-off parent, for better or for worse, but he was fairly certain that he had finally found the rhythm of things over the past several years. Not that that made him a perfect parent by any means, there had certainly been plenty of occasions--

"APRIIIIILLLLLL O'NEIL!!!" The battle cry and hearty thud of his poor front door put a sudden end to his narration, and, though it happened near every day, he startled in response, just barely avoiding dropping his tea.

"April!" He bellowed from his chair, turning just enough to peer into the kitchen, where his honorary fifth child (as if he needed any more…) and next-door neighbor had just appeared. "How many times must I tell you?! If you break my door, I will--!"

"Aw, c'mon, Yosh, you know I gotta make a bold entrance at the start of the morning, or my mojo is gonna be off for the whole rest of the day! Besides, I haven't broken the door yet, and it's been how many years?"

“Bah! Haven't broken my door yet, maybe, but what about my bed frame? Or my printer? Or my third-favorite koi fish figurine?!"

"Oh, you wanna play that game now?" O'Neil countered, narrowing his eyes behind scarlet frames, crossing her arms across her chest and cocking one hip to the side. "Okay, then, how about my window? Or my mom's antique vase? Or my literal entire bathroom--"

"Okay! Okay, enough!" Yoshi spluttered with a dismissive wave of his hands. Dammit. The fact he was technically responsible for his sons’ occasional partaking in light property destruction was still, in his opinion, the most unfair and annoying part of parenting. "Fine! Break down the door for all I care! Burn the entire place to the ground! See if I do anything about it! Teenagers..." He muttered with a scowl, shaking his head and returning to his program, an exaggerated scowl on his face. The kids, to their credit, knew well enough by now not to take his rants and mumblings too seriously and quickly re-engaged themselves in whatever gossip and chatter they had previously been wrapped up in.

Yoshi smiled just the tiniest bit, listening with one ear as Donatello explained to a devastated Leonardo that it was, in fact, Thursday, bringing up evidence on his cell phone, and Raphael and April pulled Mikey's dance bag out from inside the oven, where he had forgotten it for the third time this past month.

This was not where he had imagined his life would take him when he was young. Not even close.

He would not trade these moments for anything at all.

By the time his television show was ending, he was just finishing off his tea and shoveling the rest of his bagel into his mouth. Game shows, he had found years ago, were an excellent means of timing routines, and he had it to a science by now. He pulled himself to his feet, stretching and cracking his back loud enough that his children yelled at him from the kitchen, before shuffling his way into the kitchen to begin the work of chasing the teenagers out the door.

"Alright, come on, shoo shoo! You are all going to miss the subway and be late!" He scolded, occasionally swatting at a stray child with his sleeves. "And do not forget anything, because I will not bring it to you!"

"Dad--" Leo began, his eyes blown up huge and pleading. "I don't feel well, I'm pretty sure I've got, like, a tummy bug, or something? Sooo, I should, like, probably stay home--"

"You are not skipping school just because you forgot to do an assignment." Yoshi immediately responded.

"What?! Noooo, Daddy, please, I'm really sick!"

"I was not born yesterday." He scoffed, shooting his son an unimpressed look. "And I have seen you do assignments in far less time! Besides, I'm sure April and your brothers would be happy to help."

A chorus of groans rang from around the table.

“Enough bellyaching! Come on, out of my house! Let's go, chop chop! Anyone who stays home today will be giving me a pedicure!”

That threat always worked. On cue, everyone fell into action. The boys gulped down any remaining breakfast still left uneaten, (whether it was theirs or not,) in between conversations, TikTok videos, and, in Leo's case, loud mourning about the day of the week. Donatello began to long process of buckling up the seventeen different straps on his chunky boots, Michaelangelo passed out lunches to each of his family members, narrating his culinary decisions as he went, and Raphael hurriedly tossed bowls, spoons, and plates into the dishwasher with clatters and clunks.

"I can't find my eyeliner pen-- Nardo, did you steal it? Did you go through my bag?! You DID, didn’t you!!! I am going to delete all of your Minecraft save files--"

"What?! I cannot believe you would make such an accusation, I would never stop to such petty thievery--"

"Mikey, hurry up and grab your skateboard if you're gonna--"

"OW, Dad, Donnie pulled my hair!"

"Oh, what are you, five?"

"HEY, both of you knock it off because Raph makes ya!”

"Wait, did we have a quiz in geometry today--? Because I did not study!!! Raph, this note had better be a joke--!"

After a few final moments of mayhem, Yoshi finally managed to get all five high schoolers out the door, closing the door firmly behind them with a loud sigh.

He loved his children. Truly, he did. But thank god for school.

Grumbling a bit to himself, he got to work straightening the remaining mess left behind. His sons were more than old enough to clean up after themselves and help out around the house, but that still didn't necessarily mean they did it particularly well. Maybe by their late twenties, they'd start to figure that out, if they were anything like their father. He swept up spare crumbs and wiped down the table, putting cereal boxes away in the pantry where they belonged and closing cabinet doors left open.

Boys.

Truthfully, he had very little room to complain and he knew it. Compared to the first four years of parenthood, things were a breeze. Sure, there was still plenty of work to do, but aside from the occasional exhausting day or difficult conversation, he could practically just put things on autopilot by now. He could hardly imagine how his younger self used to get through each day.

Well, perhaps he could, because, if he was being completely honest, he didn't really "get through" most days back then as much as he was bodily dragged in and out of them. But he had realized long ago that lingering on his past shortcomings was not in anyone's best interest.

With school, extracurriculars, friends and neighbors, babysitters, and a shit-ton of parenting classes on his side now, in addition to the general concept of the passage of time, given that his children were no longer children and now teenagers, he had at his disposal something that he had not had even a scrap of for years before "the move."

Free time.

It had been nearly ten years since "the move." Ten years since he and his sons had donned these disguises and bodily forced their way back into society on the back of lies and forged paperwork. Or, well, he had forced his way back into society. His children were just along for the ride-- and new to it all.

Not that you would be able to tell now, he thought to himself, smiling ever so slightly. Ten years… They had lived this way for a long time now.

It had been so long… Some days, he nearly forgot that he was anything but a man.

--------

"Donnie, here, it's your turn."

Donatello sighed loudly, pausing in whatever he was doing on his phone, (Scrolling through Twitter? Purchasing uranium off the dark web? They were equally likely,) but accepting the laptop shoved into his hands anyway.

"Why am I getting the impression that my turns are longer than everyone else's?" He questioned, his brows pinched with gentle annoyance as he glanced at the other four, all piled together on the subway. There wasn’t enough space for all of them, but even finding a couple of open seats was a near miracle this time of day, so they could make do. Stacking Mikey on Raph's shoulders and denying Leo a place to sit, seeing how it was his American Literature essay that they were taking turns writing, did the trick.

"Because you're the smart one," Leo said, his arms wrapped around the nearest subway pole, leaning so he could read over their shoulder. "This is the consequence of referring to yourself as a 'genius' all the time."

"I'm pretty sure I've always made it very clear that I'm a man of science, not literature." Donnie quipped in reply, even as he hunched over the screen, his fingers tick-tacking across the keys.

"Hey, I'm helping too! That whole third paragraph is mostly me." April protested, crossing her arms and slumping against Donnie, purposefully jostling them a bit in retaliation.

"Me too!" Mikey chirped from atop his brother's shoulders, slumped forward to avoid smacking his head on the roof. "I changed all the punctuation to fourteen-point font to make it longer!”

"Smart." Donnie hummed, not looking up, in such a tone that it wasn't quite clear if he meant it or not. Mikey beamed at the praise nonetheless, a bright grin lighting up his face as he crossed his arms over his brother's forehead.

"Look, it doesn't have to be good. It's just gotta be three pages before third period." Leo said. "I mean, Donnie could also always just hack into the school's gr—“

"Hey!" Raph barked. "We all agreed that that was for emergencies only!"

"Okay, okay, fine!" Leo sighed, a bit of sulkiness saturating his voice, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He reluctantly accepted the laptop when it was passed back over to him, propping up a knee to balance it on and hunching over to type.

"I thought Mikey set up that whole system with you. With the reminders and that agenda app and everything?" April questioned, glancing up at Leo curiously-- perhaps suspiciously.

"He did. I've just been..." He paused, hesitating in his words for just a second. "Busy."

"Oh no." April groaned.

"Not again." Donnie sighed.

"Who is it this time?" Raph asked, quirking a brow.

"What! I have noooo idea what you guys are talking about--"

"Leo."

"Okay, fine. Chase DeFerro." Leo muttered, his eyes immediately flicking to the side to avoid the inevitable reactions of his family.

"Chase DeFerro?"

"The same Chase DeFerro from five months ago?"

"Didn't you two have, like, a horrible break-up?"

"Didn't you block him on, like… Everything?"

"Didn't you say, and I quote, "If I ever have to even see that nasty bitch again in my entire life, it'll be too soon, and I swear to god I'll chop off--"

"Okay, okay! Hey, come on! That was five months ago. Things are, like, totalllyyyy different now!" Leo insisted.

“You said that about the last, like, three guys you’ve dated,” April said, unimpressed.

"Leo, have you ever stopped to consider that, perhaps, your need to constantly be in some kind of a relationship may have some kind of deeper connection to your own feelings of self-worth and the way that you assign value to--"

"Whoa there, Doctor Feelings! Chill! It's not that deep!" Leo scoffed, shooting Mikey an annoyed look. Ugh, he knew he shouldn't have brought it up. "Seriously. I'm just bored, okay? Quit trying to read into it."

"Bored?" Raph echoed, looking at the other with big eyes. "Leo, you can't treat love like it's a game like that! Come on!"

"It's not love, Raph, it's high school dating." Leo scoffed, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “Anyway! Look, I'm only, like, fifty words short and then I'm home free. Who's got the next turn?"

"Fine." April sighed, rolling her eyes. “Only because your girl here writes a killer BS essay conclusion. But you owe me. Hand it over."

True to her word, the last-minute literature assignment was wrapped up shortly, and the remainder of the train ride was instead occupied by chatter and gossip, discussing upcoming tests and assignments in school, rumors circulating the hallways, and plans for weekends and far-off holidays. On the occasion it got too loud to hear each other properly, they’d sign to each other instead, and then switch back once it quieted down once more. The five scrambled their way off the subway when they arrived at their stop, making their way up the stairs and back to street level.

Leo inhaled deeply as he hopped up the final few stairs, his sneakers giving a satisfying thud on the concrete below them with each step. He had no complaints about the subway, (well, no more than the average person, anyway,) but there was always just something especially refreshing about getting to breathe fresh air after spending any amount of time underground. Even if the fresh air was New York City air. Call him crazy, but he'd never get tired of it.

The group began the final length of their journey, closing the three-block gap between the subway station and their high school-- most of them on foot, Mikey on his skateboard, though he was less skateboarding and more standing on his skateboard and hanging onto the back of Raph's shirt so his older brother would drag him along. Leo wondered absently if he could get away with that, too, before April's voice finally snapped him back into reality.

"You busy after school today?"

"Until six!" He replied, stretching his arms back to lace his fingers behind his head as they walked. "Dee and I have gymnastics."

“Next competition is tomorrow.” Donnie hummed, not looking up from his phone. "So we're getting in the extra hours."

"You know we've got a rep to uphold!" Leo sing-songed, his mouth stretching into a wide, smug grin. "Gotta keep that flawless record for the rest of the season."

It was very well known, to anyone who ran in such circles, that the Hamato Twins were all but sure to take the top two places in any gymnastics meet that they showed up to-- it was just a question of in what order they would do so. Of all the various sports that they participated in, gymnastics was just about the only one where it was truly a coin flip. The only other two extracurriculars they shared were swimming, where Donnie consistently took first place, and martial arts, where they both knew Leo was more likely to come out on top. But gymnastics? It was anybody's guess, and they flip-flopped from first to second just about every other event. For just a moment, Leo caught his twin's eye-- coz he knew he was thinking the exact same thing right now.

Coz he knew they both wanted to win.

Coz they both wanted to rub it in the other's face.

(Of course, they both also knew that the only reason they got to have this little song-and-dance to begin with was because Mikey was still in the age bracket below them. Wouldn't everyone be just so delighted to finally see the Hamato Twins usurped in the coming season... By another Hamato.)

“And Raph has work… Ugh! Y’all are too damn busy!” April huffed, leaning her head back and wrinkling up her nose.

“I’ve got a little bit of time.” Mikey chimed in, leaning over just enough to offer April a grin. “I don’t gotta be at dance until four. I was gonna go work on that mural I’ve got going up north. Wanna come?”

“Beats sitting at home doing homework.” April reasoned, giving a shrug. “I’m in!”

“Shweet!”

Leo smiled a tiny bit. Though he did, in fact, have complete confidence in his little brother’s ability to traverse the city safely, it was still kind of nice to know he’d be with someone else. If, for no other reason, then to know that Raph would now worry about Mikey at least 80% less during the coming evening.

“Alright,” Speaking of worrisome older brothers, Raph began his typical pre-school speech as they approached the front entrance. “No one be late. No one skip class.” Who, him? What was that pointed look for? He would never… Get caught more than once in a week. “And no one get in any trouble. Don’t do anything Raph wouldn’t do.”

“Yes sir!” The four of them barked in reply as they approached the entrance of their high school. Mostly, they were all just making fun of him. But Leo figured humoring him wouldn’t hurt, especially if it helped him chill a little bit. Raph had always taken his role as “the biggest brother” pretty seriously, ever since they were really little, though Leo wasn’t exactly sure why. He was always the one in charge whenever their dad wasn’t around, and Leo suspected he had a hard time ever completely dropping that mindset.

I mean, don’t get him wrong, Raph was just as capable of fucking around, goofing off, and getting into shit as the rest of them, for sure, he just sometimes wished he could… Relax a little. It wasn’t like anything bad was gonna happen, but Raph always kind of just had this air to him like he was expecting enemies to leap out from behind the corner and attack them at any moment. Like he always had to protect them all. Which Leo could get, sure, but, like… Wouldn’t it be kind of cool if someone did try to start some shit with them or something, just so that they could see the look on their face when they totally kicked their ass? Leo could only imagine it’d be pretty hilarious.

The five of them went their separate ways, parting with various promises to see each other at lunch, after school, at home, etc. April and Raph went one way, Mikey went another, and Leo and Donnie split off in a different direction still, heading towards the East Wing.

And as they cleared the corner, Leo whipped around to face Donnie, stabbing them in the side with a spare elbow. “Last one to homeroom gets second place at gymnastics tomorrow!” He declared, immediately taking off down the hall.

“Wha— Leo! This is unfair, I’m wearing platforms! You know I’m wearing platforms!” Donnie shrieked in protest, even as he broke into a run behind him.

Leo whooped in reply, throwing himself over the railing of the nearest staircase, knowing his twin brother was right on his tail.

-----

“Come on! Harder!!! SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT!” Raphael roared, pumping a fist in the air. “LET’S GO! GIVE IT TO ME!”

The gaggle of six-year-olds in the water in front of him, all clinging to the pool wall, giggled loudly in response to his over-the-top encouragement, kicking their legs even harder in a flurry of limbs and dousing him in chlorinated water.

“Whoa, whoa, okay! You gave it to me! I surrender!” Raph chuckled, holding his hands up to shield himself. “Alright, alright. Good job, team! You did great today. Okay, let’s wrap up—“

“Raph! RAPH!”

“What?”

“Raph, we gotta do the ferry!” Penelope, the loudest of his students, insisted, her face all screwed up with determination. The other four children nodded along fervently. “We can’t get out until we do ferry!”

“Oh, RIGHT. Ferry. Sorry, Raph almost forgot!” He chuckled, thunking his own forehead with the butt of his palm, feigning forgetfulness, as if he hadn’t always intended to do their usual wrap-up game. Class ended with a game of “Ferry” every time, without fail, especially given that he touted it as the ‘reward’ that they had to work for each week by following directions and working hard. He shifted slightly in the water, turning his back on the kids still clinging to the wall. “Okay— hop aboard”

The five elementary schoolers squealed in delight, launching themselves off the pool wall to clamber over the teenager instead, climbing over his broad shoulders and hanging off of his arms. Raph gave a soft little ‘oof,’ at the impact, though it was mostly for show, snorting softly in amusement as Penelope all but climbed on top of his head. Reminded him of Mikey.

“Okay— GO!” She shouted once she was sure all her cohorts were fully boarded, the whole group buzzing with excitement despite the fact that they did this every week. Raph gave a soft hum of acknowledgment, slowly setting off on their lap around the pool. In the shallower end, where they started, he didn’t even really have to swim at all— He could just walk with his body lowered enough in the water to give the illusion of swimming. Or, more precisely, the illusion of ‘ferrying.’

“Welcome everybody to Penelope’s Ferry Ride. I’m Penelope, the tour girl. Over there’s the Empire State Building.” Penelope narrated happily from her perch, gesturing to the bleachers. “And over there is the Statue of Liberty.” The pool noodles. “And over there’s the Milky Way. And that’s the, uhhh, the Big Bridge…”

“Wait, how long’s this ferry ride? Raph didn’t sign up for no world tour!” Raph protested teasingly, to which Penelope sharply shushed him before continuing her narration. The other children bubbled with laughter at her increasingly ridiculous tourist attractions and descriptions. Reminded him of Leo and Donnie.

Raph chuckled softly to himself as he moved into the deeper end of the pool, transitioning into an easy breaststroke to keep them all afloat on their way. It was, admittedly, a bit more difficult to swim with five kids on his back than it was on his own, but Raph was a strong swimmer. This was no problem. Besides, it’s not like he was in a rush or anything.

Honestly? This was his favorite part of these lessons. No worrying about everyone paying attention or being involved. No worries about anyone wandering off when he had them all on top of him and undoubtedly accounted for. No stressing about remembering the lesson plan or rules… He could just swim. He knew it sounded dumb, but sometimes, with all the kids piled on top of him like this, he felt like some sort of big plodding swamp creature, floating lazily down the river with the world on his back.

He took his time about it, but he eventually made his full lap around the pool, coming to a stop by the stairs and gently chasing the kids off of his shoulders.

“Alright, come on, squirts. Ferry ride’s over.”

“Nooo!” Penelope whined, clinging to his head. “One more lap! PLEASEEE!”

“Hey, come on, you know the rules! If you don’t listen to Raph, you don’t get a ferry ride next week!” He warned, slowly peeling her off of his back. “Go on. Get outta here.” He insisted, though fondly, smiling a bit as she huffed and scowled… But she got out anyway, joining the rest of the kids running to their parents, all with towels in waiting arms, listening to the children excitedly chatter about what they learned today.

Raph smiled just the tiniest bit. He remembered when they had been that small, taking swim classes here. He, Donnie, and Leo had all been thrilled to take to the water, adoring each and every lesson.

They all loved it— Except Mikey. He recalled listening to his littlest brother scream bloody murder as their father attempted to coax him into the water, trying everything from reason to bribes to threats of consequences.

“You don’t need to like to swim, Michelangelo. But you need to be able to.” He remembered his father saying. “I need to be sure you will be safe if you ever end up in the water by yourself.”

If anyone asked, he’d tell ‘em that he took the job just to make some extra pocket money. But, at least a little bit, that was kinda why. He liked the idea of helping to keep people safe. Even if it was just teaching kids how to doggy paddle.

Doing all the small talk at the end of the lessons with the parents was definitely his least favorite part, however, and he always found himself kind of stammering and stuttering his way through it. After some short, “Oh, yeah, she’s doin’ great!” and “For sure, perfect behavior’s!” tossed at some parents, he was, thankfully, able to duck away into the office, his own towel flung over his shoulders to try to avoid tracking water everywhere.

“All done?” The office receptionist, Jessica, chirped in her usual friendly demeanor, glancing over at the other as he entered.

“Just about. I just gotta clean up as soon as the kids are all gone and we’ll be done.” He replied, ruffling his hair dry.

“Did you remind the parents that we’re closed next week?”

Raph froze.

“… Uhhhh…”

Jessica sighed a bit, glancing over her shoulder to give him a look. “I reminded you before the lesson started!”

“I know! I just— Raph forgot, okay? I can only hold so much stuff in my brain at one time before stuff just starts to fall out! I was thinkin’ about swimming stuff!” He defended. “‘Sides, it was your job to remind me to remind them! So obviously we both dropped the ball.” Jessica didn’t look quite convinced, but Raph was pretty sure his logic was solid. “Can’t we just, like, put up some flyers and send out an email and all that junk?”

Rolling her eyes, Jessica turned back to her computer and began to type. “Yeah, yeah… Can’t really do flyers, but I’m working on that email.”

“Why not? Just put a sign up on the door.”

Jessica looked over at him again, raising a brow. “You haven’t heard about the paper shortage?”

Raph blinked slowly.

“… The what.”

“Yeah! It’s a whole thing. I dunno, I guess there are, like… Paper thieves or whatever robbing all the paper stores and stuff in the city? We haven’t been able to get any new orders in for a few weeks now.” She explained.

“Paper thieves?” He echoed, incredulous. “And they... steal paper.”

“Yeah. They steal paper.”

“Who the heck steals paper?”

“I dunno! I just saw it on the news.” Jessica shrugged. “I guess the police are working on it or whatever.”

“I guess.” Raph said, shrugging a bit, though he still couldn’t help but find the whole thing a bit amusing. I mean, come on. Paper thieves? It was only paper. -------

"Dadddd!" Mikey called as he swung his way into the door, kicking his shoes off into the general direction of the pile where shoes were typically kept, tossing his duffle bag to the side. He'd come back for it later and put it away, he swears. "I'M HOMMMEEE!"

It had been a long day, in between school, painting, and dance practice, so it was almost nine by the time he got home, but he didn't really mind. He liked being busy! If he didn't have stuff to do, it was just, like, all the energy would build up and up and up in all his limbs and his body and his chest like something sticky and hot about to boil over, condensation gathering at the top of his skull, and then he just went kinda crazy. That makes sense, right? He was pretty sure his brothers were kinda like that, too, so he figured it was probably mostly normal. He sometimes wondered if that was why their dad let them sign up for so many after-school activities. The only downside was the limited time leftover to tackle homework and personal projects. Walls weren’t just gonna paint themselves, after all!

"What's for dinner?" He shouted across the house, shucking his backup off and beginning to unpack, collecting his various textbooks and notepads.

"Oh, since you were not home, Michelangelo, I have had no choice but to cook for our family--"

"Dad."

"But do not worry, my son, I am making the most delicious meal--"

"Dad."

"Boiled liver and onions! You boys' favorite! With chopped earthworms, yum yum yum!"

"DAD! You're not funny!" Mikey yelled, even though there was laughter in his voice. Their dad did this bit every time, and he hated how it was always kinda funny.

"Pizza is on the table." His father called back, and Mikey let out an excited cheer.

"YEAH BABY! That's what I was hoping you'd say!" He shouted, hopping up to his feet and beelining it to the kitchen. His brothers had clearly already done a round, based on the empty boxes and missing slices, but he knew they wouldn't dare leave him without his fair share. That's youngest child privilege. They knew damn well that he’d cry at them.

"How was school today, my son?" Dad always asked about school first and everything else second, every time.

"Id'was gooh'." Mikey mumbled, in between the pizza slice already hanging out of his mouth, piling several more slices onto his plate. "We're readin' th' O'ssey--"

"Orange, I cannot understand anything you are saying."

Mikey spit the half-chewed pizza slice back out onto the plate, which earned a really fun look from Dad, and he grinned.

"Sorry! We're reading the Odyssey in English class, which is fine, I guess, but it's kinda a lot to get through, so we're translating it to, like, real human words, annnndddd we gotta do a group project presentation thing, and I like all the people in the group project but you KNOOWWW how group projects are." He reported, rapid-fire, giving a dramatic sigh. "Oh! And I got my Algebra test back and I got! A seventy-nine!"

"Oh! Very good, Mikey. I am glad your studying paid off." His father replied with a small smile, and Mikey beamed. "And how was dance?"

"Awesome! I killed it, as per use'." Mikey said proudly, puffing out his chest a bit. "Miss Vega said that I just gotta tighten up my turns and I'll be all ready to destroy the competition next weekend!"

"Excellent. Good job, Orange." His dad said with a chuckle, patting Mikey's shoulder before making his way back into the living room, no doubt to reunite his butt with his beloved reclining chair and put on some TV series that no one else in the family appreciated. Mikey grabbed three more slices of pizza while his dad’s back was turned, and then scampered off, heading deeper into the apartment.

Considering they lived in New York City, they lived in a pretty spacious abode. Mikey couldn't remember a time in his life when there wasn't lots of room to stretch out and run and jump around. He remembered, back when he was really little, some of the hallways being big and long enough to even echo-- though he sometimes wondered if that had just been his imagination. Some of the stuff they would make up back then was pretty wild. Their dad had bought this big old brownstone apartment way back when they moved into Brooklyn, buying up the entire building so that they had all four floors, plus the basement, to themselves. Mikey recalled, vaguely, all the renovations that had gone into it when they first moved to New York, adjusting the fixer-upper into something where four very active children could be raised without feeling cramped. The building was tall and skinny, slotted neatly in with the rest of the city, and Mikey had always loved that. This meant it they had the perfect hallways for running back and forth through, and there was a surplus of staircases for him to slide down or jump over. The hardwood floors were perfect for both Tokyo Drifting and dance practice. They each had gotten their own rooms as they grew as well, with himself and Raph on the second floor, Leo and Donnie on the third, and their father taking the master bedroom on the ground level.

But the best bit was the basement. Lovingly dubbed "The Lair," their dad had designated it the hub for childhood shenanigans, (and now, teenage activity,) from the get-go, all but sacrificing the space to his sons from the moment they moved in. The house was technically his, sure, but the basement was theirs, like, for real for real. Arcade games and consoles lived down here, hooked up to the big TV on the wall and surrounded by beat-up beanbags. Raph's weight-lifting equipment was in that corner there, and Donnie's bigger, more mechanical projects were over there by the stairs, (with the yellow tape and the "do not touch" signs.") This big wide open space here with the mirrors on the walls and the punching bags mounted on the ceiling was perfect for both martial arts, acrobatics, and dance practice, depending on which kind of matting they laid out. And, best of all, the Lair was the one place in the house where their dad had reluctantly conceded that, yes, Mikey. You may paint on the walls.

The Lair was typically the best bet for finding any of his brothers, especially if they weren’t holed up in their rooms, and Mikey did think about heading down there, too… But, as very tempting as it was to hang out with brothers first and do math worksheets later was, he was pretty sure he could get through his homework in, like, thirty minutes, tops, and just get it all out of the way. Plus, this way, he didn't have to worry about anyone else making any grabs for his dinner.

With this in mind, he tromped his way up the stairs, nudging his sticker-adorned door open and dumping all his stuff on his desk, immediately shoving the previously-abandoned pizza slice back into his mouth again. He flipped open his textbooks, switched his speakers on to fill the space with some chill lofi beats to study to, and nudged his desk lamp awake as he settled in to get to work.

His workload had been pretty light recently, with way fewer teachers than usual handing out paper worksheets and questionnaires to bring home, so it didn't take him very long to get through all the assignments and readings. (Also, lowkey, it was times like these that he was, like, wow. Thank god for Adderall.) He was nearly done with the last of his work when he suddenly paused.

Dang. Artistic inspiration was truly a cruel but wondrous mistress. Okay, homework later. He scrambled for his phone, rewinding the song playing over the speakers. Ooh, yeah, okay-- That bass? Oh, hell yeah, this was really good! He could absolutely see the movement in his mind's eye-- he could picture the way the color swooped along with the beat and brightened along with the melody. Oh-- and what if he added some black outlines? What was the title of this song again...? Maybe he should look up the artist. He wondered if this would be better as a direct homage to the artist, (maybe the title up on a wall, in big curved block letters, yellows popping along the edges to pull it into the foreground, and that red in the center to sink it in--) or if this should be a more narrative piece. It made him think of that one movie that they watched two weekends ago-- with the spy and the watering can factory?! And this one line, about the lightning, he could just see the way he could paint a figure to answer that directly. Was it too ambitious to do a zig-zag line of action? Oh, but if he had the leg out like that...

He flipped the page of his notebook, his pencil skritching feverishly on the sheet as he moved to put these thumbnails into reality while they were still ticking through his mind in a slideshow. He paused only to command Spotify to play the song on repeat, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth and his eyes narrowed. Ohmigosh, yes! This would be perfect. He couldn't believe he had never thought of this before. This song had been on his playlist for how long? He had just kind of been spacing out until now, but suddenly, he was so excited about this project.

And it would be the perfect excuse to use those metallic spray paints he's been hoarding! He practically vibrated with excitement, thumbing the paper with a grin. Oh, that would look amazing. Just a bold streak of shimmery color, bursting out from the composition, like an explosion, he could see it so clearly--

Half a thought later, the spiral-bound notebook in front of him burst into flames.

[ next ]

#sorrywhatnowau #fidgetwing #tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt human au #human turtles #fanfic #tmnt fanart #tmnt fanfic #tmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fanfiction #if anyone wants to beta read for me be my guest lol #guess r/n i gotta nobody on that which is probs not #the best play lmao #sorrywhatnowfic #long post

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fairy-writes · 7 months

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Hiii! I'm a fan of MTP and i haven't seen many William fanfiction :')

The things is mother is being such a pain right now, i have my period today and it's painful, i got a headache and my mother is painfully hard to deal with today she even brought out my insecurity and insulting me with it. Aight.

So i was thinking... How is William and Louis if they're little sister is insulted, y'know when they are still a child, cause i feel like it's easy to get insulted when they are still nobody, or even from the 'family'. If you can, please make this a oneshot, but i'll leave the decisions to you ;)

Thank you so much, i hope this is not a burden

And have a good day! <3

PROTECTING THE WEAK

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Reader

Louis James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 0.6k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS (don’t make this weird ya sickos)

Notes: I’m so sorry this took so long to get out and that your mum was being a pain, hon! If you need to talk, I’m here! This goes out to all my followers. My DMs are always open for talking and chatting!

The ages of everyone are as follows:

William: 11 (I tried to keep name usage for this boy to a minimum since we still don’t know his real name.)

Louis: 10

Reader: 8

TW for Lady Moriarty’s abusive behavior

__________________________________________________________________________

Your brothers have always been… protective ever since you were young. Well… younger. Especially ever since you began to live with the Moriarty’s, they had taken to keeping you out of nearly everything they could. You knew it was to keep you safe, so you allowed it.

Most of the time.

But things don’t always go to plan.

Louis finds you wiping teary eyes in your shared bedroom and drops the laundry he had in his arms.

“What happened?” He demands, and you sniffle, scrubbing the tears away stubbornly.

“‘S nothin’.” You mumble; your “improper way of speaking,” as Lady Moriarty put it, betrays how you really feel.

Inwardly, you curse yourself and try again.

“I’m fine, Louis.” He helps you up from where you had been curled up on the bed that you shared with him. After all, Lady Moriarty refused to allow you a third bed for the tiny room in which you shared with your two brothers.

“Clearly not. What happened? Do I need to get—”

“No!” You exclaim, cutting him off before he can say your eldest brother’s name.

You didn’t want to worry him—no more than you had already bothered Louis with your crying.

Louis said your name quietly, eyes wide and imploring, as he pleaded with you to tell him what had happened.

“Lady Moriarty just said some mean things, is all.” You finally say and feel Louis grit his teeth where he had leaned his head on yours. He and your eldest brother were taller than you, but it wasn’t that big of a surprise. You were only eight years old, while they were ten and eleven, respectively. But you had always been small.

It was one of the things Lady Moriarty hated about you.

Well… she hated everything. But today, she had decided to pick on how small and weak you were.

“You’d be better off dead in a ditch somewhere!” She had shrieked when you had been caught sneaking tarts from the kitchens. You had been hungry, is all!

“Did she touch you?” Louis asked, and you shook your head.

“She doesn’t want my “peasant filth” on her clothes.” You mumbled, and it was then that you heard another voice.

“You ought to have touched her then.” Comes the voice of your eldest brother. You whirl out of Louis’s hug and turn to see him standing in the doorway. His ruby red eyes are ablaze with anger, his bony fingers clenched into fists.

You watch him as if expecting him to direct his anger onto you.

But that was a silly thought.

Your lower lip wobbled as he took three steps into the room and gathered you in a tight hug. It wasn’t often he hugged you, preferring to help you rather than show physical affection. But you knew that he knew that you needed a hug, and he was more than willing to give it to you.

#louis james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty x reader #moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #ynm x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #william james moriarty #louis james moriarty #fairy writes

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yuurei20 · 1 month

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Hello! First of all I wanted to say a big big thank you for all the translations you do and the work you put into your posts! ^^ you're a real life saver when it comes to twst lore and I'm so glad we have someone like you in the fandom! I have to say my favorite thing so far is your translations of the novel and the differences between it and the game. I wanted to ask, in your post about manga vs game vs novel (vol.3), you mentioned that in chapter 1-19 of the novel, unlike the game, Crowley walks in after Yuuya has a slight mental breakdown for not standing up for Ace when Riddle scolded him for bringing the chestnut tart, which results in yuuya apologizing and them talking out their feelings. If it's not too much bother, would it be possible for you to translate the conversation Yuuya and Ace have in this scene? The moment I read that I was really curious on what they might have said to each other and what Ace thinks about yuuya crying their heart out to him after misinterpreting what he said ^^" I understand if not! Thank you once again!!

Hello hello!! I am so sorry for taking so long to get to this ask m(_ _)m And thank you so much for the kind words, I really appreciate it! You are very much too kind ♡♡♡

Yes yes, there is a lot of drama between Yuuya and Ace in the first novel--here is a small compilation of the scenes where we see their relationship evolve!

1: Meeting Ace Ace is ruder in the novel than the game, fulfilling Yuuya's every fear about interacting with other people.

2: Ace Almost Apologizes Unlike in the game, Ace comes close to apologizing for how he treated the prefect after realizing the situation he is in.

3: Ace Apologizes Also unlike in the game, Ace explains why he was so rude to the prefect from day one and apologizes, even telling him to call him "Ace" instead of "Ace-kun."

4: Yuuya and Ace Yuuya struggles with students in the cafeteria staring at and whispering about him, so Ace steps up.

5: Ace Asks for Help Ace is awkward about asking Yuuya for moral support, so Deuce goads him into it

6: Yuuya Fails Yuuya finally has a chance to help Ace in the way that Ace has helped him, but freezes in the moment: he is the only one of the group who does not take Ace's side against Riddle.

7: Yuuya's Guilt Yuuya feels terrible for failing Ace, but despite Ace asking outright, he cannot bring himself to say what's wrong.

8: Yuuya Apologizes After Ace tears into Trey for failing Riddle, Yuuya finds the strength to apologize.

9: Stubborn Ace calls Yuuya stubborn, baffling Yuuya, and Deuce calls Ace out for being just as contrary as Yuuya himself.

#twstask #twstnovel #twisted wonderland

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

Text

Even Educated Fleas Do It

A Sarge & lil Mama episode (wedding night)

Warnings 18+ -smut! breeding kink, innocence kink, cream pies, unfortunately historically accurate portrayal of female naïveté regarding sexual acts, male entitlement to female bodies, copious dirty talk, virginity loss. This is mostly fluffy and tender and sweet with a few VERY rabid moments and feral sentences. 20k of smut and it’s surrounding auras…I have a headcanon that Baby Elvis resorts to being a bit of an ass in order to maintain his slipping control, whereas a more mature era of the man he only chooses to be a bastard out of the fun of it

Credits: my supreme thanks to the indefatigable @prompted-wordsmith for editing this mammoth and her few choice additions of sentences, and also to my discord wives: Christi, Ally and Birdy who cheered me on and really made this happen with their feedback, suggestions and enthusiasm. Lastly, to all my darling readers who’s hype for this has carried me through and now we are all saddled with this monstrosity. Y’all are the best, I live off your comments and love. Xoxo, Marina 🌹

Elaine’s fingers glide admiringly against richly black, quartz marble countertops, glinting back at her almost as brightly as the gold mirror and the gold faucets and gold tub–everything is golden up here in the master bathroom. Even the sink is gold plated, she realizes with a giggle, and stares at her reflection in the basin, flushed face and curls hanging about her features as she looks downward, distracted by the opulence and the shininess and the ability to finally breathe. An endeavor which would be aided if she obeyed her new husband—heavens to Betsy, she has a husband!—and took off her wedding gown and girdle.

She chose a simple dress to be married in, long and slender, the style and measurements entrusted to the Smith cousins and delivered by them with remarkable effect. Demure yet elegant, she felt it was a nod to the silhouette of the future, prom crinolines and ball gowns abandoned for a more streamlined effect that set off her waist to perfection, or so her wedding guests told her. And for tonight’s purposes, it had a handy zipper down the back of it that she now tugged loose to her immense relief.

It was a little puzzling, the way Elvis had torn her away from Dodger’s admonishments and hurried her upstairs to sleep, only to then shoo her into the bathroom to undress herself. Some silly part of her thought he might kiss her when they arrived up there alone, maybe dance a little, maybe help with the zipper. But he had looked very feverish and a little scared when he told her she was looking worn out, and then ushered her upstairs as the whole house party fell dead silent below them in their wake. Funny, the whole thing had felt a little funny, and they’d been having such a nice little party after the vows, daddy had been a little weepy and Elvis had looked so handsome and she had to pinch herself a dozen times that this event she’d planned was her wedding.

Her wedding—it didn’t feel real. Not without mama here, she realized, that was the missing part to it all. Mama. Hers, and his. They were both missing them. She worked at the brassiere clasps and stifled the little cry she felt coming up her throat, memories flooding in of the first time she saw Graceland.

Elvis had tore down to the studio in his fancy car, begging any and everyone to see the place he bought for his family. Father had been too busy with Cash but mama was not. So, she and Elaine had piled into his pink Cadillac and let that happy puppy of a boy whisk them away to a world of antebellum dreaminess for the afternoon. Gold, there had been so much gold even then, and Mama had ribbed the boy mercilessly about his decor choices as only Mrs. Phipps could get away with,

“Elvis dear, it looks like a tart’s bedroom up here,” she had teased him in the master where Elaine’s groom was now waiting for her daughter to make an appearance.

He had turned bright red before dissolving into hiccuping laughs that her mama had joined. He hasn’t changed the decor, gaudy chandelier hanging above a gold damask bedspread, gilt mirrors everywhere on the walls with black padded headboards and doors. It was… unique, and a little ominous if she was being honest, although maybe that had been her nerves over him rushing her up here so fast, so…urgently.

“June’s gonna love it, E!” Elaine recalls gushing to him on that first house tour, entirely unsure if June would indeed love it, but certain that anyone would be honored to be mistress of such a place, though that honor had then been firmly Miss Gladys’s right at the time.

Now it’s all hers.

Elaine swallows hard and rubs at the angry red lines on her belly and breasts that show in the mirror from her girdle, thinking of the weight of that. Thinking of how she had been wrong. This—kingdom—wasn’t for June, this had been for her.

Elaine pulls on the silky, shimmery slip he had given her the money to treat herself to, watching it as it spills over her curves and drapes her kindly. The soft baby blue color makes her skin look tan even in the wintertime and her eyes shimmer dark and smokey in the dimmed vanity lights. It takes her aback a little, the prettiness of the picture she sees in the mirror, hair freshly loosened from its pins and looking like it does when he’s had his hands in it. The kiss-nipped red of her lips is no cosmetic allusion, he’d devoured her lipstick right off a few minutes into married life, clutching her to him in the foyer, acting like hiding by the front door made them discreet.

She touches their puffy vibrancy with a small smile, thinking of him, thinking of being loved. Thinking of mansions and gold sinks and graves dug, thinking of the boy outside the door who did far more than fall in love with her. He provided, and he did it with intent. A great deal of intent. Her heart does a flip at that.

It gives her the bravery to fluff herself in the slip and ignore the nervous tremble threatening to keep her holed up in here, her skimpy attire making her blush for reasons she doesn’t know. Such silliness. She looks pretty, and she is loved. She sets her shoulders back and turns the knob.

Elvis has been pacing a furrow in the plush carpet of his bedroom and berating himself for many things, chiefly having shooed his wife away into the bathroom the first private moment they’d had together.

He is an idiot, he concludes, a prize idiot.

He should have trapped her against the door and kissed the daylights outta her, maybe laid her out all romantically on the bed and caressed her like the movies taught her to expect. At least helped undo the damn zipper. But no, no he panicked, and trying to be a good man, he had sent her into the bathroom alone to strip while he talked his heart and cock into some semblance of restraint. He tears at his hair and tosses his suit jacket on the chair and tries to think of what he’s gonna do, how he’s gonna manage this. He had come across Dodger and Elaine in a tête-à-tête and heard the words from his Grandma:

“Make sure that boy licks ya nice and good ‘fore he tries to stick his pecker in—”

and had proceeded to panic and grab his new bride and hustle her upstairs for “sleep”. He’d caught Mr. Phipps’s pleading eyes on the way up and now he felt like a first team all American pervert. Gone was the sweet, comforting weight of the wedding vows, the religious aura the day had carried with it. Replacing that was a deep seated shame for how often he’d wanked to the thought of this night and all it entails.

In his dreams it had been fun to shock the girl by bending her over and putting it in, watching her eyes go wide and her struggle under him to adjust, but that was before he loved Elaine, he thinks. Now he tears at his hair, paces his bedroom eyeing the bathroom door like it’ll open and release a lion, and wonders how he’s gonna cherish her like he should, when his wants and his adoration keep vying for the upper hand. She boils his blood, shoots lightening up his spine and keeps him stiff at all times, and simultaneously, he is warm pudding when she smiles, and bluer than robin’s eggs when she’s sad.

The weight of getting all he ever wanted, the weight of actually having married himself off, the weight of mama’s hope coming true and her buried right under the window—he feels a little unhinged by it all, and he starts mumbling out incoherent prayers for guidance and self control and a capacity to not fuck up Elaine Presley’s first time. Because that’s just it: she’s Elaine Presley now, and he has a duty to the woman he married ‘afore God to make it good, t-to…

The bathroom door opens and the shimmering vision of Elaine and her feminine assets clad in nothing but a silk slip stops him dead in his tracks, his mouth liable to catch flies it gapes so at her beauty. She looks poised even jiggling and nipple perked in a light drape of silk, and he inwardly curses when her initial confidence seems to flag upon noticing the state he’s in.

Fully dressed with just his suit jacket discarded and here she is near naked—it’s not kind, he knows that, and curses again at his self absorption.

He looks like he’s gone a little mad, she thinks, and she can tell he’s been tearing at his hair in that fidgety way of his when he’s working himself up to a frenzy. It won’t do him good, she knows him, knows he’ll start hyperventilating and that always panics him.

It’s this urge to calm him that has her forgetting her bashfulness and crossing the floor to embrace him, his warm and clothed body pressed against hers in a hug he returns fervently.

“Ya look like an angel,” he rasps his praise in her ear and she is so pleased by that, and by the look of awed admiration on his face that makes her forget to blush, too pleased to be coy.

“Do ya have a new bird, Elvis?” she asks him, trying to distract him from whatever it is that has him so anxious she can near feel him vibrating against her.

“Uh, umm, a bird?” he is truly thrown by that and more than a little distracted by the feel of slippery silk curves molding to him in his arms.

“Dodger was saying—”

Dodger was talking about “peckers” he recalls, and is fast to cut her off in a great rush,

“No, no uh, I haven’t got no bird—sides you,” he jokes weakly and fails to add more, just staring down at Elaine in his arms, Elaine who stares back, her expression curious and amused and maybe a tad unsure.

Of course she’s unsure, you fool, he berates himself after finding his way back to steady thought. God, he should… do something.

“Elvis,” she pipes up and her voice is small but hopeful, “can I help you get comfortable?” and she thumbs at the ruffles of his dress shirt.

He feels his flush paint his neck and his body feels like it’s alight, but it’s perfectly reasonable for her to ask. It’s just that he knows her sweet confidence stems from her not even knowing enough to be bashful, and that’s… heady.

“Yeah,” he croaks and squeezes her to him once more before letting her set work to undoing the ruffled shirt he wore, sans tie.

She’s methodical and steady undoing the shirt, even as she flicks those lined eyes up at him, desperate for his assuring little nods and pleased smiles. He takes to stroking her cheek, running his knuckles across the high bones there and over her bitten lips, she kisses them with each pass.

Last button undone she spreads the fabric apart and places her hands on his chest, a wild delight showing on her face as she runs her hands across his pecs and collar bones, down to his belly, swooping up and down his arms, taking the shirt with it.

It falls to the ground and yet her hands continue to glide across his fevered skin entranced by the warmth and the contours. She’s wanted to feel his heartbeat for a long while now. Watching that tattle tale vein in his neck thump was the closest thing she could content herself with all these months. Her hands drift to his neck and sure enough, it’s thumping like a race horse at a gallop.

She excites him. That thought makes her eyes flick down to his trousers, recalling that strange spurt against her backside on the swing. He’d called that excitement, too.

She moves to open the button of his slacks and his belly sucks in with the breath he holds, she can feel it against her knuckles as she undoes it. She rubs her knuckles soothingly against the fine trail of hair disappearing into his waistband, it makes him shudder instead.

So far, everything on display she has seen before at the pool with him, but more, the prospect of more makes her heart speed up and her curious mind whirl. She’s a little preoccupied with all this as she starts to push the pants over his hips and while he doesn’t prevent her, his motion is a bit jerky when he clasps his hands around her jaw and tilts her eyes away from his hips and the curious bulge there, up to his face.

She hears his belt and the fabric thud to the floor just as his lips descend to meet hers, and then she grows distracted by the kiss he melts her with.

“Hey you,” he whispers hot and breathy against her lips, pillowy plushness rubbing together, kiss-slick and scorching.

And he’s right, it feels like finally seeing each other for the first time today. They’ve a decent rapport together when surrounded by friends and acquaintances, a very seamless dance of social politeness and steadying closeness. But nothing compares to the way they sizzle and melt when it’s just the two of them, like their inner selves are finally allowed to make a showing on their faces in the form of dazed smiles and in the slump of their shoulders, the bellies no longer held in nor the sighs longing to spill out.

“Oh, Elvis,” she manages to gasp, grinning and huffing at the proximity, the way her nipples rub against his chest from the crush of his embrace, just a silken layer between them, and it sends electric static down to her very toes.

“Ya happy?” he dares to ask because she is grinning so silly and sweet right there in his arms.

“Terribly happy!” she doesn’t bother with aloofness, her hands kneading his shoulders and he breathes again, recalling that this is Elaine, sweet Elaine who has gentled him back into the land of the living these last few weeks by simply knowing and caring for him, and while it’s a terrifying responsibility to do right by her—it’s also the best thing to ever happen to him. Elaine, here, in his arms, in his room, as his wife.

“Just ya wait till I get some champagne in ya,” he teases, waggling her chin in his hand and she looks surprised and a little excited by that.

“Elvis I-I’m too young,” she whispers, a guilty and hopeful little thing that suggests she is very amenable to champagne.

“You naughty lil thing, I see that hopeful glimmer in’ya eye,” he clicks his tongue and she giggles, “It’s lawful if your husband pours it for ya.”

“Is that so?” she bites her lip and her eyes twinkle up at him, falling easily into the banter, “Then I’d like to try it—since it’s lawful and all.”

“Mhmm, champagne, an’ a record, that’ll set us up jus’ right, I think.” He’s nearly buzzing himself, feels a little drunk even though there’s not a drop of alcohol in him.

“Don’t want ya to have to go down to the kitchen and leave me, though,” she admits, a little shy. His gut clenches at the confession, the way her lashes dip and fan over her cheekbones. He’d get beat by his mama if’n she knew of the unholy thoughts the pout of her lips made him think. He reels himself back to the present with a persistence that few things in his life made him exercise. For Elaine, his patience was boundless, because she doesn’t wanna be alone, or, rather, she wants to be alone with him. The simple acknowledgement sends his heart racing in hope that he’s managing to do something right, enough that she can’t bear for him to even pop down to the kitchen for a minute.

“Guess what, sugar?” he grins while fluffing her hair away from her face and she perks up, that mouth lifting inquiringly, “I got a refrigerator in the closet.”

“No!”

“Yup.” Elvis’ boyish grin grows until it’s a dazzling, proud smile and he begins to back up, she goes with, still clinging to his arms and giggling in excitement as he backs them into the gargantuan changing room.

“Where?” she cranes her neck this way and that, soon spinning in his arms as she tries to spy a refrigerator amongst the rows and rows of custom suits and well stocked shelving.

He holds up his finger for her attention, and gathering all his showmanship, backs away from her until he reaches the built-in cabinets and with a dramatic flourish flings open the wooden door to reveal his mini Frigader.

“No. Way,” she enunciates dramatically as her pretty mouth hangs open in delight and his own heart clenches and-

-God! Elaine! I can give you so much, he thinks, hang in there with me, I can give so much, I'll make ya fall in love.

He throws her a wink before bending over and retrieving the planted bottle and chilled glasses from inside. The fact he’s bent over double in just his briefs only registering when he’s already got his head half in the refrigerator, and her burning stare threatens to light his ass on fire. He straightens up and spins round to present her with his ribbon adorned findings, noticing her blush scarlet and flick her eyes back to his face.

-My, my, Miss Elaine, what a curious little mind you have.

He kicks the fridge closed and closes the distance between them again, handing her the glasses while taking her other hand in his and leading her back into the dimly lit bedroom. She sets the glasses on the sideboard top and goes to put the needle down on the record after he tells her “Ella’s already on there”, while he smoothes down the profusion of crinkle ribbon around the bottle neck in preparation to open it.

Elaine adjusts the needle and gets the record going and soon Ella Fitzgerald croons warmly:

-Birds do it, bees do it

She turns back around and watches as Elvis begins to gnaw on the champagne cork with his million watt, pearly white money-making teeth.

“What on earth are you doin’?” she protests, hurrying back to him. He’s like a rabbit with the thing, she thinks humorously.

-Even educated fleas do it,

He pulls the spit slicked cork away from his mouth to explain in a loathing huff, “Forgot to bring an opener up here.” And he doesn’t want to leave his baby, goes unsaid, doesn’t wanna leave her since she said she didn’t want him to leave.

-So let’s do it, let’s fall in love

Elaine’s lip wobbles into a fond smirk even as she tries to maintain some sternness, “You’ll break a tooth, E!” she warns even as her heart throbs at the sweetness of it.

“Nah, nah I’ll get it, my baby wanted champagne n’ she’s gonna have it,” he insists as she makes aborted little movements with her hands to try to aid him but is unsure of what to do or hold. “Here, hold the end, I’m gonna try’n pull it out, probably gonna gush so, be ready.”

And so Elaine finds herself in a laughing fit, holding onto the bulbous bottom of a champagne bottle as Elvis Presley himself buries his nose in the thatch of ribbons and gnaws the cork loose, like a dog with a bone, yanking this way and that while growling playfully around it.

“This is the silliest thing—” she wheezes even as his jaw’s yanking motion makes her feet slip closer, her light weight losing ground in this tug-o-war until suddenly there’s a pop and down he goes, flat on his ass, cork in mouth, champagne showering him from above.

He’s curled in on himself at her feet, all long tan limbs contorted and white briefs quickly becoming transparent, crunched in half from the force of his laughter and partly to shield his eyes from the alcohol rain. She watches in a bit of a state, though she’s unsure of what kind, as golden alcohol glistens over that heart, pools in every divot of him and even sparkles tauntingly on inky lashes.

“Quick, quick catch it baby!” he waves at her frantically through his wheezing hiccups, “With your mouth, put it in yer mouth!” he explains and she suddenly snaps her attention away from watching his underwear cling to him and brings the bottle up to her mouth.

She chugs on command, her throat working rhythmically and her eyes wide at the new taste, bubbly spillage glossing up her chin and chest and down her slip, a dark trail that makes his mouth dry out with thoughts of other things. She pulls away with a gasp and a wet pop as he struggles to his knees, cupping himself like that’ll detract from his obvious outline, thanking heaven his jitters seem to have kept him half mast.

“Here, it’s fizzy,” she informs him like that’s news to him before bringing the bottle down to his lips and tipping the champagne into his slack mouth. His hands fly out to rest on her hips, steadying himself as she pours the celebratory drink down his throat. “Cheers!” she giggles as he taps out his max capacity on her hips, his breath fully gone and his cheeks bulging with the fizz.

“Here’s to you, Mrs. Presley,” he gasps after his swallow, smiling up at her stupidly sweet.

Elaine isn’t sure if it’s his breathlessness, those fathomless blue eyes looking up at her adoringly or the way he’s proving he’d do anything to please her, but she’s suddenly filled with a burning compulsion to eat him up. And she acts on it, bending down to slot their mouths together, one hand gripping his sticky shoulder and the other still holding onto the bottle neck.

He rises to his feet in an effortlessly smooth motion, hands dragging up the curve of her as he goes until they tangle in her hair, his arms criss crossed over her back and then the real kissing begins, the kind he had figured he’d gentle her into but she seems to have already found a taste for. It’s open mouthed and sloppy and she nearly lets the bottle slip from her hand as she seems to levitate right out of her skin and upwards to some hot and hazy sphere where a pink tongue dances with her own.

And sweet Lord, she loves the way he kisses her, large hands yanking her head back by her hair so he can pour his passion into her keening mouth from above, his arms encompassing her shoulders and pressing her to him, his plush mouth working her up to a frenzy. She squeezes his shoulder, in retribution or encouragement, she doesn’t know which, for the ache he always manages to spark in her belly. Speaking of, his soaked underwear is pressed to her belly and dampening the fabric of her slip so it, too, becomes tacky and drags as he shifts against her, almost like they’re riding waves together, grappling in a gentle struggle for leverage in this caress.

-electric eels, I might add, do it, though it shocks ‘em I know,

She’s a responsive little thing, his new wife, and fiesty in her affection, too. Her nails dig into his back and make him hiss pleasurably and he finds he can’t help but hump the little curve of her belly beneath the silk, wet briefs tantalizingly coarse against his cock. It occurs to him this is a precious moment, for many reasons, but particularly for the fact that never again will she kiss him without at least some anticipation of more to follow. What’s a kiss that goes nowhere? A kiss that devours and consumes and grapples and bites but has no destination? Her whole body conforms to his in an effort to get closer as they sway in the middle of his bedroom floor, but she knows of nothing after this, she doesn’t know it’s leading anywhere. The kiss is all she knows. It’s like she has an incomplete map, one he gets to draw the big red ‘X’ at the end of. He wonders if a body can combust if kissed long enough, if he can make her shatter apart just by ignorant need and a searingly good necking. He pours more energy into plundering her mouth and ignores her whimpers begging for a breath.

Elaine finds her free hand sliding from his shoulder down the plush side of his ribs, tacky with champagne, and thumbs at the soaked waistband of his briefs. It makes him break their kiss at last, near drowned for air and his eyes wild as he rears back to study her face.

“You’re getting me sticky,” she whispers smilingly and watches him lick her spit from his lips with a languid tongue.

“Ya could just say you want me nekid,” he quips, and nearly swallows his tongue in horror right after, holding his breath to see how the joke lands.

Elaine is… taken aback, judging by the way her eyes widen and her cheeks flame bright in the dim light of the bedroom, but she truthfully shrugs and murmurs while staring past him, “I would really like to see ya, E.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he whispers back earnestly and she flicks her eyes back to meet his before her smile returns and she makes a motion to one handedly strip him before thinking better of it.

She takes another chug from the champagne bottle instead and he chuckles, making a motion with his hands to hand it to him when she’s done. She gives it over and he gulps down the liquid courage while trying to go somewhere else as Elaine begins to carefully peel his soaked tighty whities down his legs. Her yittle fingers make it mighty difficult.

-God, I hope she’s at least seen a penis before, he prays. Or, or actually no. I hope she hasn’t, I hope she has no fuckin clue about any other man, most certainly no trimmed up, affluent, all American, circumcised one.

While he’s busy making his nose burn with the bubbles he’s downing like water, Elaine takes a moment to feast her eyes on tan thighs and the boney cradle of his hips, defined by a lean belt of muscle descending from his abdomen and that faint dusty trail of hair that was pointing downwards to a destination after all. He’s pink and soft and harmless looking down there, very much like the anatomy sketches she’s seen in the medical books. A limp little tail-like thing that hangs between his legs with a sheath of skin covering it, pillowed atop a very heavy looking sack that’s a couple shades darker than the shaft thingy. Maybe men have a bladder on the outside, she ponders.

She finds herself a little relieved, and also stupidly endeared. It’s his privates, she should let him be, they’re not like hers that have a dual purpose of child bearing and peeing. They’re just his soft parts and he’s terribly sweet to let her satisfy her curiosity about them, and so she rises back to her feet with a pleased sigh, having refrained from the stupid impulse of reaching out and grabbing hold of them. Elvis lets out a ragged sigh of his own and looks like he’s trying to read her brain as she presses another kiss to his lips.

“Thank ya,” she chirps and he raises his eyebrows in surprise that this is going so well.

It goes well until it gets weird. And by weird Elvis means his sweet young wife starting to circle him like he’s a damn statue, her hand trailing over his skin and letting out appreciative little noises at the way his muscles twitch beneath her fingers. His ribs tickle and his arms jitter and his back tenses and then there’s that throat closing feeling of her palming the swell of his ass, admiring and entitled as you please. He feels a bit like a prize horse, being eyed up at auction, Elaine the buyer that’s testing to see if he’s a well-bred stallion. Seeing if he’s a good breeding partner, if he’s made of good stock.

Elaine’s appraisal halts at his other side, she’s got a hand gliding up his sternum like the feel of sparse chest hair is equal to the most priceless Persian rug, and her other hand keeps petting the swell of his ass as she presses kisses to his shoulder—oh god help him, he likes it, much as it makes him squirm, this entirely unexpected review of his assets has him standing at attention and hoping she approves. Something else starts to try to stand to attention and it’s through a helpless sort of mortified resignation he feels little Elvis twitch in earnest. The sorta twitch that’ll lead to precum sputtering out soon enough.

She notices. Of course she does, he feels her lips fall away from his shoulder so she can peer over it at the growing developments, and with unerring accuracy she repeats the motion she had just made, expecting a similar result if providing the right equation. His cock is feeling benevolent if a little demure tonight, and he can’t help but flex his hips as the next rush of blood makes the thing move again. Oh damn, he thinks, they’re getting somewhere now, and he’s not yet given a single lesson.

Elaine had long harbored a rather inordinate curiosity about the male figure, her swimming hole adventures and glimpses of mechanics stripped down covered in grease had all inspired a rather alarming curiosity in her girlish head as to what the male form looked like… unimpeded. She thought it silly that there was such emphasis on men’s tastes being visual, on pinups and advertising girls selling dish soap that had nothing to do with the bikinis prominently filled out. For her, Marlon Brando swaggering around in a sweat soaked singlet had done more to convince her to move to a New Orleans tenement than all those skimpy dressed floozies ever had ever convinced a regular ole father of three to buy Lucky Strikes. But to touch? To feel searing hot masculine blood pumping right beneath that terribly smooth skin and the dip and give of his muscles beneath her palm? Her chest aches and her hands move of their own accord, wondrously eager to make him wag between his legs again, like a happy tail swelling and jerking with each squeeze she gives his butt.

“Elvis, you’re so pretty,” she gushes the admiration swirling around and around in her mind and feels the whole long, lean, glorious length of his shudder at the comment.

She’s enchanted with his body, he realizes, he’s pleasing to her, and her hands flutter in a hopeless want to touch him everywhere and it’s all he can do not to seize a dainty hand and wrench her away from this sweet perusal and make her grip him here he needs it. He wants, needs, filthy things from her. And she just thinks he’s pretty. The moan he stifles with his hand is only fuel to her fire.

“Uh—” he begins, figuring he better get somethin about the mechanics of things out before this sweetness turns him feral and the tempting thoughts to just… sneak it in her… take precedence in his brain.

“What’s it doin’?” she interrupts instead, and he savors the feel of her holding his bare waist while he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking steady breaths, forcing some blood back up to his brain.

“I-i-it’s, it’s gettin’ excited,” he figures is an honest start, “F-firmin up.”

“Why?” she asks curiously, sounding ever so child-like, still petting his sides like, like—like he’s her pet.

He wouldn’t mind being her pet. He’s foolin’ himself thinkin’ he isn’t already, she’s just embracing her role with innocent confidence, unencumbered by silly knowledge of roles and shit, like he is.

“Well, uh, it’s, it’s—” he bites his lip harshly before gently grabbing her arms and moving her round to face him, stroking her neck soothingly while keeping her at a safe distance where her silk clad belly won’t encourage little Elvis any faster. “It’s gotta firm up as, it’s, it’s, it’s my key, baby,” he explains gently, watching with burning concentration for any flicker of understanding flitting across her earnest face.

“Your key?” she repeats gravely, that nagging feeling returning that there’s more to this… marriage business… then she’s been told, and she’s about at the end of her patience with being fobbed off the topic. “Elvis—” she goes to appeal for an answer to his generous nature, the lush set of his features above her sweet and sultrily eager as her own, encouraging her that he’ll humor her—

“Elaine, we gotta have a business meetin’,” he declares, effectively cutting her off, and it’s the voice he uses at conference tables with the colonel or with reporters but she knows it’s him scrambling to grab hold of some control. Ever wary of the delicate state of his emotions these days, she holds her peace. “Bout, b-bout marriage,” he clarifies and for the first time since coming up here, a cold shard of fear slices through the gooey warmth of his presence.

“Alright,” she agrees, firmly supportive, squeezing his arms to emphasize that she’s on his side in this, she takes her cues from him. It’s what good wives do, and it’s what all of humanity does when Elvis Presley starts to direct a thing.

Her compliance has the intended result of soothing him, his jitters calm under her hands and the light beam of her encouraging smile. He gives a few small nods of his head as if agreeing with an unspoken suggestion, and Elaine is entirely certain he’s got a self affirming monologue running up there in that pretty head to drown out whatever has him so panicked.

Alight with her touch, with thoughts of her and her lil house and making it good, making sure it takes, of finally having what he’s dreamed about for goin’ on two years now, he feels his knees near buckle and he murmurs hurriedly,

“Let’s sit on the–the bed for a minute.”

Hand in hand, and at a head clearing distance from each other, they mosey over to the canopied wonder that is his bed, decked out in black and gold, tufted pockets of down beckoning for a bounce amongst, and Elaine can’t help herself. Maybe it’s the champagne or a stubborn desire to keep the jubilant atmosphere alive but she slips her hand out of his with a parting squeeze and launches herself into the downy sea of gold.

His stride falters and he watches with a fondness he feels deep in his gut as his Elaine bounces into the bed like a giddy child, her long limbs splayed artlessly and the swell of her ass rippling under baby blue silk, a sliver more of inner thigh visible as it rides up, kicking her footsies gleefully for good measure before she lifts that darling face and grins at him beckoningly through a curtain of chocolate curls.

God he loves her. And this is what he’ll get to see and feel and love for all the coming nights, for the rest of his life. He moseys up to the bed and reaches out, caressing Elaine’s shiny locks back in place, matching her smile in an endeavor to help keep this mood as joyous as it should be. She grabs at his wrist that is petting her hair and pulls him atop her. Weak and wanting, he goes, registering with searing clarity the first feel of his long limbs being pressed atop every inch of her smaller frame, the bedspread tufting beneath their combined weight.

He is burning hot atop her, and so much larger than her own body, she realizes with a thrill that tingles down to her very toes. She resumes her petting of the wings of his shoulder blades, smooth and sweaty beneath her hands and she wiggles beneath the new sensation of his thighs pressed to her own, and his hips cradled by her hips, fitting together effortlessly. It’s delightful and she acts on the urge to tilt his face out from the bedspread and seek more kisses from those cherry red lips of his.

Elaine keeps undulating under him, spurred on by a thousand heady new sensations, slippery as an eel in her silk, and Elvis’s mind blanks at the feel of her eager and squirmy body beneath his. He forgets about lessons and marriage and sacred duties and instead acts on his most natural instinct which is to kiss her back ferociously and buck against the cradle of her hips ‘till his cock weeps for joy at finally being heeded.

As natural as riding a tandem bike, after the initial wobble for balance, Elaine quickly finds his rhythm and grinds along with him in a unified dance for propulsion, feeling something besides his champagne-sticky skin begin to slick up her nightslip.

That’s the wet smear of his excitement, she realizes, and rocks up more vigorously to encourage him. His penis is a throbbing pipe between them, and while she can’t see it, she can feel the thing growing and digging into her belly and she thinks of keys and she wonders, and aches. The whine her groom lets out, once hazily recognizing the fact she’s actually trying to aid his pleasure like a good wife should, is pulled from deep in his gut into her open mouth, sending a triumphant shudder through her.

“Sweet—lord—fuck—Elaine,” he blasphemes into her ear in a pained cry, his hand a mere agent of his cock as it fumbles between them frantically to pull up the hem of her slip.

Her hot breath fans against his face in shocked gusts and if he cracked open his screwed shut eyes he’s pretty sure he'd see her looking a little scandalized, which is why he doesn’t open them. He’ll save that for when he’s balls deep inside her and there ain’t a lawful thing she can do about it. For now he just doggedly hikes up her slip until it’s halfway up her belly and his balls are rubbing amongst the pettiest thatch on a beaver he ever did see. Not that he sees it now, mind you. No, his eyes stay closed and he forces her into another kiss lest she protest, but he recalls the particulars of her cunt like that addled inspection he made of her lady parts was yesterday and—

—her lil house, his promise, his duty! It all comes crowding back to his mind with an icy damper just as her hands glide down to land with a strong and naively lecherous grip on his ass and he—

—he might have made it if it weren’t for that grab. It’s not a good precedent to blame one’s wife for a loss of control but he’s afraid that’s just what it is, a precedent when, heedless of her confusion, he grips her delicate shoulders in each of his hands and leverages up, one pump, two pumps, three pumps amongst the slick petals of her pussy and then, then it’s white hot satisfaction and… Elaine.

Elaine, Elaine, Elaine—oh how I love you, oh how I want you, Elaine, Elaine, Elaine, you drive me nuts.

“Oh, oh wha—oh,” through the ringing haze of busting a nut against her, Elvis can hear her bewildered enjoyment as he spurts and slicks her up real messy, grinding against her pearl with powerful, heedless strokes.

He stops his whimpering moans and sucks in a breath, still somewhere else in his bliss and utterly unmoored, but not so useless as to stop moving along to her guiding hands on his butt.

Her breathy gasps are—they’re everything he’s ever fantasized about, and to make up for blowing his load like a green boy, he keeps up the pace she wants, slippin’ and a’slidin against her, listening intently as her pitch spikes when his cock smudges her clit with his head. She begins to replace each gasp with a noisy inhale.

“Wha-what’s oh, Elvis what’s—” she finds her voice just enough to babble as her head thrashes in a confused protest a few times amongst the golden tufts.

Then her hands clench on her handful of backside before the head of his cock slips in its glide and snags against her untried door. The bitten off shriek of surprised ecstasy she lets out, and the cruel bite of her nails in his butt, the rigid spasm of her thighs beneath his, tells him she’s gotten a taste of the heaven he just indulged in early.

“That’s it, that’s it, it’s nice feelin’, ain’t it?” he preemptively shushes her worries, the ones that gather even now on her brow the minute her pleasure ebbs away enough for rational thought to raise its pesky head.

“Elvis, I—what was—” she pants and can’t find the words or courage to finish her question, she just blushes beneath him instead, and for the first time tonight he can sense her feeling insecure.

“That was actin’ married, baby,” he answers simply, cupping her face and letting his thumbs rub soothing circles in her hairline. “You alright? Did I scare ya?” he whispers, terrified in suspense as Elaine seems to give his question thought, reviewing the recent memory of her first orgasm with typical, analytical detachment.

“It felt… tingly,” she decides, having to acknowledge no harm was done and this sated feeling of her melting into a puddle beneath him is rather lovely. “I liked it,” she decides, then insists as he still looks down at her, chestnut hair falling into his eyes and his worried mouth wobbling like a scared baby’s. “I liked it a lot.”

“Ya liked it?” he perks up, his lip curling in a smile, eager as a puppy, and she remembers him asking her the same thing, in the same eager way, about the grand staircase when he first showed her Graceland.

“Yes, yes I did,” she nods emphatically, ignoring how something seems to hang in the air about them now, something more that prods her to ask, “What now?”

Because “more” feels like a third person in this room and her curiosity has been too long deferred.

“Now we have that business meetin’,” he replies gravely, as if he suspects her of plotting against the meeting and its solemn necessity.

He tries to pitch his voice down in a bid to sound authoritative, but all she can think of are his pitiful little whimpers as he wet her belly. She smirks and reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes. “Yessir, Private,” she teases, immensely pleased with herself when he lets out a throaty laugh and rolls his eyes in response.

He pulls his body away from her, forcing himself not to cringe at the goopy mess he made of her pussy, or the resiliently adhesive string of spunk that refuses to break the connection between them as he pulls away. She is watching his every expression, he knows, every movement, the bat of his eyes, all being used to form her own opinion of this and he is careful not to show any reaction that might have her embarrassed, or worse, thinking the act gross. Sex is nasty, and he fuckin’ loves it for it. And if he can help it, so will she.

He twists off her and rolls on his side, sitting up where his legs dangle off the bed and he flips her slip back down in what he hopes is a subtle but swift enough gesture to be considered gentlemanly. She sits up beside him and folds her hands expectantly in her lap, her legs swinging off the bed beside his own and if he thinks too long about the fact he’s probably dribbling down her primly closed thighs, he’ll go insane all over again.

Get this part done and then you can go nuts, he tells himself, then it’s free reign. Or, well, nearly.

“Elaine baby,” he begins, this time his voice is naturally deep and earnest as it often is when discussing something very important, she recognizes it and gives him all her attention, “Do ya know anythin’ bout what mamas and daddies do when they go to bed?”

Her head is still fuzzy from whatever trickery they just engaged in, the way his hand now descends to her thigh making the pounding between them worse than ever even as the pleasure is sharper, more satisfying than any she’s achieved. It clouds her mind and stalls her reply. She thinks that she could answer smartly that he just showed her what they do, or she could say she knows they sleep, or she could rattle off a buncha scared suggestions that might make her seem a little less lost, a little less dumb about this whole thing. But she trusts him, trusts him to be kind and patient, to want to be married anyway. So she bites down her pride and shakes her head adamantly, not a shred of flippancy left.

“Well, part of bein’ married is makin’ babies, right?” he responds, “And that happens in a marriage bed, or least—that’s where it happens first time ya try,” Elvis explains the best he can, his voice gentle and his drawl persuasive like it had been when he showed her cords on the guitar. “Now we uh, we’ve talked bout your lil house already,” he notes and she nods with sober and locked on fascination, waiting for him to drop a hint of something that will make practical sense, “and I done told ya bout my key. You felt it gettin all firm, yeah? Then sprayin’ ya belly—sorry bout that, jus’ got me so excited, went ahead of myself—well, baby, ya see…” He twists his lower lip with his fingers in one last pained procrastination before getting the rest out in a measured slur, “To make a baby the daddy’s key has gotta go inside the mama’s house a-a-and unlock her.”

He holds his breath and watches this lesson land home on her sweet face. He takes note of each stage of comprehension as it morphs her face. First there’s her squint of concentration, then the eyebrow quirk of confirmed speculation, then the lip bite of second guessing his meaning, then crystal clear compression that seems to freeze her features in one of disbelief until they reanimate in a frenzy of emotion that culminates in her heavily fringed eyes darting down to stare at his recently spent, half mast cock. His key, he corrects himself, and like a damned pet, it wags under her wide eyed study.

“Oh ha, oh.” She tries to master her gasps and they just come out in a tumble anyway, staring at that strangely animate part of him that is nothing like any one of hers. The longer she looks the larger it grows, the sheath drawing back and revealing a tender looking tip, so vibrantly red it matches the flush splotching down his chest. It looks like it’s aches, and she suddenly has sympathy for the eager thing. At her aborted movement to touch it, she sees it sputter out clear fluid, as if weeping for her attention.

A great many bits of hearsay, of anatomical layouts studied, some Bible passages about “goin into her” and a few racy lyrics flash through her mind like star witnesses confirming his account of married life. She suddenly wants to laugh at the absurdity of not putting it all together until the wagging heft of the thing swelling beneath her stare makes her suddenly hope he’s wrong. Or, or -teasing, he’s gotta be teasing.

Oh course he is! Her shoulders loosen up and she lets out a great big sigh before meeting his stormy eyes and poking the soft rolls of his belly warningly, “You had me there!” she tsks and begins to laugh the more she thinks of the idea of him shoving his… his pee pee… up her to make a child.

Elvis doesn’t laugh, he looks suddenly quite alarmed and her merriment dies on her lips, stuttering out at the sight of his earnest face.

“You. Are. Teasin,” she repeats with a pleading diction, “You don’t really -oh gosh y- you ain’t pullin’ my leg, Elvis?” she almost whimpers, her mother’s proper nomenclature gone right out of her pretty mind at the idea of that chubby snake thing inside her.

“I ain’t pullin’ your leg sweetheart.” he swears, no hint of mockery in his voice, “That cream ya felt…coming out, the sticky stuff, i-it shoots up in ya a-a-and fertilizes y-your eggs. I-it’s called making love, baby, cause it’s-it’s makin…love.”

Elaine feels her face growing hot at that visual and would like all these components to make less sense right about now. It all comes together in her logic like a missing piece of the human puzzle, but far from being the Devine enlightenment she was expecting, she finds it’s a sticky, bobbing, whining, gushing, squelching process that isn’t remotely medical or Devine. It’s comedic, and her jaw clenches in protest at the absurdity of it all. God really must enjoy a good laugh, forcing folks to spew and shake apart like idiots just to keep the human race alive.

“Why’s it growin?” She demands hotly, resigned to the logic but quite unappreciative of the fact that the more excited about making babies his key gets, the more likely its growing size will make it impossible to fit inside her.

“It’s getting firm so it can go in,” he defends his offending boner as meekly as possible, eager to get back in her good graces and refusing to listen to little Elvis’ cries of offended honor, “A-a-and so it’ll feel good inside ya.” he makes sure to tack on and notices her incredulous left eyebrow shoot up to her hairline.

“That so?” she asks, utterly sarcastic.

“Yes!” he pleads and her face softens a little at his hurt tone, at his obvious honesty, “Once inside it’ll rub ya all nice like it felt a minute ago. ‘Member that? this’ll be like that just… even better.”

“I-I-I do, I do recall,” she softens at his worried face, realizes he thinks she’s gonna back down from this and curses the fact she’d really rather. Impotent anger rises up in her for a brief flash that she didn’t have more time to prepare for this, that no one told her so she might settle her terrified little belly to the thought of him—

—it’s too awful to be pondered for long and she takes a great deep breath and holds it in the way she learned at the hospital, to calm a bout of panic, staring off across the room at the portrait of Jesus he has hung by the closet door. She thinks about how best to fly away while he does what is necessary, she thinks about babies, she thinks about how pretty and sweet he is. She thinks about her mama, and wonders if the procedure is so awful, why didn’t she and every woman in her life warn and prepare her for it? Now her aunt’s words make sense. Be good and let him do what he needs to. If this is what he needs to do, then she reckon’s she’ll just have to let him see to it.

“Elaine?” he begs her to look at him, his warm hand gently grabbing her chin and turning her face to his like an ornery mule by its bridal. “Elaine, what’s in that pretty head? Talk to me please,” he puts his face all up in her own’s business, hands cradling her face and noses brushing, she can feel the brush of his lips when he speaks again softly, “Ya don’t think God would tell folks to be fruitful then make it awful for ‘em, do ya?”

It’s as if he’s read her mind, her own rationalization on the subject and she gives a slow nod of dissent, “no,” she agrees, and realizes due to her watery voice that she must’ve started crying somewhere along the way. It rankles her, being so skittish, being so troublesome for her groom when she’s not even been married a full day.

Lord, instead of being angry, he’s nuzzling her tear tracks across her face and swearing never ending tenderness to her. Her heart does another flip as his lips trail down her neck, and she warms again, her ache returns and it reminds her of his own. She tilts her head so he can better suck at the soft skin of her neck and casts her eyes down to his lap, finding him still eager. His key looks so desperate and needy, and despite her grievance against its size, her hand darts out instinctively to swipe at the leaking mushroom head like she would anyone’s tears from beneath their eyes.

It has a rather startling effect on her young husband.

Elvis lets out a choked cry and crushes her arms where he holds them, his kiss bitten cry turns into a chomp on her shoulder as the shock of his reaction makes her squeeze his member harder, eliciting a yet greater amount of pleasurable anguish from him. The way the previously dribbling precum gushes over her knuckles is entirely the most heady thing she’s ever managed to feel in her life. That molten warmth in her belly ignites again, and she kisses his own neck in delight at the responses he gives her, even as she drags the flat of her palm up and down his key, taking notes on the way he bucks against it.

“Elaine—” he garbles into her throat and she kneads his neck comfortingly even as she continues to watch the way this new friend throbs and gushes under her tiniest attentions. Like a personable pet or a responsive baby, it’s a joy to have something react to her with such inordinate eagerness.

“Alright, I believe ya,” she whispers soothingly as she thumbs at his leaking slit and strokes down his foreskin, noticing a definite ridge and then a puffy head differentiating the head from the rest of the shaft, “Just the tip has to go in, right?” she surveys the bulbous little head and calms herself. It’s not that big, just awfully wide. She can manage it, for the babies.

“N-no baby.” he stutters into her throat, miserable and worried sick about repeatedly having to be contrary, “S’all gotta go in.”

“But, but you can just spray up once it’s in!” she cries out, laughingly incredulous and a single sentence away from reverting back to suspecting him of playing a trick, “Why’s the whole thing gotta go in when it shoots the stuff a foot or more?”

That’s- that’s a worrisomely valid point, he thinks, but he can only deal with the logic of her hand fondling his cock right now and so he insists, “No baby, it’s gotta go deep, way up in your belly so it don’t get lost with all the cake ya ate.”

“That ain’t gonna get very deep.” she’s rather unimpressed with his length and it brings him right back down to earth with an Elaine shaped thump, “It’s the girth that’s unnecessarily…plentiful.”

“Ya sayin’ God didn’t know what he was doin when he made me?“ Elvis feigns outrage and pulls away to grin at her, to confirm she’s grinning, too.

She rolls her eyes, then that famillair, sweet smile overtakes her face as she flits her eyes all across the lean yet soft, pale yet golden, masculine yet boyish whole of him, -she finds him very good. “I reckon he knew what he was doin’,” she murmurs wryly, her stare dragging up his form, “I just object to the practicality of so few brains and so much—”

“Elaine!” he growls, gripping the back of her neck, “Kiss me, woman.”

She kisses him with the same gusto he’s previously seen her reserve only for football matches on the lawn. She catapults forward and it knocks the wind outta him, lands her solidly in his lap, a smooching, hair tugging goddess of a mad woman, and he scrambles to keep up, to assist the gearshift that just occurred. Zero to sixty it seems. Elaine can’t seem to hold still when she kisses, always leveraging up and wiggling around and it makes for two of them writhing, to the immense satisfaction of his cock that gets wedged between his belly and hers during this heavy make out.

Eventually she seems to notice -Elvis wonders what gave lil Elvis’ position away: the incessant twitching or the gallons of precum dribbling down the front of her gown.

She pulls away from the kiss and looks down, suddenly reaching and straightening his cock against her belly and through the haze of ball tingling appreciation for her touch he realizes she’s measuring the depth against her belly. That thought makes him spurt so violently he’s not sure if he’s cummin’ a lil or just, just gushin’ like he’s never seen himself gush before. Thank God this sweet little girl seems to like the fact he’s a messy, sensitive, uncut hick of a boy.

“We’ve just gotta try our best, hmm?” he stifles his anticipatory giggle at the size comparison to her abdomen and thumbs at her throat coaxingly, “I’ll try’n get it real deep, and you’ll be good and lemme, right?“

She will, for the babies, he already knows that. Knew it the minute she agreed to marry him. It’s why he wants her.

“Right.” she agrees and tries to not make it sound like she’s being condemned to torture, “I’ll be good for ya.” Be good and let him do what he needs to.

“And I’ll make it nice,” he swears adamantly and she nearly believes him, “It won’t hurt much, not at all after the first time, I’ll make sure you enjoy it, baby. Have ya begging for it in a few hours, you’ll see. It’s gonna be nice, remember?”

“Yeah.” Her tone is unsure but she waggles her eyebrows conspiratorially.

Then, before another promise can be made, she bends away from his lap and flops on her back, legs spread, baby blue silk riding up to show her wet curls, hands serenely crossed across her chest, face expectant. “Well, c’mon, gimme those babies.” she eggs him on, somehow keeping the wobble out of her thin voice.

“Elaine, honey, you’re shakin’,” he worries, noticing the visible battle in her body between desire and fear.

“I am a little chilly.” she replies very decorously, and with a liar liar pants on fire smile of assurance.

“Bullshit, you’re terrified,” he murmurs, petting her spread legs that are still partly in his lap, sliding his warm palms up her inner thighs and noting with satisfaction the way it makes her nipples pebble helplessly beneath the silk. She even rocks her hips towards his soothing attentions and that’s perfect, that’s how he’s gonna handle this, just soothe her into it, her entirely absent prudery a great aid. Although this next little detail he’s gonna teach her may push her to the limit.

“Now, ‘fore I go in, there’s a great deal of prep’s gotta happen or else I’d not be a husband, just a mean bastard, you understand?” And he watches closely as Elaine’s chest heaves in relief that she’s got a little more time before the main event. Come to think of it, he should buy her more time, maybe a bath to get her all loosened up and pliant. “How bout we take a bath first, ya wanna take a bath, baby?” he suggests and knows that it was entirely too random a segue the minute it leaves his mouth.

“Not–not right now.” she whispers honestly, her hands still crossed across her breasts and she makes a motion that hikes the neckline a little higher, telling him all he needs to know about her shyness. He’ll let her leave the slip on for now, the fact her cunt is considered husbandly property but her breasts are sacred maidenly assets makes him feral with want. “I’d like to just get this over w- to, experience it,” she does a decent job at damage control of her initial sentiment but he figures it’s understandable to want it over and done with, like a procedure, like a tooth being pulled. “Honestly Elvis, I’m too nervous to enjoy anything till we do it,” she admits, no pretty turn of phrase, just that precious honesty he appreciates so much about her.

Boy does he have a surprise for her, then. He grins and he nods understandingly, “I getcha, baby, we don’t gotta do nothin you don’t want,” he swears, “Just gotta prep ya then we’ll get on with it. Hey, stop shruggin’, ya just might like it.” He pinches her thigh and it makes her giggle, she gives him another unconvinced shrug that he takes as a gauntlet thrown to turn her into a whimpering cock slut.

“I-I’m gonna pull this up a lil,” he narrates gently, figuring it might put her at ease as he matches his words with the action of rolling her hemline up to her ribs. Her soft belly caves in with the breath she’s holding and he lays his searing palm on it, coaxing her to settle for him.

She can feel his calluses and the grounding weight of his broad hand on her womb, and the rightness of it turns her body pliant. That dreamy submission he first coaxed from her to make her sleep after her mother’s funeral -she can feel it coming over her again and settles glady. He’s never steered her wrong yet, and he’s let her keep her breasts modest, a sweet concession she is eager to thank him for with obedient compliance. She focuses on his large hand and the way it’s now petting, no, more like digging gently, with his fingertips into her lower belly, little digs and pulls upwards over and over again. She can feel each tug downstairs in her little house, like his fingertips are tugging at her little button’s string from the outside in. Her head truly sinks back into the gold tufted comforter and she absently palms a heaving breast. This part of being married is lovely.

The awed look overtaking Elvis’ cherubic features as he stares down at the freshly undressed slit between her legs is reward enough for her. Life is suddenly dreamy and hazy, like she’s viewing his rich coloring and decadent face through a stocking over a lens, like the girls do to minimize their pores in photographs. He looks like that naturally, too rich and pretty and lovely to be true, now muddled and smeared from the feelings his hands excite, he looks otherworldly and she lets slip a moan of appreciation.

“You’re so pretty.” she babbles again, unsure if any of it actually made it out of her head. It seems very pressing to tell him, maybe in lieux of the “I love you” he’s dying to hear but made her swear she wouldn’t say till she meant it.

For Elvis, the entire picture of Elaine, melted ivory skin with a halo of chocolate curls and a wisp of sea foam silk covering what he’s dying to see -she is like an erotic painting brought to life just for him to lick and squeeze and split open on a sea of gold. He shudders and keeps his finger tips massaging her giving belly, this ole trick of Johnny’s obviously not half bad, judging by the way she goes boneless and her long legs begin to spread of their own accord, knees bending out and her pink petals beginning to make an obvious flutter beneath the curls.

“You recall what Dodger said.” he asks her very softly, mumbling it into the soft skin of her inner knee as he gets her used to the feeling of his lips creeping closer to the place he’s about to devour, “remember her sayin I was to lick you?” he prods, knowing that bringing up his grandmother is not ideal seconds before slurping at his wife’s beaver, but he guesses rightly that he might benefit from some moral backup for what he’s about to propose.

“Y-yes, yes before a pecker o-“ Elaine’s already a little incoherent as he permits his hand to stray from her belly and scratch amongst their curls, digging and tugging at her outer lips from afar, making them glide against each other in a soft stimulation, like a foreskin getting rubbed over the glans.

“Pecker’s jus’another word for key.” he whispers into the butter soft skin of her twitching thigh and her hips jerk from the tickle of his voice.

“Oh is it?” she manages to laugh, even as it’s a far away little sound, “dear Dodger.” is all she adds.

“So like she said,” he carefully moves himself to a crouch, taking care not to jostle her out of her docile trance, crouching like those mountain cats between her legs, he carefully replaces his hand with his cheek as he rubs his face against her belly -entirely cat like, “like she said I gotta lick ya. See, cause….’‘fore ya use a-a key in a new lock ya gotta grease, it, right?”

Elaine Presley is so bewildered and terribly hungry for something, anything, Elvis could suggest just about any sort of fuckery right now and she’d agree. As is, she thinks she’s read in the Bible about a man kissing his woman down there, a vague reference to pomegranates that King Solomon might’ve thought real slick, but wasn’t subtle. There was certainly more of an illusion made to it in the good book than anything about chubby snakes going up inside a girl. She has no qualms against it, also very few brains at her disposal right now it seems, and she finds it’s nice having one’s mind wiped blank after such a hectic two weeks of planning and organizing.

“S-so I’m gonna lick ya down there, a k-kiss sorta a-“ Elvis is explaining, unnecessarily thorough in a pained, urgent, desperate whisper that he uses when he wants a thing bad but he wants you to think you want it badder and she-

-Later on in life, later on the next day even, Elaine could never quite tell or explain where the urge or the bravery or the biblical amounts of entitlement to his services she suddenly felt in that moment. All either of them had was the memory of her fresh as a daisy self, steering her groom by his hair till he was face planted between her legs, doing his duty. Licking her open, pink tongue wriggling and lapping.

Terrified shitless that somehow, somehow he’d mess up the one thing he was certain he was remarkably good at, Elvis’s skilled tongue had bolted into her wet heat like a colt through the starting gate with a lot to prove. And he maintained that ferocious pace and fervor for a undocumented and unrecalled amount of time. He was not sure how he managed to breathe down there for the hour or more he spent sucking and licking and jabbing his tongue into Elaine’s long dreamed of cunt, living off fumes from the sweetest pussy he’d ever tasted, hair tugs of gratitude his only payment and the sounds of shock and awe spilling out of his new wife at every bout of pleasure he tore from her.

The sounds she was making -they were the same as when the two of them went down to the flower festival in New Orleans, while he was on set, where she’d gasped and cried and exclaimed joyously over five street blocks worth of Lilies and Dahlias and the stringy flower bushes Elvis’ didn’t retain the name of.

“So, so nice, oh, oh right there”. This frantically happy compliance, this unabashed enjoyment by a virgin girl smashing his face into her snatch -it was more than Elvis’ wildest, most self indulgent fantasies could have hoped for.

He had noticed in Elaine a peculiar sort of common sense that most people didn’t have in common. If a thing was not harmful or explicitly forbidden, she had no objection to it, in fact, she considered it free game. And bucking her hips up to meet his tongue and utilize his nose against her button -was obviously one of those non prohibited joys of life. And he set about to make it so addictive that she would be collaring him for a lick every day of her life for the rest of their days. His hands slowly gravitated up her belly, squeezing and appreciating the firm give of her sides and up to her breasts that she still guarded with panting lassitude. He didn’t know if he had snuck his hands under hers to knead the firm mounds or if she’d allowed him under of her own accord, and placed her hands atop his in blessing. But either way, he stayed bent like that, hands groping at her tits and jaw near unhinged to swallow her down, his own hips rutting into the mattress, the seams of the bedspread chafing his cock pleasurably.

“Can I have another?” she would ask eagerly after having shook apart and dribbled over his tongue for the tenth time.

Who was he to deny her?

He worked his fingers in gently, but after the amount of spit and slick they had produced together, it was a mere pinch for her when he snuck in first one long finger, then another. Careful to keep her revving, he dallied for a while with just the two, scissoring them and spitting inside the tight little hole until her objectioning mewls turned to breathy sighs again. Working in the confines of her wet heat near drove him mad, feeling how tight she was around just a few digits had his cock aching and groans of his own came pouring out of his mouth, buzzing her clit and causing her to writhe.

He took to curling his fingers inside her, her walls giving under more readily after his patient coaxing and he rubbed the calloused pads of his fingers up and curled untill he found a soft, giving little spot unlike its surroundings, spongey in a way he’d only ever heard about. Her reaction to his touch there was also something that had before only been mere hearsay from the boys on the road. Her hips leveraged off the bed like she was possessed, and through the smash of her thighs about his ears he heard her scream, and perverse determination was entirely to blame for the way he forced his fingers to keep curling as her little house clamped down around them and suddenly his head was being crushed like a melon between her legs and a jet of sweet, Elaine flavored goodness was spewing at his grinning face.

“Sweet Jesus would ya look at tha-“ Elvis heaved in a dozen breaths the minute her legs fell apart again, propping up on his forearms and watching his stunned wife tremble violently, her belly and thighs shaking like they were motorized, her pussy still gushing feebly and her hands patting herself down as if to make sure she was still all there. He’d only ever heard of squirting, and here he was now, half blinded by her spray.

The sight of the teary eyed, mortified yet pleasure dumb confusion clouding her exquisitely clever face had given him no other option. He had to have her, had possess her, had to take, had to fuckin’ take his due. Now.

She was in no position to deny him, shaking in pleasurable shock and splayed out boneless and unsuspecting. Through a tunnel of starry spots she saw his glistening wet face come in to view, hovering over her own, and felt the warm weight of his body settling over hers, famillair and steadying. She tried to raise her floppy hand to pet his rosy cheek, to somehow convey how lovely he made her feel, but her hand wouldn’t respond beyond flopping around a few inches from the mattress like a beached fish. She began to giggle and could not stop, thinking she should stop so he could kiss her: ya can’t kiss a giggling woman as her lips aren’t available when she’s giggling and he’s gonna kiss her —

—he didn’t kiss her, instead he had gripped her cheek and it steadied her enough for the giggles to die out almost as effectively as the sobering feel of a blunt, slippery, heated thing pushing at her entrance.

“No, no, no” Elaine’s mind whimpered in betrayed protest, “no, no it had been so lovely, it had been so lovely, it had been nice acting married.”

Tears that had gathered and spilled from the nerve wracking ecstasy he had forced out of her, now spilled afresh down her splotchy cheeks. Her dark eyes glittered like dazzling pools of hurt, her head tilted to the side in disagreement with his plan.

Of course, of course, she thought, there’s always something more to be asked of a woman, a banquet can be enjoyed but there are always dishes afterwards, you get your pretty breasts but you have to bleed every month for them, you can have your house licked to madness but it’s only so that a hungry boy can more easily split you apart.

No, no, why? it had been so lovely…

Elvis had of course thought about fucking Elaine Phipps until she cried, he sometimes dreamed about her thrashing from too much pleasure her eyes streaming tears and her mouth twisted as she tried to let him finish, as he made her enjoy it more than she thought she had the capacity to. He’d thought of it, but it wasn’t the same as trying to push into a hole belonging to a girl mindlessly whimpering “No, no” beneath you.

Having an innocence kink, Elvis was discovering, was a lot sexier in theory, before stupid feelings emerged and pesky consciences nagged and the shuddering terror of your wife beneath you was abundantly tangible. That was a fantasy best kept between himself and his fist, and rock hard as he was, and nearly unhinged from waiting, he just couldn’t manage to do it this way. That old insecurity, that burning awareness that he had always wanted her more than she had wanted him came crowding into his mind, making his own eyes burn in rejection and fear.

“Shhh, shhh baby, it’s alright’ sweetheart, hey, hey it’s me, me c’mon, look at me.” he had begged her, hands engulfing both sides of her face, “I’m sorry, Elaine, I’m sorry.” it spills out in cry of his own because he doesn’t know how else to admit his long harbored expectations of her, the carnal weight of what he has wanted all this time, and all the wasted years he’d never told her he worshiped the soundboard her yittle fingers so cleverly levered , “I’ve loved you ever since I came back and found ya grown. I’m sorry, I’ve -I-I’ve wanted to have ya for years. You’re the most perfect thing alive. I-I-I just gotta have ya, I just gotta. I-I’ll d-d-die if ya don’t want me, too, honest I’ll die.”

When she looked at him then, looked and truly saw the soul of him stamped on his face -suddenly she saw everything she once doubted existed. He loved her. Elvis loved her and she was at peace.

It was Elvis. Dear ole Elvis, the boy at the studio who liked her sandwiches, the boy who she could most likely find sitting on the couch with his mother talking about his day, the boy who brushed her hair out for her the day they buried mama. It was Elvis, who was gonna give her babies, who’s gonna make sure she never wants for a thing, who is never going to let her be lonely or purposeless again. Elvis who was the most beautiful, exquisitely potent man she’d ever known, laying on top of her, shaking in desire to be inside her. He wanted to be inside her, so badly in fact, that all his power and his verve and his pride were shaking and shuddering above her.

“Oh my darling, you made me feel lovely.” she whispered to him, wanting that said before he split her open and took away her innocence. “Your love makes me happy, so happy. How could I not want that?“

“You want it?” he begged against her lips, he begged to hear it again while grabbing his tip and smudging against her clit, making her jerk and bow up in his arms. A reminder of what he can do to her, what he can give her, why she should be obedient.

“Yes, yes I want it.“ she repented of thinking anything unkind about her husband’s cock that’s gonna water her garden and grow her a family, that’s going to pry her open so children can pass through.

“Alright, ok.” he gathered his wits one last time, terrified to think of how he’s gonna lose all grip on himself once inside her after expending so patience beforehand, “Here's what we’re gon- we’re gonna let you control it.''

His brain pumped out fragmented explanations but he managed to sit up and bring her with him, landing her in his threatening lap, his arms cradling her little self, and he scooted higher in the bed until he was sitting upright, the padded black headboard at his back.

“There, here… we’ll, we’ll get it in like this.” he took to referring to his own body like it was a stranger, heaving in ragged breaths like a snorting racehorse. “At’cher own pace, baby. Ya-ya can…ya can sit on it.” He was no longer bothering to make sense, and thank God she seemed to realize that.

Being naive did not mean she was a fool. The novel concept now explained it was abundantly obvious in mechanics. Elaine grasped the slippery length of him firmly again, relishing the aliveness of it, holding it as she had when measuring him against her tummy.

She bit her lip with savage determination. Babies, he’s gonna give her babies.

Her husband’s face was all lash fanned anticipation, his pouty mouth grimacing in barely contained fervor and his eyes crinkled in a wince of pleasure from her grip. She saw a single tear escape his thicket of lashes and run down his prominent cheekbone, headed towards his hairline. She swiped at it tenderly with a thumb and had her hand grasped by him in response, tremblingly guided to his shoulder.

Leverage, she realized, he was giving her leverage and she raised up with her thighs like she would in the saddle, felt his hand meet her own down there to line him up, the size of his head against her giving her a thrill of horrored excitement.

Gently hovering and squatting, she gentled the puffy, leaking head of him in. The burning little sting of it only served to confirm that Elaine was about to be split apart when the rest followed. Now nestled far enough to need no guide, he grabbed at her other hand and put it in place on his shoulder, their noses touching, their legs bent atop the each other’s, arms encircled -suddenly this embrace made it feel completely essential to Elaine that they be connected in that remaining way. As if he could feel her submit around his first inch, his eyes flew open and a hungry azure gaze burned her up as her hair curtained around their faces and—

“You were made for this.” he reminded her as she whimpered at another little bit of length inserted, “You w-w-were fashioned u-up i-in heaven f-for this m-moment.” and the young man who couldn’t be made to stop wiggling in a Church pew tried to hold still as his drippingly tight wife cringingly lowered herself more, “In the doll factory u-up above, h-he m-m-made this lil house to t-the direct d-demensions t-t-to squeeze me d-dry —oh fuck, baby c’mon! That’s it, m-more come on, take me. Take more of me!” he groaned, his head bowed and watching where he began to disappear inside of Elaine, the culmination of all his madness.

“God Elvis it’s-its already awful.” she admits, staring at the stupid black headboard and registering every pulsing inch and vein and ridge of his rock hard, half jammed penis inside her tiny canal. “I dunno if i can-“

“Aww no ya don’t! No -don’t ya dare.” his snarled and gripped her hips as she began to raise up and dismount -it was only going to make it worse to try again and he was gonna make her finish this for her own sake, “Good wives don’t get off their husband’s cock till he says so. We’re ruinin’ ya for anyone else, babydoll, course it's gonna hurt something awful first time. Gotta see it though, don’t ya lose our progress.”

He saw a vicious emotion flash across her face -and he recognized it. It was the one from the mirror before a show, that wretched look of ambition that keeps him from fleeing from a crowd when all he wants to do is hide and puke his nerves away. He barely had time to brace his back before she was impaling herself on him again with teeth gritted ferocity, seething in his ear something about how she’d rather get kicked by Trojan -her gorgeous quarter horse. It made Elvis think of horses and her thighs working in the saddle and horses and stallions and stallions mounting mares and fuckin ‘em full and he-

“You’re gonna, you’re gonna take me.” he declared inexorably as she whimpered, “You’re gonna do what God made ya for, you’re gonna take my cock.”

“I can’t.” she wasn’t even whining, she could just feel him hitting a barrier and she couldn’t take more. “Please E, be nice, I-I ca- it’s not gonna fit, E!”

“It will, you’re my wife, ya will. You’ll take it all.” he kissed her check while reminding her steadily.

Then he snapped his hips up to meet hers in a powerful pump that tore her right through. She landed flush in his lap, a gush of virgin blood pooling between them, full to the brim with his thick cock nestled inside. Not even a cry let past her lips, just open mouthed shock, as if he’d punched the scream right out of her diaphragm.

Holy shit, his mind supplied, she was the tightest, most spectacularly tight -tightly wet pretty- tight woman. His whole body shook in delight at the wet, moldable grip of her walls, and he held her closer, blessing her for being so perfect, mumbling in between her still clothed breasts that he was gonna ruin her cunt for any other fella.

Elaine recalls just trying to breathe, even while clutching at his shoulders and listening to the filth pour out of his panting mouth, filth that confirmed his confession that he’d had designs on her body long ago. It made her shiver, which rubbed him inside of her and she doubled over into his chest, whimpering at the fullness and the burning sting of her stretched entrance. A thought flashed across her mind that he was mean to make her take all of him, the tip would have done just as well, and now she feels like she’s impaled on a pipe and his hips won’t stop squirming to force it that much deeper. He sounded like he was enjoying himself, maybe even having a vision of heaven buried inside her, and in that alone she took joy and made herself disentangle from him enough to glance down at the marvelous union they’d made.

It made her gasp in awe. She had swallowed him whole with her own body, taken him down to the root, his sack warm and full beneath her petals, absorbed him till there was no longer a he and she in the bed, but merely them. The Presley’s.

“Lord almighty, you’re tighter than hell.” Elvis moaned in appreciation of the absolute restructuring of her privates that he’d just done, gripping her back with his sweaty hands and letting his eyes roll into his skull in ecstasy.

“Tight yes -great balls of fire E, it hurts like hell.” she reiterated, a little petulant over his enjoyment of her wounded kitty, but he could tell even now she was recovering from the initial tearing open. “It’s not, it’s not supposed to -I can’t believe it fit.”

Curious despite herself, Elaine snuck a hand between them and gingerly felt the stretched ring of her hole and the thick base of him where they were flush, dark curls meeting together. He put his hand on top of her own and encouraged her exploration, making her pet herself and making her squeeze him despite the pained whimper she let out each time her pleasure made her please him.

“Jus’ ruinin ya for anyone else.” he repeated and she shivered in his arms, flicking her eyes up to meet his and sensing a beastial sort of claiming in them she had never seen before, “My wife,” he gloried in the title as his hips began to gently rock her in his lap, making her mewl, “my pretty wife, my good wife, look at you takin’ every damn bit of my cock, look at ya makin yourself useful, pleasin your man, ya like pleasin me dontcha? I know ya do, I’ve felt ya shiver when I praised ya before, I feel ya watchin me to make sure I like a thing you do. I know you, ya might not love me but ya love to please me, I know what you want. You wanna please me, always have since I first saw ya. Ya know what pleases me baby?” he tilted her face to his by her chin, her cheeks wet with tears and her mouth panting as he ground inside her deep and hard as granite, ignoring her whimpers -only her eyes showed the wild revelry she was feeling at being spoken to like this, “Know what makes me happiest?”

“No sir.” she gasped, respectful and suddenly aware of how helpless she was in his lap as his huge hands engulfed her plush hips and made her to swivel and grind on him, the motion tugging her lil house apart even more.

“Pleasin’ God by pleasin myself by filling you up. That’s what. That’s what makes me happy” he stated, the look of girlish shock she showed at his language shooting straight to his cock and making him jab up into her body until she clung to his shoulders and wailed, painfully aroused by the concept and terribly hurt by the process.

“Please, please.” she sobbed into his neck as he gripped her ass and leveraged her up and down on his thick shaft, his groans mounting joyously and her body trembling at being used so presumptuously. It’s too much, he’s too much of a man and her womb aches from his thrusts.

“Please use me?” he grinned into her neck wildly, “That wha’ you’re tryin to say, lil one? can’t get it out with a cock in ya, can ya? So yittle I bet I’m clean up through to your throat, ain’t I? My poor lil wifey.”

It was his glutted acknowledgement of the fact he knew she felt like he was spearing her beyond her capacity, yet he wouldn’t stop, loved her too much to stop driving himself into her, making himself fit in her. He wanted to be a part of her so bad he’d grab her wrists and bruise her hip with his grip and snap his pelvis against her own ruthlessly -just so he could be close to her. Just so she would be his.

It had her moan again, this time from something besides pain.

“Elvis.” she moaned out, trying to tell him, to somehow alert him to the fact she was willing and good and could feel her body had begun to give into its natural purpose, she was slumping into his chest, and her pussy still burned and ached but had surrendered to the veiny little conquerer plundering her depths. “Elvis I-I- yes, yes, use me.” she managed and was given a proud and searing kiss in return for her submission. “You’re so pretty.” she said it like it was some dazed explanation for her obedience.

With Elaine’s pussy giving and wet from blood and slick, he knew he could begin in earnest now. So, gently, he tipped her backwards out of his lap again, laying her on the golden sheets and falling deeper inside her as he got back on top, never pulling out through the whole maneuver. Her eyes rolled back as she felt him lay atop her, buried to the hilt, her legs pushed apart to bracket his waist and allow him deeper. She threw her arms around his neck and breathed in like she was about to be dropped on a rollercoaster, some imminent adventure obviously looming as he buried himself deep and got a thorough grip on her shoulders before kissing her ardently.

It was when she was kissing him back and thinking how wonderfully sweet he was that she first felt those famous hips pull back, then drive himself inside of her with shocking precision. It made her cry out, and before she could suck in breath to replace her cry he was pulling out and pumping in again, little gusts of shock mined out of her at each powerful and measured pump and her back began to rub against the bedspread, her whole body seemed to shake from the force of absorbing his vigor.

“Thank me.” he required, aiming to find that spot that had made her spray his face, determined to wipe that pained grimace off her face and replace it with pleasure.

“Thank -thank you?” her tone was dazed and he wasn’t sure if her confusion stemmed from what she was supposed to be grateful for, or if she disagreed. She gripped the comforter, hands above her head and out to the side, absorbing the ripple he drove into her flesh.

“I've made ya a woman.” he reminded, proud and smug as only a 23 year old boy can be when tumbling his pretty young bride in the sheets beneath him, “So thank me.”

She pensively watched him as he swayed above her, blocking out the gaudy chandelier, his hair flopping into his eyes and moving with the cadence of his body, his body was unforgiving and driving into hers with a steady, slow beat, but his face was still desperately insecure, searching for approval and a hint that he was doing well. She loosened one hand from the counterpane and brought it to his cheek. He melted, a huffed out whimper of his own, in sharp contrast to the rigid power of his desire.

“Sweet man.” she whispered, “So good to me, always so good to me.” she assured, and he gave her a wet kiss full of wanting, letting her pet down his neck, over his back, stroking the swell of his flank, remembering the reaction it had elicited in him and figuring she’d thank him once he managed something worthy of it. Which he was very close to doing, she sensed, if he could relax himself. “Elvis,” she nuzzled his nose with hers, propping herself up on her forearms, to look down the length of her belly at the place where he speared her, “gimme those babies, and I’ll thank ya.”

Her daring grin had the intended effect, his nostrils flared as he heaved in a breath and his pupils blew wide, he pried her other hand from the bedding and interlaced it in his much larger one, pressing the knuckles to the mattress,

“I love you.” he swore before gripping her hip and tilting her pelvis off the bed, to the angle of his satisfaction before he drove his hips in with the purpose of finding that place that made her wild, the one his fingers had discovered and got her to spray for him.

He knew he’d brushed it when her face went from sweet compliance with the discomfort and placid curiosity for the proceedings to eyelash fluttering shock.

“E!” she gusted out urgently and a little unsure, unsure that this horrid taking of him could really be morphing into the spine tingling thrill she was now feeling each time he drove in, the tug and ache of his size still apparent but almost serving to heighten the aliveness of her feelings down there. “Right -right there it’s, it’s oh, it’s-“ she hadn’t a word for it, as the feeling was growing in strength and any moment there might be some shift that turned it back to pain, his speed was picking up and it scared her as much as it excited her. Like when he started speeding on the winding roads of North Carolina just to hear her shriek, conflicted between excitement and fear.

“Yeah?” he huffed, shining with sweat and heat above her, his hair darkened and his eyes darkened and his lips darkened and he- he looked so flushed and dark and decadent and she moaned at the sight of so beautiful a creature possessing her, pleasuring himself with her body, like any animal or male would do with a mate. He could have just hunted her down on a forest floor, chosen her for her scent alone, pinned her fist to the ground and her hips up to his pelvis and -it was that primal. She loved it. Like all the energy and raw potency of life he had in him when performing was now being driven into her aching belly. “Yeah? Yeah that’s where ya like it? Tell me how ya like it, jus’ tell me and I’ll do anything. Anyhtin’ for ya, Elaine. I done told ya, told ya I’d make it nice.”

Nice was a pathetic word for what he was making her feel and she found herself wishing she had an extra hand to stifle the sounds that began to wail out of her throat at his unforgiving depth. His own moans and breaths were shuttering across her face and the intimacy of what they were doing filled her with a serene joy she’d only felt on crisp, tea drinking early dawns in autumn. It made her squeeze him closer and she could just feel the comfort he took in it, his whole body melding to hers. Elvis’ slow and long pumps had her adjusting well and the unerring accuracy he maintained when noticing something she liked soon had her clenching from pleasure rather than pain.

“You’re in me.” she stated the obvious with a little shock in her voice, turned silly beneath him as he shuddered and pumped in her, “Oh god you’re in me, and, and it’s, it’s -you’re so good at this…”

There was a kind God above after all, and she let out a giggle at the joy of it, at the joy of taking Elvis Presley to the hilt like she’d been born to do. The pride on his face came through the feral pleasure painting it, his hands beginning to map her own body, feeling the jiggle and give of her as he fucked her up the length of the bed, shock coming across his own features as he registered something new that first made a flash of panic burn through him.

He was in her, entirely bareback. And, well, he knew that of course but suddenly, the mind bending intensity of sensations around his cock made sense. It was the first time he’d been inside a woman without a barrier, no condom to distract from her silky grip, his precum gushing and spluttering, slicking up the way for his cock to drive in, turning their love making into a lewd cacophony of sounds that made the man in him exult. It’s my wife, he reminds himself both jubilantly but also to keep the reflexive panic of going in raw at bay, it’s my wife and I need to give her babies. To keep her I gotta fill her up.

“Look at that perfect face.” he groaned aloud to himself, and he meant Elaine’s “taking-cock” face, which he had imagined a million times, but her open mouthed, eye fluttering, hands in hair image below him was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in all his life, “Look at that perfect fuckin lil face.” he repeated as he forced himself in her all the way, bumping at her crevice and making her let out some form of sob.

“Y-you’re in deep enough?” she gasped out an inquiry, suddenly able to recall what this was all for, accepting of her purpose and close to feral in desire to accomplish it well.

“Ya can take more?” He asked, truly about to lose all grip on himself and wanting her blessing for it, “Gonna lemme get deep, baby? Make me a daddy, hmm? Gonna make me a daddy?”

He sped up with each sentence, her frantic nods and her “yes, yes Elvis, give me more, all of you!” spurring him on till he was driving into her and making those gorgeous breasts of her’s bounce wildly beneath her much abused silk nighty. “Get it deep, please, please get it deep.”

In theory he knew she wanted his swimmer's up past the cake she ate, his own perverted lesson suddenly coming back to bite him with a vengeance as her pleas sent him careening towards his own orgasm faster than he had any intention of blowing. But he was a man, and all his cock heard was “deeper.” And so he drove in deeper and harder.

“S’good.” she continued and her perfect diction was now slurred, her tongue heavy in her mouth and nothing but Elvis Elvis Elvis in her view and in her mind and in her body. “Gonna be good, it’s so good I-come on E, gimme those babies, please please, yes, you’re so good to me.” she was looking up at him in awe, her body spasming and shaking so hard he wasn’t sure if she was coming constantly or having one terribly intense build up. The sweet darling certainly had no clue, and that thought made him grip Elaine harder and he felt his mind grow hazy at her praise, “Elvis you’re, you’re so pretty like this!” she cried out, her neck strained as she clasped her hands around his face and stared deep into his eyes as he plowed her, those carmel colored eyes holding an intensity he’d never seen in a woman.

It shook him to the core and plunged him somewhere deep and subservient, the world felt like it was tilting and he was fading to a place where he was a pretty boy and a useful stud and he-

“Fuck! Elaine you-“ he wanted to tell her she couldn’t, she couldn’t say such things to him, it would turn him mindless, he knew the symptoms. He’d no longer be the strong husband she needed but her goddamn slave, a whimpering pathetic mess. He was going to come.

He pulled out abruptly, and as if his cock stuffing her pussy was filling the whole of her with strength, like a doll with batting. she deflated against the bed in confusion at the sudden halt and withdrawal.

“Baby?” she questioned him in a forlorn whimper, her entire consciousness begging for more as he patted her thighs soothingly and fought to grapple his sanity back in place. He couldn’t slip and turn ‘little’ tonight, he simply wasn’t able to do that to Elaine. He stared down at her freshly gaping little hole and swore he didn’t mean to be an ass, but he was just a man, and she was his wife to do with what he wanted. She wanted his babies, and she didn’t know better than to let him do whatever it took to give her that. And right now, he couldn’t handle the adoring looks and innocent dirty talk pouring out of the mouth of a virtuous girl he had long harbored such obscene intentions for. It turned him very desperate and perhaps a little mean.

“Forgive me, mama.” he muttered when leaning over Elaine and kissing her hard before he gripped his bride’s delicate waist and flipped her onto her knees. “It’s better for breeding this way.” he gritted out at her confused gasps, palming her ass where her slip had ridden up to expose her. He lined himself up with her pussy and watched with savage enjoyment as his girth slowly stretched her pretty pink rim beyond all seeming capacity and her following whimpers were music to his ears, her trill of confused enjoyment as he slid to the full, the cutest thing imaginable.

Immediately she missed the sweet intimacy of his embrace, the pleasurable sight of his face above her, also. And this angle, this method, it was deeper and tugged again at the petals of her house that had just gotten used to his usage. She thought to object, to tell him she didn’t like it this way -he had told her to tell him what she liked. She assumed, hoped, that stood for what she didn’t like, as well.

Elvis is a good boy, she heard her father say in her head, Elvis is a good boy -even as this good boy lined his inordinate organ up with her sore little place and thrust inside again. She was going to have to tell him she didn’t like it this way.

That is, until she lifted her head from the sheets he had tossed her in, belly first and face down, and noticed the mirror hanging opposite them. In it she saw a perfect view of her own face, a face she knew but hardly recognized, so…matured…was it in the gilt reflection. Her face was flushed and richly colored and her mouth gaping like one of those steamy movie posters where the woman has succumbed to the man’s embrace-and god knows whatever else it was the man was doing to her below the waist where the posters always seemed to cut off. The man was snapping his hips to push himself inside the woman, that’s what they were all doing. Now she knew, and she watched enthralled as Elvis mounted her from behind like a damn stallion, his broad hand gripping her shoulder and yanking her back against him as he snapped forward, the other fiddling under her hemline until he found her little button and began to play.

Nevermind, she thought, focusing on trying to breathe as he began to set a demanding pace again, pain and pleasure in this act equal parts for her as she propped up on her forearms and watched him watch what he was doing to her virgin hole, -nevermind he can keep at it, she decided.

His calloused fingers were petting and swirling and tugging so perfectly in her little nub in time with his strokes she began to happily anticipate the next thrust, rocking back on her own accord, feeling the bliss build again but this time stronger than what he had given her before with his mouth. In the mirror she could see how the strap of her slip had fallen off her shoulder and now lay partway down her arm, her gaping neckline now exposing a whole breast showing how it jiggled obscenely with each of his movements. It made her cheeks burn.

Elaine tried to right the strap but holding herself up with one arm made her nearly wobble face first into the sheets again and it made him lose his rhythm and suddenly it was entirely too good like that, face in the bed and hips propped up, and she needed that hand to stifle her shrieks of pleasure as he pounded into her without a hitch at the new position.

“Ya like it like that, hmm?“ he gritted out as she folded and screamed beneath him, speeding his fingers up on her clit as her thighs began to clamp shut. “God look at these hips, anythin’ but cradlin’ babies would be a goddamn waste of ‘em.” he squeezed at their plush width while yanking her back on him again and again.

“T-t-they’re gonna hear me.” she wailed once, and he realized she meant the guests downstairs, that once she realized that he wasn’t going to stop just because her pleasure had her in a place where she could no longer be in possession of herself, she had begun to fear for their reputation.

“Let ‘em.” he growled, taking his wet hand from between her thighs and running it up the length of her bowed spin, relishing the way she was drenching his thighs too, “They all know what I’m doin’ to ya. They knew what you were signin’ up for, even if you didn’t.” that thought made his balls tingle and he knew he close, that and the fact Elaine’s had her pretty little face barely propped up enough to watch them in mirror, watching as he plowed her from the back in tear stained, shocked, pleasured obedience to his wants, “Whole world’s gonna know what a good wifey you are, soon enough. They’re gonna see ya swellin and fillin out and they’re gonna know how good you are for me, how well ya take me, how much ya enjoy splittin’ yourself on my cock.”

“Oh God!” she screamed at the thought and at the thrill of his praise and buried her face into the golden bedding in abject submission and ecstasy, no longer able to compute the image of her dear, sweet Elvis mounting her body and snarling in pleasure in the mirror as he used her to chase his relief.

Elaine, to his lust clouded mind, had the prettiest ass on earth and it filled his hands perfectly, and her overstimulated shrieks and mewls and squeals sounded every damn bit like a Disney Princess. And somehow, that thought really did it for him.

Elvis hadn’t given it a lot of thought before, mind ya, hadnt spent time contemplating what it would be like to make Snow White touch her toes while getting skewered or how it would be to push Cinderella’s sweet face into the sheets. But he was pretty sure that if one of those doll-like little ladies had ever been made to take cock after true love's kiss, they’d sound rather like the squeaking little thing writhing beneath him right now.

He jabbed harder just for the fun of that, just for the enjoyment of the fact he was balls deep in a virgin cunt about to blow his load inside a woman for the first time ever. His jabs and swivels and fucks made she squeal more, clinging to the foot of the bed, no rich alto moan left in her with every inch he made her take.

She sounds like Tinkerbell, if Tinkerbell ever had the sweet misfortune to be loved on by Elvis Presley. He grins at the mirror, grins at the bowed figure of his little wife, gives a passing prayer of thanks for this perfect woman he is gonna spend the rest of his life loving in this way.

Take this, Tinkerbell, he thinks excitedly, ramming home once more and feeling himself drain inside her at last in long, pulsing, gushing spurts.

She knew that feeling, she realized in a daze. Yes she had felt it just this night when they were writhing against each other but -this hot gizer of warmth shooting inside her… the porch swing. He had wasted his seed in his pants on the porch swing. He wasted so much wanting her without telling her, it makes her heart ache for him. She spreads her trembling legs apart and tries to wiggle him in deeper, pushing back onto his key as he shudders to a halt, trying to be of help for him, to get it where it needs to go. No more waste. No more pining. It makes him sob and groan as she milks him, her sweet boy returning as he drapes over her back, a boneless weight before gently rolling onto his back and taking her with him, still impaled. A stopper of sorts, to keep it from leaking, from wasting.

There is not a single part of her body that does not tremble, nor of his either, they cling to each other, fully equal in post-coital vulnerability now and try to remember what world they belong in. His hands cradle her lower belly, pressing her close to him and swiping his thumbs along her spine, just as she pets over his arm and nuzzles into the hollow below his throat. She’s so touchy, caressing him and squeezing him like she needs the contact as badly as he does, and it’s exactly what he always wanted, hoped, didn’t dare ask heaven for but he’s got it. She’s here, she’s his.

“You’re my wife.” he marvels, and he is referring twofold to the act that just made her so and he means it wondrously by the way she lov- cares- for him so well. “You make me so happy.” he says against her lips.

“Thank you.” she whispers, cracking open her eyes to see him soft and gentle right there beside her, “For choosing me.”

“Didn’t have a choice.” he croaks, “Never has been a choice with you, I had to have ya, was more your choice than it ever was mine to lemme be yours.”

“You are mine now, aren’t ya.” she muses and he sees the way that thought sparks some life back into her heavy lidded eyes.

It’s good to belong to someone, he thinks, comforted as he brings his mouth down to hers. “Yeah, always, always gonna be yours.”

He kisses her long and slow and she returns it, her body sated beneath his caresses in a way his masculine, virulent one could never be when laying beside her, buried inside her still, newly laying claim. It is a gentle rocking when he begins again, quite helplessly, to move inside her, and she is so busy tugging at his cropped hair and nipping at his lips that she doesn’t seem to notice that they’re swaying vertically until he draws her leg over his hip and begins to drive up again in earnest, her moans a sweet melody she pours into his mouth. It’s quiet this second time and unrushed, and she has grown used to the ache, he thinks he should tell her soon to use the restroom, but he’ll have to take his fill again first.

He wonders when he’ll find the time to tell her to go between telling her he loves her. She asks him if they can do this often.

“Bout as often as we can manage.” Tumbled out of his lips happily.

“And how often’s that?” she urged him breathily, her eyes losing focus they were so close to his own.

“Enough times to lose count, Laney.” he promised, “Gotta fill ya up, best we can. Gotta be diligent.”

There was no soaring crescendo to this session, he merely clutched at her harder on one lazy upstroke, her fingernail had caught his nipple and zapped him straight to heaven like a thunderbolt to the frenulum. And then she felt him spilling inside again. Warm and hot and soothing the battering of her walls. His fingers took hers and pulled them down between her legs to pet the damage again, smearing him around like ointment on a wound. They had acted married twice now, she figured. They’d done marriage twice. The second she had liked even better than the first as he held her all the while, even though no searing height had happened to her.

“When you were with other girls,” she whispered into his chest later as they dozed between bouts of kissing and cuddling, “this isn’t -you didn’t…” she faltered for a moment before lifting her face to gaze down at him with warmth and gentle pleading, “-you didn’t do this with them, did you? You don’t act married with them, right?”

Perhaps most men would have chosen to lie. Elvis had no need despite his experience and his reputation. He had, a dozen or a hundred times, wrapped himself in latex and put it in a dozen or hundred women, some he cared for genuinely and some who were life preservers in a sea of lonely travels, but he’d never acted married. He’d never done this sort of intimacy before. He figured he was practically a virgin too, in that sorta way. In making love with the intention to bind himself, trap himself forever to one single soul. It ought to have been terrifying, that commitment, but feeling himself drip out of Elaine into the cradle of his hips he just felt right, like he was home. Like he’d just given himself to someone who actually wanted him. “No honey, I didn’t act married with any of ‘em. You’re the only one who gets my seed. I swear, really I do, now or ever.”

She could tell he meant that promise, and now he’d taught her how to express herself in this new language, she thanked him the only way she knew how, by gleefully rolling atop him again. It was a language she realized she was seeking most of her life, ever since anger and joy and want had flared in her and had been summarily instructed to be curtailed.

Propriety. Mildness. Rise above it all. She was good at the art of it all, and had been praised for it. Yet here was a man who coaxed vehemence out of her, taught her to inflict it on his body, who found pleasure in this grappling, wrestling, messy way that made such sense to her now she had found it.

I could love you, I’m going to love you, I’m very much in danger of loving you, was said with each swivel of her hips and lick of her tongue down his neck. “Oh Elvis.” sounded sweetly in his ear as he bounced her like a doll in his lap and made her fall apart.

Elvis had kissed her temple as he panted his breath back in again. Kept himself plugged in as long as possible till he shrank to nothing and slipped out. His destructive cock a now harmless, wet little thing that she cooed at in a most embarrassing way for him, but he was too happy with her laying on his chest to protest the curious fondling she gave his sensitive cock.

“This new house by Fort Hood, the one that agents of your’s got us,” he had murmured huskily while swigging from the chilled bottles of water retrieved from the mini fridge -with Elaine riding on his back to the closet and then the bed again, refusing to be apart, “it’s got a split layout, ya see. Top and bottom floor’s got a kitchenette, might not be the easiest for cookin’ but it’ll give us -space.” he assured, and she bit her lip imagining what he’d want the privacy for. “Wouldn’t ya rather a lil privacy ‘stead of a big ole countertop? I-I-if not I-I can-“

“Sounds perfect.” she sighed dreamily, thinking about making him meals and him coming home to eat them, gallant and lean in his pressed uniform. “You’re real handsome in your uniform, ya know that?” she figured it didn’t hurt to admit it, her man seemed to thrive off compliments from her, and he never did seem to get a big head from them. Except for the other little head that twitched and swelled at any compliment at all.

It was getting late, or early more like, and as she felt his interest grow yet again, Elaine played at denial. A silly, jokingly, little sort of thing where she wriggled away from his grabby hands and tried to make it out of the bed -headed to god knows where, the champagne bottle or the record player or downstairs, she didn’t know as she had no real intention of fleeing. But being seized from the back by her husband and playfully thrown back on his bed, made to sprawl out on the corner of the mattress , her legs hanging apart and her pathetic little slip still hanging onto her modesty for dear life, it was rather thrilling the way he had muttered,

“Oh no ya don’t, good lil wives don’t run.” and put himself back into her overused body, relishing her moan at his first thrust in and the fucked out compliance of the grinning girl beneath him. “I wanna see my pretty wife’s tits,” he asked as he watched them bouncing and jiggling with each absorbed fuck, “C’mon baby, be good and lemme see those pretty pillas of mine, you won’t deny me will ya? Come on, baby, so pretty, so round, gonna make ‘em blow up soon enough, whole world’ll notice ‘em. I wanna be the first to see ‘em before it. Up we go, lemme, come on yittle one, thas it, lift it up.”

He watched as this woman of his who was currently impaled on his cock blushed and smiled and bashfully pulled up her slip till her buttermilk soft mounds were bare, pink nipples pebbled and a scared, hopeful look on her face as her slip bunched at her clavicle.

“Goddamn, I’m a lucky man.” he had groaned and not missed her relieved smile. Then playfully flicked the slip up and over to hide her bright red face before folding himself enough to suck on a rosy little nipple while pistoning in and out. Soft, pliable flesh giving beneath the weight of his jaw and the nudge of his nose.

It was bizarre to Elaine, her sight obscured by the slip, her breathing hampered by the same, sound and feeling her chief senses this time. Just the sounds of him enjoying himself alone had a warm feeling curling in her chest and her belly, too, his hums and groans sending delightful zaps through her previously respectfully ignored nipples. His hands running up and down her ribcage, sometimes seizing her waist to pull her on him, sometimes fluttering over her diaphragm to feel himself moving within, nearly up her lungs he felt.

She felt as if she had finally been given privacy in which to truly feel and enjoy this, veiled by her own last shred of modesty, she let herself feel -and what she felt was astounding. She felt cherished. And she felt ravaged. And as if no one was here or anywhere on this earth to judge the way she screamed in delight, she yelled it and heard him answer her:

“that’s it, lemme hear ya” his teeth snapping at her nipples as he talked around them with his movements causing him to miss, sparking a fresh wave of noise to humidify the satin covering her face,

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

She chanted in happy panic as her legs drew up on their own, up and up and trying to close against the delicious onslaught, only to realize too late that it made the fit even tighter, the friction even stronger, the glint in her husband’s eyes wilder. He pinned them to her chest, with a single hand, to keep them out of the way. Slapped at her clit instead, made her scream in a way he didn’t think she was capable. Thought about doing it twenty years from now, thought about how he’d have the rest of his life to make his Tinkerbell scream. He slapped her there again and this time no scream, just a hissed in breath that had no exhale, her whole body clamping up in rigid ecstasy, tightening so strongly he couldn’t even keep his thrusts going to help her through.

Almost alarmed by her lack of breathing, he thought to pull at her slip, up and over her head till her face was visible again -she looked as if she were in some great agony, and his smug heart flipped at the sight, before leaning down to kiss her.

He was all chestnut hair aglow, wicked dark eyes and sweet lips, hovering down into her hazy view and her body wasn’t her own anymore, the damage had been done and the cliff she was teetering on gave way beneath her sanity when his lips met hers, his warm chest rubbing against her spit chilled nipples. For the second time that night she sprayed him, and through the eye rolling, rapturous tingle of it she heard him asking if she was “coming.”

“Oh goddamn, goddamn look a’that, oh fuck me sideways that’s hot as hell.” he blabbered, pulling out just long enough to wiggle his cockhead against her petals and force another jet out, coating his own abs with it, relishing the way her belly shook and her legs clamped together straight in the air, her hands clawing at the slip like she was trying to fight her way out. “Sweet Jesus you’re so sensitive.” he praised, pushing back in despite her hiss, and the way her feet tried to plant themselves on his shoulders to push him away. “Gotta lemme back in darlin’, I got another deposit to make.” he joked, loving the way she was clawing and wiggling away from him on pure, over fucked insinct, red painted nails dug deep enough to rip into the gold bedding. “Come on, be good, be good for me, lemme in baby, lemme in , doin’ so good, so good I know you’re so damn full, just a lil more, lil more. Don’t want any to go to waste do ya?”

He was wicked for using those magic words to make the shaking girl open up and let him in again, but he made up for it by the kisses, he felt, and in praise, and promising her if she stayed good she’d have those babies. Careening headlong towards another orgasm of his own with the sounds she was making and the lewd squelch of how wet she was down there, downright squelching with all his contributions and her own slick, he swore she was everything he’d ever dreamed of. She smiled at that.

“I’m gonna come.” he promised her almost in a beg, pleading for her to understand why he sped up and started to pound her again in earnest, erratic thrusts.

“W-whats coming?” she whined, her eyes screwed shut and her thighs shivering beneath his shoulders, “Y-you’re already here…”

The more he drained his balls, the more his mind seemed to leave him as well, all catered sentences and prim vocabulary gone straight out the window with his last shred of self restraint. “This-is-comin-“ he punctuated as he drove himself in, then felt his balls draw up and try to offer up residual bits of spunk but nothing seemed to come out. Served him right how white hot and painful it felt, sputtering dry inside her. He hoped she didn’t notice the deposit was a blank check. Also hoped she didn’t hear the pathetic whimper he’d let out as lil Elvis heaved his last attempt at it. By the way she was humming and petting at his hair, cradling him gently as he sagged atop her on the corner of the bed -he was afraid she’d heard and felt it all.

“Why’s it called that?” she whispered in his ear, and he wondered that she had any energy at all.

He burrowed his face deeper into her neck and mumbled, “Damned if I know, darlin.” he thought on it a little while longer while also thinking of the drip, drip, drip of their mess melting between them, “Unless it’s cause it makes ya feel like you’re havin a ‘come to God moment’, ya know?” he suggested and laughed when he felt her poking his cheek. “Do ya- do ya like it when…when ya-“ he couldn’t manage it now in the gentle afterglow, starting to get a chill after all his sweaty exertion cooled and left behind clammy skin and pooled secretions, feeling how naked and soft and lonely he was suddenly upon feeling sated for the first time tonight.

“Can we really do this as often as we want?” she asked instead, and her tone held no dread in it, only hopeful excitement. Suddenly the lonesomeness was gone again.

He felt her hands stroking his back and down to his ass again and he had giggled happily, not able to hold back his relief. “Yes, darlin.”

“Gosh.” she mused, petting him still, “To think I-I didn’t know about this and now it’s…” he propped up his chin on his hands to give her an inquiring look, begging her to finish, “it’s all I wanna do now.”

“That so?” he quirked his eyebrow and she flushed and began to shake her head, her tone pleading:

“Oh, not now, not right now -oh, please, please E, I’ll die if ya do, give me a minute.” she laughed and kissed him again.

“We should sleep.” he mused, half asleep already, pillowed on her boobs, his legs still technically still standing him upright as his upper body lay across the bed, across his new wife. “And bathe.” he realized.

“It’s very sloppy.” she agreed, and the thought of how uncomfortable she must be, stuffed with a half a dozen or more cum shots roused him to action.

He picked Elaine up bridal style and carried his now gloriously naked woman into the en-suite bathroom, seating her on the chilled marble countertop and grinning at the way she melted, spineless and used against the mirror, a soft smile lighting her dear face.

She liked watching his long lean, boyish figure, hard in some places and soft in others, strangely inviting in its combinations, ripple and flex as he bent and turned on the tub faucets, snagging gold embossed towels off the rack.

E.P. they read, gold thread glowing on the black cotton.

E.P.

For the both of them. It could be for either of them, it probably had been in his mind when he’d had them made, stocked his home full of monogrammed luxuries with her future initials on them E.P. --and all the while she had been fretting of dying a loveless old maid.

She laughed happily and found she couldn’t stop, catching sight of his embossed robe, hung on the door with the same initials. E.P. She was wanted, she was so very wanted here with him. It made her slide her jellied legs off the counter and hug him ferociously from behind, pressing kisses into his spine, and the freckles that smattered his shoulder blades.

“E.P.” she whispered and he got what she meant, turning round and grinning at her.

Once in the bath she dozed in his arms, near suffocated by bubbles and relishing his embrace, the warm water and his massaging hands soothing the ache between her legs.

“We haven’t washed the babies out have we?” she asked, groggily staring into the receding bath water as he tenderly toweled her off once stepping out of the tub. “I-I-I want those babies.“ she insisted and it must’ve been the lateness of the hour or the sheer amount of muchness she had been subjected to tonight but her lip started to wobble at the idea she’d carelessly risked her hopes down the drain, swirling away with the last of the bubbles. “Elvis I-I- didn’t mean to rinse them out!” she wailed, near hysterical with fatigue.

He tried assuring her but she wasn’t easily pacified. “I-I could give ya more.” he finally offered timidly, entirely uncertain either of them were capable of enduring another round.

He was toweling off her calves as he said it, pressing kisses to her knees and noticing the tremors in her thighs. To his shock she dropped to her knees beside him on the bathmat, eyes half mast and nearly insane looking in their fatigued determination,

“Please, please give it another try.” she nodded before spinning around on the bathmat, shakily swift and presenting him with her shapely ass.

‘Better for breeding this way’, came back to mind. God she was a quick study, and he prayed for strength and some shred of self restraint in indulging her. Instead, he found himself burying his face between her cheeks and licking at her devotedly, afraid they may have washed her slick away and worrying the burn of entry would be too much for her, fresh out of the tub and swollen from overuse as she was. No woman had let him do it this way, his face near buried in her bath warmed ass and his tongue kitten licking at her slick hole, but Elaine bore it with decorous appreciation, entirely unaware of being anything but eager in her responses, her spine arched and a rosy cheek pillowed on her forearms. Her yittle hand came down to pet Elvis’ diligent head as he worked between her legs.

“That’s it, I love it, E, like that, I love it when you…” she was mumbling in a slurred litany of praise he gobbled up ravenously, just like he did the shuddering little trickles of sweetness he coaxed out of her. “I’m -I’m, yeah yeah-“ he felt her grind down on his face as she shook again, and then it was as if the top half of her body nearly melted into the mat, just his hands keeping her ass in the air. “Please put it in.” she whispered, her hand still down there between her legs and reaching for something else of his now, her tone so soft and polite, like Cinderella asking for cock.

He aimed his cock into her waiting hand and watched with barely suppressed desire as her palm rolled over the rip and her nails gently raked across his veins as she moved to grip him and point him where she wanted him. There was a lewd sucking noise this time when he went in, like her body was finally trying to swallow him willingly, and he saw her head toss on the mat, dainty fingers woven into gold shag and her neck craned back to see him as he pressed in deep. Her face was flushed deep red and the makeup had worn off and she looked so innocent, so young beneath him, a single curl plastered dark and wet against her cheek from the bath. He’d unmade her, turned her back to her simplest form. He snapped his hips, lost his mind, noticed happily how her hand went to her hip and joined his there. He held onto it like a handle and jerked her back on him again and again, her cheek rubbing against the mat and her teeth sinking into her other fist to hush her cries. Those cries of hers, maybe something was very sick inside him that he liked them so much but he did, he did and he worked hard to draw more from her just as he dreamed of this, dreamed of her fluttering pink hole trying to take more and her eyes rolling back from the fatigue of it, her body unable to deny him.

“My poor belly,” he thought he heard her whimper, yet unsure he reached down and pulled her fist away from her mouth, it pushed him deeper in, bent her more starkly, speared her cervix, “Oh god, my belly, my poor belly.” she kept saying for sure this time.

“You alright, Lany?” he draped over her and brushed the damp strands off her face, her face that was red and splotchy from sensation and blood flow. She gave him a whimpering nod.

“You’resodeep” she accused him even as he felt her squeeze and shake around his girth, her mouth gaping for a brief moment at the unexpected little pleasure. “My poor belly.” she said it over and over again and he couldn’t stop. It was more just a bewildered mantra to comfort herself, as her mind betrayed her and wanted him but her body was so well used that was she was just…taking it

“You poor little thing,” he cooed, making sure to move slow and deep in a way that had them both shaking and stepping into madness, bent all over her bent frame himself, “you’re takin’ my cock so well, so obedient, never was a more righteous wife, never was, you’re a goddamn wonder, that’s what you are. I’ll thank God for ya every day.”

His praise always soothed her and he kept it up, not even sure what he was saying anymore as he chased his own release, focused on the bent little thing beneath him and the way it made her waist look minuscule in this position, her pink face, too. At one point he saw tears instead of bath splash on her face and as he felt himself begin to spurt he shushed her the best he could with the first thing that came to mind:

“Don’t cry Tink, please don’t cry.”

The nickname tickled her consciousness like a feather on the neck, some goosey thrill that tickled up her spine and added to the satisfied throb between her legs as he splashed hot and thick inside her.

“Tink?” she thought she had asked him, bewildered and charmed to have been christened. Maybe her words got lost in the bath mat.

He did not answer her, must’ve not heard her at all, but picked her up with his own shaking arms and like a couple of bambi's they toddled into the massive bed, throwing themselves under the covers quite unceremoniously. He tried to swat at the lamp as if that would turn it off, and realizing she was the more capable of the two -he seemed almost insensibley drained by that last encounter- she leaned over his chest and pulled at the lamp string, dousing the glow that surrounded them, only to realize dawn was splashing a violet haze through the crack of the window curtains.

“Good morning, Mrs. Presley.” he had teased softly, noticing the dawn too, his head tilted on the pillow to watch her shut off the lamp.

“Good morning, husband.” she murmured, wriggling on top of him as he held her fast, arms locked over her back and her head pillowed on his chest.

This cuddling was familiar, this drowsy holding of each other until he stilled and fell asleep, an art she had perfected since his mama died. But now she was the woman in his life, and strangely now that the hunger had been glutted and abated, they entwined around each other like babes or twins in a womb, this naked closeness the most natural of assurance in the world. Something Elvis had been missing since his brother had left him, since Jesse entered the world before him and chose not to stay and endure it with him, fell into place.

My sister! My spouse! -King Solomon had called his lover, and Elvis had felt that supremely odd when snooping through the Song of Songs as a boy. But now he knew -too many roles did she fill to be confined to one, and Elvis felt tempted as Elaine fell asleep atop him to whisper, “my brother, my spouse!” into her hair.

Sometime later, when deep unconscious, dreamless sleep had possessed them and held them fast, but not a long enough time for Elvis to be remotely cheerful about it, a obnoxious clanging sound broke in on their peaceful repose. Elaine jerked awake atop him with a startled little squeak and he put his hand to the back of her head to shush her, encouraging her to lay her cheek back on his shoulder. The noise resounded again and this time he was lucid enough to determine it was coming from outside the bedroom door.

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

Elaine huffed and rubbed her tired face into his chest, his sparse hairs there tickling her nose and making her sneeze. That made him laugh and with neither able to keep up the pretense of sleep, they raised their heads and looked towards the door with matching, raised and unimpressed eyebrows of displeasure.

“If this is the boys idea of a practical joke,” he growled with sleepy morning grit in his voice, “they won’t be boys much longer.”

“Will ya put them in boxes and give them to me?” she inquired and he realized with a self satisfied smirk that her melodic voice had gone hoarse from all the screaming he’d made her do the night before.

“Heavens Mrs. Presley,” he marveled, “ya sure have gotten comfy askin’ for things -I like it.”

“I could think of a thing or two I want right now.” she bit her lip and her eyes slanted hungrily and some scared part of him that worried she wouldn’t want this as much as he did got buried teen feet below the earth, locked away forever.

“Breakfast?” he acted dumb even as she propped herself up on his chest and gingerly tried rolling her hips along his thickening shaft, hissing at the soreness of her own petals.

The sheets falling away from her and pooling round her hips like some goddess that had condescended to come down to earth and make use of her spied after Adonis, Elaine was ethereal and happy and Elvis sank his head back into the pillow and watched her, wishing to pinch himself but the roll of his foreskin against her bud told him it was real. “Breakfast and water, breath mints and fresh air-“ she listed while speeding up and causing his cock to begin to weep and slick her way along-

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

“What?” he yelled fearsomely at the door and she shivered in spooked delight at his temper.

“I’m comin’ in wi’ breakfast,” came Mary’s unmistakable drawl through the door and to his horror he watched the gilt knob begin to turn, “y’all’s best disentangle yo’selves cause I done waited till two in the afternoon to feed yous, and I ain’t taking chances for waitin’ any longer-“ Mary stepped into the room about at the same second Elaine accomplished a dismount and roll that the would have made the marine corps proud, diving beneath the covers, only a bride sized lump to be seen by the cook as she came in with a heavy laden tray, her ingenious cowbell left behind in the hall. “Lawd Mr. Elvis, you’re wearing that loved on look just nicely, if you’ll lemme say so.” she admired his marital blush and scratched shoulders as only a proud auntie could, “Miss Elaine, you best come outta ‘der, I got bagels and cream cheese, jus’ as you like.”

“Oh Mary, you didn’t!” Came Elaine’s moan of appreciation beneath the bedding and it was altogether too close to his pelvis for Elvis’ sanity, “You’re much too good to us, you know that?” Elaine wriggled till just her head peeked out and bestowed on Mary a smile of such adoration the lady forgot the ache in her arms from carrying the tray upstairs.

“Yeas, well, wouldn't do to have y’all’s dying of malnourishment.” she huffed bashfully patting Elvis’ beet red cheeks while unconsciously setting the trey in his stiff lap.

He groaned. In appreciation for the eggs and burnt bacon, Elaine had to presume.

“Don’t you take your fill again till you’ve taken your fill, you get what I mean?” she wagged her fingers at them, first at Elvis, then at his bride as if she was second guessing who here was the more likely instigator, the groom seemingly meek and the bride grinning altogether too widely than was proper. Delighted, Mary couldn’t help her matching one, “Eat up.” She nodded, backing away while eying them suspiciously, as if at any minute they might overturn her carefully prepared victuals and begin to maul eachother anew.

“Wouldn’t think of letting it get cold!” Elvis assured her adamantly and to prove his point, stuck a bagel into his bride's mouth before getting into the eggs himself.

Satisfied, Mary left them and shut the door. They heard when she picked up her cowbell and the retreating sound of her footsteps down the hall assured Elvis it was safe. He moved the platter off his lap as if it were scorching him, flinging the offending sheets off his erection and patting his thighs, jerking his chin at a wide eyed Elaine.

“I’m a very talented man, I’ll have ya know,” he told her as she settled in his lap, his chest pressed to her back, “I can feed and fill ya at the same time.”

“So,” she began genially as she wiggled him in and got comfy, sucking cream cheese off his fingers and taking advantage of his compromised blood flow, “Is Tinkerbell gonna my nickname?”

Elvis choked on his bacon, and proceeded to cough into a pillow case. “I’ve no idea what you're on about.” he denied.

“Hey,” she grinned at him without wavering, “if you can enjoy splitting me in half, I can enjoy a nickname that outs ya for bein’ a lil nasty about it, hmm?” and she chucked his chin.

She -she had a point, Elvis supposed. “Sure, Tink, whatever you say, Tink.” he droned.

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@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

#elvis fanfiction #sarge and lil mama #elvis x you #elvis movie #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #austin butler elvis #austin elvis imagine #austin elvis fandom #austin elvis smut #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis x elaine #elvis one shot

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babybluebex · 2 years

Text

𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your secret relationship with a winterfell guard is threatened when your father promises you to another man, and you spend one last night with your lover. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: koner (game of thrones) x fem!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (MINORS DNI, unprotected sex, p in v sex, pet names, slight breeding kink if you squint) lots of crying, adopted!stark reader, mentions of arranged marriage, possessiveness, protective koner my beloved 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: listen i just need a sweet lovesick koner is my life so i wrote it and made it happen hehe enjoy! || follow @cremebruhleewrites to be notified whenever i post a new story!

There was no telling when your tryst with the guard really started. Was it when he bowed to you as you entered the grounds of Winterfell, keeping his moonish dark eyes trained on your face and mumbling “My lady”, and you smiled back at him? You weren’t a Stark by blood, only by name— Eddard had found you in the rubble of a fallen kingdom and brought you back to Winterfell to live as a princess— and most times, it was obvious that Sansa and Arya weren’t your real sisters. They were kind for the most part, but they didn’t smile at guards, and neither did you. But something about him had made you say, “You. Your name?” “K-Koner, my lady,” he had replied, and your smile grew.

Or was it the first real conversation you shared, sneaking around the kitchen at night and getting caught by him, only to share a sweet tart and whisper about everything and nothing? You had sat on the floor, your nightgown pooling around you as he removed his cowl from his head and stifled laughter as you dribbled the sweet juice in your lap. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t…” you had started, and Koner had tilted his head, expecting more. “You know. A princess. A lady. I wish I was just a girl.” And he had replied, “I’ll never call you any of that ever again.” And he hadn’t. From that moment on, when you were alone, you were simply “Girl”.

Maybe the start was your first kiss. There had been a large dinner, some sort of celebration, and Koner had complimented your dress, only for you to compliment his polished armor and the sword hanging at his side. He had looked around at the bustling dinner and his hand had delicately slipped into yours, and he tugged you out of the dining hall and into the darkened corridor. He pushed you into a corner and nestled his lips against yours and, even though you had never kissed anyone before that, your body reacted, and you threw your arms around his neck and tugged him down to kiss you even deeper.

Whatever the first moment was, it all culminated in one cold night in the winter. Your fire was low as you tried to sleep, but a raging snowstorm battled against your window and kept you awake. If you weren’t awake, you might have not heard the creak of your chamber door. “Who’s there?” you called, sitting up and tugging the linens and silks up to hide your body. “Hello?”

“It’s only me, girl,” Koner’s voice came to you, and your heart fluttered. “May I enter?”

“Yes,” you told him, and he had stepped into your chambers, being quick to shut the door behind himself. Something about seeing your Koner in the low light of the dying fire was invigorating, and you sat onto your knees, beckoning him closer. He removed his gloves and tucked them into a pocket of his cloak, and you shivered when his warm hands touched your cheek. You both knew what he was there for, his intentions not easily hidden, and you had breathed a sigh before whispering, “Kiss me.”

He fell into your bed with ease, as if he was made to live there. That first night, you had clutched the back of his neck and his shoulders as he fucked you, his mouth exploring everywhere he could reach. Koner wasn’t the least bit respectful with the way he fucked you, spitting on your cunt and sliding into you, but he promised you on each huffed breath that, next time, he would be better. “But for now,” he said, and he bit at your neck. “I just need to feel you.”

From then on, meeting was a nightly affair. During the day, you would see your lover around the grounds of the castle, and he would wink one of those beautiful dark eyes at you if he caught you staring for too long. It always filled your chest with warmth to imagine the things he was thinking about you, and he always delivered answers to your curiosity at night. His thoughts, according to him, were never innocent, always about how best to fuck you, and you couldn’t help your gleeful laughter whenever Koner proudly told you “I thought of this all day”.

After he would fuck you, you had a routine of laying together in your bed, his big, warm arms holding you tightly as he kissed your head and whispered to you about how his day was going. You would tell him all about your day as well, and the conversation always turned to how much you missed each other. He would kiss you and promise you that, one day, you would be allowed to see him. “Maybe I’d be allowed to court you,” he said, his fingers lightly tracing your bare skin. “I know that’s not true, but—“

“Maybe someday,” you interjected. “Maybe someday, my family will let you court me. Or we could just run away together to a new kingdom.” Koner smiled with you, and he kissed your hair.

The nights always ended as the faintest hint of sunlight peeked at your window, and Koner had to go about getting dressed once more. You always tried to postpone his leaving, grabbing his wrist or kissing him or any litany of other distractions, but Koner always had to break your heart and leave. “If I’m caught in your chambers, your father would kill me,” he told you one night, his hands grabbing at your face. “And he really would do it.”

You had no doubts about that, but it still made your heart shatter with every reminder. Koner was a guard, you were a princess; it was doomed from the very moment he laid his dark eyes on you. “I love you,” you would tell him, and he would kiss you hard, trying to imbue every inch of his love into your body.

“I love you too.”

You heard the solid thud of your door as it began to open, and your heart beat quickly inside your chest. You weren’t in bed, as was usual; instead, you were sitting on the finely woven rug in front of your fire, watching the flames lick at the stone wall of the fireplace. It was the most you could do to keep from crying all night, waiting on Koner and watching the fire.

“It’s only me, girl,” Koner’s voice came to you in a whisper, and you sniffled, not even turning to him. “My girl?”

“Here,” you said softly, and you heard the door close again behind you. His leather armor squeaked as he settled it on the floor next to your bed, and, before you were quite ready for him, his scent surrounded you. He smelled like the outdoors, pine and soil and smoke and the musk of his own skin, and his arms were strong as he held you.

“Is something the matter?” Koner whispered, his voice hardly beating the crackling of the fire. “You look sad.”

You turned to face him at his place behind you, and you chewed your lip as you looked at him, in his thin undershirt and trousers, his hair matted and tousled from his cowl. The sight of your man, strong but thin, lovely but dirty, made your tears return, and you turned and threw yourself onto him. “Oh, Koner!” you sobbed into his chest, and he held you tight, despite not knowing the reason for your tears.

“What’s wrong?” Koner asked. “Have you been hurt?”

“No,” you whimpered. Then, a moment passed where you thought about it, really thought about it, and you sobbed, “Yes!”

“Where?” Koner asked instantly, his trained duties returning to him. His hands began to search your body, looking for any injury, and he added, “Who did it?”

“No, my love,” you sniffled. “I-I mean… My father, he-he told me today… I was married. The deal went through this morning, and I-I leave tomorrow for the new kingdom to meet my husband.”

“Who is it?” Koner asked, his chest heaving as he breathed. “What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?” you asked, your voice watery as you held back sobs, and Koner clenched his teeth and grabbed your arms tightly.

“Yes!” He said. “Of course it matters! It matters to me! The bastard taking you away from me, I deserve to know his name.”

“I don’t even know it,” you told him. “I-It’s a political marriage, Koner, you have to know that it means nothing to me.”

“That’s not the point!” Koner cried, exasperated. “The point is that you’re going to marry this dog, and I can’t follow you to your new home. I belong to the land, not to you. I’m not one of your maids, I won’t be coming with you. He’s taking you away from me, and I…” He stopped, his eyes darting everywhere in your room but you, and you put your hands on his cheeks, pulling him in close.

“Nobody could ever make me feel the way you do,” you told him in a hushed tone. “I love you.”

Koner nodded in agreement, and he pressed his hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I love you too,” he told you, his voice soft over the crackling of the fire. “We’ll find a way. I swear it.”

He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, and you grabbed at him quickly to tug him closer. His hand on your face was commanding, drawing you closer and closer into him, and he whispered a hushed “Fuck” against your lips.

Without a word, his hands fell to your hips, and he pulled you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist as the kiss deepened. Koner held you reverently, his grip gentle but heavy, as his mouth moved against yours, licking up into you and tasting you, and you rolled your hips down onto his. You could feel his erection through his thin trousers already, and you couldn’t help but smile at it.

“Excited to see me?” you whispered, and Koner chased you back into the messy kiss, his fingers digging hard into your thighs.

“Of course,” Koner told you. “Always.”

You clutched at his shoulders as his tongue claimed your mouth again, and you moaned softly. There was no sensation quite like kissing your lover, but an ache persisted in your chest. You didn’t want to think that it would be the last time, but you worried incessantly that it might be. The consideration that this night might be your last was enough to make you feel sick, and you felt a tear slip from your eye as you kissed him.

You hid your tears well enough, Koner’s eyes closed as he kissed you, and he took your bottom lip between his teeth and gently sucked for a moment before releasing you. His eyes fluttered open, already drunk on your kisses, and he silently wiped your tears away with his fingers. “I’ll find a way,” he told you. His hands busied themselves with your nightgown, and he bunched the fabric up at your waist so that his fingers could touch your quivering cunt. “Even if it kills me, I’ll find a way to be with you.”

One arm around his shoulders, the other touching his chest, you pressed your forehead against his and kissed his lips once more. His fingers deftly stroked your soaked skin, and he opened his mouth against yours in a quiet laugh as he plunged his first finger inside you. “Oh, my girl,” he whispered. “Already sopping wet; I ought to take pity on you and take you here on this rug.”

“Please,” you whispered shakily. “I need you, I can’t wait any longer.”

“Yes, you can,” Koner chuckled. “You’ll wait all night if I tell you to.”

“Are you commanding me?” you giggled. “Who are you to give me orders?”

Another finger quickly joined his first, and he crooked them up inside you to bury into that spot that made you whimper. Your head fell back at the pleasure that rocked your core, and Koner smiled, pleased with himself for resolving you down to nothing using only his fingers.

“I’m your man,” Koner told you. “I’m the one who fucks you until you have nothing to say, until you have nothing in your brain. I think I’m more than qualified to give you orders.”

“Fuck me,” you gasped. “Koner, my love, please fuck me.”

“Aw,” Koner pouted playfully. “You said please. You sound like a desperate whore.”

“Maybe I am,” you replied. “Only you know for sure.”

Koner huffed a laugh out of his nose, and he conceded. “Yes, my love, you’re one desperate whore,” he told you, and he stole a kiss before pulling his fingers from you and redirecting his attention to his trousers, undoing the lacing at the top that kept his cock confined. “But you’re mine.”

“All yours,” you breathed, and you watched as Koner tugged out his cock. Thick and long, flushed red; the delicious sight made your heart slam against your ribcage. You greedily watched as he stroked himself for a few beats, hissing a bit through his teeth as his thumb swiped the leaking head of his cock, and he finally looked at you with those round eyes.

You didn’t need to speak as you settled yourself on top of him, and you took his cock in your hand. Silently, you positioned him at your wet entrance, a small bundle of anxiousness and excitement nestled in your lower belly, and you slowly sank yourself onto his cock. You moaned softly as he stretched and filled you, the familiar sting of it more than beautiful, and Koner’s cheeks grew rosy as he felt your walls pulse around him.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “My girl, yes… Just like that.”

“Koner,” you whined softly, and his mouth captured yours in a kiss again. His hand rested on the back of your head as he kissed you, and you gasped into his mouth as you felt him settle fully inside you, his cock nestled deep. “My love…”

Koner shushed you gently, his hand stroking and smoothing down your hair, and he stole a kiss as he slowly rolled his hips up into you. You both were quick to find a rhythm, your bodies moving together and feeling together, and you couldn’t help your moans as he fucked you. You buried your face in his strong neck to try to dampen your moans, and he held you close to him, kissing the side of your face. “My sweetheart,” he whispered. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“You feel better,” you whispered, and Koner was quick to hook an arm under your leg, and he manhandled you to the floor, your back rubbing against the woven rug. His hand didn’t abandon your leg once he was settled over you; instead, he tugged your leg higher to rest against his shoulder, and he kissed at your bare thigh.

“You hug my cock so well,” Koner told you, and he began to properly fuck you, a blush rising from his chest onto his neck. Your hands grappled with his shirt, tugging the fabric up and over his head, and you smoothed your hands down his firm and built body. You often forgot that your Koner was a trained guard, skilled in combat and deadly with a sword, and seeing his muscles always reminded you of what a handsome man you had.

You watched a drip of sweat fall from his curls, and you breathed heavily as you found purchase in his hair. He panted as he fucked you, swiping down to steal kisses as his cock speared in and out of you, and you sobbed at each deep thrust that threatened to split you in two. He was rougher tonight than ever before, holding your leg up to fuck you deep, his balls hitting your ass with every thrust. It was loud and sloppy, not the beautiful thing you were used to, and you gasped, “Koner, my love, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You’re just—” you started, and the smooth skin of his hip rubbed right against your clit, the patch of hair at the top of his cock aiding in the stimulation. You cried out at the feeling, your walls squeezing his cock tight, and your words came out in a stutter when you spoke. “F-Fucking me so hard. Wh-What’s wrong?”

“I need you to feel me,” Koner said. “I need you to ache with the memory of me, I need you to be filled with my seed when your new husband tries to claim you. I need you to feel me and only me; not him, never him. Only me. And the best way for you to never forget how I feel is if I fuck you into next week.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his last statement, but you pressed your forehead against his and kissed him long and hard, his plush lips pressed sweetly against yours. “I love you,” you whispered. “I love only you.”

“Only me,” Koner whispered. “Gods, my love, I’m close.”

“Already?” you giggled lightly, and Koner rolled his eyes.

“It never takes long with you,” he said, and his hand abandoned your leg to grab at your nightgown, still bunched up around your hips. Koner worked quickly to tug it over your head, freeing your entire body to him, and his mouth attached to your soft chest. He sucked a mark just over your collarbone, branding you as his, and you hissed when his teeth added with his lips.

“Now he’ll know,” Koner said. “Now he’ll see you belong to somebody else.”

“My love,” you whimpered out. His body was still pleasuring yours, his hips rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves with every mean thrust in, and you said, “I’m close too.”

“I’m finishing inside you,” Koner told you. “Need to claim you one last time.”

“Please,” you breathed. “Do it, I’m yours.”

“Mine,” Koner hissed, grabbing your hips and shoving himself far inside you, burying himself up to the hilt. His balls nestled against your ass, and you felt him twitch inside you before the red flush pinched at his cheeks and ears. His face relaxed, his eyes closing and his mouth falling open, and he moaned deep inside his chest as he filled you.

The warmth of his release inside you made you squeal as it drew you to your end as well, and your cunt hugged him tight, milking him for every last drop. Koner’s head dropped into your neck as he panted and tried to regain some semblance of control, but his hips stuttered and his cock flexed against your sticky walls.

You breathed together, your heartbeats matching each other as you laid naked and prone on the rug, the fire still crackling beside you. Delicately, you pushed one of his errant curls back, and you molded your hand to the back of his head as you pulled him down into a kiss. It was slow, languid, beautiful, and, when Koner pulled away, you opened your eyes to see his own eyes wide and blown-out. You couldn’t help but smile at the look of it, and Koner chuckled lightly.

“My girl,” he whispered. “I’ll never forget your smile.”

“Maybe I’ll come back to Winterfell one day,” you told him. “Maybe I’ll visit and we can be together, if only for a night.”

“One night is all I’ll need,” Koner said. “I adore you, my girl. I’ll never find another like you.”

“Oh, Koner,” you cooed softly, a frown overtaking your face. “But you must! Don’t close your heart off for me!”

“My heart has been closed for others the very first day you looked at me,” Koner said. “Your first day in Winterfell, you were so gorgeous. We were young then, only children, but I knew that there was no other woman for me.”

“Children?” you echoed, and Koner nodded.

“Young little creatures,” Koner chuckled. “And now look at us.”

You sniffled back your tears, and you pressed your hand to his cheek, feeling the rough beginnings of facial hair on his skin. “I love you,” you said. “I love only you.”

“Only you,” Koner nodded, and he stole one last kiss to your mouth. “It’s only ever been you, my girl.”

#koner #koner x reader #koner smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #my writing

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natashaslesbian · 4 months

Text

Christmas Lies

Summary: your school friend tells you a devastating secret

Word Count: 1.1k

Parings: (Mom!Natasha x Daughter!Reader) (PeterParker x Reader)

Warnings: none :))

————

The snow hadn’t quite settled on the grass yet, but a faint white blanket still laid atop the field carrying your favourite playground. Everyday on the way home from school you would beg your mom to take you, just for five minuets. This was Natasha’s next clue that something was wrong. The city had long ago passed and the car was now scraping along the icy cobbled road up to the Avengers compound. After mothering you as mothers do about your coat, even for a 20 second walk, you had finally made it home. Peter, in record time, had also just made it back and was preparing you your afterschool snack. “Hey little spider” he called “look what I’ve got, chocolate pop tarts with extra sprinkles” if not only for the pop tarts, you would usually be ecstatic to see Peter. He was your favourite person, after mama of course. “y/n?” Natasha said “what do you say?” You looked between both avengers, a silent conversation took place “I think someone’s a little tired” your mommy said “well we can’t have a tired y/n now can we, why don’t you go take a nap with mr webs and I’ll save your pop tarts for later?” Peter said. You nodded and reached for him, asking spider man to take you for your nap. It was no surprise to Nat, she knew how much you loved him, and she trusted that Peter would take care of you. “Have a good nap sweetheart” the red head said as Peter lent over with you in his hold, allowing Natasha to peck your cheek “I’ll come and wake you up soon ok”

You didn’t take a nap. Once Peter left you pulled back the duvet and headed to your small desk, pulling gently on the bottom draw. Silently you pulled out a small stack of letters, each one addressed to Santa. The tears started to fall once more as you returned to your plush bed. Downstairs, Natasha was confiding in her best friend. “Something’s wrong with her I know it, ever since she came out of school today I could tell something was off” the assassin said “you just have to ask her Nat” Clint said as he passed over a steaming cup of coffee “she might just have been tired” he said “I know” Natasha continued “but after last time” “this isn’t like last time” the agent cut in “it wasn’t your fault she got sick” the pair sunk into the couch “I should’ve seen the signs, what if something is really wrong again” Clint retook the coffee before Nat even had the chance to sip the hot liquid “go check on your girl” he said.

“Y/n?” Your mom quietly said as she opened your bedroom door “are you awake?” You rolled to face your pink walls, you didn’t want to see her right now. A small crumble under her foot caused Natasha to look down. She saw the remains of scattered letters across the floor “y/n? What are these?” The redhead said as she crouched down to pick a piece up “baby are these your letters to Santa? Why are they all ripped up?” your mama took her uninvited seat on your bed, the wet patch next to your face causing a crack in her heart “y/n, can you look at mommy please?” She begged. You pulled the duvet up above your head, causing Natasha to try a different tactic “ohh y/n” she cooed “I think the… tickle monster is here!” She went straight for your tummy, your weak spot, the spot that would usually have you laughing hysterically. But not today. “Mama stop it” you said beneath the covers “it’s the tickle monster y/n oh no!” Her playful voice had you itching to climb into her arms “No mama! You lie to me!” You yelled as you reappeared with a giant frown, Natasha froze “what do you mean baby?” She asked “you lied to me” you said as you began to cry again “you told me Santa was real but he’s not” you howled. The widow wasn’t prepared for this conversation yet, she thought she still had a few more years to play pretend “who- who told you that?” You wiped your runny nose “Tommy. At school” you said “why did you lie mommy?” You completely broke down and Natasha scooped you into her arms with no hesitation, and with no push back from you.

“I’m sorry I lied to you y/n” your mama said “it was wrong of me and mommy shouldn’t have done it” you grizzled quietly in her arms “I forgive you mama” you whimpered “thank you darling, but hey you listen to me” Natasha said as she shifted you to meet her gaze “just because Santa isn’t real doesn’t mean you can’t believe in him, and it doesn’t mean the magic isn’t real” her soft fingered wiped your tears “the magic is real?” You said “of course it is!” Your mommy beamed “it’s in the snow and the presents and the food, it’s in the music and the lights, and most of all it’s in here” Nat said as she laid her hand across your chest. “I just wanted you to feel it too” you moved your head towards your moms chest and listened to her heartbeat “I feel it mama” you said “you know when I was little, I didn’t have any of the magic, but for a few years I had Santa” Natasha said as she swaddled you up “I waited up for him every Christmas. After the 5th time, I gave up. I stopped believing. I shouldn’t have lied baby girl, but I just wanted you to have the magic that I never did” you returned the favour and wiped one of mamas fallen tears “mommy don’t cry” you said “I believe in the magic” Natasha smiled again “good” she said “because I promise you, there is magic in Christmas”

A little while passed before Natasha spoke again “if you want to sweetheart, we can still believe in Santa, we can be Santa” your little eyes lit up “we can?” Your mama nodded “can Fanny be our Rudolph?” You asked “I’m sure if you ask auntie Yelena she’ll say yes!” You giggled “and we can get everyone stockings and fill them up on Christmas Eve after everyone has gone to sleep!” You beamed “that sounds amazing darling” Natasha said “I guess we’ll even have to eat the cookies won’t we” she whispered, sending you into a fit of laughter. The two of you stayed wrapped up in your room for the rest of the night, and it was safe to say you couldn’t wait for Christmas Eve, you couldn’t wait to bring santas magic to life.

————

#marvel #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel fic #nat x reader #avengers #natasha x little!reader #natasha x daughter!reader #peter parker #christmas #santa

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gyunglitter · 7 months

Text

➷ 01 ➷

-“oh, the way he makes me feel that love isn’t real -– cupid is so dumb”

unlike you, your brother’s best friend just doesn’t know when to quit

word count: 1,766

warnings: probably just the reader making you cringe lol, give her a break--she's 11 lmao

tags: brother’s-best-friend!beomgyu x reader, ??? to ???, angst, fluff(??), beomgyu is the cool boy-next-door, reader is an independent girlboss (or trying to be, at least), beomgyu’s gonna be GROVELING, simp!gyu, pathetic pining from both sides lol, maybe some cringe from reader (she was a teenage girl in love, have some empathy plz😭)

notes: LMAO SORRY TO POST KINDA LATE, I FORGOT I PROMISED TODAY HAHAHAHA

another short chapter, but i promise the next couple of chapters are a lot longer! enjoy mini reader, beomgyu, and soobin tho :)

–> masterlist <–

Ten Years Ago

If there was one thing your family agreed on, it was that Soobin was the shyest person around.

You and Soobin were very close, having a lot of the same interests and mannerisms. You didn’t disagree on many things (yet), but there were only a handful of differences between you two. You were eleven years old, making your older brother thirteen, and about to go into his final year of middle school. But the main thing that had set you both apart was that while you had many friends, Soobin had absolutely no one. He was a very sweet and funny kid, but he was too shy for his own good, unintentionally pushing the majority of the people his age away.

You had hoped your brother would make some friends during his seventh year, but had little to no luck; apparently, the Bunny Girl Senpai Fanclub wasn’t taking many applicants and the Pokemon Card Collectors Club was a bunch of gatekeepers. Middle school boys.

“What if I just faked being sick?”

Soobin held his head in his hands as he was waiting for his pop tarts in the toaster. You sat on the counter across from him, shoving down a bowl of Frosted Flakes. You didn’t have to leave for another hour when your mom would drive you to the primary school a few blocks away. Soobin, on the other hand, was supposed to set off for his first day of eighth grade soon, but was stalling as much as he could before he had to start walking over.

You snorted, “For the whole year? Fat chance of that happening, you’re the worst liar.”

Your brother lifted his head and glared at you, before sighing loudly and crying, “I hate school, it’s filled with people who are scary and take your rare Charizard card!”

You opened your mouth to reply, but were interrupted by your house’s doorbell ringing. You looked towards the front door and turned back to Soobin expectantly. But your brother wasn’t paying any attention. To your (un)amusement, he was still sulking about, well, just about everything. Like you said, middle school boys.

Shaking your head, you hopped off of the counter (carefully, as your dad had shown you) and walked over to the front door.You figured it was one of your neighbors or the mailman. You usually weren’t allowed to open the door yourself, but that completely escaped your mind when you opened the door and were faced with an unfamiliar boy.

A cute, unfamiliar boy.

You mentally thanked your mom for braiding your hair in two with your favorite butterfly clips now.

“Hi,” you said, a small grin taking over your face. “I’m Y/n!”

The boy looked at you and smiled back. “Hey, Y/n, your mom or dad home?”

You nodded your head. “They are, but they’re running around getting ready. I can definitely help you though!” What can you say, you were a confident kid.

“I don’t know, you might be a bit too little,” he teased you, making you scoff.

“Little? I’ll have you know, I can deal with anything, even crazy!”

He laughed a little at that and then said, “Of course! I’m sure you’re super responsible at the age of..?”

“Eleven,” you bragged, tucking a stray hair back into one of your butterfly clips.

The boy nodded in deep understanding and said, “Well, little Y/n, I’m Beomgyu. I just moved here and my mom told me you guys had someone my age here too! I figured we could walk to school together,” he said, rubbing the back of his head.

Your eyes widened at that, a warm feeling taking over your stomach.

The boy was cute, duh. But his easy offer of friendship, something your brother had struggled to find, made you know that this Beomgyu had a kindness to him that not many his age did–according to Soobin.

Your grin widened at the boy in front of you, nodding your head eagerly. “Just give me a sec,” you squealed, excited for your brother. “OPPA! YOU’RE FINALLY GONNA MAKE A FRIEND!”

Years later, you look back and remember the loud laugh Beomgyu had let out at your call, his excitement outweighing the awkwardness Soobin exhibited when he appeared at your doorway with a pop tart hanging from his mouth.

You look back and remember Beomgyu easily befriending Soobin with his wide smiles, animated hand gestures, and cool stories about his new pet bird. The way he eased your brother’s nerves and got him laughing, already offering to share the other pop tart in his pack.

You look back and cringe sometimes at the confidence those lame butterfly clips gave you. But you take it back when you would remember Beomgyu, with an arm around Soobin’s shoulder, had turned around while the two boys were about to take off for school, saying in a singsong tone, “Nice to meet you, little Y/n, love the butterfly clips, by the way!”

But most of all, you remember the way your cheeks flushed. The way he made you feel like you were cute too. Like you were special. You remember how that was the first of many times he would fluster you with his compliments.

You were only eleven, but at that moment you would look back and remember how this is where you became a fool–a fool for love.

“You look really good,” he whispered to you.

It took everything in you to not show how much he affected you. Unlike the many instances before though, you actually succeeded this time around. Your focused gaze on your brother and father’s random discussion about his anime watching habits kept your eyes from widening, and your well placed makeup did a good job of hiding the flush that desperately wanted to highlight your neck and cheeks. It bothered you very much how Choi Beomgyu could still get under your skin.

“Thanks,” you replied shortly, not letting your eyes leave their spot on Soobin.

–Your brother was whining about how there was no harm in watching anime when he already got his work done for the day–

Despite your subtle avoidance of him, you knew it wasn’t reciprocated by the way his breaths brushed against your ear. The way his eyes were on you, you could feel them as if they were burning you. It felt like he was truly drinking you in after so many years of not getting a single glimpse of you. But that was all you would allow him.

“I, uh, it’s nice to see you again. It’s been a while,” he continued, trying to catch your attention.

You hummed disinterestedly.

–Your father had taken to pointing out Soobin’s body pillows, to which he groaned loudly, claiming that was actually Beomgyu’s gag gift to make him look sus–

But Beomgyu was not deterred.

“Congrats on, well, everything from the past four years! I know college can be pretty crazy!”

You winced a little at that, remembering how your mom told you Beomgyu had actually dropped out of college about three months after you left for school. Despite Beomgyu doing amazing in school when you were still around–there was talk of him possibly graduating at the top of your class–he practically tanked his classes the following fall semester.

“But of course, if there was anyone who could deal with crazy, it would be our little Y/n, huh,” he laughed a little–that same damn laugh he had when you first met. “I mean, you are pretty amazing—”

You weren’t sure what he had gotten up to after you left, but you weren’t interested in hearing anything. Not about him, his future, and definitely not about how amazing he thought you were.

“Wow dad, this shrimp tastes great!” You shouted your false gratitude, successfully interrupting Beomgyu and the argument between your brother and father.

All the chatter stopped for a second, before your dad grinned at you. “Thanks, bean, make sure to grab some more then! You’re looking too skinny, anyways, are you sure you ate enough out there,” he asked, wiping his hands on the front of his apron.

You laughed and nodded, both at your dad’s question and Soobin's grateful stare for changing the topic. Eventually, your mother started another conversation about how Soobin’s friends from school were doing.

“I thought you didn’t like seafood,” Beomgyu muttered to you when he got the chance.

For the first time that evening, you looked back at him.

You realized, with a painful squeeze in your chest, that Beomgyu had grown past the stage of cuteness that you had adored when you were younger, and in your absence, became beautiful. Sure, his puppy dog eyes stayed the same, holding that familiar kindness and curiosity as before. But now, his face lost its round edges and became chiseled, looking as if his features were carved by Aphrodite, herself. His hair was dyed brown and had grown out a little into what was beginning to look like a mullet, giving off a boyish look that his typically mischievous expressions matched easily. Not only that, but he looked like he’d really grown into himself, physically and mentally. Granted, he wasn’t in the best place when you had left four years ago, but the way he carried himself was refreshing. Attractive. Him.

“I didn’t, but I do now.” You took another bite of the shrimp on your plate. “I mean, it’s been a long four years. The things I liked before changed quite a bit while I was gone. ”

You watched Beomgyu’s face fall a bit at that, his puppy dog eyes becoming downcast as he looked towards his own plate of chicken. There wasn’t much on his plate to begin with, but it seemed he wasn’t going to be eating any more after that.

“Yeah, I guess they would after so long,” Beomgyu whispered, pushing his food around with his chopsticks.

You turned back to your own food to try and get your mind off of him, but he stopped you with his next words.

“If it changes anything, so have mine.”

This time, you couldn’t stop your eyes from widening. You turned towards Beomgyu, to see him looking at you with what you could only assume was guilt.

“I just wish they had done so earlier.”

–> next <–

#tomorrow x tomorrow #txt #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu angst #choi yeonjun #choi soobin #hueningkai #kang taehyun #stupid cupid

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saintsenara · 5 days

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I need your thoughts on aunt petunia/rita skeeter

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and i think... hot. entirely on "incredibly niche moments in british pop-culture" grounds...

by which i mean, when i try to imagine what rita looks like, she always takes a form vaguely similar to a journalist named samantha brick, who went viral in 2012 when she published an article in the daily mail entitled why do women hate me for being beautiful?

brick's article was typical, boring misogyny - and so was the response to it, which all centred on the idea that she didn't actually have any right to call herself attractive - but the relevant point here is that i can guarantee that petunia hate-read it literally a thousand times, that she told anyone who'd listen that she thought brick was a delusional tart who should stay away from other people's husbands [especially when they're fine british beef, like vernon], and that she was secretly quite jealous of brick for proclaiming loudly that she thinks herself beautiful.

the way that jkr uses physical appearance - and, especially, the way that women we aren't supposed to like are described either as fat or as unfemininely thin - has always annoyed me [even though i recognise it's a trope borrowed from many of the children's literature influences upon the series].

when it comes to petunia, so much of her physical description is intended to hint at her villainy. that she's unfemininely tall and thin, that she has a harsh, slightly equine appearance serves as a visual metaphor for her lack of the feminine characteristics the series considers admirable - she's cold, unnurturing, brittle, sterile, nosy, obsessed with how she's perceived, performative, cowardly, and so on. lily - with whom she's always contrasted - is a good woman - the ultimate mother - because she's real. and she's also - as the text tells us on several occasions - beautiful.

but if one wants to be more sympathetic, petunia's brittleness can be read instead as fragility. after all, she's a woman who - by the time she's twenty-four at most - is caring for two toddlers [one more than she was expecting], has lost her parents and sister, appears to be at home all day without much social support, is hyper-focused on not embarrassing a husband who appears to be quite a few years older than her by fucking up the class performance he expects but she's not completely familiar with... the list goes on.

what this must do to petunia's understanding of her own embodiment is really interesting to me. the entirety of the person she presents to the world is a fiction - she's a working-class girl with a sister who was a witch, who lives behind a thoroughly mundane and middle-class mask. this concealment will have an impact on how she understands herself as a physical creature - the petunia dursley she's created will not sweat or cry or shit or have body hair or devour or laugh until she can't stand or take or bleed or want or fuck.

and so, when she's alone and the mask comes off, can she think that the real woman who lurks underneath - whose body does all of these things she tries to hide - is beautiful?

i imagine petunia as being prone to a sort of obsessive, corrosive jealousy in her attitude towards women who are more defiant of social convention - especially women who reject the expectation that they will be meek, humble, self-deprecating, and demure.

which brings us onto...

rita skeeter is another character whose physical description in the text is something i think it's important to unpick. she's an example of the second technique which jkr uses when describing women the narrative doesn't wish us to be sympathetic to - that their gender expression has an exaggerated, hyper-feminine aesthetic.

jkr clearly thinks that this aesthetic is unnatural - in that it only belongs to women who have to play up a pantomime of femininity because they are improperly feminine in any "innate" way. dolores umbridge's girlish, pastel looks, for example, are horrifying because the person beneath them is sociopathic in her cruelty to children.

with rita, i am always struck - especially given the turn jkr has taken in recent years - that she is described in goblet of fire as someone with a hyper-feminine aesthetic which fails [in the text's eyes] to mask that she is physically unfeminine.

she is described as having "hair ... set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face", and "thick fingers [which] ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson", and "large, mannish hands", and she's caked in make-up, and she likes her accessories with a slightly tacky vibe.

she's described - in short - in ways which are intended to make her seem ridiculous [cheap, brassy, mutton-dressed-as-lamb] within the confines of how the text [and the world] thinks cisgender women should properly perform femininity.

but she's also described in ways which suggest that we're supposed to think that she looks like someone who is not a cisgender woman trying - and failing - to "pass". the text is of the tedious opinion that we should think less of her because of this.

but fuck that!

what i like about rita is the fact that she takes this treatment by the text and... doesn't give a shit about it. she's loud and eye-catching and caustic and rude and grasping and a complete hack. what you see with her is what you get - nobody thinks she's a good or impartial journalist, including her, and she simply doesn't care! and she thinks she looks hot as hell while doing it. after all, she has her quill describe her as an "attractive blonde". harry thinks that's an offensive suggestion - but she doesn't have to.

do i think rita is a straightforwardly admirable person? no. do i think that she doesn't mask and conceal her insecurities from the world? also no.

but i think she has that self-belief which petunia would pretend she thought was disgusting but which she secretly envied rita for. and i think this - someone like petunia, repressed and concealed, meeting someone who has no shame in immoderation and who gives them permission to exist greedily - is a trope which always hits.

do i think it would last? no. i think it's a wild fling and then they go their separate ways - and i also think, as i know i say ad nauseam, that this matters. the harry potter series thinks of love as something which endures for years in solemn silence, which sacrifices and which suffers.

but sometimes love is a week of getting your nails done, sunning yourself in a leopard-print thong bikini, being trashy and immodest and demanding, and eating ice-cream out of the navel of a blonde who doesn't give a fuck what people say about her. nothing more, nothing less.

good for them.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #unhinged and deranged ships #and also a defence of immoderation in gender expression #fuck jkr we ball

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bradshawssugarbaby · 6 months

Text

Timeless - II (Bob Floyd x Reader)

A/N: Hi besties! Lil early birthday treat from me (I'm hoping to write part three on my birthday but we'll see) with part 3!

pairing: Lt. Robert Floyd x reader

warnings/content: no warnings, extra cute Bob. mutual pining, OC's mom meddling but it's cute, Bob swears like once.

word count: 1.8k

one - two -

The Taylor home was practically humming with noise as your family prepared for Thanksgiving festivities together. Your mother was in the kitchen, channeling her inner Food Network tv personality as she made the holiday meal. Your younger brother was home from college, and your teenage sister had brought a friend over for the day to meet everyone and watch the hours-long football marathon that began early in the afternoon that day, following the thanksgiving day parade. Just as the Commanders were taking on the Cowboys, your doorbell rang. Despite there being several other people in the room with you, you appeared to be the only one able to hear it ringing. You sighed and rolled your eyes as you stood up to answer the door. In your doorway stood Bob, in a football jersey and jeans, a casual look that you remembered well from high school. He laughed softly as you answered the door, a warm, friendly smile on his face.

“Hey Krissy, Ma sent me over to see if your folks wanted any pies, she made these apple pie tarts and she made enough to feed the entire naval base, but I don’t think they’d fly back with me very well.” He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head, “Although, I’d love to show Hangman what a real apple pie tastes like. He swears the ones in the store are the same thing. You’d think being from the south, he’d know better.” He laughs again, his cheeks blushing as he speaks about his current life.

“Hangman? Your friend’s name is…Hangman?”

“No, it’s a callsign, all of us have one. His real name is Jake. Then you have Bradley who goes by Rooster, Natasha is Phoenix-”

“Ok then, what’s yours?” You raise an eyebrow with your arms folded across your chest.

“Bob. I got kinda confused when they asked me when I first started…so I told them my nickname and it stuck. Although now if you ask Hangman, he tells you it stands for “Baby on Board” because I’m the youngest out of the team.” He shakes his head laughing softly before looking up at you, his deep cobalt blue eyes meeting yours. God, you could get lost in those eyes for hours.

“I’m sure my mom would appreciate them, she’s sort of up to her eyeballs in cooking right now. I think she’s aiming to compete with yours for who can make the most food,” you laugh as you step aside to let Bob in, “Come on in, we’re just watching football, Ma’s banned us all from entering her kitchen.”

Bob laughed and walked inside your family home, the home he was so familiar with as a child, where you’d play hide and seek in the different rooms, sipping lemonade on your mother’s porch swing on the veranda out front, sneaking treats upstairs to your room when you were little, hiding while you devoured them way too close to dinner time. Helping you sneak in through your bedroom window late at night after a party you weren’t supposed to be at, driving you home in his dad’s beat up old pickup truck that had a habit of always getting stuck in the mud.

Your house hadn’t changed hardly at all since your family moved in all those years ago. A coat of paint here and new furniture there and that was about it - it was almost identical to how it was when Bob was inside it last. The time he’d taken you to prom because your date canceled on you the day before. Bob had seen you crying at school and was comforting you the entire drive home that day, and he had offered to take you, because he hadn’t found a girl he’d like to ask yet. Part of you felt like Bob just felt bad for his best friend and didn’t want to see you upset, but the other part of you had hoped it was because he wanted to ask you.

“Bobby Floyd, how’re you doing? ‘Suppose we should be calling you Lieutenant now, shouldn’t we?” Your dad’s booming voice echoed through the house as he greeted Bob. Bob smiled warmly and nodded his head once as he spoke.

“I’m great, Mr. Taylor, and just Bobby is fine, I don’t really use the rank outside of work. We both know my Mama wasn’t going to be calling me Lieutenant when I got home,” Bob let out a hearty laugh as he turned to greet your younger siblings, “Wow, Megan, haven’t seen you since you were about 5 or 6, you must be like, 16 now? And Nate, Ma said you just graduated college? What did you end up going for?”

As Bob played catch-up with your dad and siblings, you quietly excused yourself to the kitchen where your mother was. You noticed your mother’s sly smirk on her face as she kneaded the pie crust she was working on.

“I hear Robert’s come to see you?” she hummed as she set the crust in the baking dish, trimming the edges as she spoke, “That was awfully sweet of him.”

“Mama, don’t start,” you warned quietly, shaking your head, “I told you, I don’t think Bobby feels that way.”

Your mother sighed and wiped the flour off her hands onto her apron, shaking her head. She gave you a pointed look. “Kristen Taylor, you know that Robert’s had eyes for you since he was six years old - don’t think that he’s changed his mind.”

“What makes you so sure? What are you, an expert in how he feels now?”

“I may not be, but I’m very good friends with someone who is. And she tells me that Robert specifically asked how you were doing and if his mama had seen you recently. You don’t ask about a girl after 10 years unless you want to see them, Kristen.” Your mother laughed softly as she put the pie in the oven. After a moment of silence while you tried to wrap your head around this new information, your mother shook her head.

“Kristen, his mama and I just want you kids to be happy. But let’s face it, he didn’t come here just to see if we wanted some extra apple pies. And his mama did not “accidentally” make too many.”

“How did you know why he was here?” You laughed and raised an eyebrow as you folded your arms across your chest, watching your mother intently as you awaited a response.

“I can’t reveal all my secrets to you now, can I, Kristen?” Your mother smiled warmly as she looked towards the doorway. You followed her gaze, turning around to face Bobby, his cheeks turning pink as he stood in the entrance to the kitchen, leaning his hip against the door frame. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, a nervous habit of his for as long as you’d known him, and smiled.

“Hi Mrs. Taylor, you look lovely, Mama wanted me to come by and see if you wanted some apple pies…but I’m guessing she called you ahead of time to tell you?” He laughed awkwardly, obviously having heard the last half of your conversation.

“She did, Robert! And congratulations, it sounds like you’ve become quite the accomplished Naval lieutenant while you’ve been gone. Your mama’s been filling me in on what you’ve been up to. She’s very proud of you, but I’m sure you know that already.” Your mother nodded her head as she smiled.

“I do, m’am, she’s very glad I’ve come home for a few days. I don’t get leave too often now with everything going on back on base, but I try to come home when I can. Last few years we just went to Texas and met halfway at my brother’s house in Austin. This year though my brother and sister have brought all the little ‘uns up here, so poor Ma’s got all 3 of us kids up here, plus my brother’s two and my sister’s two, and their partners. It’s a bit of a full house. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad to escape when she asked me to come by.” He laughed softly, “I love my nieces and nephews but boy, do they know how to tire you out.”

“I can imagine! Actually, while you’re here, could I steal you to help Kristen for a moment? I need the serving trays brought down from the attic, but I can’t trust Nate to carry them without dropping one, and Megan’s terrified of going up there,” your mother laughed as she discreetly shot you a smirking glance.

“Oh, I’d be happy to, Mrs. Taylor. Krissy and I’ll get them down for you.” Bob smiled as he took your hand playfully and went off upstairs with you. It felt just like old times, his hand leading you up the stairs to the attic where the two of you used to hide and play in as kids. You’d turned it into a clubhouse of sorts for the two of you growing up, a sanctuary away from the chaos of having a big family and school work and chores - a place for just the two of you.

Bob sighed happily as he looked around the attic. The two of you had so many memories of being in here together, and for you, it felt like they all came flooding back at once.

“God, I haven’t been in here in years,” he said as a soft chuckle escaped his lips, “Remember that time you hid up here when we ate all of your mama’s apple pie she’d baked for the school bake sale? She was madder than a wet hen, and we thought hiding up here would be the smartest choice. Then, sure as shit, she found us laughing and covered in apple pie filling.” He laughed again, shaking his head. “We both got grounded for that one, I think that was the first time my mama ever had to ground me, and it was because of you in the first place!”

“Hey, I didn’t make you eat it,” you laughed as you held your hands up innocently. “I just encouraged you to join me. Not my fault that you did.”

Bob shook his head and smiled thoughtfully at you, his eyes meeting yours once again. You hadn’t noticed how closely you two were standing to one another until now, your bodies only a few inches from each other, close enough to feel each other’s body heat radiating. You instinctively bit your lip - your own nervous habit, and Bob gently stroked your cheek with his hand. He pulled you in closer and smiled softly.

“God, I’ve missed you, Kristen.” He said as he gently wrapped an arm around your waist, his other hand still gently stroking your face, “I really, really missed you.”

#lt. robert floyd x reader #lt. robert floyd x you #lt. robert floyd #lt. bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #lewis pullman #not cm #top gun fanfiction

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