#happy to be here as a guest and an ally

[faggotry-enjoyer]

bruh i had no idea ur a gentile i thought ur in the tribe ur a 10/10 ally

thank you! i'm doing my best, good to know i've got the right idea.

[variousqueerthings]

i do think that specifically david tennant being very openly supportive of the trans community has had an interesting effect -- because usually im kinda like "it is nice to know that people whose work i enjoy don't want me dead" and that's kinda my level of (at this point) quite cynical engagement with what a celebrity or artist does or does not think about transness, because these days it feels like it's almost fashionable for well-known (or post-well-known) people to come out of the wordwork and say what they think about trans people, which can get very stressful in its own way (the amount of headlines that try to be misleading or just plain don't say and so you're just like "ok i guess this week i have to find out if [spins wheel] thinks i deserve rights")

but david tennant has a different feeling to it. and to be fair, there are plenty of people with skin in the game, who absolutely deserve to and ought to speak out on behalf of their children/partners/community/friends/family/etc. and im always happy to see these people speak, and dt is included in that list as well

but david tennant is veeery specific in this here country of terf island, in which the labour party will openly state that it will allow certain book writers to affect their policies on trans people, and that's partly because of the effect above in which "having opinions on trans rights seems to be a celebrity game that keeps you relevant, which includes ex prime minister tony blair making his opinion known (hint, it wasn't a good one)" but also because david tennant is known as a national icon to rival that of whatsherface

he was the main actor on doctor who, in the top three, if not very top of british broadcasting iconography that exists. he's one of this generation's most famous shakespearian actors, the other thing that this country-as-culture is most proud of. he's a mainstay in children's film and tv, a standout in modern british crime drama (broadchurch, des), and that's not mentioning things like jessica jones, good omens, and star wars

this guy has no social media, and some of the biggest cultural capital in the uk today -- labour i believe it was made a twitter joke about him ousting the current prime minister as the doctor ahead of this week's election, because that's an iconic scene from doctor who

which means that when he openly calls transphobes whingy and asks them to shut up, there's a bit of a ripple... i mean what are you gonna do, get angry with the doctor? from doctor who??? the man who played a definitive hamlet????? the man who's just done rave reviewed performances of macbeth???? scrooge mcduck????????? this man who occasionally guests on cbeebies???????????

said prime minister and his party and hosts of transphobes go absolutely crazy every time he makes an appearance wearing new trans ally apparel, as if a. he sees any of that and b. it's a dignified response to a man saying, in essence, "i would like my kid to be safe and happy"

david tennant constantly making these statements, again and again, is a powerful voice in the modern fight for trans rights in the UK, in some ways unfortunately, because you wish trans people could have been heard before it got to this state and that it wasn't about being famous, but to be fair, he's also making that point again and again

it kind of feels like the first time in a long time that there's been proper pushback against transphobia in this country from a perspective that the transphobes can't dismiss so easily -- they can try but like. again, one side is a bunch of raving nonsense-spouters on a joke website who mostly belong to a party that's about to get decidedly ousted from the political scene, the other is beloved national icon and star of stage and screen, mr david tennant

of course, it doesn't hurt that the three main actors of harry potter and everyone else who's majorly involved in doctor who, past and present, is also supportive of trans rights, which maybe there's a separate point to be made about the strangeness of a mainstream tv show becoming a cultural battleground for peoples opinions on equal rights, especially now with ncuti gatwa at the helm, because i think some of what ive seen in relation to dw is more extreme than any piece of cultural media ive been alive to witness bigoted reactions to (including star trek), and ncuti gatwa as a black queer man is taking a hell of a lot of flack that is racist and homophobic

but labour... if you're inviting random artists to give you opinions on trans rights, david tennant is right there, and you know he'd make sure to bring along trans rights activists and professionals to get the space in the room they ought to have had all along

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

So I

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

There’s a knock at the door. You huff as you don’t need to look through the peep hole to know who it is. No buzzer but he always finds a way. 

You pick up your phone and open the chat, ‘told you I’m tired.’ 

The little check mark flicks down. Read. No reply comes, only another knock on the door. 

‘Long day.’ You send another message. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

“You really want me to knock the door down?” Bucky chuckles through the wood. 

You inhale and roll yourself off the couch. You drop the phone on the square end table as you pass and drag your feet to the door. You lean on the inside and yawn as loudly as you can. 

“It’s after curfew,” you jeer. He wiggles the handle. “Go home.” 

“You’re gonna leave me out here like a stray cat? Come on. I came all the way down here,” he pleads. 

You turn your back to the door and shrug, “told you not to. Besides, not all of us have a soft spot for alley cats.” 

“Alpine is not an ally cat. Come on, I brought beer.” 

You scoff, “thought that piss didn’t do anything for ya?” 

“No, but it makes you a lot of fun.” 

You huff and push off the door. You turn and slide back the chain. You flip the lock back and open up. You arch a brow at your uninvited guested. 

“Thank you,” you trill and grab the six pack from him. He catches the door before you can swing it shut. He tuts and steps forward, pushing his elbow into the wood until you let it go. 

“Don’t play games. You know, I can tell when you’re in need of a good fucking. You don’t send any emojis.” He snaps the door shut behind him as you retreat with your prize. 

“Or maybe I was trying to get you to stop texting so I could enjoy my new toy in peace. Ever think of that. Sometimes It's about efficiency, not passion.” 

“Passion?” He scoffs as leans a hand on the wall and lifts a foot to undo his boot. 

“Probably not the right word for this,” you free a can from the plastic rings and shove the rest in the fridge. 

“You and your goddamn toys. Let me guess, this one has blue tooth.” 

“Does yours?” You strut out of the kitchen and flick his arm in passing. 

“No but it’s got all the features you need and you know it.” He taps your ass before you can elude him. 

You crack the can of beer and take a deep gulp. The TV continues to blare the reality show retrospective you’ve been feeding your time to. You flop on the couch and sigh. You suck down the grainy brew and swallow a gulp before it can escape your throat. 

Bucky looms behind the couch and grips the back. He leans over you. “How many of those until those hideous pajamas come off?” 

“Ha? What? You don’t wanna fuck me in my Spongebob jammies? They’re vintage.” 

He snorts, “you really are good a killing the mood, aren’t you?” 

“You’re a real Squidward sometimes, you know that?” You slurp another mouthful. 

“I have no idea what that is,” he says flatly as he tickles along your shoulder. 

You hate it. You hate him. Just a touch and you’re ready to go. Minutes ago, you were ready to pass out but now you’re wide awake. And fucking horny. 

“BPM going up, body temperature rising,” he runs his vibranium knuckles along your cheek and you wince away from him. 

“I hate when you do that.” You pull away and stand, plunking down the can. You huff and peel off your tank top. “I have an interview for a promotion tomorrow so hurry up.” 

“Romantic? Do you still wanna use the new toy? You know I don’t mind filling your mouth when you get like this.” 

You stick your tongue out at him and point to the bedroom. He rolls his eyes and strides off. You pause the television and take another swig of beer. You need to sleep and he’s good at fucking you into a coma. 

As you reach the bedroom, he’s already naked. His broad shoulders are etched in scars, the left one mottled with aged burns along the border of vibranium. His muscles cord down along his rib cage and sides.

A year ago, you would never expect a man like this to be standing naked in your bedroom. A super soldier. Bucky Barnes. 

He turns to you and wiggles the little square between his two fingers. The wrapped condom reflects the overhead light with its flashy packaging. He flexes his chest as you reach to undo your bra. 

“Should I pop it on now or can I get a taste first?” He asks with a flick of his tongue. 

You march to him and swipe the condom from his grasp. You jab his chest and he staggers back to the bed, his legs pressing against the frame. He teeters as he smirks down at you. 

“I’ll give you a ride, cowboy.” 

He falls back and spreads his arms wide. The bed squeaks beneath his weight. You push down your pajama pants and climb over him. You toss the mattress to the top of the bed as you raise yourself on your knees, hovering over his head as his thick hair fans out beneath.

He turns to graze his beard against your thigh. You purr and lower yourself to smother him in your cunt. He hums and laps at you eagerly. 

Mmm. This is exactly the stress relief you need. 

[portagas-chan]

Yours Forever and Ever : Part 4

Yandere Katakuri x Isekai Reader

Everyone was staring at her and Katakuri. After all, who wouldn't? The strongest sweet commander of the Big Mom Pirates, Charlotte Katakuri was known for his stoic and cold demeanor. That same Katakuri came to the wedding with [Y/n] from the Strawhat Crew holding her hand.

"I wonder if they are going to announce another wedding soon! This is big news!" Big News Morgan laughed as he snapped pictures.

Katakuri walked towards where Big Mom sat and pulled a chair for [Y/n] to sit. After he saw that [Y/n] was seated, he sat beside her with Vinsmoke Judge between him and Big Mom.

"Mamama! I'm happy to see the two of you together!" Big Mom laughed and I forced a smile.

"[Y/n], I want to see that ring on your finger," Big Mom leaned down and waited.

She showed her the ring and smiled, "Is this what you wanted to see?"

"Yes! It's so pretty, Mamama! So this means you quit the Strawhats and joined our crew, right?" Big Mom gave her a menacing look.

[Y/n] furrowed her eyebrows at her words. She looked down at her thigh when she felt Katakuri placed his hand on it and squeezed it.

'Don't do anything stupid.'

She wanted to refuse her so bad but knew that if she did she would just ruin the plan and it would be her fault. She didn't want that. It was okay. She didn't mean what she said after all.

"Yes," [Y/n] forced the word out of her mouth. Big Mom happily laughed, "Good, good! Then I will announce your engagement with Katakuri to everyone."

Big Mom stood up from her chair and cleared her throat. Her actions caught the attention of all the guests present as they turned to look at her.

"I have an announcement to make. As you all may be confused when you saw my favorite son Katakuri walking in holding hands with [Y/n] here, I will explain what's happening. My son Katakuri is engaged with [Y/n] from the Strawhats. However, as of today, she is no longer apart of the Strawhat crew. Their wedding will be held three days after Pudding's wedding! I hope everyone look forward to it! Mamama!"

The guests erupted into cheers and congrats.

"Congratulations Katakuri-sama!"

"I can't wait to attend your wedding, Katakuri-sama!"

"You are a lucky woman, [Y/n]-sama!"

Although [Y/n] kept a smile on her face, she was very annoyed inside. Everything was done without her say. It was like her opinion and feelings were not important. It didn't matter to them at all. She couldn't believe Katakuri would force her into marrying her. She thought he would at least be considerate but that wasn't the case.

Katakuri leaned down and whispered to her, "Are you enjoying the wedding?"

[Y/n] frowned glancing at him from the corner of her eye, "No!" She said as she angrily munched away the cake on the table.

Katakuri smiled under his scarf, 'She's cute even when pouting.'

[Y/n] noticed that Sanji was going to make his entrance when the sky suddenly went dark and fireworks exploded.

'Sanji is a good actor,' She thought when she his expression.

[Timeskip]

Chaos everywhere. Everyone was distracted. Big Mom finally started screaming and I put on my earplugs. I quickly ran to where Luffy and the others were.

Bege and his crewmembers launched the KX launcher but just when it was about to hit Big Mom, her scream got stronger and it exploded.

Katakuri made earplugs from mochi for his siblings.

Bege looked at his allies, 'Everyone, retreat to the mirror.'

We all nodded and just as I expected, the mirror shattered into pieces.

We looked back at the Charlottes with Katakuri at the front marching towards us with an intent to kill.

'This is honestly more terrifying in real life.'

Bege built a huge castle with his devil fruit ability to which he call it 'Big Father'. I was running together with Nami and Chopper to get to the entrance.

"[Y/n]! Nami! Hurry up!" Luffy shouted.

[Y/n] ran as fast as her legs could take to get to the entrance. Luffy extended his hand towards her to which she quickly grabbed.

However, when Luffy was about to pull her back, he couldn't. [Y/n] wouldn't budge.

She looked down to see mochi? It was Katakuri.

[Y/n] looked at Luffy in shock. She was this close to being together with her captain again and now she was going to be separated by him again.

"Luffy!" she shouted.

Luffy tried to pull her but right now, Katakuri was stronger. Katakuri retracted his hand and she was met with Katakuri who looked down at her.

"Katakuri, let go of me," [Y/n] glared at him.

Katakuri ignored her and wrapped her with mochi so she wouldn't be able to move.

"[Y/n]!" She heard Luffy shout from a far.

"Luffy! Don't worry about me! He won't hurt me! I will meet with you later!" [Y/n] shouted back as she tried to reassure her worried captain.

"You better promise me then!" Luffy said.

"Yes! I promise!" She shouted, a small smile curling up her lips.

Katakuri noticed this and glared at Luffy in jealousy. Why is he making you smile? What's so good about him?

It took quite some time for them to finally come out as Bege shrinks with Germa 66 protecting the Strawhats. Katakuri had no choice but to let me out of his sight as he stopped Ceaser from leaving the castle. But before he could leave, [Y/n] stopped him.

"Katakuri! Get rid of your mochi, please!" She pleaded but he shook his head.

"If I did that then you would run away from me. That can't happen," Katakuri said before walking away.

Sanji took this opportunity to splash water on the mochi melting it.

"Thank you, Sanji-kun!" She smiled at him to which he returned. "No problem, [Y/n]-chan!"

They were interrupted by Big Mom who got in the way. Luffy being Luffy, he didn't back down and decided to fight her.

"[Y/n]-chan, you should go ahead," Sanji said telling her to run away while the Charlottes were not paying attention to her. [Y/n] nodded and did as he said.

Suddenly, there was an explosion which made the Whole Cake Chateau collapse. [Y/n] widened her eyes when she felt herself slowly getting dragged to the edge close to falling.

She held on tight to whatever she could grab on but they weren't strong enough as she fell off the Chateau.

[Y/n] lost hope. There was no way Sanji or Luffy could help her. Or did they even know that she was falling? Maybe not. They probably thought she caught up with Bege and was safe again.

She was going to die.

Instead of falling to her doom, she felt herself freeze mid-air. She snapped her eyes open to be met with a pair of familiar crimson eyes. "Katakuri?!"

Katakuri had one of his hands stretched holding onto the Whole Cake Chateau while his free hand caught [Y/n] so she wouldn't fall. His eyebrows were knitted together as he looked at [Y/n] in his arm.

"[Y/n], I will never let you die. Never! And you know why?"

[Y/n] looked at him surprised but stayed silent as she waited for him to continue.

"It's because I love you. And I will never let you leave me even if I have to use force."

[Y/n] was shocked because she never thought he would say those words to her. She knew he was feeling that way towards her but he never openly confessed to her.

He continued, "[Y/n], even if you may not have such feelings for me, I will make it happen. I will make you fall for me so please don't leave me. I don't think I can live without you."

"Katakuri..." She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to say except for his name. She didn't know what to do. Why was she hesitating now? She was sure she made her decision to leave him and stay with the strawhats so why?

Why was she hesitating?

What was it about Katakuri that made her hesitate?

[doodlebugg16-blog]

Drama

Azriel x reader

**18+ MDNI**

{Song Inspo}

Summary: You and Azriel are besties for the resties and share a common feeling of resentment towards the mother for not blessing you with a mate. Unfortunately you decide to search for distractions through many males and Azriel is forced to watch you destroy yourself from it. Warnings: Cassian and Rhys guest appearance, angst, depression, suggestive, sexual themes, violence, heartbreak, nonconsensual touching, mentions of y/n, she/her reader, usual ACOTAR warnings, don't worry it has a happy, kinda rushed ending A/n: I honestly wasn't expecting my other Azriel fic to be read by anyone haha so here's another one I've been thinking about. This is also unedited--sorry xoxo

Azriel and you have been friends since he was found his shadows. You were the first to come across the newly born shadowsinger and show him kindness. He never forgot it and it had bloomed into a friendship attached to the hip.

You're the only person to get through his stubbornness. He's the only person that can calm your short temper. Until lately.

You were double-checking your heels to make sure they were strapped correctly and doing a last fluff-up of your hair. Checking yourself in the full length mirror, you spotted Cassian walking past, heading to the kitchen.

"I love what you've done with your hair, how'd you get it to come out of your ears like that?"

You whipped around and scoffed, catching his shit-eating grin. You went to reach for a nearby book to throw at him but a voice cut you off.

"Cassian, you should check your nose before making such comments."

Rhys had wandered around me.

"What?!" Cass had covered his nose and rushed back to his room.

You laughed and turned back to the mirror. "Thanks, Rhys."

He smiled and nodded to the door. "Be safe tonight, Y/n."

You sighed and nodded. "I always am. I know how to protect myself thank you very much."

He snorted, "I'd almost feel sorry for the poor soul to have to face Azriel if something were to happen."

That made you smile. Azriel hated that you went out. He always made himself scarce when you got ready to leave.

Once you accepted the way you looked, you rushed out the door and into the night.

"I assume you're going to follow?" Rhys spoke to the shadows. "I am starting to get concerned. She's starting to leave every night." He turned to the darkest corner in the room.

Azriel emerged and grunted. "I'm worried too."

With that he vanished along with his shadows, following you.

Over the years, Azriel had felt his fondness grow towards you. As his feelings grew, he felt the distance growing with you. You were pushing yourself deeper in the night and loosing yourself during the day. Azriel knew you were distracting yourself ever since the last family gathering. Your drank yourself silly and confessed to have given up with the mate bullshit. Azriel had agreed and felt the same but he had no idea you would have given up this much. He had promised himself that he would save you.

Azriel had followed you to your usual underground club. He watched from afar and had his shadows on high alert. He noticed a smaller male strike up a conversation. You immediately giggling and engaging. It made him sick. Suddenly, you and the male were gone, Azriel's visons blocked by a new group passing in front of him. He huffed and made his way through the crowd, trying to spot you.

After a while without any luck, Azriel started getting worried. He sent his shadows to look for you.

You were being lead out the club by the small male. You usually didn't leave the club but you started to care less and less. The male entered and ally and pushed you up against the wall, kissing your neck. You had the sudden feeling you were being watched.

"H-hey, I think I'm going to call it a night." You tried to guide the male off of you. He then grabbed your wrists and held them to the wall on either side of your head.

"I'm not done with yet, pretty. Don't you wanna have my friends join?"

You furrowed your brows and looked deeper in the ally to spot two other males.

Shit. This isn't going to end well.

"Let go. I'm done." You tried again but the male was somehow stronger.

His hands then started to travel down your body and the other two males made their way closer. "I spiked your drink so don't try anything stupid."

Fuck. This is definitely not going to end well.

Before the two males could touch you, the shadows had swarmed you. You could hear the slashing of Truth Teller. Looking to the male holding you, smiling, "Good Luck." With that, he was yanked into the shadows. You heard a slash and a gargled yelp. Your held your wrists and a frown carved on your lips.

The shadows blurred into the ground, revealing Az. He rushed in front of you, gently taking your wrists in his scarred hands.

"He won't touch you again." He promised.

You looked up into his hazel eyes and blinked away tears. "I can't do this anymore Az. I don't think anyone is going to love me." Now you were sobbing. Azriel's eyes softened.

"Don't say that. You won't find someone like this."

"But it's true! I still don't have a mate and I have to sit around everyone while they are happy with theirs."

Azriel tilted his head. "Trust me, I know how that feels. But you don't need a mate to find someone to spend the rest of your life with. I'm here, right in front of you."

Your eyes widen at him. You shook your head and took your hands out of his. "What are you saying, Az?"

"I love you, Y/n. I can't keep watching you destroy yourself and I can't keep watching other males take advantage of you."

Sniffling, you give his shoulder a push. "You dummy, how long have you felt this way?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Should I have said something sooner?"

You laughed and wiped under your eyes. "Wayyyy sooner."

He leaned in, "Can I kiss you?"

"Please."

His lips crashed to yours with nothing but passion and love. You wrapped you arms around his neck and sighed into the kiss. You pulled away and both stared into each others eyes. Suddenly, you felt a sharp tug in your chest, blooming a golden thread. You both gasp.

"No fucking way." You laughed. He joined in and held a hand to his chest.

When the laughter died down, he leaned in and rested his forehead to yours. "Let's get out of here, mate."

"Please." You sighed and leaned into his touch.

This definitely ended well.

[batneko]

last night as I was trying to fall asleep my brain gave me a story about Bowser as an imprisoned dragongod who is worshiped but enslaved, kept in a cave where he can't do anything but watch the outside world. He can tell the worshipers what to do (within reason) because his powers are so useful to them that they know if he ever gets angry or miserable enough to off himself they'll all be screwed. They have a LOT of enemies, who all assume that the god is their willing ally, and would be more than happy to crush them the moment they have the chance.

the closest thing to affection Bowser ever had was the woman who decided to bear his child. He genuinely believed she wanted to be the bride of a god, but the moment she was sure she was pregnant she left without even looking back.

years later, when he's told himself he doesn't care anymore (he obviously very much still cares), he sees a beautiful sweet princess and decides he wants her. He orders his "minions" to capture her and present her to him as a... permanent guest. He doesn't think she'll like being a prisoner, of course. HE sure doesn't. But he's stuck down here with no hope of escape, ever, and he can at least make her stay very comfortable. She's a princess, she must be used to being in a gilded cage.

though he knows that the princess has protectors, and they've made things difficult for his followers over the last couple years, he never gives them much thought. Bowser never imagines that they'd be so determined to protect the princess from him that one of them would disguise himself as the princess and willingly get "sacrificed" to the inescapable dragon cave.

(this was briefly brought up as a potential plan by the brothers, but discarded immediately because they don't want anybody to have to be stuck with a dragon forever, especially not each other. But then they got separated and Luigi was the only one left to protect Peach and they were captured and there was no time to spare and... it was the only thing he could think of.)

Bowser is furious, of course, but what he really wanted was companionship. If this random guy is who he's got, it's who he's got. And the random guy is weirdly optimistic about this whole thing, although he's scared of Bowser he never once stops believing that his brother will be coming to save him. No matter how much Bowser explains that not even a god can get out of this hole, Luigi insists that it's only a matter of time. His brother will come for him.

(he does, of course, freeing both of them.)

And that was as far as I got! I probably won't ever write it because it's too dramatic and also absolves Bowser of most responsibility for the evil done in his name. I like Bowser as a villain who really isn't justified in what he does. That's where the spice is! 🌶

But it's fun to think about Luigi being his usual nice guy self around someone who isn't used to being treated like a person, on multiple levels.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

A Companion (Otto Hightower x Young Widow!Reader) Chapter 1

At the wedding of of King Viserys and the Lady Alicent Hightower, the father of the bride has an unexpected meeting with a young widow.

Series Masterlist Here

Pairing: Otto Hightower x Young Widow!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: discussion of spousal death

Author's note: PEEPAW TIME

Chapter 1: A Meeting

The Great Hall was full of laughing, happy people, many well on their way to true celebratory drunkenness.

Otto Hightower was not one of them.

He had been enjoying the celebration of his daughter’s wedding. But that was before his son, Gwayne, had gotten so raucously drunk that two members of the Kingsguard were required to force him back to his quarters. And before the bedding ceremony was called for, and despite earlier agreements, several pieces of Alicent’s ensemble had been left on the floor of the Great Hall.

It was enough to tempt him into a second goblet of wine, dulling his mind just enough for him to begin to enjoy the music – and to be grateful the Princess Rhaenyra had sullenly slunk away before she could shove any young maidens at him. Perhaps she had entirely forgotten about her plan to arrange his marriage or given up on getting her revenge.

Then again, perhaps not.

Otto passed the time observing the remaining guests, noting who had spoken to whom and about what. It helped him discern who would make a potential ally, who needed more convincing, and who needed to be removed from court. He had just dismissed the grumblings of two minor lords as inconsequential when his eye caught on two people – a man and a woman - that he did not recognize.

They both seemed familiar, yet Otto could recall no name to match their faces. Perhaps he had seen them in passing during the events preceding the wedding – the tourney possibly, or even the morning feast. Though if it had been one of those, he likely would have remembered them.

Still, something about them was scratching insistently at the back of his mind and bringing an unpleasant feeling to his chest. More so the Man than the Woman, but still. If they were somehow a threat, as his instinct suggested, it would be prudent of him to watch them closely.

The Man wore entirely ostentatious clothing, the dyes obnoxiously rich and bright. A gaudy purple shot through with the whitest white silk Otto had ever seen. He was clearly trying to impress his peers and ensure his house was recognized. Still, Otto could not quite place the heraldry, an irony he allowed himself a moment to delight in. The purple and white were relatively unique, but stars were so common that they offered no hint of who the man was.

Northern, most likely, judging by his thick dark hair, hard gray eyes, and stocky build. His features, individually, were well-formed, yet it made an unpleasant whole. A man of brutality and brutishness. A man who smiled rarely. And when he did, his smile likely indicated something wicked. A thoroughly unpleasant figure.

But the Woman – the Lady…

A pretty young thing. A very pretty young thing, likely only a year or two older than Alicent. She wore no heraldry save a small silver pin on her breast. Her clothes were simple, all made of dark fabric that could easily be mistaken for black if one did not look closely. Though she bore no ring on her finger, her hair was worn braided and pinned back like a married woman’s.

With the sinking feeling of both realization and pity, Otto realized that there was only one reason why she would be wearing such clothes at a royal wedding, of all places – she was in mourning.

Yet her companion seemed to hold no pity for her. They were far enough away that Otto could not hear the words, but from the deep furrow of the Man’s brow and the Lady’s tired, resigned eyes, he knew the conversation was not pleasant. He had only just made the decision to stay out of whatever family squabble this was when the Man turned to look at him, then seized the Lady’s arm, hissed something into her ear, and thrust her in Otto’s direction.

At least this did not seem to be the work of Rhaenyra. No, this was all the work of the unpleasant man. It no longer mattered what house he was from or if he could be used as an ally. It only mattered that he was desperate to raise his station, and that Otto did not like him.

The decision was easy to make – he understood her pain, having lost a love himself. He would be kind to her but would not impose himself on such a lovely young woman in mourning any longer than necessary to temporarily sate her companion’s apparent social climbing aspirations. No matter his promise to the King, or his burgeoning desire for a companion of his own, this girl deserved better than an old man. Once he spoke to her, perhaps he could even introduce her to more suitable bachelors.

For he certainly was not the match for her.

If you thought the nearly month-long journey to King’s Landing was insufferable, it was nothing compared to the cacophony that was the capital during a royal wedding. In the last five days, you were forced to endure a parade in the sweltering heat, three days of brutal tourney events, and a “woman’s breakfast�� the morning of the ceremony, during which no one spoke to you. And at the end of each day, a grand feast in the Great Hall.

Not that you could partake in much of the exquisite and exotic food, for your good sister Sybelle would not let you eat more than a few bites in worry that you would appear gluttonous and unladylike. Any respite that would have come when she inevitably flitted across the hall to grovel at the feet of the well-esteemed ladies from better-known houses was quickly squashed when her husband – your good brother, Gryff – whisked you away to present you to suitors like you were a prized cow gone to market.

Fortunately, your mourning clothes and shy demeanor meant that very few of the men were enticed by you. And any that were interested were quickly put off when they learned how small and insignificant your house was and that there would be little benefit for them in a match with you. Lord Jason Lannister even expressed surprise that you had been invited to the wedding. Gryff’s sputtering after that had made your evening.

But the more you were rejected, the more insistent he became. Desperate was perhaps the better word. Either way, it led you here – standing to the side of the hall with a still-empty stomach and Gryff hissing in your ear like the viper he was.

“Six days,” he spat, the smell of alcohol lingering on his breath, “six fucking days, and you have yet to tempt even one suitor! From among the two score I’ve introduced you to!” He scoffed and took another swig from his goblet. “Soon, I’ll have to start offering you to young twats whose stones have not dropped. At least they won’t be able to tell how hard you’ve already been ridden.”

“You are vulgar,” you said softly, not entirely wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, he did. Gryff rounded on you, his face reddened and blotchy from his imbibement. There was no pity or warmth in his eyes. There never was. “Vulgar it may be, but if that is what it takes to find you a new husband so you can finally get off my land and stop draining my coffers, so be it.”

You took a deep breath, trying not to cry or scream. It wouldn’t be proper at an event such as this and would provoke even more anger from Gryff and Sybelle. While they would not dare to harm you, they had found several other cruel and creative ways to make you miserable. Best to calm the fire before getting burned.

“I have done my best. I have been kind and amiable of every man you’ve thrust me upon,” you knew your attempt at reasoning with him would likely fail, but at least you would have tried. Locke would not have stayed silent in the face of such insults, so neither would you. “It is not my fault that they are well-mannered and civilized and therefore do not wish to court a woman in mourning.”

Gryff barked a callous laugh, drawing the attention of several of those around you. For once, he did not notice; he only continued to sneer. “But it is your fault, good sister. You may recall that before we left, I commanded that you leave your mourning clothes behind. That you wear something more attractive. Yet you disobeyed me, just so you would have a good excuse to continue living off my generosity!”

In truth, it was because your lady’s maids had known how much you still grieved your beloved husband and refused the order their new master had given. Though you were grateful for their thoughtfulness, you were very close to wishing they had not done it.

Pressing your lips together to stop them trembling, you replied quietly. Weakly. “You know that is not true. Locke was – ”

“A fool to fall for your little act,” he interrupted, smiling triumphantly when he saw tears forming in your eyes. “Always so sentimental and trusting. He may have put on a convincing façade, but he was weak. I have no doubt he would have squandered our fortune and destroyed our reputation just to please you.” He leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “Perhaps it is fortunate, then. That he met such an untimely end.”

A monster. That’s what Gryff was. To say these horrid things about anyone was terrible enough, but to say them about his own brother?

Your revulsion was almost enough to make you throw yourself at the next man you saw and beg him to take you on. But you could not, for you still saw Locke around each corner. The bright smile he always bore when he saw you. The way he held you close and kissed you, propriety be damned. The way he looked at you as though you were the Maiden herself.

He was no fool. He was not weak.

He was a good man. A good husband. Your great love.

And he was gone.

The crushing weight of the grief shattered any retort you had. Not that it mattered anyway – something had caught Gryff’s eye. He seized your arm, making sure his nails dug into your skin even through the layers of black silk, and leaned in to again spit his venom in your ear.

“It seems there may yet be one man remaining who is wealthy enough to suit your tastes,” he laughed gravely. “Do try to make a good impression, or else I shall have to start sending inquiries to the heathens in Essos.”

With that, he shoved you away, towards a shadowy alcove against the far wall. Partially hidden amongst the dimness and the curtains was a tall man. A very tall man. Lean for his age, but with an erudite look about him that suggested his prowess was not of the body, but of the mind.

He was a man you recognized immediately, having seen him in a place of honor at every celebratory you had attended in the capital. Even without that knowledge, you would have immediately known who he was by the golden pin on his breast.

Otto Hightower. The Hand of the King.

And he was looking directly at you.

Oh, Gryff was reaching far too high. And now it seemed you would be the one to weather the fall.

But there was a spark of kindness in Lord Hightower’s eyes – eyes as wise and perceptive as an owl’s – that assuaged your fears enough that you did not tremble as you weaved through the crowd to reach him. Still, you turned your eyes down and prayed he would not recognize you from the pin you still wore. Pity given for your mourning was bearable, but the Hand would know…

You reached him before finishing the thought and lowered yourself in a curtsy. “My Lord Hand,” you began, thankful that, for once, you were able to speak for yourself, “I offer my congratulations to you and your daughter on this joyous occasion. You must be very proud.”

“Hmm, proud indeed.” He held out a large hand to help you rise, a kind gesture you had not expected from a man of his station. When you met his eyes, they were searching your face for something. He did not recognize you then, a relief.

“Thank you very much for your kind sentiments, Lady…?”

A short relief.

Steeling yourself for the pitying coos and well wishes you were sure were coming, you told him your name, then added, “Born of House Fenn, now of House Whitehall.”

And there it was, that hateful glimmer of recognition in his eyes as he remembered the story of the unfortunate girl from the swamps of the Neck, plucked from her humble origins among the crannogmen to wed the dashing young lord of Highpoint.

It was a story fit for a fairytale. That is, until it was over within a year, when your husband was killed in an ambush by the wild men of the Northern mountains. Gryff, your late husband’s younger brother and presumptive heir, was intent upon sending you back to the swamps before he was stopped by his mother, who insisted that though the marriage was short, you nevertheless had all the rights accorded to the Dowager Lady of the hall, and as the potential mother of the new heir – should you be carrying one. After all, you and Locke were truly, deeply in love, and there was no reason to believe his seed had not found root.

Thus, Gryff had you confined to your rooms until your moon’s blood arrived – or didn’t. You were allowed no servant but the guard he had commanded to watch your every move and were forced to endure extensive examinations by the Maester daily. And when your moon’s blood came, Gryff had a carriage waiting to take you back to your father.

Unbeknownst to him, your good mother had sent a letter to both your father and Lord Stark at Winterfell. As a crannogman whose title of nobility was scoffed at by those outside the swamps, your father could do very little to help. But with Lord Stark also on your side, Gryff could not dismiss you so easily. He could, however, appeal the Lord of the North’s order to the only higher authority available, requiring that all involved – except you, of course – journey to King’s Landing to present the case to the King himself.

After hearing both petitions, the King – and Otto Hightower – had not only commanded that you be allowed full rights as a widow, but placed restrictions on how Gryff could treat you. Namely, he could not banish you from his lands or force you to remarry.

He could, however, make your life at Highpoint so miserable that you would wish to leave and be desperate enough to get away from him that you would marry of your own accord. It was something he and his wife were more than happy to do.

Still, as miserable as you were there, it was Locke’s home. The lands he loved so much he spent four whole days showing you the whole of it. And you quickly grew to love it, too, despite it being so drastically different from your home. It became your new home. Aside from the ring he gave you, the land was one of your only reminders of the great love you had lost.

How could you abandon it just because of two unpleasant people?

How could you marry someone else, like Locke had been nothing?

Even if you could, how were you ever to find a husband when every man you met looked at you as Otto Hightower did now?

His brow was furrowed above his water-blue eyes, and his mouth was pursed in thought. No doubt trying to find the words to offer you his pity, as if you had not already heard everything there was to say.

“I am very sorry for your loss, my lady,” he said gently. At least his voice was lovely enough to make the repetition of the words you had heard a thousand times more bearable. “I lost my wife only two years ago. To lose one you love so dearly… is a pain without description. I confess that, when I first heard of what happened to your husband and what was done to you, I could not understand why the Gods would do such a thing to someone so young and innocent and…”

He nodded, seemingly to himself. “I prayed for you, Lady Whitehill. In fact, I still do.”

Then he turned away, looking past you and into the crowd. Had he not still been holding your hand, you may have taken it as a dismissal. You almost wished it was as you felt his fingers tighten around yours and his face turn from pensive to grave. But the second most powerful man in Westeros was holding you in place. Gently, but still. Who were you to disobey him?

“I am surprised I forgot his face,” Lord Hightower mused, only half-speaking to you. “He is easily one of the most unpleasant men I have ever met.”

You turned, following his gaze back to Gryff, who was doing a very poor job of pretending not to be watching you. Turning back to Lord Hightower, you saw his lip curled in disgust. Something about that expression on the face of such a serious, incredibly important man tickled something inside you that you thought had died with Locke.

So, you laughed. Short and weak, but still a laugh. The sound drew Lord Hightower’s eyes back to you, and he smiled curiously. “I did not intend that as a joke, Lady Whitehill. Was I mistaken?

“No, forgive me, my lord.” You shied away from him, looking down at your joined hands. “It is only that I don’t often hear people speak of him with such… honesty.”

“Yes,” he murmured as he, too, looked at your hands. After a moment, he dropped his and crossed his arms behind his back. “He is not a man I would expect to tolerate criticism.”

You sighed, briefly missing the contact, the warmth of his hand. “He is not a man who tolerates many things. But criticism is one that… none at Highpoint dare even contradict him.”

Lord Hightower looked at you thoughtfully, as if you were a puzzle he couldn’t quite sort. “I have had the misfortune of meeting many such men, and I am very sorry you have had to meet even one.”

He was quiet for a while. Long enough that you began silently crafting your farewell and considering how you would explain the fruitless meeting to Gryff. He would not be happy with this particular failure, and you could not decide which of his threats he would follow through on – offering you to mere boys or to Essosi men. Either would likely take you far from home and had no guarantee that your situation would improve. Perhaps –

“Why did he bring you here?” Lord Hightower said suddenly. When you lifted your head to face him, he was again looking not at you but at Gryff. His face betrayed nothing, but a dark gleam in his eyes sent a chill through your blood and yet… made you feel safe. Protected. Like you could tell him the truth.

A foolish feeling. You could tell no one the truth. Telling the truth meant leaving Highpoint – leaving Locke – and that was something you would not do.

“He brought me for the wedding,” you lied. “He thought it might cheer me.”

It was the worst lie you had ever told, though you’d never been very good at them. Though this one was particularly bad. Not only had you not been particularly convincing in your delivery – your voice wavered, and your smile was too tight to be sincere – but Lord Hightower had been at Gryff’s petition to send you away. According to your father, Gryff had been in fine, horrible form. So, Lord Hightower knew better than most that your good brother would never do anything for your sake.

And the fact that you were pretending he would apparently made Lord Hightower very, very angry. It seemed as though the shadows of the alcove itself swirled around him and darkened his eyes. Still, you felt safe with him. You knew instinctively that his anger was not directed at you.

Yet you did shrink away slightly when he turned that dark gaze on you. “The King expressly forbade him from forcing you to marry.” His voice had taken on a low, sharp quality, which you were reasonably certain had often made Lords and Generals quake in their boots. Indeed, you were sure you would do whatever he wanted, so long as he asked it in that voice. “Has he disobeyed this? Did he bring you here to find a husband against your will?”

It was hard to meet his eyes. “He…” you swallowed, summoning every bit of your will to not tell him the truth. But even if you did somehow manage to lie convincingly, you did not doubt that Lord Hightower would nevertheless be able to see right through you. This was a political mind at work, the keenest in the realm. He likely knew the answer before he ever asked the question. Which meant…

What he was actually asking was something different. Something he dare not speak aloud in the presence of others? No, not that. He was the Hand of the King, and this was the Red Keep – his territory. You doubted there was anything he would fear to say here, save open treason.

What was it?

If this was a political move, he must want something from you. Locke had once told you when you were alone in your chambers sharing a bottle of wine after one of his taxing journeys to Winterfell, that amongst lords and kings, nothing was ever free. There was no charity.

And yet, you could not think of a single thing Lord Hightower would want from you. You had no wealth of your own, nor did your father in any meaningful way, and Gryff would not part with a single sliver of copper. You held no alliances of your own outside of the crannogmen, and you doubted they would ever be of any help to him or the King. That left only… yourself.

He could not possibly want you. Yes, he was a widower, but his loss had also been recent. He told you himself how much it had pained him.

Even if he was in the market for a new wife, he would not want some penniless widow from the Neck. With his family name, position, and new status as the Queen’s father, he could choose any woman he wanted to wife. Though if he was looking for a distraction rather than a marriage… you did not let yourself consider it. He had made no advance on you, and his eyes held no sign of lust. You had seen lust in Locke’s eyes, burning like silver flames. There was no such flame in Lord Hightower’s eyes, only pity and concern. And something gentle, almost like hope.

Was it possible that his daughter’s wedding had made him feel charitable? That he had seen a sad young widow and decided that it was in the spirit of the day to help someone in need?

Help.

That is what he was asking – if you wanted his help. If you said ‘no’ right now, even knowing what he knew, he would walk away.

But if you said yes – if you asked for his help?

The Hand of the King was a powerful ally, the father of the Queen even better. If someone who could as easily grant Gryff the wealth and reputation he so craved as he could ensure it never came to be offered his support and protection, you didn’t know what would happen. But perhaps it would be better.

“Yes,” you whispered. The word could either save or damn you, but you said it either way. “He wants rid of the responsibility of me, so much that he’s willing to give me to anyone who shows interest.”

His dark expression was interrupted by a brief flash of confusion. Before you could inquire about what had disturbed him, he leaned down towards you. A strategic move. Anyone looking at you would merely see a man attempting to charm one of the last women remaining at the end of the celebration.

“Forgive me for my forwardness, my lady,” he paused to look you over again, “but I admit I find it hard to believe that no man has shown you interest.”

Another veiled question. This one easier to decipher.

You ensured you were positioned so that Gryff could not see your face before answering, for you knew you could not hide your smug smile. “The mourning clothes help with that,” you admitted, “as do carefully timed tears.”

Lord Hightower seemed to relax at that and smirked at you conspiratorially. “I imagine the prospect of a permanent association with your good brother is the most effective deterrent.”

It was not a deception for Gryff’s benefit when you began to laugh together. You had not laughed with someone in so long nor felt as comfortable around another person since Locke died. Not even with your good mother. She tried, but she could not separate you from her grief for her son, so laughing with her was a sheer impossibility.

The realization sobered you instantly. This moment was a gift, yes. But the very fact that a moment of laughter with a stranger was the happiest you had been in more than a year and would likely remain so for some time. You would be returning to the North soon, back to a life with very little joy.

It was as though Lord Hightower could read the thoughts in your eyes. His own smile fell, and he again took your hand. “When do you leave the capital, my lady?

“We will remain several days more,” you answered, the words tasting like bitter wine. “Gryff is eager to make alliances and raise his standing.”

“Hmm,” Lord Hightower hummed as he absentmindedly stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. From how his eyes darted back and forth ever so slightly, you knew that brilliant mind was formulating some kind of plan.

Unfortunately, it seemed he would not share that plan with you.

He simply raised your hand to his mouth to kiss it as a proper gentleman does, the hairs of his beard tickling your skin, before looking at you once more. “You may tell Lord Whitehill that I was thoroughly charmed by you.” Something about the way the corner of his mouth quirked up made you think it was not entirely a fiction. “I suspect that will satisfy him well enough that he will be less… overbearing, at least for a while. In the meantime, I shall endeavor to find a more pleasant solution to your woes.”

Your heart quickened with anticipation and hope, something you had not felt in a long time. While your instinct was to ensnare him in a tight embrace and perhaps even kiss his cheek, you forced yourself to remain civilized, simply squeezing his hand tightly in thanks before letting go and curtsying to him again.

“My Lord Hand, I cannot find words to express my gratitude,” you said breathlessly. “I have known such kindness very little of late.”

He smiled and reached for you before folding his hand behind his back again. “That, my lady, is a tragedy in itself. Once that I swear I will do everything in my power to end as swiftly as possible.”

“Thank you. I…” words failed you entirely. “Thank you so much.”

“It would perhaps be wise to save the majority of your thanks until after I have discovered a solution,” he jokingly chided. For a long moment, he simply held your gaze. “Now, as much as I hate to do so, I believe it is time to return to your family. I have much work to do.”

“Of course,” you said with another curtsy. There was more you wanted to say, but it was too much to sort through in only a moment. So, you gave him another smile and turned away.

As you walked back toward Gryff – who was looking sinisterly pleased – you were amazed to find that, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t dreading tomorrow.

Otto left the Great Hall immediately, though it pained him to do so. But he had not wanted to tell her – raise her hopes too soon – that he was fairly certain he had already found a solution. Perhaps the perfect solution.

But he wanted to pray on it first.

It was too late to call a wheelhouse to take him to the Great Sept. Besides, the servants deserved the night to celebrate, as well. So, he made his way instead to the Royal Sept, which had the added benefit of being close to his own chambers.

The Sept was empty, thankfully. It was quick work to light a prayer candle and to place it on an altar Otto had not knelt at for years – the Maiden’s.

“I come to ask your guidance, Holy Maiden,” he prayed aloud. “There is a young widow who needs my help. Very desperately. I believe I can aid her – I know I can aid her. But I must be sure that I am acting rightly.”

He sighed, staring at the gently flickering flame of the candle. “When I first considered her plight, an answer came to me almost instantly, as if it were an instinct. But I worry… I worry that if I choose to enact it, I will be acting not out of charity and generosity but selfishness.

“She is young and very beautiful, and I believe she has a keen mind. And she understands! She knows what it is like to lose a great love – a true love. She is like me; she does not want to marry again. But it seems for both of us that there is no other option. Would it not then… would it not be right for us to marry?

“We can fulfill the desires and expectations of those around us while remaining devoted to our lost loves. I would expect her to fulfill no wifely duties, nor would she expect me to perform mine as a true husband. We would be… companions to each other. Someone with which we can share a life of contentment without feeling as though we have betrayed those who are gone.”

Otto sat back on his knees and looked up at the face of the Maiden. “Would doing so be a sin? Marriage is supposed to be the true joining of souls in holy and eternal love. That is what I had with Madelyn and what I believe she and the late Lord Whitehill had. Would it not betray the very idea of our past marriages to seek the same again?”

He sighed and dropped his head. “I would, of course, not force her hand. If I propose the plan and she refuses, I will dedicate myself to helping her some other way. But I cannot deny that this seems like fate, that the two of us would find each other. So please, Holy Maiden. Please, tell me if I am right.”

For what felt like the entire night, Otto sat on the floor of the Sept, watching the candlelight dance across the marble floor.

Then the dancing stopped.

Bewildered, he looked immediately at the candle. It was still lit, but the flame did not waver. Instead, it was perfectly still and seemed to grow taller and taller.

As if a cool hand lifted his chin, Otto turned his gaze up to the Maiden’s face. Somehow, she seemed to be smiling. A trick of the light, perhaps. But if the light itself was something impossible… Otto snuffed the flame with his fingers, which did not singe as they touched the fire.

He had never received a more explicit answer from the Gods.

[lanymme]

Falls to my knees , hiii so like... the requests.... would you be so kind as to consider Ushiwakamaru|Yoshitsune (and her wife Shizuka Gozen....) (she gets 1 dialogue in Heian-Kyo (Incredibly romantic line about wishing to follow Yoshitsune until the very end) and mentioned in Little Big Tengu)

Scenario... Ushi getting reminded of Shizuka and realizing how much she misses her...im basic i am starved

The idea of Ushi joining the "i miss my spouse" club and Tomoe being there is hilarious honestly. I am rambling

I am very sorry if this ask was too late </3

The monkey's paw curls.

Sure i can write that for you!

/\/\/\/\/\/\

It’s a quiet, clear night, the full moon shining brightly down on the trees, the courtyard, the roof of the mountaintop compound.

Sitting on that rooftop, one knee tucked up and the other dangling casually from the edge, foot swaying back and forth, a figure clad in a Japanese armor sits alone, drinking and looking out at the light of the city far below, long unbound hair fluttering slightly in a gentle breeze.

Behind them, a scattering of gold motes of light blows into shape and coalesce, as a woman dressed in similar armor stands behind them, posture straight and proper, sharing the same view.

“Ah, Lady Archer.” Her voice, normally energetic or cheerful, is subdued yet friendly. She turns, casual and unmannered, to smile thinly through the weight of emotion at her guest. “Please, come,” she says, offering the bottle and a small cup to her visitor. “Share a drink with me, and some familiar company in this foreign land.”

Archer ignores her offer, continuing to stare out into the city.

“…Lord Saber. I would kill you here, now, if our Masters were not allied.”

“Mm.” She nods, acknowledging the statement as true, if not important. “Such is the nature of the war we fight.”

Archer’s eyes narrow.

“…I will state the truth plainly, then. I would kill you if there were no war. Knowing you live, I would seek your death. Only duty now stays me from seeking vengeance for my Lord.”

Saber takes in a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh, staring out over the city.

“…Fair enough. I can’t apologize for anything I’ve done to serve my own Lord. But, if my Master permits, once our alliance is over, I will give you a proper fight to the death.”

The wind blows through the trees, rushing, cool. The tips of Saber’s hair blow in the breeze. She takes a sip, and studies the bottle of alcohol with casual interest.

Archer’s fists clench, the sound of friction audible like a creak of leather, before she lets her fair, callused hands relax.

“I am surprised to hear you’d take consideration for anyone other than the master you serve.”

Saber’s head bobs in positive appraisal. She continues to stare out into the night.

“My Master told me to convey to yours that he is to meet her in the shed tomorrow in the morning to discuss plans regarding Caster and Rider.”

Saber nods again. She stares into space for a moment, as she convey the message through the link.

Then, she takes another sip of alcohol, looking up at the moon.

Archer waits a few minutes longer.

Her eye twitches.

Just as she prepares to leave, Saber speaks again.

“It was a night like this, when I last saw my love.”

Archer regards her carefully.

Saber smiles, wistful, fond. “She liked to go for walks at night, and I would go with her, and stand close to keep her warm. Even on hot summer nights.”

For a moment longer, she looks out over the edge, features softened into a sad smile.

Then her face falls.

“But the last night I saw her… we didn’t have time for such happiness, such peace.”

She looks down, now, into the courtyard, at the earth.

“My retainers managed to convince me to run, when my brother decided to put me down. I gave it my best, really. But I knew he would catch up to me. And… I think she knew, as well.”

Archer stares at her, uncompromisingly.

“She wanted to stay with me, even so. I never… really understood people, or love. I don’t know what I did to deserve such loyalty. Or maybe that’s just how she was. But I appreciated it. I needed it. To know there was someone with me who would never move, never leave, even as I am… how I am. Who really cared.”

“If you really appreciated it,” Archer says, voice heavy, tinged with venom, “then why. Why did you send her away, before the end?”

Saber turns and looks at her. She smiles, faintly.

“Because I wanted her to live.”

Archer snaps.

“Selfish! You say you appreciated her loyalty, yet you would trample it for your own selfishness!”

“…Mm. It was selfish.”

Archer stalks toward Saber, where she sits balanced at the edge of the roof, “If her love, her loyalty truly meant so much to you, then why deny her the chance die alongside her Lord!” she demands, breathing hard, long-restrained anguish bleeding through into her fury.

Saber makes no move to respond, to back away or take a defensible position. She curls, hugging the knee tucked up against her chest, eyes cast down.

“Because… I always knew she would die for me, but I… I would always serve my liege, first. In the end, though, when my brother decided I should die… I thought, for once, I would like to return that devotion. To thank her, for always… for always supporting me. If I was to die… then I could still give her a life, to live on. I could do that for her, at the end.”

“I was never good at expressing my feelings. I knew enough, to know it would hurt her. But still… I wanted to do that for her.”

She takes a sip of alcohol, and smiles ruefully.

“I failed in the end, though. My brother captured her anyway. I was dead, by the time it happened, but…”

Archer stares at her, still breathing hard, glaring, body tense. But the earlier fire is gone from her eyes, and they instead search through old emotions.

“… We do not decide how fate will turn. It is the choices we make that speak for us.”

A moment later, she turns away.

She pauses.

“…Saber. The Master you serve…”

“Hmm?” Her face brightens visibly.

“…” Archer looks up, over the compound, fists balled at her sides. “…That person is not worthy of your devotion.”

She dissolves again into swirling gold motes of light, and they blow away in the gentle night breeze.

“… I wouldn’t know,” Saber says, to the empty rooftop. “I'm not the best judge of people. All I want… is the chance to faithfully serve, until the end.”

—

Cautiously, Tomoe Gozen enters the ruined compound, the remaining fires burning low. The building where she spoke with Saber on that night in the first days of the War is rubble, pulverized by the shock of Rider’s Noble Phantasm, and then cleaved in half.

Master— she begins, reporting out of habit.

Foolishness. Her gentle, composed Master is gone. She feels the loop of prayer beads at her side where they hang under her robes.

Rest easy. For my Master’s sake… I will see your wish granted. I will save them.

She is cursed, cursed to always be the survivor.

She’s too late to witness the conflict, but the state of the war has shifted dramatically. She picks her way through the buildings to see what she can still learn.

The night is darker, now, the moon waning. The courtyard is in ruins, stones broken and split, the lonely pear tree torn up from its roots. Great slashes are carved into the walls of the sturdy storage building that makes up its other side, and the wall has fallen over.

As she proceeds toward the center of the compound, she finds the headless body of Rider’s Master, lying flat on its back.

One of Caster’s siege defense machines has fallen from the rooftops, burnt almost completely, its bolt still loaded lying on the floor.

She tightens her grip on her self control as her oni blood flares, threatening to overtake her reason. She looks up to survey the surroundings

The other giant crossbows that line the remaining buildings are mostly intact. The one farthest back is split in half, jagged wooden remains stained by a heavy spray of blood.

But they are pointed into the heart of the compound, not at its surroundings.

A trail of blood leads her way deeper into the compound

A pit of dread fills her stomach. She worries at the prayer beads that keep her temporarily sustained with mana, her Master’s parting gift to her.

She materializes her sword with a lick of flames, and raises it in preparation before turning the highly defensible corner.

She finds the remains of the body Assassin was puppeting, leaking black ichor.

A few paces away, one of the giant crossbow bolts has buried itself into the earth. It’s stained red with blood.

The trail of blood thickens beyond it. There are bloody handprints, smears against the walls.

Tomoe Gozen narrows her eyes, and steels herself, and proceeds through the bounded field into the heart of the compound.

It’s burning. Ichor and bloodstains everywhere.

At the far side of the space, the largest crossbow is spattered with blood. Beneath it, the severed sleeve of Caster’s robe lies trampled on the ground. And beside that, a mangled figure.

Maintaining her alert, she makes her way quickly across the space.

Saber—Yoshitsune lies slumped against the building’s wall, still clutching her sword in her hands. Her skin is blistered, her long hair burnt away. Cuts and pierces litter her ruined armor. And a crossbow bolt the size of a wooden beam pins her against the building behind her.

So it’s true. Saber’s Master has taken Rider as his Servant.

The loyal general Minamoto no Yoshitsune has once again been betrayed and cut down by the lord she serves.

Tomoe Gozen feels no joy at the sight of her husband’s killer.

The lively, energetic Saber is almost inert, staring blankly up at the sky with dulled eyes. But as she approaches, she looks up at her in awe. Her sword falls from her fingers. Her bare, dry voice whispers.

“…Shizuka?” Tomoe’s heart drops.

She kneels by her foe, and takes her remaining hand in her own. Sightless, dull eyes cast toward her, feebly.

“… ah. My Shizuka. You’re safe. I’m glad… I’m glad.” She sighs, shuddering. “If you live… then all was not lost. I—“ she heaves a breath, and smiles. “can meet my death, without regret.”

Tomoe takes a ragged breath. Suddenly, her vision is full of tears.

—

“Lord Yoshinaka, I beg of you—“

“I have given you my command!” Her husband shouts, voice trembling with fervor. “Leave this battlefield! I will meet my death with Kanehira at my side!”

He looks at her, then, and feeling flashes over his face. Love. Sorrow. Pain. “I will not—“ his voice chokes, rough, raw. “—be shamed by dying together with a woman.”

She takes in a deep breath, trembling, spine straight, mastering her feelings. Then she bows stiffly.

“—As my Lord orders it.”

Before she turns away for the last time, filled to overflowing with mastered emotion, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes—

She sees something like peace come over her husband’s face.

—

She trembles, kneeling before Saber.

Her mortal foe takes in a slow, desperate breath.

“Ah, but Shizuka. Your Ushiwaka… has so rarely received an injury. It really… hurts, after all.” she laughs weakly, and then coughs, and trails off.

Tomoe draws in a deep breath, steadying herself.

“Lord Yoshitsune,” she says. “Allow me to ease your pain.”

“…thank you,” that haggard voice says, relieved. “Thank you.”

Saber slumps forward, presenting her bare neck.

Tomoe stands, and draws her sword.

“…forgive me!”

With one swing, she separates Yoshitsune’s head cleanly from her shoulders.

A moment later, in a shower of gold mana, the body of her great enemy, of her husband’s killer, dissolves and fades away into the smoke-filled night air.

Tomoe stands alone. She cleans, and sheathes her sword.

“Lord Yoshinaka,” she whispers. “Your wife has avenged you. And if it gave you peace, then I will proudly carry forever the shame and sorrow of surviving you.”

With one final lingering glance at the place where a crossbow bolt lies embedded in the wall, she leaves the place of death behind.

Her Master, still, remains to be avenged.

There are yet more ghosts for Tomoe Gozen to carry.

[carrymelikeimcute]

The izcourse continues...

When did people stop saying 'in my opinion'? because lord above would that simple phrase have stopped me getting so mad this morning.

I have no interest in reblogging the posts and starting drama, but some izzy takes I've seen this morning have made me want to chew through rawhide, and here's my opinion on why these 'factual statements' are wrong.

Izzy fans shouldn't be upset by his death because he's not a main character, he is a plot device to further the story of the main characters.

I'm a professional writer btw and to me a 'plot device' character is the barista who's in one scene. To me, if a named character with backstory and complicated interpersonal history with one or more main characters is just 'a plot device' - that's a waste of a character and shitty writing. I don't think ofmd is shittily written so this annoys me on two levels - disrespecting the show, and the character. Because in my view if Izzy is 'just a plot device' that's someone insulting the show.

2. Izzy was an antagonist and antagonists can only ever be redeemed and then die, or become a villain.

Not even true of ofmd and certainly not of media in general, yet stated as fact with nothing to back it up. This is NOT an opinion btw - you only have to look at Zheng and Jackie to know it's not true within the context of the show.

Jackie dobs Stede in to the British just as much as Izzy does, and she threatens them with vengeance again over the indigo - does she die? Does she become a villain? No, she's a guest at the lupete wedding for fuck sake.

Zheng insults Ed and attempts to kill Stede, two things Izzy was vilified for, gosh it was so sad when she died in the finale wasn't it? Oh no wait, she became their ally and sailed away on The Revenge!

'Have to die or become villains' is just...incomprehensible to me. The only way I can see it working in someone's head is if they think character like Jackie and Zheng did nothing wrong, when Izzy was evil, for doing the same things - albeit for more personally passionate reasons.

3. Izzy telling Ed that the ship's atmosphere was poison because of 'his feelings for Stede' was Izzy 'blaming Ed's actions on love again, just like he did in s1.e10 because Izzy is just one-note evil and only ever has that one thing to say.

To me, s1 Izzy is absolutely thrilled to have managed to bait Ed to anger, to have brought this out of him. He thinks he knows what he's just unleashed, but as we soon discover, he has no idea - because Ed had never cut off one of his extremities before. He poked the bear, but the bear was actually a fucking kraken.

s2 Izzy, in my opinion, looking at his expression above, is sad, resigned, he is saying Stede's name (which it's already established even obliquely mentioning him is a BAD IDEA with the whole 'talk it through' thing, after which Izzy sounds panicked) but he is specifically trying to make Ed see that he is not himself - that what he is doing to the crew is toxic.

Just because he's essentially saying 'This isn't you' in both scenes, doesn't mean the tone or the meaning of those scenes is the same. One scene ends with Izzy gleeful, victorious. One ends with him screaming on the deck, bleeding out.

I am happy for people to have these opinions, and for me to vehemently disagree with them, but they ARE opinions. And Izzy 'fans' or you know, people who see the show differently to you, are not stupid, racist, immature or whatever else you want to call us.

We just have a different opinion. If you're going to share your opinion, great! But it's still just your opinion.

[beehunterkisser]

Have you watched the season 2 premieres of Hamster and Gretel?

I HAVE!!! Im assuming you want to know what i thought of em so spoiler warning for any dwampyheads who havent watched it yet. LOOK OUT!!!! also this is long as hell so be careful

Hakuna Ma Kevin

ok first and foremost. the ANIMATION WAS INCREDIBLE I WAS SO SHOCKED.. The budget mustve been crazy everything was so smooth. It really impressed me.. especially the action scenes and the hair movements. it was all super good

his va did a great job of being like annoyingly calm. its so kevin to somehow take a relaxation camp way too seriously (also the fact his life was so ruined by his date with hiromi flopping that he had to go on a 2 week retreat to find inner peace).

i was actually really interested in how they were gonna tackle that but a timeskip makes sense.

skip past kevins initial extreme misery and leave it up for the audience to make up. i am still curious as to what his friendgroup looks like because. did thjey stop hanging out. ARE hiromi and kevin too awkward to see eachother. anthony and fred are children of divorce. its so sad. well we'll see what happened eventually

It was great to see veronica hill back again too i missed my queen. i hope she finds love on the open sea.

actually speaking of that i was so sure that that was gonna be the boat from that sinking feeling and it was going to change the trajectory of the dwampyverse timeline forever but i think that was just a tease or a really really vague reference

the villain was also incredibly funny. great voicework too im sure it was some guest voice or something that i just dont recognize because it just feels that way to me.

great guy hope he comes back. and the reocurring THERE ARE NO LAWS ON INTERATIONAL WATERS BABY was actually funny.

also i cant not mention the CANON DWAMPYVERSE LESBIANS were BACK BABY women FIND EACHOTHER AT CLAM FEASTS ITS REAL AND TRUE.

it really made me happy to see that especially since i was so positive that we werent gonne get any rep from dwampyverse but obviously im WRONG and there are 2 beautiful women loving eachother and eating clams out there.

he played it so cool too. an ally.

I was almost disappointed the song was so early because i wanted a dramatic clam musical number but thats literally minimal complaint i have about that episode because it was such a strong opener.

also congrats to the newlyweds lunchlady and piano key vendor i think they will have a long lasting and beautiful relationship.

also when i saw those 2 old man leaving i was like wow are we getting a double whammy with gays but that was just a cameo. next time though

The Great American Telenovella

THE RETURN OF MY QUEEN. the opening in the hospital made me think it was gonna go in a completely different direction.

Both of these episodes had the songs super early on interestingly enough. i didnt even realise the Fresas De Amor theme song was THE song of the episode. i thought it was just a jingle..

i was really happy that we got a carolina-centered (well a stretch but she was there a lot) episode. i really like her.

the animation was back to normal in this episode too which was a little sad and maybe skewed my opinion of the episode a little bit but not TOO much. i think.

despite being tricked on where the episode was going the gimmick with making fun of telenovella tropes was really really fun.

it felt almost like a rarity investigates type thing where they get really into character trope LOL

the first lady they interrogated (THE VILLAIN IS THE VILLAIN!!) had such a great design too i really like her.. the whole bit with her abandoning the show to become a taco crunchies commercial star was great too she gagged me.

and also her being like ok ill just sit here and watch all my personal belongings burn. I giggled..i cant lie..i did giggle a little...

ok i cannot dance around it any longer but THE RETURN OF LA CEBOLLA. I REALLY DIDNT THINK ITD BE THIS EARLY I WAS SO HAPPY.

i saw her in the back as the lunchlady and i knew everything was going to be ok.. I was safe in her hands..

also her powers were used super clever i really enjoyed the Onion Fists. and also the dramatic shot of hamster getting concussed by an onion.

this kind of goes back to me being shocked the telenovella intro was the episodes song because i was really hoping we'd get another la cebolla number akin to fighting facial hair again

i also get another shot of her lying in a hospital bed. the one from her song is literally one of my favourite pictures ever so its great to have another equally as bizarre one

shes definitely maybe my FAVOURITE hng villain so it was great to see her again.

im biased so i wished she had gotten more time to shine but also i think that entire scene with hamster pretending to be her son la cebollito.

it was really funny karina did great with the line delivery there. i loved how she was like But why are you so small!??!?!?! i love that she runs on telenovella logic. a true method actor

i really did enjoy that episode but hakuna ma kevin really felt like the stronger episode to me maybe SOLEY because of the animation. im an artist im easily pleased. they cant just tease me with god tier animated hng and then rip it from my hands as soon as i get it. its ok...ill get over it..ill forget it soon... (single tear falls from my eye)

I HOPE THAT WAS READABLE i might do more of these for the rest of the episodes as they release its actually really fun. we;re so back. hng season 2 Is already peak. Its my favourite dwampy show for a reason. i am hng strongest warrior. WERE SO BACK

[holylulusworld]

Designed by pain (8)

Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, past break-up, arguments, daddy Dean

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

Designed by pain masterlist

Designed by pain (7) 

Dean looks at you, silently apologizing for messing up his chance to talk to you. Your son was all over the stranger he invited to your home.

Now you try to find a way to get Dean and his brother out of your house. Sam tried to help. He called every hotel and bed and breakfast in your area, but no one had a free room for the night.

You sigh, deeply and exasperated. You’re tired and wound up by your unexpected encounter with your former lover. 

All you wanted was to forget about your meeting with him in the States and go back to your life.

If not for your son being overly excited to talk some more with Dean, you’d call Ketch to have your back in this. He’s your best friend, an ally, and the brother you never had.

“Not even for tonight?” Sam sighs too and hangs up again. He looks at you and shakes his head. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I tried anything but there is no free room for tonight or the next days.”

“We are having an important exhibition next week, and it’s the busiest time. Tourists all over town, exploring and annoying…” You bite your tongue, and huff. “You can both have the guest room.”

“There is only one bed,” your son says while stuffing more food into his mouth. He chews loudly and burps.

“Michael!” You tut. “What has gotten into you?” You’re too tired to let your son walk all over you and your feelings too. 

“A real man does that!” He argues and crosses his arms over his chest.

“No,” Dean jumps in. “A real man respects the person taking care of him. Especially when the person is his mother. He will not do such a thing after she has made sure he’s well-fed and happy.”

Michael pouts, and sniffs. “I’m sorry Mom. I won’t do it again.”

“Good. Now you will go and wash your hands, brush your teeth, and get ready for bed. The day was long, and you bugged your mom with the toad and me,” Dean gets up from his chair and points toward the door. “You’re lucky you’ve got a great mom. Not everyone is so lucky.”

You watch Dean handle your son while you try not to scream at him. How dare he act like a father only to get you to talk to him? 

“Uh-Y/N,” Dean nervously stammers. “I’m sorry I spent so much time with Michael. I came here to explain a few things.”

“Dean, I’m beat up and not in the mood for more lies. Let’s just leave the past behind. Get on a plane, leave this continent, and forget we ever met.”

“I-I believed you didn’t want me anymore,” he says before you can walk out of the room. “I came back to our room and found the ring. There was no note. Anger got the best out of me. I gave up without knowing about the baby or that you wanted me to go after.”

“How many more times do I have to tell you that I left a note,” you snap at Dean and throw your hands up. “Do you still want to pretend I’m the villain in this story?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “It was my mother. Sam and I talked to her before coming here. She finally admitted that it was her stealing the note.” Dean drops his gaze. “If not for Sam, I’d never found the guts to confront her. I’m so fucking sorry.

Dean steps closer. He looks at you, silently pleading with you to not kick him out before he gets the chance to at least apologize for all the things he did in the past and today.

“Did she tell you what I wrote?” You ask while keeping a close eye on Dean. He tends to overstep and get physical. If he hugs you like he used to do, you are done for.

“No,” he wipes his eyes. “We tried anything, but she refused to tell us. I assume you told me about your pregnancy and wanted me to man up and not be an idiot.”

“You’re an idiot, that’s correct,” you snap, struggling to hide the grin wanting to fight its way on your face. “I guess the note wouldn’t have changed a thing. You still ignored me, and let your mother treat me like shit. You were all over that ex of yours too.”

“I was drunk,” he raises his hand before you can tell him this doesn’t matter. “I know this is no excuse for acting like I did that night. But, you must believe me, if I knew about the baby…” Dean sniffs and drops his head, “I would’ve followed you to the ends of the earth.”

Sam awkwardly sneaks inside the room to get his bag. “I’ll retreat and try to call a few hotels again. Maybe I forgot some.”

“The guest room has a bed and a couch,” you wince as you must admit the lie you sold them so easily. 

“Sneaky,” Dean grins. He chuckles and winks at his brother. “I guess we don’t need to cuddle tonight, Sammy. I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“Jerk,” Sam grumbles before leaving the room. “Goodnight, Y/N. I’m sorry you have to endure my brother’s presence. Be patient. He’s an idiot and has abandonment issues.”

“BITCH!” Dean bites back. “Who asked you?”

“Who came to me, desperate and crying? You wanted me to help, so I help,” Sam huffs. “Don’t fuck this up too. I’m done watching you waste your life.”

“Sammy…” 

You watch Sam leave, swallowing thickly. “Do you still want to know what the note said?”

Dean fights the lump in his throat but nods. “Yeah…”

“Fine,” you turn around to grab your notebook and a pencil. You rewrite the lines and push the piece of paper in his hands. “It’s late, and I’m going to bed now.”

Dean looks at the piece of paper in his hand. He reads the lines, feeling his heart break all over again…

One night of passion, a life-long responsibility.  This is your decision. Are you in or out?  I got a job offer in London and will accept it if you don’t want to be a father yet (or at all).  If you are still the man you made me believe you are, call me tomorrow. If not, have a nice life…

Part 9

[docgold13]

Batman: The Animated Series - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Happy Birthday Batman

An official DC Comics calendar published for 1976 identified February 19th as Bruce Wayne’s birthday.  Other dates have been mentioned in the comics as possibly being the Batman’s birthday yet the nineteenth of February still seems the most canonically recognized.  Really, a Pisces?  

In any case, to celebrate the Dark Knight’s birthday here are paper cut-outs of Batman in all his various animated forms.  Who knew there were so many?

The Adventures Of Batman was the first Batman cartoon series and ran from 1968 to 1969.  It stared Olan Soule in the role of Batman with a young Casey Kasem in the role of Robin. 

The SuperFriends brought Batman together with the world’s greatest heroes and ran from 1973 all the way to 1986.  Soul and Kasem both reprised their roles as Batman and Robin in the series.

The New Adventures of Batman ran for a single season in 1977 featuring Adam West as Batman and Burt Ward as Robin.  This was a particularly silly show and featured a great deal of a magical imp known as Bat-Mite.  

1992 saw the advent of the greatest cartoon of all time as Batman: The Animated Series debuted and ran through to 1995.  The great Kevin Conroy provided the voice for Batman.

The New Batman Adventures was a continuation of Batman: The Animated Series with some updated stylistic changes.  It ran from 1997 to 1999, featuring Conroy as Batman.  

Batman Beyond entailed a Gotham City of the future where an aged Bruce Wayne trains a young man on his path to filling the mantle of The Batman.  It ran from 1999 to 2001 and stared Kevin Conroy as Bruce Wayne and Will Friedle as his protégé, Terry McGinnis.

Justice League brought the Superfriends back together this time under the banner of The Justice League (and later Justice League Unlimited).  It ran from 2001 to 2006 and once more featured Kevin Conroy in the role of Batman.

The Batman, which ran from 2004 to 2008, departed from the continuity established in Batman: The Animated Series and presented a new version of the Caped Crusader and his various allies and adversaries.  It starred Rino Romano in the role of Batman with Evan Sabara and Danielle Judovits as Robin and Batgirl.    

Echoing the campiness of 1966, Batman: The Brave and The Bold was a fun, light-hearted anthology series that ran from 2004 to 2008.  Each episode saw Batman teaming up with different heroes of the DC Universe for madcap adventures.  Diedrich Bader stared as Batman.

The series Young Justice, which ran non-concurrently from 2010 to 2022, focused primarily on Robin and the other younger heroes as they made their way from being sidekicks to a team in the own right.  Batman featured in many of the episodes where he was voiced by Bruce Greenwood.  

Beware the Batman from for a single season in 2013.  Anthony Ruivivar voiced Batman in this dark, largely computer animated series.  

Batman Unlimited ran from 2015 to 2016.  This was primarily a commercial in animated form featuring short, action-packed stories in tandem with the release of action figures and toy vehicles.  Roger Craig Smith provided the voice for Batman. 

Justice League Action brought back the League for more light-hearted adventures with a star-studded cast.  It ran from 2016 to 2018 with Kevin Conroy returning to once again voice Batman.  

Batman appeared as a periodic guest star in the DC Super Hero Girls series, which ran from 2019 to 2022.  Herein Batman spoke in a barely audible growl that only the other characters could comprehend.  Whereas actor Keith Ferguson provided the voice for Bruce Wayne, who further hid his secret identity as the the Caped Crusader by featuring in the ridiculous reality TV show, ‘Making it Wayne.’

A lampooned version of the Dark Knight sporadically features in the zany Harley Quinn animated series, premiering in 2019.   Diedrich Bader reprises his role from Batman: The Brave and The Bold, voicing this decidedly goofier version of the Dark Knight.

And finally, hopefully debuting some time soon, Batman: The Caped Crusader acts as a spiritual successor to Batman: The Animated Series and features the final acting role of the late, great Kevin Conroy, reprising Batman one last time.  

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for chapter- 18+ words and themes overall, cussing, graphic deptiction of killing, mention of death, mention of sandors death, Family reunion, joss and Podrick being little gay cutie pies, y/n being a gay ally (HAPPY PRIDE MONTH)

// A/N: just wanted to apologize for the broken links at the beginning of the book since i changed my username they haven’t been working but i assure you I’ll get to fixing them. I will also end up making a goggle docs with the entire book for downloading when this series ends//

Previous chapter here

CHAPTER 23

A blood curdling scream can be heard from sandors plot in the forest as he chops up bits of wood. The scream comes from the same pathway he just headed through. 

“Shit.” he huffs before running  as fast as he can back to the village. The sight is gruesome, as the premade homes are engulfed in flames and some even already burnt out. The bodies amongst the mud, horse slaughtered and food supply turned over. But the sight that holds Sandor in his clutches is brother Ray, hanging from the structure that was supposed to be the church once finished. His skin purplish gray his black dark red his eyes bulging. 

Sandor grumbles looking around at everyone dead on the ground before he sees the horse hoof markings that lead into the side path of the forest. With an anger filled rage he picks up the ax he’d dropped and speeds after the men that did this. The only thought was to get back at them and do much worse than what they did. 

It's not long before Sandor comes up to them, easily hacking one down. The man's head rolling in the leaves and mud going to the next cutting his chest open as he swings the ax. He ducks and takes the third swinging the ax up as it slices into the man's crotch pushing up before Sandor pulls it out and back. The man falls to his knees begging for mercy. 

“Where the fuck is the other one? The one with the yellow cloak?” Sandor asks, holding the ax to his neck. 

“FUCK YOU!” the man yells. Sandor angrily grunts before taking the man's head off.

—-----

You watch as Sansa plays with your son. She holds him in her lap and makes babbling noises with silly expressions. It's been six months since everything and you and your others have become virtually one with a cold. Being able to stay out longer, your fingertips and ear no longer freezing on impact. 

This winter will be long and hard and with all the preparations for fighting the night king and asking the dragon queen for her help it is too much for some to handle. Sana has unfortunately left most of the work to you so she can spend time with you son although joss takes him away from her to bring him back to his rightful mother she will always whine a bit before understanding. 

The sound of metal clinking horse hooves pounding and people chatting is a lively sound you could only hear outside the gates of king's landing, as people work on sorting supplies and gathering for the possible fight to occur. 

“How much food does winterfell have?” you ask the head supplier. 

“Enough for a year your grace, with the wool, and steel there should be enough possibly over than that.. A-at least for those who are in the castle now” he says 

“Hmm. you're telling me there isn't enough food, especially not when the armies from the dragon queen will be brought back to winterfell.” you say as you begin your walk down the steps to your son who begins to fuss in Sansa’s arms. 

“N-no my lady.” he answers “Most likely not.” he ends 

“I’ll have my share of militia head out in a cart to bring back more supplies as we cannot have the other guests starve now can we.” you say he shakes his head. 

“Come here. I've got you” you say picking up your son from her arms holding him close to you fixing his furs so he's warm against you. He snuggles into your chest holding onto you before popping his thumb in his mouth. 

“The little prince is growing fast, your grace.” lord baelish says as he approaches. 

“Thank you.” You reluctantly want nothing more to do with him as you find him to be a weasel that could manipulate those for his pleasure. 

“M-my lady!” joss comes running up to you and sansa taking a few puffs of breath before standing straight and speaking. 

“Y-your sister has arrived..lady arya..st-stark.” he huffs which makes you giggle a bit at how out of breath he is.

“Where..” Sansa says standing up. 

“I dont i want to come and get you but when I turned around she was gone and said s-somthing about your mother and father and v-visiting them.” he sighs nodding. 

“Come with me.” sansa sansa says taking your hand leading you to the entrance of the castle. Joss follows. She leads you to the entrance of the catacombs where all the Stark family are buried. You've visited as Sansa has an honorary burriel for Sandor down there despite not being a member of the family. 

He basically pulls you anxious to see her sister. But she soon lets up as she sees Arya standing there looking up at Sandors statue. Sansa looks at her for a few seconds before ayra takes notice and smiles a bit. 

“Do i have to call you lady stark now? I never really wanted to.” she says. Sansa smiles and hurries to her sister giving her a much deserved hug. The hug is broken by your son's babbling. 

“Your grace.” ayra says giving you a small bow. 

“No need for formality.” you say walking twords them both joss following behind you. 

She gives you a hug as well. Even though you've spent the least amount of time together she still feels ecstatic you have you around. 

“Whos this?” she asks about the child in your arms. 

“This is Joss Dortain Clegane.” you say turning him slightly to face her. She holds her hand out and extends a finger he grips it and begins to bring it to his mouth. 

“oh..no no.” you both laugh as she pulls her hand away. 

“The little prince.” she smiles. You nod. 

“His last name, clegane. Like Sandor or Gregor clegane?” she asks. You take a breath before nodding. Your eyes divert to the statue they all stand under. 

“His father, sandor. Brienne told me what she did, fought him for you, she pushed him.” you say looking up at the stone carving still. 

“If it's any consolation, he fought hard, like...extremely hard. I've never had someone fight that hard for my protection, ransom or not.” she says. You look at her and nod.

“Thank you. For keeping him company. I know he's not the best to hang about with but-” you begin. 

“He was fun. He talked about you. Last he mentioned you was of your pregnancy, he hated traveling in the opposite direction made him ancy, angry, he would always mutter thing about volantis. I asked him if he loved you, and he said yes with no hesitation, then I teased him that he was technically a prince." Arya laughs, making you laugh as well. 

“I remember on our wedding night I said the same thing to him; he didn't like it.” you say

“He didn't like it when I mentioned it...from my time with him. He adored you; he killed a man for speaking ill of your likeness. He really did love you.” she says a twinge in your heart forces a lump to hit your throat that your force back down. You nod in compliance for fear if you speak you'll start crying. 

“You must be hungry, I'll have the cook prepare you a proper meal.” Sansa breaks the sadness before you all gather and exit the crypts. 

—-----

Podrick and Brienne spar. They play swords clinging against each other as he's gotten…somewhat better at his sword play. He lunges forward at Brienne allowing her to kick his ankle tripping him into the mudded ground and walks around him smacking his butt with the side of the sword. 

“Don't lunge.'' She sighs, turning around as Podrick bets up and grabs the sword he drops before raging at her and begging again. But as per the round he makes a wrong move and she rides him backwards. Granted she did it on purpose. 

“Don't go where your enemy leads you.” she says walking around him chuckling at his failure. 

He gets up once again wiping the mud from his cheek about to go to attack once more but is stopped by familiar words. 

“Don't fight someone like her in the first place, it’ll get you nowhere.” joss speaks his hands behind his back as he walks up the two dueling. 

“Joss.” Brienne. 

“My lady.” he replies, bowing a bit before holding out his hand for the sword. 

“Be my guest.” she chuckles. Handing it to him before nodding to podrick and walking off the inside to get a drink. 

“You have to keep your knees bent, your eyes at half looks, and your free arm tucked for fear you might get cut off if you are not careful.” joss says podrick scoffs and rolls his eyes before taking his stance brienne taught him. 

“When did you learn so much about the sword?” podrick asks. 

“Unlike you who knows of fine things, I was a king's guard squire fighting in the description.” 

Joss huffs in a laugh at the way he stands. But nonetheless begin the fight. Easily joss maneuvered the sword around as podrick is slightly confused as he follows the sword with his eyes. This leads to joss bopping him on the backside like brienne. 

“Eyes at half look doesn't mean follow the entire sword, you have to watch your opponents moves as well, predict them.” joss replies. Podrick nods before they both begin again, sparing this time it lasts a bit longer than a few seconds. But ultimately a hit on the ass is what seals the deal. 

“That was good. Could be better,” joss says, running his fingers through his own hair pushing it back and out of his face. To their surprise they last much longer now join for a minute or two and podrick even takes down his first opponent leaving him to straddle joss with the sword held to his neck. Joss chuckles, smiling at podrick both proud and enthralled. 

Joss pushes Podrick off of him and switches positions holding his dagger to his other neck before leaning close to him. 

“Don't let your guard down..no matter who you're fighting.” joss speaks. Podrick chuckles back before the space between them closes, their lips connecting. It consumes the moment for a brief time only for joss’s name to be put to air as you call him. 

He pulls off his partner and stands up looking toward the sound to see you at the side. A smirk on your face. 

“The others need your help in unloading the carts. You can speak to your boyfriend later tonight.” you say looking down to podrick who quickly gets up and bows to you. 

“Yes, your grace.” joss says, sheathing his dagger before handing the sword back to podrick their fingers brushing against each other before the other man hurries off the the carts you turn to podrick, 

“This is for you. John has requested your presence at castle black he needs you to meet him by the shore of the wall.” you say handing him a raven scroll. 

John was supposed to be back only a few weeks after the last scroll he sent about getting Daenerys' approval. But under certain circumstances he had to stay and collect the resources before returning which has taken longer than expected. Podrick nods. You turn to follow joss to oversee the cart supplies but you stop and turn back to podrick. 

“Please, come back alive, you're good to joss, he needs you.” you smile at him before turning around and going to the carts. 

Next Chapter here

TAGLIST. If you’d like to be added to the tag list please leave a comment down below.

Taglist @stephyshadows@germansarechill@urfavbiscuit@daphneyblue@takemeaemond@holb32@allison-119@pxstelink@imsolonelyimissyou@myshitaccount@broadsdrinkwhisky@@evie-beanie@eulysa23-2@greeknymph18@rudiruds@ex160-blog1@im-an-assho1e@chompwoman@heartb8k2@lovely--lover ex160-blog1 @midnightprocrastinator @haus-of-a-thousand-fandoms @friendlyspacemartian @weebgirl100 @raoudixs @@killerrbunnii 

[aconflagrationofmyown]

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.

Masterlist

Taglist

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

[septimaseverinawannawrite]

Autumn Equinox

Fandom: Tom Hiddleston's Loki

Type: One Shot

Pairing: Asgard!Loki x F!Reader

Summaries: Blissful Autumnal Equinox with your most beloved, Loki.

Content : Establishing Relationship.

Warning: Consuming of Alcohol. Smut Language (from second half part). My English (is my second language).

Rate: T to M

Words: 1,337 (Finally, I can go back on writing more than 1,000 words!)

A/N: Actually, my hiatus is about sorting which fandom I truly love. Tom Hiddleston's Loki has always been. Also, I've met the amazing @lokisgoodgirl. She writes super grande and magnifique Loki's contents, her mini-series made me in tears. No kidding. Annnnnnnndddd, happy Autumnal Equinox! 😊🍂🍁

🌹Click to My AO3

When you have passed through the frame of the high carved golden door of the banquet hall, when the first music note hits your ears, and the completely decorated colossus hall presents ahead. All the honourable guests – not only from Asgard; the allied Realms, too.

Few attendants, carrying trays with glasses of refreshment and sliced-fruits, walk toward you, offering you these appetizers before the feast begins. You pick a glass of deep red liquid and a bowl of sliced berries as a matter of courtesy. With polite deportment, as it is official; you are the second Prince of Asgard, prince Loki’s lover right now.  

Speaking of your graceful grandeur and lover, you expect him to stand beside Queen Frigga, otherwise hanging out with Thor and friends, or mingling with the guests. Since, he has always been a remarkable entertainer, in almost every feast and banquet.

You look around this great hall with keen sight, yet he appears not, even his very own shadow under golden and silver glittering.

You make your way across the hall, searching throughout the crowd thoroughly. Loki still does not stand in presence anywhere or hides amongst them, though.

Sighing despondently, you stroll near the terrace and hope he might appear later due to the present; King Odin and Prince Thor are nowhere to be seen like Loki.

The large terrace outside, the guests did not loiter and linger on that much. You see only a group of young women gathering together to comfort a woman, who was crying and babbling about how her intended had remorselessly refused to dance with her; four, perhaps five courtiers arguing over advanced scientific theory; and a tall figure leaning over a big column at the dim far side.

You smile. Even in such hazy light, no, much darker place one can barely see, you do always remember your only beloved.

Loki is standing alone. He leans on the column with a book in his hand, that pair of symmetry brows knit together, jawline gritted tightly and did not stand the full length of all his elegance and finery; he was still beautiful. Or more, as small brightness, from a few torches, has glowing on his tall figure and ravenous black sleek locks and hair.

Tonight, he dresses in shining ceremonial attire; armour, breastplate, black and green appearance – adoring with golden rims and lines – with an emerald cape that flies behind along the gentle breeze. A glass of high spirit golden liquor sat on the nearest small table.

If you must verbally describe his appearance right now, you could never complete that task and lose yourself all over him, as always, every single time – no matter who has asked.

While you approach closer to him, a tiny soft smile tugged on his lips, before averting his gaze from that book.

“I know what you're thinking.” His smile gets wider, “Come here, my moon.”

He places a book on the table, extends his arm and hand to catch your free hand. Yours and those slender fingers intertwine together, when another pulling you close to him.

“Don’t you have to entertain the guests, both from Asgard and other realms? Leaving your mother alone with her lady-in-waiting, without King Odin and Thor to nowhere avail on significant festivity, likewise?”

“My mother is more than capable to entertain and get this banquet going on, don’t worry and don’t mind them.”

“But if I do mind…?”

You lift an eyebrow, place a glass and a bowl on the same table, as the corner of your mouth is raising. He chuckles delightedly.

“Eager to acknowledge everything and anything as usual…such a perfect queen for me.”

“Oh, you’re praising me.”

You pretend to be surprised, sliding an index finger onto Loki’s chin; up to his jaw, to his cheekbone.

“You haven’t told me yet.” Now your finger is on his pointy nose. “Concerning All-Father Odin and Prince Thor.”

Loki removes your finger down to his chest instead, holds your hand while kissing your temple.

“Also, I’m suddenly and immediately desire to acknowledge the matter you’ve just read.”

“Then you shall.”

His magic brings you both out of the terrace, disappearing from the feast. Currently, you both are standing on the balcony of his bedchamber.

A deep emerald velvet chaise, along with silk blanket, and big pillows are placed together on a golden trimming carpet – facing the vision below and ahead. Besides, is a carved marble and unknown material table; a jar of fine liquor and two delicate – but gorgeous glasses, more luxurious fruits and desserts than everything at the feast – on the very exquisite silver tray, and other pretty ornaments.

Loki pulls you to sit next to him, skilful fingers undid your elegant hairdo and remove a satin shawl out, before holding you closer. You also notice his cape and ceremonial armour pieces have vanished, leaving only black leather attire on, but now your attention is the view before your eyes.

The scenery from this specific point is remarkable and splendid, much more than the usual state you have seen about a hundred times: ten thousand lights illuminate the city below on Equinox’s night and the Bifrost, as glowing and sparkling as numerous stars and the crescent moon above the dark purple sky.

“So, what preoccupies your father and brother?”

You lean your head on Loki’s shoulder, his large – yet soft – hand circling and rubbing your exposed skin, tenderly and fondly. You close your eyes and let a quiet moan slip out of your mouth, feel the blissfulness and enjoyment gradually creeping inside.

“Thor’s Midgardian lover. Seems like she is unnecessary to All-Father’s will and the feast.” He ceases manoeuvring your bare shoulder, sliding down to snake his arm around your waist.

“Why is your father even bothered and upset? She’s a scientist, despite her knowledge compared to ours, she surely wants to see the equinox from Asgard when the great opportunity is right before her.”

“Indeed, she is.” He starts pressing his nose on your hair. “Now you have your answer, haven’t you?”

Loki’s huskily whispers into your ear, his other hand tilting your head away from the view in front of you both to face him.

“Summer is totally gone, but how can you smell like peony?”

You purr and sigh with contentment, for Loki's nose and lips press at the crook of your neck. Goosebumps arise and send chills down to your spine. And, too, sense his personal scent into your nostrils; rose mixing with balsam poplar – his favourite oils when bathing.

These pleasant fragrances remind you of previous intimate and sensual countless times with Loki, especially while you are positioned under his body. All the memories are clearly and vividly playing in your mind. Curiosity of what he read before has been ignored totally, absolutely, and completely.

Nevertheless, albeit you know he needs to get you lying down – as well as you – still, you desire to indulge yourself with a breathtaking night in his embrace, and your dress on a little longer… Before he throws it away later.

Thus, you signal by grabbing his wrist, to halt him from kissing down and downward; telling him with your smooth voice. Loki irritably huffs in his throat.

“If you hold me any longer, before the moon crosses its current cusp, note this…” He bites your earlobe, as light as a feather. You try to suppress your moan, unfortunately, it fails. “You aren’t going to be allowed to leave my chamber until the day after tomorrow…”

Loki presses your back against an upholstery. Your moan changes into a high-pitched squeak, as he crashes his lips on yours, altogether, unlacing the knots behind your dress in slow rhythm. 

Your breath is hitching – you can barely catch it, wherein Loki twirls his lower lip from yours; dragging down along your chin, base of your neck, your collarbone, and above your breast, respectively. As you feel his clothed length upon your thigh and his invisible smirk over the valley of your cleavage. 

“Too late, my dearest.”

[bloodlust-1]

༻ 3 Nights ༺ part 8

Gortash x fem Tav —mini series Explicit 18+

Summary: Gortash invites Tav to stay 3 days at his palace for the sake of an alliance. Reluctantly, she compromises for peace and it becomes an experience they won’t forget.

Part one -> here <-

Tav reached out for a drink from the waiter, smiling to faces familiar and unfamiliar as she limped barely in a dress.

Tav’s never been stabbed so deeply, and it was a feeling she never felt before. A sharp burning, yet then a warmth all over the body. It was strange, and she was lucky to have some of the best healers around. She could’ve died in battle. But here Tav was instead, in a beautiful red dress, limping at a party dedicated to the hero’s of Baldur’s Gate.

She took big sips and allowed the burn of the alcohol sit in her stomach. It eased the pain away from the otherwise throbbing stab wound on her side.

After defeating the netherbrain, Tav’s group returned back to the palace, victorious and hailed as heroes by the people. The once dark and menacing palace was now filled with light and joy as the citizens celebrated their newfound freedom. Gortash ordered a grand ball to be prepared, inviting all the leaders of neighboring kingdoms to join in the celebration.

Tav wrinkled her eyes, trying to keep an eased expression on her face. She downed her drink before cleaning her composure at the sight of a familiar face.

It was Gortash, surprisingly groomed in a classy black embroidered jacket. He looked incredibly handsome.

“I didn’t expect you to be here. I’m glad you could make it.” His broad shoulders seemed to hover over Tav’s body, and despite his intimidating aura Gortash softened his gaze at her.

His eyes narrowed in a relief expression, “Your side...Does it hurt?”

“Like hell.” Tav scuffed with a chuckle, “I’m a special guest, I couldn’t miss this.”

~ 3 Weeks Before The Ball

The emperor Twisted his dagger deep into Tav on the battlefield. The sheer anger dug so deep from betrayal and Tav fell back onto the floor. Of course, this was because they had free’d Orpheus.

Shadowheart quickly called upon their trusted ally Isobel for healing. And Isobel wasted no time in tending to Tav's wounds.

Isobel's healing magic flowed through Tav's body, easing her pain and giving her the strength to push through. It was a grueling process, but Tav gritted her teeth and held on, determined to survive the betrayal and emerge victorious.

Everyone pulled out every skill they knew to defeat the Netherbrain. It was one hell of a fight and at the end of it all, they found themselves at the city's docks; staring out onto the ocean. The dragons flew across the sky and Tav felt the overwhelming happiness blur her eyes.

However the pain slowly started to seep back into her bones. Tav let out a painful cry, feeling the sharp sting of her wound. The metallic taste of blood filled Tav's mouth as she collapsed onto her knees, her once pristine armor was now drenched in crimson. She gritted her teeth, trying to fight through the pain, but it was too much. Her body was wilting, and she could feel her strength slipping away.

Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, she heard Wyll's voice calling out to her. She turned her head to see him rushing towards her, his expression filled with worry and fear. He grabbed her trembling body, trying to offer some form of support.

Tav's eyes drifted upwards, fixated on the bright blue sky. It seemed so peaceful and serene, a stark contrast to the chaos and violence that surrounded her.

But even as she lay there, weak and injured, more faces filled her vision. There was Halsin, Shadowheart, Karlach, and then Enver. They all appeared before her, their voices blending together in a blur. Tav tried to keep track, but her body was failing her. And as the darkness began to creep in at the edges of her vision, she knew she couldn't hold on any longer.

It was like Tav was falling into a black abyss, every little word or noise echoed all around her and memories flashed before her eyes.

Tav gasped.

Her body sweated and drenched her clothes as she laid in a bed, around her was littered with medical supplies and potions.

“Tav! Thanks, gods you’re okay.” Shadowheart poked her head into the bedroom. Shadowheart ran over and placed a cool rag over Tav’s forehead. “It got real bad for a second there…That damn Emporer,” she admitted as sadness washed over Shadowheart's eyes.

“I -“ Tav winced loudly cutting her words off as she tried to sit up, “Don’t even remember getting here.”

Tav rubbed her eyes and blinked aimlessly, "Where's everyone..?"

"Well... Karlach and Wyll left together to Avernus, Halsin returned home as did Gale, Lae'zel left with Orpheus, and Astarion is probably hiding in the darkest corner right now."

The crown was returned to Mystra. Gortash quickly realized that his actions would only lead to chaos and death and that his best course of action was to step back and allow Mystra to resume her rightful place to destroy the evil magic.

It was instinctive, to choose survival, and strategic to keep power.

"Oh.." There was a sadness that stung in Tav's chest. It was over. Everyone she called 'friend' was returning to their lives or starting a new one.

“Tav!” A voice startled her eyes opened and it was a pleasant surprise.

“Hey, you…” Tav half smiled through the sharp pain, "Not the prettiest view, I know." She joked shallowly.

Gortash rushed into the room, his heart pounding in fear as he saw Tav lying in the bed, pale with messy hair. He did not waste time planting a passionate kiss on her lips.

"I don't care about that," he said, taking a seat on the bed's edge. "You were drenched in blood, and your skin went pale, I thought maybe it would be the last time I saw you." His voice became low.

Gortash gently took Tav's hand, relieved to feel a weak squeeze in return. "I would much rather see you like this, than like that," His broad frame hovered over Tav's body. "I am just grateful that you are still alive."

He didn't care that Shadowheart was there, with a surprised look on her face from his sudden softness.

"Well - this adventure has shown me lots of surprises. This is certainly one of them." Shadowheart crossed her arms with a knowing smile. She nodded quietly at Tav before leaving them to their privacy.

"I'm happy you came." Tav gently rested her free hand on his injured one, "Thank you."

His expression turned to confusion and disbelief as he processed the words Tav had just spoken. "You're thanking me?" he asked, his lips frowning and his head shaking. "But why? I would have died without you. It was your trust in me, despite your objectively foolish choice, that saved my life."

Tav's naivety and trust led her to place her faith in Gortash, despite all logical reasoning. And yet, it was also this same trait that had allowed Tav to take a leap of faith and ultimately save his life.

Gortash sighed, "And I am forever grateful for - your stupidity." It was a statement filled with sincerity and appreciation; even if he sucked at it with words.

Tav rolled her eyes playfully, "You're horrible with gratitude, but you're welcome, Enver."

Gortash's eyes softened as his name left Tav's lips. He brought her hands to his face and kissed the bruised skin.

"I suppose you still want me to become part of your court...Im not sure if -"

"No. I cannot engage in any business discussions when you are like this." He lowered her hands and gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. Gortash looked into Tav's eyes, relieved that she was even alive, he knew that nothing else mattered at that moment. Gortash was grateful for her safety and well-being, and he could not bring himself to discuss anything else until she was in a better state.

~Back to the present

"Indeed, you are special." Gortash held out his arm inviting her and Tav hooked her arms around his. She limped a little less as he held some weight off her feet.

Some guests turned their heads in interest, silently wondering about the nature of their relationship. As they made their way through the room, Tav noticed the various reactions. Some wore surprised expressions, others showed jealousy, while some seemed completely baffled.

Tav felt her face flush with a hint of embarrassment, and she wondered what was going through their minds. Tav couldn't blame them for being curious, but it still made her feel uncomfortable.

It was a strange feeling. Tav was sent to kill Gortash and release the city from his binds and treachery. She betrayed herself, and maybe some of her companions but she couldn't explain the way Gortash went soft for her. Only her. Maybe with better influence, he could really thrive, despite his horrible demeanor.

But Gortash remained unfazed, confidently leading her through the room. His nonchalant attitude added to the mystery surrounding their relationship. And he could feel Tav's hold become tighter.

Gortash looked down at her and nudged his head, "Uncomfortable, my dear? Let us get some privacy."

Tav's eyebrows curved up in a softened expression. Thank Gods.

Gortash guided Tav away from the loud and chaotic room, filled with loud music and prying eyes. As they distanced themselves from the overwhelming atmosphere, he lifted her gently into his arms. Tav couldn't keep up with his fast steps. He pitied her.

Gortash carried Tav onto the balcony and was greeted by a stunning view of the garden. The lush greenery and colorful flowers filled the air with a sweet, floral scent.

Tav carefully sank her footing until her feet were firmly planted on the balcony floor. She then leaned over the railing, taking in the beauty of the garden. Gortash soon joined her, propping his elbows on the balcony and admiring the scenery beside her. They stood in silence, mesmerized.

"There is so much in this world I can offer to it." He stared off onto the night sky, "I've been cheated of my life many times, and every time I have prevailed." His head slowly turned to Tav's side, "That must mean something?"

"Of course. You were meant to be here. You are an inventor at heart but I wished you would be more...ethical in your work."

Gortash scuffed as a smirk played on his lips, "Life is unfair, isn't it."

Tav's expression shifted as she scrunched her lips to the side and furrowed her brows in a pout, "Life is what you make of it."

"Not everyone is an optimistic hero that goes and swooping down to save anyone." He paused, his voice firm and unwavering, "I didn't have you. I didn't have a choice. But I refused to be a mere pawn in the hands of a devil. I made a conscious decision to rise above my circumstances and become something more. I made me."

He continued, "A forgotten child. A slave. A follower. A tyrant."

Tav tilted her head with a pang of sadness. Without hesitation, she extended her hand toward him, "While this may be your reality, remember that you still have the power to decide your future," she said gently. "You can choose a different path."

"It's more complicated than that, Tav."

"Then -" She leaned her head on his shoulder, "Let us figure it out together."

"Like I said: Optimistic hero." He closed his eyes and smiled sarcastically, "I don't know if I should hate or admire it."

"You don't have to understand." Tav nudged her head against his arm, "Some things are not meant to understand, but you would be lucky too one day, I hope."

"You know, people say I have magical foresight" Tav teased him.

"No one says that- "

"How would you know, you're practically a princess locked away in her tower."

Gortash laughed at Tav's sassiness, finding her wit and boldness amusing.

The moment went silent around them as they enjoyed each other's company. The ballroom's music crept into the air, and Gortash then stepped away from the balcony and held out his hand, "A dance, little hero?"

"O-Ohh noo, Enever, I'm not much of a dancer." Tav playfully waved her hands back and forth while shaking her head and wearing a wide grin.

He shrugged, "Neither am I."

Tempting. Tav softened her smile as her heart jumped out of her chest. She hesitantly took Gortash's hand in hers and he pulled her body closer.

His hand fell at Tav's waist. Without thinking, he began to sway from side to side, moving in a small waltz-like motion. Gortash wanted to take things slow, not wanting to hurt her stab wound in any way.

Plus, It helped him mask his horrible dancing.

Tav's foot accidentally stepped on his toes, and she was mortified with embarrassment.

Gortash chuckled to himself. It wasn't serious, Tav was just as lacking as he was. Despite being messy, sloppy, and dysfunctional, their dance became smoother eventually, with their feet perfectly in sync.

Tav rested her head on Gortash's shoulder, her hand on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as they danced.

As the song came to an end, Tav lifted her head and looked into Gortash's eyes. She smiled and gently placed her hand on his face, running her thumb over his cheek.

Gortash exhaled and leaned into her touch. "You look beautiful tonight, Tav," he said, his deep voice filled with admiration.

Tav blushed and looked down, her red dress swaying with their movements. "Thank you," she said softly, feeling her heart flutter at his words.

"It's my favorite color on you," Gortash continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "You always look stunning, but there's something about you in red that's so alluring."

Gortash leaned down and captured Tav's lips in a gentle kiss. It was a soft, sweet kiss that sent shivers down her spine.

His hands moved to her shoulders, holding her firmly as he deepened the kiss. Tav's heart raced and she felt his lips move against hers, their bodies still swaying to the music.

His tongue crept into Tav's mouth and intertwined with hers. Gortash savored the taste of her lips, which he had been longing for ever since they last had sex.

When they pulled away, Tav's eyes met Gortash's, and she could see the lust in his eyes. He held her face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks.

"So what will it be now, between us?" His voice fell low, and Tav could've sworn she felt the nervousness exude from him. His gaze became increasingly cold, almost like he was preparing himself for the worst.

"Whatever you want it to be," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Their breaths mingled in the air.

"I want you."

Tav gently placed her hand over his, intertwining their fingers as she spoke, "Then you'll have me."

"But let's take this slow - I want to get to know you more outside these damn walls." Tav stifled a small laugh and met Gortash's eyes, waiting to see how he would react.

Gortash gently nodded his head, a small smile forming on his lips and his eyes welcoming. He agreed and reached out and traced Tav's lips with his thumb, his touch gentle and tender.

"I will do my best to make you happy and protect you at all costs."

They continued to dance on the balcony, lost in each other's embrace and the magic of the moment. The music faded into the background as they kissed and held each other, not knowing what this 'love' was. But they were damn well going to find out together.

As the stars twinkled above them, Gortash leaned in and kissed Tav softly, sealing their newfound alliance and love for each other. And in that moment, they knew that they were meant to rule together, side by side.

~The End

T - T Aw, this was my first every mini-series, and ah<3 It's time to move on.. This was fun to imagine in my room late at night just typing like a madman.. Definitely not my last series! I'm currently writing another Gortash x durge Tav called Blood Bond and requests :'))))

But I hope everyone enjoyed and for those who stuck around, Much appreciated :*<3