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viloxity · 3 months ago

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Fluctuating Skies (Part 2 of 2) -- Yandere! Sung Jinwoo x Female Reader

Part 1

Synopsis: The scenario where the Monarchs rule Earth and the Shadow Monarch finds you in the New World A/N: it's finally here! thank you so much for the support on the previous part, i hope this lives up to expectation! reblogs and comments especially motivate me so let me know your thoughts <3 enjoy!

WC: 7.5k (oops)

Waking up to soft rays of light twinkling through cracks in the walls did not feel as invigorating as it should’ve been.

You slowly raised a hand to unwrap the blankets around you, stopping as yesterday’s events flashed through your mind. How could you even describe it? His behavior was becoming progressively uncanny and the foreboding that he would only get worse stuck with you. You felt like you were drowning, suddenly, weary eyes blinking to find yourself underwater in the middle of an endless ocean. You were surrounded by blue, as if you put on filtered sunglasses and now your world was the singularity of a color that reflected the same shade of the sky. Despite your circulatory system’s losing battle as the deep blue engulfed your trachea, you felt a sense of tranquility. Under the sky’s watchful gaze and the water’s gentle hands, you were protected. No longer did you have to suffer from the wars, the loss, the pain; you were free. Free to forget, free to explore, and free to experience.

You spent your time rejoicing under the guise that trepidation was a falsehood and forgetting that nothing was permanent because time waits for no one.

By the time you discerned the forgotten unpleasantry known as angst that did not belong in your Better World, it was too late.

You did not notice the inky black tendrils that were wrapping around your free-floating form.

You tried to swim away, to fight back, but they were relentless in caging you. The shadowy cage was reminiscent of a black tomb that fixated your view behind pole-like structures and entrapped you within something inescapable.

You distantly spotted a single immensely darkened creature as it swirled at the lower depths of the sea. The unknown entity eyed you hungrily from beyond the blackened bars, swimming patiently as you began to register once more the water bursting down your esophagus and into your lungs. You grabbed the bars with all your might and pulled, realizing too late that it only hastened your submerging. You were sinking deeper, closer to the unknown and closer to a fate that you would no longer be in control of. At last—before you buried the last of your desires—you screamed, attempting to curse out that disgusting monstrosity that spectated your descent to darkness; the water engulfed you, then, happy to oblige to your acceptance of asphyxiation.

The moment the light faded, your eyes shot wide open as your hands quickly moved away from clutching your throat. You gasped for breath, uncontrollably coughing as you wildly looked around. Your eyes finally settled on the streams of light pouring from the window, the rush of blood flowing past your ears beginning to fade. You then counted each beat of your heart, the tallying of each thump dissolving your heightened senses as you drifted under the threshold.

You hadn’t realized the moment you fell back asleep.

Gradually, as each night brought misery the second your eyes closed, you found yourself struggling to get a wink of sleep. The crevices of your mind were so desolate, so dolorous, that you shuddered at the mere notion of the night blanketing you. Each dream was similar, with some darkened figure watching over you like a god spectating their worshippers—never forwardly reacting, and never intervening. At the end of every scenario, you eerily felt that the entity delighted in your cycle of despair as previously neutral movements transitioned into fervent, animated motions. If it appeared like a shadowy humanoid, they would lean down and smile as you inevitably drifted towards them. In your most recent dream, it resembled a piranha that eagerly circled you as it waited to devour your impending despondence. Every single time, you remembered the creature, its face, its actions, and your anguish.

It had been a few days since your first meeting with Jinwoo, simultaneously marking the first day you began to fear the dark.

The darkness was another mask the sky used—a different side on the same coin of the marvelous bright blue you woke to. If the bright sky told you it was a beginning, the blackened night represented an end. Every day was unique; the beginning and end were never the same, nor did they repeat. A new day was a new beginning, while a new end was a new conclusion. In a society brimming with devastation, people tended to characterize ‘the end’ in this way—as a sum of its parts. This was a consequence, survivors learned, because it meant you neglected the substantiality of an imperfect world and became the first sacrifice as a method of fidelity to the strongest in the realm. The totality of the ending was the truth, because the whole is always greater than the sum of its parts in the New World.

You stopped looking at the other side of the coin because it was never meant for you. The strongest controlled the night sky and you had an inkling that Jinwoo might be one of them; a being that can write your ending so long as it satisfied him, his face abruptly flashing through your mind was enough to make you retch.

Your head turned towards the sky, somewhat covered by the walls of your home. At the very least, the morning sky was still your oyster—every morning was a fresh start that alleviated the pain of a predetermined ending. You learned to forgive it back then because you could not dream of never relying on it again.

You rose from under your bed covers. It was no longer something you could ignore.

To a degree, you were certain that there was some positive correlation between Jinwoo’s behavior and your nightmares. The more your mind flickered back to yesterday, the more unsalvageable his company looked. He was more a threat to your survivability than someone who you could befriend like the others. If it came down to it, you would possibly have to run the most you’ve ever done in your life. You were willing, but it was a matter of if you would get the chance to in the first place.

Jinwoo’s words from yesterday vividly echoed throughout your mind—in any case, there was no avoiding him today. You moved to the closet, creaky wooden doors opening to reveal you staring at your reflection. The mirror was placed in the middle of the closet, nearly engulfed by what looked to be a storm that passed through your belongings. You patted your face, fingers kneading away knit eyebrows as you tried not to focus on weary eyes and the tight line drawn on your face. Your affliction was proof of your dejection due to your new circumstance—it was unlike you to be in such a state. You survived to live freely and now you placed yourself in a predicament that threatened your state of being.

You ignored the sensation of faint prickling that tickled the corners of your lips.

Jinwoo was unpredictable, and that was a major problem in terms of survivability.

Damn it, how could you get out?

He was slowly beginning to root himself into your life and that was terrifying. Even worse, you were never clued in to his actual intentions—by a stroke of fate he gave you the ‘honor’ of his attention, and now he was feeding you handfuls. Was it a major oversight on your part, to not pay attention to such an action? Would your careless decision during a moment of vulnerability cost you everything? It was easy to envision how your life would eventually center around his, like a satellite orbiting a planet—Jinwoo’s raw strength and unknown capabilities could be enough to bend an individual to his desires. Said individual would no longer maintain the privilege of free choice; any option that was not correct—in his eyes—was a rash decision that betrayed his wishes.

Fuck. All paths that tied in Jinwoo involved a life half-lived.

Unless you were inferring too much. Everything thus far was still speculation, other than a few abnormalities in his usual solemn behavior. It had only been a few days, and yet your mind portrayed him as a villain.

And yet…

And yet it felt like he was hiding. The feeling that he was still lurking within the shadows, just like the first day you met him. That he was not… fully there. He was faded out, but if you cared to look a little closer, you would see that he wasn’t a normal shadow.

Your antsy temperance, driven by countless near-fatal encounters, never quelled itself in the presence of Jinwoo.

Either your mentality was cracking under pressure—his pressure—or the severe amount of devils advocate you played as a paroxysm of coping.

It would not be long until your mind landed itself in the grave, by his hand or yours.

You watched the intense rich shade of red trickle down your lips and onto your chin, its boldness absorbing your attention and trail suctioning color beneath its crimson hue. Perhaps the aching of your sensory receptors was a direct consequence of the peril you put yourself in—an unconscious and remorseful action.

You could not regret—there was no time, for he controlled that too.

Reaching for a towel to wipe the ruby from your face, a flash of purple streaked from the corner of your eye. You quickly turned but all your bulging eyes made contact with was the floor.

The floor and your shadow.

Your shadow was swirling, its outline swaying against the wooden floorboards and darkness crawling as it followed your movements. Within its depths was the image of a battle; the clash of fragments of hazel scattered throughout the pools of ink. Each unconquered piece slowly succumbed to the tide because lone soldiers were weak in the face of an army. As rich brown gradually swirled into deep black, you were reminded of the arachnids; the eight-legged creature that crawled where it pleased and patiently waited for its prey to fall into its carefully crafted web. The flush colored area that unluckily landed itself behind you was now trapped in a web of gloom, an inescapable route that held no other option but to wait for its end.

Akin to how your shadow absorbed the surroundings around it—colors swirling from vivid to black—you too were mesmerized by its outlandish ferocity. The way it continued to entrench on other areas despite your lack of movement gave you the feeling it was more lively than how you remembered it.

You moved a step back. You felt your heart racing as the shadow stormed after you, quickly discarding its entrapped victims and viciously tearing apart others to get to you. Once it reached your side, the shadow began to swirl around in its new area, straying slightly farther than your outline as it dragged other pieces of hazel within its midst.

You took several steps back, fearful eyes following your shadow’s barbaric barreling as its outline shook and swirling hastened. You could make out a small groaning sound, then a wave of sighs once the shadow reached you. Your shadow’s outline and swirling lessened in intensity, resuming its invasion sequence. Near the bottom of your feet, you almost didn’t make out the tiny inky strings that connected you to the shadow. You wanted to say they resembled hands, the way there were several small strings tied to one long string, but the swirling of the ink made it hard to make out.

Even in your own home you were going crazy.

Shortly after, you quickly got dressed and rushed out the door, never once looking back at your shadow.

The trek was fast because you did not bother to stop and look around for people to hand out food to. You were too absorbed in rethinking each encounter that you did not realize the man standing outside the shed.

“Glad to see you’re back.” Jinwoo greeted, body leaning against the shed with arms crossed. He was in a spot that offered him shade from the morning sun, dressed in his normal attire of all-black from head to toe.

You caught yourself from flinching, breaking out of your dazed state and willing yourself to speak to him.

“I, um, don’t see why not,” You meekly replied, the grip on the strap of your bag getting a little tighter. “The earthquake from yesterday did scare me, though.”

“There is no need to be afraid as long as I’m here,” Jinwoo said, pushing off the shed and stopping a shy few inches away from you.

You had not fully realized it, but Jinwoo really was an intimidating character. You never saw him at full height as he would always be sitting on something at some distance away from you and shrouded by shadows. With the way your eyes were nearly shoved into a face full of chest, you were struggling to maintain your fortitude against his domineering posture and terrorizing stare. His hands in his pockets could only do so much to shrink his broad shoulders that boldly shaped his black dress shirt.

Jinwoo leaned down toward you, head slightly tilted. His gray eyes immediately collapsed your own, unable to turn away as your heart beat sporadically. Soon the chirps of birds and the swaying of grass by the wind drowned out as static filled your ears. There was only static, until you made out faint whispering that echoed by your feet—it was incomprehensible, but it was there. You could not look away to confirm or deny your paranoia—to prove you maintained a piece of sanity—but that did not matter in the face of the ferocious beast in front of you. No, what you were more scared of now was if Jinwoo could hear how fast your heart raced—whether he could read your thoughts by glimpsing through your eyes and by the amount of time he’s spent in your head. You were able to push back the trembling, but how long could you hold it for?

A voice was murmuring underneath the ocean of sound, promptly silencing the whispers that plagued your ears.

“Huh?” Your mind was still mushy after the wave of panic passed you, having forgotten who was in front of you. The ringing static faded the harder your nails dug into your palm.

“No charity work today?” Jinwoo repeated, head tilting more at his inquiry. He leaned back, the mist clouding your mind finally settling as he separated from you.

Your fingers fiddling with the bag strap and the shuffling noise it emitted reminded you of the donations you were given today.

Wait—the donations. You sucked in a breath, trying to even out your breathing. It was made a point that you would always hand out food before meeting with him, as you would offer him the last piece you had. It was a consistent act that you performed despite only knowing Jinwoo for a minimal amount of time. How was he aware, that today of all days, was the one irregularity in your schedule?

You quickly cleared your throat. “I planned on going after meeting with you.”

Jinwoo hummed, eyes flashing to the small stream of red that trickled down your palm. His prolonged glare at the crimson liquid and clenched fists was nearly enough for you to voice your concern, but what could you even say? The tension in the air wound your vocal cords like tight knots with a string and you were too scared to unweave them.

The brief flicker of a violet hue immediately stilled your fiddling. The color was as vivid and deep as you remembered, so much so that your body couldn’t help but freeze.

There was no way he didn’t notice.

For a moment, the only sound you heard was the blood rushing through your ears as neither of you spoke a word.

Then, Jinwoo smiled. “I’ll go with you.”

“Ah—wait, um—“ You stuttered out a flood of incomprehensible blabber, quickly muted by the pattering of Jinwoo’s shoes as they trailed off in the direction you just came from.

Jinwoo turned after a few steps, eyelids slightly crinkled due to the corners of his lips being upturned. The way that his eyes were glazed over with a somber shade, the lines of his lips wavering from his strange smile, and his tight, restrained posture snipped the words of rejection off the tip of your tongue.

Oddly, your attention shifted to the floor. The sun was blaring strongly at the current hour, your shadow desperately clinging underneath you seeking respite from its isolation to other shadowy entities. You watched—in a state of shock and awe—as the shadow stretched its outline farther, almost as if extending an open hand, as Jinwoo crept closer to you. His silhouette looked animated as inky black pools excitedly swirled the closer it got. It was drawn to you—desperately trying to stay close to you—as if it was a planet orbiting the sun.

The gravity that must surround you enough to pull in an entity of the likes of possibly Jupiter—did it mean you were significant, someone that finally held power?

…Even then, would that be a good thing?

The sun’s gravity was strong enough to pull in other planets to its orbit, and they would remain there for however long the sun remained. If the sun moved, the planets moved with it.

The sun was significant, so the sun was trapped.

…Could the sun ever defy its fate?

Gray eyes pierced like needles into your skin.

“Shall we?”

“Please use this to take care of yourself.”

You handed a woman a portion of your donations, watching as she carefully grasped the bread before hastily running off in the opposite direction.

You did not blame the woman since the oppressive presence behind you was beginning to give you a headache. You could say he was like a shadow that followed your movement, but that felt obvious.

In any case, he felt more like a parasite. He fed off any and all emotions you had and indulged as if it were a banquet and you were a feast—when you smiled after someone was vigorously thanking you, the atmosphere felt lighter. If you so much as frowned at someone’s words, the inky shadows that trailed his form flickered harshly.

He shared your actions, albeit more ferociously.

It was out of the question telling him to leave, so was it within the realm of possibility to tell Jinwoo to calm down?

Speak of the devil—he suddenly interrupted your thoughts.

“Would you care to enlighten me for a moment?” You perked up at Jinwoo’s words. He was smiling, albeit a bit more widely when your eyes met his.

“What are your thoughts about ‘wielding power’?”

A spontaneous question; something you were never normally asked. Sure, people ask what ability you would have if you awakened but they never asked about the concept. The wording was… off putting to say the least, but….

You pursed your lips. “Power is the gauge of potential. An individual can hold a certain level of power and thus exert that same level of authority over those without it.”

The Hunters Association and all guilds used a similar basis. Individuals had power, but what about combining power? There was a reason why the top guilds all held S-ranks and many A-ranks.

“When it comes to wielding power, I don’t think my opinion matters.”

“Well, I asked specifically for it, no?”

You shook your head. “That’s not what I mean. My opinion is that I have no opinion because it’s something I could never experience.”

Hunters? Awakening? If you had not seen the end of the world you wouldn’t have believed such nonsensical words. Your life was so awfully normal that dropping your phone on the floor was likely a weekly highlight for you.

“Wielding power… is something I’ve merely wished for. More precisely, I wish for the ability to protect.”

“The ability to protect…” Jinwoo echoed, pondering for a moment. Your eyes caught a glimpse of his eyebrow twitching, as if he had decided something. You wanted to inquire, but he looked incredibly deep in thought.

Eventually, you gathered the courage to speak.

“Jinwoo—“

“Excuse me?” A male voice spoke out from your side.

A boyish-looking male came into view and the first thing you noticed was his tattered clothing. His shoes were completely worn while his satchel was tearing apart at the seams. His clothes and face were marred with dirt and you felt your heart tug a little.

He looked exasperated.

You nodded quickly, pulling out bread and a bottle of water. You ignored the annoyed grunt from behind you.

The way the boy’s eyes lit up… it was a reminder of why you pushed so far. The loss of folks you cherished so deeply nearly tipped you over the edge. No matter how many times you begged the wind to guide you to at least a breathing sibling, or knelt down crying in front of the small cemetery that would never hold a single one of your family members—it would not bring them back. But, doing some good for others felt good. It reminded you of the days when they were still there—the small smiles plastered on grateful faces morphed into ones that resembled familiar, joyful expressions.

Familiarity was comforting in a world that was anything but.

What was not familiar, however, was the sudden warmth you felt allocating your entire body. Your wide eyes met his closed ones—he had shaky arms wrapped around you while murmuring multiple thank you’s. It was an uncommon occurrence for passerby’s to show this degree of gratitude, mostly because of fear. It took you a few seconds to realize he was hugging you, but when you did, you hugged back. Maybe it was because his hug felt like your parents were embracing you, or that he distinctly sounded like your younger cousin. Maybe it was out of pity. Nonetheless, you hugged him back and patted his shoulder.

“You’ll be okay,” You mumbled. You weren’t sure if it was to yourself or to the boy.

The boy pulled away, hesitating before saying, “Please thank the man that was with you for me.”

You raised a brow. ‘Was’? You turned around, seeking a figure that was no longer there. Your body shook a bit, hair on your arms standing. Where did he go?

You weren’t paying attention to where he fled, or whether he said anything or not. It wasn’t like him to suddenly walk out, at least, you thought so.

Maybe that was why your chest felt so light.

You waved farewell to the boy after a few more minutes of him bowing, watching him vanish among the cluster of trees. You couldn’t help but take another sweep around to make sure Jinwoo left. The numerous amount of times you’ve experienced him doing something unpredictable still did not quell the insurmountable dread racking over you.

Some time passed during your small scavenge to see where he had gone and you ultimately decided to return home at the sight of the darkening sky. The sounds of the night… on occasion there were the croaks of animals but, really, all that remained were the small insects the strong never worried about. The more you thought about it, you and the people you knew resembled those same insects. You all buzzed around as a population and prayed the predators didn’t bat an eye at the footprints left behind. The moment the noises got loud enough, the population would be wiped in an instant.

You readjusted your bag strap as you stepped over a tree root. The narrow path signaled you were getting closer to home. The familiar twisting of branches and rocks ensnared in crevices eased your spiraling mind. Leaves crunched under your foot with each step and eventually was matched by the sound of your breathing. This, too, was familiar.

You took another step. Crunch.

Then another step. Crunch.

Another step. Cr—

The crunching noise was subsided by a light splash-like sound. You took another step, not quite registering the sudden change, yet felt a sticky substance beneath your feet. You looked down, seeing splatters of a mysterious liquid littered around leaves. It looked like there was a trail, but even when you squinted your eyes you could not make out what the liquid was. You continued to walk, splatters turning into pools and your feet felt like it was moving through mud. The brisk fresh air that felt easy to breathe began to filter out as dread filled your lungs. The trees parted out around this point now, and the village was just in sight. The crimson gleamed grimly under the moonlight and you willed your shaking knees to not give out. You wanted to let out a sob but your throat tightened as the wind picked up. Leaves, some dyed with red, flew past you and all you could do was linger on the familiar flow of hair that sat atop an unmoving body surrounded by waves of blood.

You refused to move outside of the village.

The first few days, you stranded yourself inside your home. After finding the corpse, you immediately ran to the village chief and reported it. You were interrogated for a short while, but upon determining your innocence—the crime scene did not match how clean your clothes were—you were allowed to return home. The tread back did not stop you from listening to the whispers of curious crowds.

“He was stabbed a grand total of 30 times all around his body.”

“Really? I would’ve thought some sort of monster had slaughtered him, the way he was completely torn through…”

“He looks awfully young… This is truly a tragedy.”

“What caused this?”

“Does anyone know who this is?”

You shut the door, leaning your head down and bumping it harshly against the wooden door.

The familiar patch of hair covered in blood, cold amber eyes, and scarred boyish features kept you awake that night.

You did not tell the others that you had met him hours prior—had given him a portion of the donations you always carried with you. Perhaps it was so you could grieve by your lonesome, or so you wouldn’t have to face reality just yet.

You mourned the fact you didn’t even know his name.

For the first time ever, you refused to hand out donations. Instead, you helped around the village. Your guilt was eating away at you and you needed a distraction. You helped repair houses, organize food, and babysat children. Each job wore you down worse than the other, to the point where you would pass out in bed. You took nearly every job in the hopes of being kept away from… thinking.

It worked out for a while. You stopped thinking about the body, and you stopped thinking about Jinwoo.

Jinwoo. It was not difficult to put the pieces together.

He was despair incarnate—an accident waiting to happen.

It was high time you stopped fooling yourself that he would be anything less than ‘normal’.

You refused to fathom the ‘why’ and ‘how’. He was not someone you wanted to concern yourself with anymore. Each event that played out, odd occurrences, and anxiety attacks all linked to him.

To be around him… it was like reliving trauma from the day the world collapsed.

Each day away from him you continued living your past life of normalcy. You didn’t second guess actions of others, less nightmares, and you stopped paying attention to your shadow. There was a slight pull on your heart sometimes, one that resembled fear, and it motivated you go all the way for a fresh new start.

By the end of the week, you would move out. Based on the local nomads that come and go from your village, there was another shelter farther from here. It would be a long journey—not an easy feat—but you welcomed this as a new experience.

You were going to put everything behind you and live free. Your lost family, friends—maybe they would rest more easily knowing you finally stopped clinging to their memories.

You opened the closet door and looked into the mirror. Your face looked brighter and fuller. You smiled to the reflection, happy that for the first time in forever you were proud of yourself.

A heavy knock sounded at your door and you practically bounced over. It could be one of the parent’s wanting you to watch their children again; someone like May would want her daughter to get a proper goodbye.

An unfamiliar face greeted you at the door and you were taken aback by her petrified expression. Your smile dropped near instantaneously.

“T-The c-center… y-you…” The woman was quivering so much you thought she would fall.

You did not need to hear the rest of her words to start sprinting towards the village’s center.

The center had a good amount of space for larger-than-normal gatherings and meetings. Closest to the center housed the village’s chief, so any and all important duties always beelined to the center.

Certainly there was not a special meeting today, otherwise you would’ve heard about it. A surprise occasion, perhaps?

You spotted a giant cluster of people swarming the center. Roughly speaking, nearly the entire village’s population was gathered outside with even the scavengers joining the party based off the number of familiar heads you saw. The large crowd of people made you more suspicious. This was definitely not normal. You could make out numerous terrified whispers beyond the turning heads and mouths behind their hands. It was only when you got closer that you realized this was not a normal gathering.

At the edges of the crowd and covered in a thick, deep black were multiple entities. They varied in form from large bears, elves, ants, and wolves to humanoid figures covered in armor. You would’ve assumed them to be beasts if not for their color and that they were not attacking the unarmed civilians they surrounded.

A gut-wrenching feeling was pooling. All of the village was gathered, there were beasts patrolling thought to be untamable, and you specifically were reached out to. Your house was a bit out of the way—it was the one closest to the edge and furthest from the center. It would make sense why you did not hear the commotion, but it did not make sense for you to be called on out of everyone else.

In a moment you made up your mind. The beasts were busy watching over the crowd so you took quiet steps to back away. It was better to make distance in case you needed a head start—something you wish you did when the portals opened and you were too awestruck to move.

There was growling heard from a wolf as a woman attempted to leave.

You took a few more steps back. If you reached a bit farther back you could block yourself with the bushes.

In any case, the situation looked dire enough for you to debate running to another village for help. The closest one was about a day or two’s worth of walking, it was a risk but what other option did you possibly have? All the people here were in danger, yet again, you were powerless. What a bitter feeling.

You took another step only to stop at the sound of groaning behind you.

You turned, nearly falling to the floor at the sight in front of you.

The figure was tall—tall enough that you had to turn your head up to see its head. Similar to its peers, it was completely encased in an inky black. Now that you could get a closer look, you also noticed dark clouds pooling around the entity, almost like a mist-like substance was protruding from it. It confirmed that whatever these… things were, they were not normal portal creatures. Your eyes trailed slowly from its darkened plates—was that armor?—to two white orbs. Its white eyes were staring holes into you, face hidden behind an armor helmet. You watched in horror as the plume atop its head waved, metal creaking as it bent its top half forward. You were expecting hostility; perhaps the being would usher you forcefully into the crowd or treat you as if you escaped. To your surprise, the head dipped—it went low enough for the white to disappear. The right hand of the knight was placed gently against the center of its chest and it kept its head down for a few moments. Was it… bowing?

You moved to sprint but the knight’s head shot up. It narrowed its eyes in a way that said ‘don’t’. The moment you saw the heavy sheathed sword strapped to its side you stopped. You felt your eye twitch as it waved its hand in the direction of the center, motioning for you to step forward first. You could clearly see, then, the other shadowy entities staring at you and how the armored knight perfectly stood atop your shadow. You were caught in the same trap as the others, the sinking feeling in your chest unyielding.

You reluctantly made your way towards the center. Following your steps behind you was the sound of metal grating and heavy thudding against the clear plain. No matter how many times you pinched yourself, the sight remained the same: large crowd and beasts. It reminded you so vividly of back then that you couldn’t stop the trembling in your legs. As you approached the crowd, their faces reflected your shaking: uneasy and fearful. Some shadows moved to part the crowd, allowing you an easier entryway towards the center. They mimicked what the knight from before did, all bowing in their own way.

You felt everyone staring and never before did you feel so anxious.

The sudden hushes from the crowd that swiftly turned into silence allowed you to hear the booming voices in the distance.

The familiar sinking of your heart stimulated the fully formulated sensation of fear—a new-found source of dread entirely because one of the booming voices you recognized.

“…This offer is beneficial to you, is it not?” A deep voice said, sending a tremor down your spine.

“It is a negotiation, not an offer,” Another voice said, “I am uncertain of your terms so I cannot comply.”

There was a long, drawn-out sigh. You peeked from behind the shoulder of a soldier in front of you, praying you wouldn’t be noticed.

Jinwoo ran a hand through his messy dark hair, eyes practically glowering at the village chief. The leader of the community—the one who allocates and organizes everyone’s resources while ensuring safety—is known as the village chief. For the minor semblance to how past society lived, they were elected periodically by the community. You talked to him recently about the body, but… why was he talking to Jinwoo?

Wait, why was Jinwoo even here?

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I only asked for your permission out of convenience.”

“After all, the person I was waiting for is finally here.”

You cowered behind the soldier, watching as his eyes raked through the entire crowd until stopping on you.

“Isn’t that right, Y/N? Come out now.” He was beckoning you forward with his hand, index finger wagging at you as if trying to cage a scared puppy.

Jinwoo, of the attire you’ve seen him in previously, was wearing something different. Instead of slightly ragged clothes he was wearing a long black coat with silver engravings around the shoulder and wrists. He wore a clean white shirt underneath along with black pants and formal black shoes—the outfit would’ve screamed ‘money’ to you if there was such things as designer still.

He was befitting to be someone of high society, in fact.

Your eyes met with the village chief and it seemed he immediately understood the situation. He was mouthing ‘no’ at you, trying to deter you—this was enough to keep your feet planted.

You remained still. Soon enough, you felt something spike in the air, the shadows beneath his coat tail flicking wildly at your impertinence. The entities surrounding the crowd grew restless, with the shadow-being you were hiding behind shaking. Jinwoo was staring bullets into you, even behind the soldier, and the shadows were as well.

“Move.” Jinwoo flicked his wrist towards the soldier and it immediately crumbled into a dark cloudy mist. The essence then moved back towards Jinwoo’s shadow, becoming absorbed into his outline.

Petrified, you stood still. A lot of things started to click as you began to realize what Jinwoo’s true power was. The way his shadow never stood still or how your own never acted quite right… it made sense.

Now you were staring at him and he was staring at you. Jinwoo gave you a slight wave.

He smiled. “I missed you.”

You were too scared to open your mouth with how tight your throat was.

Jinwoo turned to the tall knight next to you. “Good work, Igris. Now—“

The knight nodded his head, white eyes still watching you.

“—I’d like to discuss our future.” There was a glow emitting from Jinwoo’s eyes, light shining on his violet pupils.

He held out his hand, tapping the right palm of the hand using his left index finger. “From now on, the people living here will act under me.”

What? What did he say?

“I reject!” The village chief roared. “For someone like you to show up like this…”

“Quiet.” Jinwoo held a finger to his lips, purple eyes violently flashing.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

He turned towards you. “I will protect all that live here.”

Jinwoo licked his lips. “In return, Y/N, you will be my betrothed.”

No. No, no, no, no.

No.

After all that has happened, maybe it was because of him. Just him. He single-handedly ruined the remaining good parts of your life and for what? To be some selfish bastard?

No. No way.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Jinwoo?” You shouted, holding back tears. No wonder his behavior was so goddamn psychotic—he wanted you to be his lover?

“I barely know who the hell you are, and what you’re doing right now is absurd. Just who are you?”

Jinwoo tilted his head. “Do you really not know?” He tapped a finger against his cheek.

“Have you heard of the Monarchs?”

Monarchs? Did he mean the Monarchs of Calamity?

Although you experienced the end of the world, you were unfamiliar concerning its origin. There were multiple theories that were shared with you, such as planned gate-opening or that multiple outbreaks occurred simultaneously due to probability. A leading theory was that there were beings, named Monarchs, who acted as divinity because they possessed power that rivaled gods. Even when the S-rank hunters of other countries joined forces, they were unable to be on equal footing with the Monarchs. These Monarchs, for an unbeknownst reason, released an unnatural calamity upon the world—hence the name ‘Monarchs of Calamity.’ You never pondered this theory—why would you want to reflect on the idea that a disaster was intentionally brought upon you? The fact that it was brought up means…

“…Are you a Monarch?” You asked, eyes flashing towards the darkened knight he called ‘Igris.’

“I am the Monarch of Shadows.” Jinwoo sneered at the title, the corner of his lips momentarily quirking upward as he watched despair flash over the village chief’s face.

It seemed Jinwoo did not like your own befallen expression, though.

“It’s of interest to you because that means I am also the leader of Monarchs.” You curled your right fist, squeezing your nails as hard as you could against the palm of your hand.

“In terms of protection, I am the best there is.” Jinwoo continued, waving towards his army—monstrosities that have already conquered countless civilizations within a blink of an eye.

“The people you love now… I can take care of them. All you have to do is say yes.”

You looked back towards the crowd. They were still anxious and afraid. The familiar faces you saw, the children, the families… this was cruel. If you said no, would he—

“Do you remember the conversation we had the other day, about power?” Jinwoo asked suddenly. The way his eyes were watching you so intently, that he was eagerly awaiting your responses frightened you more than anything. You saw him flick his wrists, pulling out something from within his shadow. There was a gleam of red and immediately you let out a scream for him to stop but it was far too late.

There was a loud thud next to you and you nearly vomited.

“Your wish to obtain power… I can grant it, so long as you become my Queen.”

There, lying on the ground next to you, was the unmoving body of the village chief. The one who attempted to protect this little community to the very end, who tried to shield you despite the circumstances, and stood up to a Monarch despite not wielding power himself. There was a large, red dagger driven deep into his chest. As his blood pooled out onto the floor, the screaming began. Men shouted and roared out of fear and anger, some women screamed while others covered the childrens’ eyes. The dagger currently lodged in his chest made you blink once, then twice.

You gasped suddenly, your mind flashing back to the corpse of the boy who was overly cheerful—the image of the deep slash marks, riddled with slashes that tore out skin from bone churned through your head.

“You… the boy—it was you, wasn’t it?” You choked out, reaching for the village chief.

“He overstepped, by touching what is mine,” Jinwoo hissed, expression smoldering and hair bristling. “It’s unforgivable.”

The shadows were shrieking now, trying to tame the crowd while their Monarch was simmering. He was about to burst, but you were already on the edge. You were so overwhelmed, so tired of him and whatever despair he brought with him, that you started letting go.

“You’re a monster. A cruel, unruly, disgusting monster.” You sharply emphasized every word, hoping it stabbed as deep as he did to those innocent people. “I will never agree to your dogshit proposal.”

The yelling of the crowd began turning into shattering shrieks and now everything was unraveling to be a slaughter. There were brave people who fought and those who fled. Those who were caught began to follow the village chief. The sound of constant thudding flooded your mind but all you could simply do was tearfully stare at the corpses.

It was like the end of the world all over again.

Jinwoo held a firm hand against his face, a purple eye peeking through his fingers to peer at you.

“I still have yet to understand you. Death is such an easy thing yet you act like it’s your first time witnessing it everytime…” Jinwoo softly gritted his teeth.

“However, if death is the only issue, then it’s fixable.” Jinwoo raised a hand towards the village chief, the shadowy cloud quickly enveloping the corpse.

“Arise.”

Everything happened so quickly that you were nearly convinced you had blacked out. From the corpse that remained on the now bloody floor rose a new shadowy figure. This time, it was in the very shape of the man who you saw killed just moments ago. In fact, multiple other figures emerged from unmoving bodies that sat on the ground. Each face was a face that you recognized as people you interacted with daily. They were familiar, yet not at the same time—their faces were dull, expressionless, as if they became puppets and were waiting for the master to pull the strings.

“Queen,” The village chief spoke next to you and you stepped back out of alarm. “You are the Queen.”

“Queen,” The crowd repeated in unison. “You are the Queen.”

Stop.

Queen. It was like standing in an echo chamber.

You are the Queen. Was he this heartless?

Queen. You are the Queen.

“Stop,” You whispered.

Queen. Some children were repeating it too.

You. Are. The. Queen.

“Stop it!” You screamed, holding both hands against your ears as you finally let a sob rack over your body.

You heard footsteps approaching you, but you didn’t care. You just wanted it all to stop—everything. All the pain, the suffering, the memories. You were tired. Enough fighting, enough thinking—just, please, stop.

A warmth enveloped your body and you felt a hand gently uncover one side of your ear.

“I have waited so long for you, so accept me.” Jinwoo’s breath tickled your ear and you couldn’t help but shiver.

"Just as you belong to me, I belong to you. Any item you want, I will give. Any person you dislike will vanish within an instant.”

If you want the stars in the sky, I will lay them at your feet. If you want to conquer the entire sky, it will all be yours."

“Just be mine.”

#sung jinwoo x reader #sung jin-woo x reader #sung jin woo x reader #solo leveling x reader #yandere sung jinwoo #yandere sung jinwoo x reader #Yandere sung Jin-woo x reader #Yandere solo leveling #Yandere solo leveling x reader #yandere #yandere sung Jin woo x reader #yandere x reader #Jinwoo sung x reader #yandere jinwoo sung x reader #Yandere jinwoo sung #sung jinwoo #sung jin-woo

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sweetvoidstuff · 9 months ago

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Soulbound II Cha Hyun Su x Reader

Written for @neohumanmonster Valentine's Event

Tropes: Soulmate Marks

Cha Hyun Su x Reader

Summary: You are on a quest to find your soulmate, Cha Hyun Su, amidst the chaos of monstrous transformations it leads to an unexpected alliance and a bond that defies the darkness consuming the world.

Potential trigger warnings: Themes of apocalypse, monstrous transformations, loss of loved ones, grief, existential despair, and emotional turmoil.

Masterlist

~~~~~

In a world that is at its last leg, where humanity teetered on the brink of extinction due to a mysterious affliction that turned individuals into monstrous beings fueled by their strongest desires, you embarked on a journey to find your soulmate, someone called Cha Hyun Su. It was a quest born from the innocent discovery of his name etched on your wrist on your 14th birthday, that happens to everybody. A revelation that ignited a desire to learn the foreign language on your skin and seek him out once you were of age.

Years later, as you finally set foot in the distant land where you hoped your soulmate resided, the world around you plunged into madness. Humans began transforming into grotesque creatures, their desires mutating them beyond recognition and manifested in grotesque transformations, twisting individuals into monstrous beings. It hadn't been two weeks since your arrival when the first cases of monstrous transformation began to surface. Yet, your determination to find Hyun Su remained unwavering, even as the whispers of transformation echoed in your own soul.

Despite experiencing symptoms of transformation yourself, your determination to find your soulmate eclipsed the monstrous urges clawing at your soul. You became a half-monster, straddling the line between humanity and monstrosity as you navigated the perilous landscape in search of your Soulmate. Your own voice mocking your wish to find your soulmate at every stepp on your journey, but you were determined. You wouldn’t let yourself turn, wouldn’t die in a foreign country, not till you saw him. You hadn’t put yourself throw all this hardship for your other half to simply take the easy way out. But her laughter, that he might have, that all your sacrifice are in vain got to you.

Amidst the desolation, you encountered a lone survivor, a man who had lost his own soulmate to the darkness consuming the world. His tale weighed heavy on your heart, threatening to extinguish the flicker of hope that burned within you. But you pressed on, driven by the promise of love and companionship.

Days turned into nights, and the lines between friend and foe blurred in the merciless wilderness. You formed an unlikely alliance with the lone survivor, finding solace in each other's company as you shared stories of loss and longing. Together, you braved the dangers lurking around every corner, clinging to the hope that your soulmate awaited you somewhere in the chaos.

Returning to your makeshift camp one evening, you witnessed a heartbreaking scene unfold before your eyes. A girl, her face contorted with fear, pushed away your companion. All you could do was to watch helplessly as he succumbed to the monstrous transformation within seconds.

The night air was thick with tension as you stood, tears streaking down your cheeks, confronted by the reality of your friend's transformation. His once-human form twisted and contorted, consumed by the darkness that now ruled the world. Anguish and rage warred within you as you struggled to comprehend the cruelty of fate.

The girl responsible for his transformation stood before you, her expression a mix of fear and defiance. But your grief drowned out any semblance of reason, leaving only a burning desire for retribution. You moved towards her, fueled by a primal need to lash out at the injustice that had stolen your friend from you.

But before you could act, a figure emerged from the shadows, his presence commanding attention. His voice cut through the chaos like a knife, halting your advance with a single word: "Enough."

You turned towards him, your anger still smoldering beneath the surface. "Enough?" you spat, your voice thick with emotion. "Look at him! She turned him! He was a person! He was my friend."

Tears continued to flow unabated as you struggled to articulate the depth of your sorrow. The weight of loss threatened to crush you, but you refused to yield to despair. You had come too far, fought too hard to let tragedy define you.

The boy before you watched, his expression a mirror of your own heartache. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity, as if trying to convey a message that words alone could not express. And then, almost hesitantly, he spoke.

"I am sorry," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Your anger flared anew at his apology, the injustice of it all too much to bear.

„Sorry doesn’t really cut it. He…“ fighting the tears, you continued. „He was fighting. It was hard, but he was holding on, trying. Even after his soulmate turned. Now he is just, flesh trapped by his desire. Just keep her away from me!“ you said. But as you wiped away your tears, you felt a spark of recognition deep within your soul but brushing it away, angryly starting to pack your stuff. The boys eyes burned at your movement, his expression mirroring the anguish in your heart. Watching every muscle you moved. With a trembling voice, he quietly called out your name, and you looked up, shock written across your face. The name etched on your skin suddenly felt heavier, more significant than ever before.

You looked up at him, your gaze locking with his own. His eyes held a mixture of hope and fear, as if uncertain of what your reaction would be. And then, with a voice filled with equal parts disbelief and longing, you spoke his name.

"Cha Hyun Su?"

He nodded slowly, his expression one of quiet acceptance. It was him. Your soulmate. The realization washed over you like a wave, sweeping away the doubts and fears that had plagued you for so long.

Hyun Su’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears, the weight of your journey etched in every drop that fell from your eyes. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out hesitantly, as if afraid you might vanish before his eyes. But you remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

People had made fun of the foreign name on his arm. A lazy foreigner he would never even have the chance to meet they said. But now you were here bevor him, at practically the end of the world, alive and well and speaking his language. “I didn’t know you were still alive. Or even this close to me,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with equal parts disbelief and relief.

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself as a wave of emotions threatened to overwhelm you. “You have no idea what hell I walked through to find you,” you admitted, your voice trembling with raw emotion.

But despite the tears staining your cheeks, there was a glimmer of hope in your eyes, a sense of peace that came with finally finding your soulmate amidst the chaos.

Hyun Su reached out tentatively, his hand trembling as it hovered in the air between you. His gaze flickered with uncertainty, his mind filled with doubts and fears about what you might think of him now that his true nature was revealed.

"I... I don't know if I'm safe to be around," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm... I'm not fully human anymore."

Your heart ached at the pain and insecurity reflected in his eyes. Gently, you took his hand in yours, offering him a reassuring smile.

"It doesn't matter," you said softly, your voice filled with conviction. "Nowhere is safe anymore, and you are my soulmate. I just want to finally get to know you. I want to find out myself who you are."

His breath caught in his throat at your words, the weight of your acceptance washing over him like a soothing balm. Slowly, hesitantly, he closed the distance between you, his hand enveloping yours in a gentle embrace.

"You... you're not afraid of me?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You shook your head, your gaze unwavering as you met his eyes.

"No," you replied firmly. "I'm not afraid. In fact, I've been trying to hold onto my humanity, to stay true to myself, all because I wanted to meet you, my soulmate."

A flicker of emotion passed across his features, a mixture of awe and gratitude.

"You... you are like me?" he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Yes," you said, squeezing his hand gently. "And now that we've found each other, nothing else matters."

His doubts began to melt away in the warmth of your acceptance, replaced by a newfound sense of hope and belonging. With a sense of determination burning in his heart, he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours.

"I'm here now," he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin. "And I'm not letting you go."

Your heart swelled with love and gratitude as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. Together, you knew you could face whatever challenges lay ahead, united by a bond that transcended the darkness consuming the world. In each other's embrace, you found solace and strength, ready to take on whatever the future held.

#cha hyun su x reader #sweet home netflix #sweet home x reader #cha hyun soo #cha hyun soo x reader #cha hyunsu #sweet home #sweet home imagines #kdrama #song kang #cha hyun su #cha hyunsoo #sweet home 2 #hyun su #hyun soo #one shot

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forhappysake · 1 month ago

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You Live(d) There Too

Author's Note: We're getting angsty😜 Sorry guys I was bored and had some free time. My brain produced this *not proofread* monstrosity.

Summary: You've been left in the dark about the events that led to Spencer's release from prison. When he comes to take you home, you can't find it in yourself to go with him.

Warnings: spencer x reader, BAU-level violence, season 12 spoilers, mentions of kidnapping and weapons, established relationship, angst with no happy ending (sorry)

You stared up at the ceiling, dazed by the events of the day.

One minute, you’d been at Spencer’s apartment. The nurse had come to relieve you. Diana waved you goodbye. You’d gone to work.

The next minute, Diana was gone. The nurse was gone. You couldn’t get ahold of anyone and Luke was dragging you out of Spencer’s place. Penelope begged you to stay in her apartment with your eyes and ears open.

That was twelve hours ago. You’d gotten the sense that her push for vigilance meant bad things were happening. When Luke dropped you off at her place, he’d left you with his gun. You weren’t even sure how to use it, and the weight of it in your hands made you absolutely sick.

You thought about calling, but you knew better. You lay on her bed, listening to every creak in the building. You thought of Diana in her frail state and your eyes watered. You weren’t even sure what someone might want with her.

Spencer would never forgive you for this.

Just as you were about to attempt to call Penelope for news, you heard it. The distinct sound of footsteps outside her door. You sat up on the bed, reaching for the weapon left on the side table.

You stood up from the bed, rounding the corner into her hallway putting you in direct sight of the door. The room was dark, and you could barely make out the shape of the door before you. Your hands trembled as you raised the gun at the doorway, unsure of who might step inside. After a moment, the lock clicked and the door swung open.

A figure loomed in the doorway, the light from the hallway creating a silhouette and obstructing your view of them. You remained silent, still aiming the gun at the intruder. Your eyes adjusted, and you could make out a single arm reaching around the wall for a light switch.

The light filling the room caused you to squint your eyes. You gasped when you regained focus and could make out the man in front of you. “Spencer,” you gasped.

He looked up at you, his appearance disheveled and his eyes wide.

You remembered yourself at that moment and panicked. You dropped the gun, it clattered on the floor as you approached him.

“What are you doing here?” you asked breathlessly. You were sure you must be dreaming, your brain playing some cruel trick on you as it had several times before.

Your eyes connected with his own as tears swam in his vision. “It’s over.” He said it so simply as if it was just a matter of fact. “I’m out.”

“Your mom?” you questioned.

Spencer nodded. “They found her. She’s fine. I’ve checked her into the hospital for the night, just in case the medics missed anything. They’re going to watch her.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” you said, shaking your head. “I haven’t been told anything. I’ve been here for hours.” Your whole body was shaking now, the stress and exhaustion of the last day taking over.

You struggled to speak. “Now you’re here. I don’t even know if you’re really here or if this is another dream. I just feel so confused.”

The tears welled up in his eyes began running down his cheeks. Spencer reached an arm out to you, beckoning you to sit down on the couch between the two of you.

You did as directed, and he set himself on the arm of the couch, turning to face you. Your hands trembled as you folded and unfolded them in your lap.

“I will give you answers soon,” Spencer explained, his eyes focused on you. “As soon as we wake up in the morning. I’ll tell you everything. But not tonight. We both have to rest tonight.”

You shook your head again. “Spencer, we have nowhere to go besides here. Your apartment is some crime scene-”

He waved a hand, silencing you. “It’s been processed. Since the case is over we can go back.”

We.

“I don’t-” you sputtered. “Are you sure you want me to go back with you?”

Spencer looked almost offended. “Of course you’re coming back with me, why wouldn’t you? You live there too.”

You looked at the floor, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You felt his eyes on you, reading you like an open book. A look of realization came over his face.

“You don’t live there anymore, do you?” he asked. Spencer didn’t quite sound hurt, but seemed nearly defeated as his shoulders drooped forward even more.

You sighed and shook your head. “No, since this whole thing started I’ve only stayed intermittently to watch your mom of an evening. I’ve been living in a new apartment across town.”

Spencer stood from the couch, pacing back and forth slowly. “So you don’t want to go back to the apartment with me?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Not really, Spencer. The place just unsettles me at this point.”

He stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you. “You used to say it was your favorite place on earth.”

You shrugged. “Things changed, Spencer. When you went away I felt like someone was always watching me there. Now, after all this, I know I wasn’t totally wrong. Can you blame me for not wanting to return?”

Spencer put his hands to his face, muffling his words. “We’ll work it out. I’ll let the lease run up. We’ll go somewhere else.”

There was an awkward pause.

“You could just come to stay with me,” you offered warily.

He clocked your tone of voice immediately, narrowing his eyes at you. “But you don’t really want that, do you?”

You scoffed in an attempt to hide the truth. “What makes you say that?”

“I’ve been here, in front of you, for the first time in three months without some kind of physical barrier between us and you haven’t so much as attempted to put a hand on me.” He seemed to be growing agitated, his hand fidgeting with the end of his tie.

You couldn't defend yourself. He wasn't wrong. He took your silence as an answer.

“You don’t even want me anymore, do you?” Spencer said quietly.

You flinched at the implication of his words. The tears that had been clouding your vision were streaking down your cheeks now. “No, it's just that - Spencer, it’s been months. I don’t know who you are anymore. I just don't feel comfortable going with you right now.”

Spencer stopped dead in his tracks. You could already feel your guilt seeping in because of your harsh words. His tears were visible as he cleared his throat to limit the crack in his voice when he spoke. “Spencer, I didn’t mean to imply that-”

He shook his head. “I get it. I’ll go.”

Spencer walked briskly towards the door, shoes thumping hard against the wooden floor with each step. He paused in the door frame, turning to look at you once more.

“We will work this out,” he said. For the first time since he arrived, you looked at him. Really looked at him. He offered you a sad smile. “I’m sorry for everything. I’ll make this better for us. I promise.”

He turned away, slipping out the apartment door and shutting it with a firm thud behind him. For the first time in three months, you let yourself utter a broken sob into Penelope’s otherwise quiet apartment.

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hocuspocusbabyy · 6 months ago

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I’m sorry but just IMAGINE Eloise and Cressida as parents?!

Cressida would 100% be a full blown PTA mum, planning all the best events for her children’s school.

Eloise would inevitably be dragged along to help decorate and somehow end up agreeing the directing the school play - because she’s read the book a MILLION times! And “Couldn’t possibly let them butcher it.”

They’d have two daughters and a son. Aged, 5, 3 and 6 months. Lunet, Maeve and Benedict Jr.

Eloise would try sneaking treats that Cressida had baked for a fundraiser. Getting caught with frosting on her mouth, she swears blind to her wife she a no idea where it came from.

Cressida baking special cookies just for Eloise to eat! 😭

Eloise would read to the children every night, Cressida insisting she’s just there to tuck them in but ultimately sat across the bottom of the bed to listen too.

Cressida will often insist Eloise continues reading despite the fact the kids are already asleep, and they will have to reread that chapter again the next evening!

Uncle Benedict would love taking care of the children so their mothers may enjoy a walk or weekend alone 🥹 “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Though I suppose that doesn’t leave a lot.”

Uncle Colin and Aunt Pen would already arrive with an array of wonderful gifts. Eloise has a shelf of trinkets, many from Cressida and her family. Stemming from rocks, sea shells and pressed flowers to tiny figurines and bottles of sand from Colin’s travels.

Eloise secretly adores that Cressida insists on hanging Benedict’s painting’s in their home.

Eloise will often return home to Cressida and Violet sharing tea in the garden - Violet cannot go more than a few days without visiting her grandchildren.

Aunt Daphne and Cressida would take great pride in buying the children the cutest shoes and outfits - much to Eloise’s dismay when she finds her youngest in a ‘hideous’ bonnet. “Well what has she got this monstrosity on her head for? Oh my sweet girl don’t worry mummy will protect you from the taffeta.”

Eloise often getting emotional when spending time alone with her wife and children, free of any distractions. Forgoing her book to simple watch Cressida and their toddler play in the grass with wooden blocks.

Cressida tired at the breakfast table a child on either knee, as Elouise and their eldest read the newspaper out loud. Gently kissing their temples and stirring her tea.

Eloise and Cressida often indulging in a sneaky cigarette together at the end of a long week. Hidden out on the balcony to their room - their children fast asleep in the next room. Often shushing one another when their giggling threatens to wake them.

Eloise nearly having a ‘heart attack’ seeing her child on a horse for the first time, insisting her wife is insane and she’d prefer both ‘her girls’ back on the ground.

Cressida being the good cop, Eloise bad cop in many matters. I truly believe Cressida would be the biggest softy towards their children.

Eloise helping the children with their school work, whilst Cressida knits across the room (Cressida is utterly no help academically.)

Violet often insisting on taking the children for the evening because her home is simply ‘too big’ and Cressida and Eloise are ‘still young’.

Cressida and Eloise often opting to enjoy their meals in the form of picnic. Packing up the children to spend the evening down by the river.

Cressida rolling up her sleeves and teaching the children to skim stones.

Eloise sat waiting to aid them all in drying off when they’re done. The baby resting upon her chest.

Eloise often scolding Cressida more than the children, her wife simply brushing her off with terms of endearment or a kiss.

Cressida taking birthdays very seriously, waking up early to decorate the house. They keep Violets birthday hat tradition well alive. Eloise made her one their first birthday spent together and she still has it. Violet cried when they did the same for her.

The entire family often visit for long weekends and dinners - Eloise and Cressida opted to live in the country where there is more privacy and space for them.

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theharddeck · 1 year ago

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santa baby (been an awful good girl) // coyote x f!reader

pairing: javy coyote machado x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: coyote dresses up as santa + reader is only human = reader and coyote get it on in santa's workshop

word count: 6.6k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: unprotected sex, explicit PiV sex, a bit of dumbification, slight overstimulation, lowkey desecrating the concept of christmas but like in a hot way

A/N: i...i have no excuse. thinking of javy being dorky during sex has effectively ruined me. merry chrysler

The second Sunday in December was the tree-lighting at Miramar.

The event entailed, of course, the lighting of the tree at the center of base, but also a crafts market, an ugly-Christmas sweater competition, and breakfast-for-dinner, but most importantly: a meet and greet with Santa.

While it wasn’t required attendance for any of the Service members, most everyone who wasn’t on leave found some way to be involved. You found yourself at the cookie decorating station, trying to teach kids a modicum of restraint, and sneaking glances at your boyfriend over in Santa’s Workshop.

That’s right, Javy Machado – distinguished Lieutenant, Louisiana’s finest, and your personal hero – was currently drowning in red velvet and faux ermine, dressed up as jolly old Saint Nick. His diamond-sharp jawline was hidden behind a monstrosity of a fake beard, but he had managed to master the twinkle in his eye. The night was winding down, but he showed no waning energy, just endearing interest in each and every child that made its way into the small structure.

You could just barely see him through the front window of the Workshop, but every time you looked over at him, your heart fluttered.

It was the way he hunched his shoulders, clearly trying to diminish his size to make himself seem less intimidating.

It was the way he met each child’s eye, exuding comfort and kindness.

It was how after a couple of minutes, even the shyest child seemed to relax against him, how their smiles brightened and their giggles echoed around the family center.

You knew Javy was a total sweetheart, but it made you so proud to see how special he was making this Christmas for each of these kids, some of whom were having a dark season with their parents being deployed.

There was a clatter and you looked away from the workshop to find RJ, one of Payback’s kids, looking guiltily up at you, holding an entire paper plate covered in Snowman sprinkles. The faint outline of a sugar cookie was visible under the blue-and-white pile, but not by much.

Good thing it was only the ninetieth time this had happened today.

“Happens all the time,” you said brightly, keeping your voice happy so the kid wouldn’t panic, and thinking of a diversionary topic. “Did you see Santa already?”

RJ nodded, willingly distracted.

“He said he’d get me a Lego set!” he said, the slight lisp in his voice absolutely adorable. “A Lego set!” you repeated, folding the plate slightly so that you could pour the excess sprinkles into a dixie cup. “One of the Star Wars ones??”

“Yep!” RJ told you excitedly, his eyes widening, the sprinkles dilemma forgotten. “With an X-wing, so I can have a plane, like Daddy!”

You finished pouring off the sprinkles, and turned the still-overly-sprinkled-but-now-recognizable-as-a-cookie plate back to RJ. He grinned up at you through a missing tooth and you couldn’t help but smile back.

Payback might be nearly as bossy as Mav when you were up in the air, but he did have damn cute children.

You were halfway through helping RJ with a sleigh-shaped cookie when the Christmas music they’d been cranking turned off with reverb, and someone cheerily announced over the loudspeaker that it was time for the festivities to draw to a close. Overhead lights turned on, dispelling the ambiance created by thousands of christmas lights, but you were halfway through the cookie, so you two kept working on it.

What were they going to do?

At some point, Reuben came over with a couple wrapped packages tucked under his arm, giving you a grateful look for keeping an eye on his son.

The only warning you had was RJ’s reverent gasp and the widening of his eyes before you felt familiar hands on your waist and an unfamiliar beard scratching your neck.

“Santa,” RJ breathed, and you tried to delicately step out of Javy’s grasp as he realized he couldn’t exactly greet his real-life girlfriend while there were still kids who believed in the magic of Santa within eyesight.

Javy cleared his throat and you pressed your lips together to hide a smile as you watched your boyfriend stand up straighter under the boy’s worshipful gaze.

“RJ,” Javy said, his voice pitched lower than normal, to disguise it, and you noticed he was avoiding Reuben’s gaze pretty determinedly. “Doing some serious cookie decorating, I see?”

RJ nodded animatedly, holding up his plate to show “Santa” and nearly tipping both cookies off it in the process. Reuben dove for it, and you tried not to laugh, leaning lightly against Javy. You noticed absently that he must’ve taken the suit padding out, because you could feel his stomach through the red velvet.

Unfortunately, when RJ looked up from his plate, he noticed your lean, as well as Javy’s hand on your hip. He frowned, his small forehead wrinkling, and he tipped his head up at Javy.

“That’s Coyote’s girlfriend,” he told Javy archly.

“Uh,” Javy stalled, and you again found yourself fighting the urge to laugh, “yes. And…that’s why I want to steal her away for a moment. Coyote’s been a really good boy this year, and I want to talk about what kind of present he would want.”

RJ’s eyes narrowed, and he was about to say something else, before Reuben gave an exasperated sigh.

“For God’s sake,” he muttered, reaching for RJ’s cookie plate, effectively poaching the boy’s attention.

“Let’s show these cookies to your Ma, yeah, Junior?” he asked, before turning back to you and Javy. “And you two– behave.”

He spun on his heel, and RJ waved enthusiastically to you before following his father happily, and you turned to Javy, smiles breaking over both of your faces.

“Not your most graceful, lieutenant,” you teased him, but Javy was already looking around the recreation center.

With the overhead lights on, and the Christmas music off, it was rapidly emptying. Teams had already been tasked to come in tomorrow to clean it out, so for now everyone was clearing out, trying to get their kids home before the sugar crash set in, and Javy’s gloved hand found one of yours.

“Come on,” he said quietly, in his normal voice, and you followed him instinctively when he tugged lightly on your grasp.

You were surprised when he led you back over to Santa’s Workshop, and you ducked into the entryway.

It wasn’t a large space, something constructed of red and green painted plywood pieces, barely big enough to accommodate Santa’s throne. The throne itself was a replica of the Iron Throne that Fanboy had paid a preposterous amount for, and had been convinced to donate to the greater good. He had then had to be led away from in agony, as Army Wives sanded down the pointy edges, and repainted the swords as candy canes.

“Nice digs, Santa,” you said wryly, your sentence ending on a squeak as Javy pulled you into his arms.

Kissing him with the fake beard was funny, but his mouth was distracting enough that you soon forgot.

You melted into him as you always did, your hands pressed against his broad chest. Javy’s strong arms banded around you as he kissed you hungrily, like he’d been waiting, like he’d been missing you. He tasted like peppermint, like the candy canes the “elves” (Natasha and Jake) had forced on him any time he started looking bored.

When he pulled back, you were breathless, blinking up at him slowly.

Javy smiled at you softly, his own chest rising and falling underneath your hands. He was so unbelievably handsome, always, but you loved his sweet smile.

Especially how it looked from this close.

“Hi,” you whispered, and Javy groaned, leaning down to kiss you again.

His tongue swept into your mouth, and your knees almost buckled, causing you to cling to his shoulders. He was so strong, so big, and you knew he loved holding you, nearly as much as you treasured being held.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, and you felt your skin heat. You were just wearing a festive sweater under a pinafore-style skirt, aiming for comfort and festivity over something that accentuated your figure.

“It’s just a–” you tried, but Javy made a disapproving sound and kissed you firmly, interrupting your rationalization.

“Beautiful,” he insisted, after a moment, and you nodded dazedly.

Javy hummed, approving, and he shifted to pull off his gloves. A moment later, you felt his index finger under your chin. He tilted your head up towards him, and his kiss turned gentle, indulgent.

“I could feel you watching me, you know,” Javy murmured, between kisses.

You shivered when his thumb brushed over your jaw.

“Hard not to,” you managed to say.

Javy laughed, a low, warm sound, that you felt like a caress.

“What is it, honey,” he teased, brushing light kisses up your cheek, and ducking his head to reach behind your ear, “the red velvet doing it for you?”

You let out a breathy gasp when you felt his teeth ghost over your earlobe.

“‘Course not,” you mumbled, but it didn’t sound convincing.

It actually wasn’t the red velvet.

It wasn’t even how sweet he had been with the kids, which was pretty darn sweet.

“What was it?” Javy asked, as he kissed down your neck.

You shivered as his tongue and teeth teased you. When he reached the collar of your sweater, he nosed it aside, and sucked lightly at the space where your neck met your shoulder.

“The glasses,” you blurted.

You felt him hesitate, and he pulled back, looking at you amusedly.

“The glasses?” he echoed, and you tried not to squirm.

“Well, and the beard,” you admitted. “Not the actual aesthetics, just, like, the idea of them…the idea of older you. Silver fox Javy, you know, graying and—”

With a whoosh, the overhead lighting in the recreation center shut off.

You turned to look out the window, surprised to find that no one else was left in the recreation center. They had cleared out quickly and the large room was suddenly dark, except for the lights strung around the “roof” of Santa’s Workshop.

When you looked back at Javy, his teeth gleamed as he smiled.

His hand trailed down his arm till it tangled with yours, and he pulled you deeper into the workshop.

“Javy, we should go–” you started to protest, but you broke off when he sat on the throne.

The twinkling lights cast a golden glow into the otherwise dark room, and even in the shadows, Javy looked so damn sexy. He shifted in the seat, his thighs spreading, and planted his boots on the ground. He still held your hand, and you really did feel like you were standing in front of a throne, a queen to his king.

“It’s just us, honey,” he said, his voice deep, and you were having a hard time coming up with a response. Not when he looked this good, not when he was looking at you like that, not when you could already see the outline of his hardening dick against the inside of his velvet suit.

God, what a thought–velvet and Javy.

Your mouth practically watered, and when Javy tugged lightly on your hand, you let him pull you. You stood between his spread legs, the throne tall enough that you barely had to bend down to kiss him. This kiss was impossibly slow, leisurely.

Javy’s hands trailed down your body, settling under your ass as he pulled you closer to him. You whimpered as his touch pulled you flush against him, his body hard against you, and his fingers gripping the flesh of your ass. Your own hands ran over his chest, around the back of his neck, anchoring you to him.

His big hands kneaded your ass, and you whimpered against his mouth when he guided you slightly sideways, against where his dick rested on his thigh.

You felt your kisses turn lazy as he overwhelmed you.

His big hands, his strong thighs, his hot cock, his broad chest…you felt your knees weaken as the kiss deepened.

Javy knew, and he pulled back, giving you space. His hand found yours again, and he led you from between his legs, before reaching under your skirt.

His touch was slow, certain, as his fingers trailed up your thighs to your waistband, where he found the edge of your tights, and slid them down your legs. He went slowly, and you were grateful for it; your head was spinning and you didn’t feel like you could catch your breath. You watched as he pulled the tights down your thighs, prompting you to step out of your shoes first.

“Here, honey,” he prompted, guiding you to balance on the thick toes of his boots, so you wouldn’t have to stand on the floor, before he peeled your tights off.

That thoughtfulness, combined with the determined carefulness with which he undressed you, sent another wave of arousal for you, and you followed his instruction without thinking.

His hands were back on your legs then, reaching under your skirt again, up and up, and you shivered when his hands ghosted over the front of your underwear.

“Were you telling the truth?” he murmured, his voice low, and you pressed your lips together to trap a whine inside your throat. “Am I gonna find you worked up under here?”

You weren’t sure until his fingers pressed between your thighs.

And then you moaned, you couldn’t help it. Javy’s fingers pressed into your center over your panties, his touch collecting your arousal and you felt the drag of wetness between his finger, the thin fabric, and your skin.

Javy hummed his approval, and his pleasure had you bowing into him.

“Javy,” you whispered, not sure what you were asking for, but certain he would know.

“C’mere, baby,” he said softly, pulling you into his lap, his hands not leaving your panties, but still keeping you covered by your skirt. He guided you over his thighs, your legs spreading to rest in his lap, and you immediately were obsessed with the feeling of velvet stretched over his strong thighs.

You looked up at his expression, and you felt your heart flutter.

Christ, he was so beautiful.

His expression was one of intense focus, but the panes of his face were so gorgeous, all the more for the fondness between the both of you.

You pressed yourself up to kiss him, knowing you’d stumble over finding the words to tell him. Javy’s lips were so soft, his mouth so gentle, and the hand that wasn’t under your skirt cupped the back of your neck. The tenderness in his touch coupled with the strength in his hands was a heady combination, and you melted into his arms again.

After a couple long, sweet kisses, you felt his hands move against you.

You broke away from his kiss, breath catching as Javy dragged a thick finger over your now soaking panties.

“You’re so warm here,” Javy murmured, his voice almost reverent, and your hands splayed over the red coat, grasping whatever you could. The pressure of his hand and the deep timbre of his voice were enough to drive you mad, and he knew it.

“You feel so good, honey, so inviting…” Javy continued, and he pushed your panties aside.

You whimpered at the first brush of his fingers against your core, slickened by your arousal, and warm against your skin. Your fingers scrambled to undo the red coat, fumbling with the buttons until you had the jacket undone, and you could feel the familiar cotton of his white undershirt.

It wasn’t enough, you needed his skin.

“Off,” you mumbled, and Javy chuckled as you pulled weekly at the bottom of his undershirt. It took some maneuvering, but you got the jacket off, then the undershirt, and then decided the beard and hat – while they had their charm – needed to go as well.

And then you were breathless for a whole other reason.

“You look like a damn fireman calendar,” you told him, your voice somewhere between amused and chagrined at the perfection that was a shirtless Javy Machado in red velvet pants and thick black boots, reclining in a garish throne. You decided that indulging the fantasy couldn’t hurt, and you guided the suit jacket up over his shoulders again. You tipped your head to the side, regarding your amused boyfriend.

“Some mom in New Jersey would lose her shit,” you told him honestly, and it probably should’ve made you jealous, but it made you just so damn thankful he was all yours.

You watched Javy’s abs contract as he laughed, pulling you back to him, and you smiled as he kissed you. You loved that it was like this with him – playful and fun, as well as just so fucking hot.

It only took a moment for the laughter to fade from your kiss, and Javy’s hand was back inside your panties a moment later.

He pulled a finger through your folds and your head fell back at his tease. He gathered your arousal with his finger, pulling his hand back up to the top of your slit. He found your clit easily, a familiar path, and when he pressed firmly, your legs jolted.

“You’re Coyote’s girl, aren’t you?” he said thickly, and you wondered if he was thinking back to what RJ had said, or if he just liked the thought of you being his. Either way, you nodded weakly, overwhelmed by the pattern he traced over your clit.

Javy turned his head so he could kiss your neck again, his lips pressing into you, tongue teasing you in a motion that mirrored his fingers at your core. You leaned into him, loving his strength and his focus on you. His hand, his mouth, his broad chest, all had your head swimming, and building up a heat within you.

Your hips were moving, rocking into him, and you felt empty, needy.

“Answer the question, honey,” he murmured into your neck, and he pulled back his hand to readjust.

“Yes, Javy,” you breathed, forming the words feeling like a gargantuan effort, “yours.”

“Damn right,” he said, and then a finger was pushing through your folds as his thumb traced over your clit.

You moaned as he pushed into you, a steady intrusion and just what you wanted. You rocked your hips into his touch, seeking more, deeper, and Javy chuckled.

“Easy, baby,” he said softly, and you shook your head.

“Need you, Javy,” you protested. His finger was thick, brushing into you, but you knew it wasn’t enough, knew it wasn’t what you needed. He grunted, shifting again, and then another finger was between your legs. Javy’s hand on your hip angled your hips downward, and your mouth fell open when he lifted his palm so you could grind your clit against it.

His fingers inside you were pressing deep, stretching you, and you welcomed the width of them as you ground into his palm.

“Baby, fuck,” you panted, and you felt his hips jerk up into you.

Which had the opposite effect than what he had intended.

Because his fingers were good, and his hand was good, and everything felt so fucking good– but you knew what was between his legs. And his hand wasn’t enough.

“You need to be fucked, don’t you, honey,” Javy asked hotly, his voice low in your ear. You nodded desperately, your hips working against his fingers eagerly. He’d fill you so good, fuck you so full, and you needed it, needed him.

You were overheating in your sweater, nearly wild with wanting him so bad, but you were taking everything he’d give you, always would.

“Please, baby,” you whispered, and it sounded like a whine. You felt his hips press up again, an unintentional response, and your hips worked faster.

“‘s too fast, sweetheart,” Javy said, but it sounded like maybe he was trying to convince himself too. “You’re not ready…”

You moaned, your head dropping to his shoulder.

You knew he was right, knew you had to be worked up to taking his cock, but you wanted to be full of him, wanted to feel like his, wanted him to push everything else out of your mind with his dick.

“Please,” you whimpered, unafraid to beg, and you felt Javy’s breath catch.

“Cum for me first, honey, come on,” he said determinedly, and you would’ve scowled at him for his stubbornness, but he was working your body so fucking well.

His fingers were pressing deeper inside of you, searching for the spot that would tip you over the edge. He knew when he found it because your whole body seized, and he fucking cooed, pleased and proud. His fingers worked faster inside of you, his palm grinding back into your clit, and you felt your body hurtling towards completion in spite of yourself.

You whimpered his name, and Javy soothed you, his other hand falling to your ass again. He pressed you into him, shushing you as you trembled, and it was too much, too fast.

Your orgasm broke through you, heat crashing over you as your boyfriend rocked you in his lap. You were shaking, you were pretty sure you were babbling, as Javy worked you through your orgasm, his strong fingers pulling steadily inside of you.

You shuddered as you came down, the world fading from technicolor to the dark light of the rec center, and the ringing in your ears quieted enough to hear Javy murmuring praise into your ear.

“So beautiful, honey, always so beautiful when you come. Fuck, you did so good, coming on my hand like that, such a good girl for me, always so good…”

You were pressed into his chest, and you snuggled closer to his warmth, temporarily sated. You felt Javy shift his hand, pull your panties back down before sliding his hand out from under your skirt. A moment later, you felt his chest vibrate, and when you pulled back to look, his eyes were closed, head tilted back, his fingers between his lips.

“So fucking sweet,” he said, almost to himself, licking your orgasm off his fingers. You felt your core clench at the sight of it, at the everything of him, and you tilted your head up to him, needing his kiss.

Javy acquiesced, and you both moaned when his tongue swept into your mouth, sharing the taste of your release. It was so hot, everything he did was so hot, and impossibly, you needed him again.

You reached down between you, your fingers skating over velvet until you found his cock. He was fully erect now, trapped against his thigh, and when your fingers coasted over him, Javy’s breath caught.

You hummed when his hips pressed up into your touch.

Even without your body moving to encourage him, his thighs pushed his dick towards your hand, and you loved the feeling of him. Even through the soft material, he was so hard, so thick, and you were desperate for him.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Javy panted, and you loved it when he sounded like that, like he was barely clinging to sanity.

“Don’t want to wait,” you trailed your hand up to his tip. You couldn’t feel the details of him through the suit, but you knew his cock, you knew where he was sensitive, and Javy groaned as you traced over him. He mumbled something into your sweater, but you couldn’t hear it.

“Please, Javy,” you whispered, and he groaned again.

His hands were on your waist, and they tightened when he pulled back. You were surprised by the truly forlorn look on his face when he looked up at you, and your hand paused, suddenly concerned.

“I don’t have a condom,” Javy said dejectedly. “I’m sorry, honey, it felt pervy to put it in a pocket around all the kids and I–”

“We don’t need one.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but as soon as the words were out, you knew you meant them. You’d been exclusive for a couple months now, and you were tested regularly, and you trusted him. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted it– the more you needed it, the more you knew it was exactly what you needed.

Javy was so still underneath you.

He was looking at you so closely, hope and caution warring in his expression.

“Are you absolutely certain, honey?” he asked, and the way he was double checking was all the confirmation you needed.

You leaned down to rest your forehead against his, loving the way his eyes followed you, even this close. You lowered your head to his, pulling back slightly when he reached up to kiss you.

“100%,” you said against his lips, and Javy moaned, something deep in his chest, the hottest sound you’d heard.

He surged up to kiss you, and you felt dizzy from the lingering taste of you on his tongue. When he pulled back, you were both breathless, just shy of giddy.

“You want me to fuck you bare, sweetheart?” he asked, and his soft question made you shiver.

“Please,” you managed, and Javy huffed something that might’ve been a laugh.

“You’re gonna let me into that pussy raw?” he breathed, and you squirmed in his lap. You wanted him so badly, needed to feel him, just him. “Gonna let me fill you up, feel this cock press all the way into you?”

“Javy,” you moaned his name, fully wanton, unable to say anything else.

Your hips were already rocking into him, craving the stretch of him.

He seemed to understand, guiding you back to stand on his boots, while he shifted, sliding the suit pants down his thighs, along with his underwear. The red velvet pooled over his boots, brushing the tops of your feet, but you barely noticed. Instead, your eyes were trained between his thighs, where his dick was resting against his stomach.

He had such a pretty cock.

Long and heavy, curved slightly to the side, a plump head that felt absolutely unreal when it breached you. You were practically salivating for it, and you pressed your thighs together as you balanced on his boots.

“Now you,” he prompted, and he helped you out of your sweater and skirt. A moment later, you felt Javy pull your panties off, now with no worry for the suit.

He dropped the thin fabric to the ground and you stepped out of it, his fingers curled up to cup you. God, you loved how he touched you, so certain and steady, like him. You clutched his shoulder for balance, and Javy’s hand tightened over your pussy, pulling him to you by your pussy.

You might as well have been on a leash.

You could feel your legs trembling, you wanted him so bad. He guided you back onto his lap, your legs spread over his thighs again, but it was different now, because you could feel him. When you settled, your core brushed against his hot cock, and you both hissed out a breath. Desperation seemed to build between you, and Javy finally, finally let go of you, reaching down to hold his cock steady as you lowered yourself towards him.

“Give me that pussy, baby,” he commanded, his voice low, and you wanted nothing more.

When you felt the first press of his fat cockhead between your legs you felt like weeping. It was the smallest brush, but he was so thick, so broad, a promise. You held your breath as you lowered yourself down, a high-pitched moan working out of you when the head of him was fully inside you.

“Ah, honey,” Javy breathed.

It sounded like he was praying, and you understood, because it was just the tip of him, but already you were dizzy with how full you felt.

You looked between the two of you, at the vision of his fat cock pressing into you and you moaned again. You looked so good together; it was amazing that he fit, that you could take him. You could feel his eyes on you, knew he was watching your face as you were watching where you were joined.

“It’s so good, Javy,” you whispered, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. Your nails were probably leaving marks, not that either of you cared.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Javy said, his voice hoarse, “it’s so fucking good. How does my dick feel inside you, just me, so close to you?”

Your eyes closed and your jaw fell slack as pushed yourself farther onto him. The stretch neared on painful but nowhere near painful enough to make you stop. You felt him, like he said, you felt so close to him. It felt perfect, like you were made for this stretch.

“Halfway, baby,” Javy encouraged, and you practically choked at his words.

Fuck, you thought you were farther along than that; it felt like you’d gotten farther along than that.

But when you opened your eyes, there were still inches left of his cock, thick, searing length that you needed to fit inside of you. Javy’s hands rubbed encouraging circles on your back, and you realized your thighs were shaking. It felt like you were boiling, melting, but you knew you couldn’t stop, knew you needed to take all of him.

Still, you couldn’t stop your whimper, “It’s too big, baby.”

Javy’s hips jerked up at your words, and his head fell back against the throne as he forced himself down, to be still. You both groaned at the ground that gave you, and Javy’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

“You can do it, honey, you’re doing so good for me, so damn good,” he gritted, and you loved him so much.

Loved that he was fighting for control but he still found breath to encourage you, soothe you, care for you. Your face felt wet, from sweat or tears, you couldn’t tell, but you made it the final few inches.

When your shaking thighs met Javy’s legs, you both let out a trembling breath, and Javy wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Just stay here for a moment, sweetheart,” he whispered, and you lay your head on his shoulder, resting.

You were so full.

So sated, so absolutely content, like all you ever wanted to be was in this moment. You wanted to wrap this feeling up, remember it forever, this closeness. This perfection.

Javy’s hands were still moving slowly up your back, his fingers pressing gently over you. You recognized he was breathing deeply, whether to help you monitor yours or because he needed to be controlled, you weren’t sure.

You felt out of your body.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but it was long enough for the stretch to ease and your body to adjust. As you accepted him, as you welcomed him, your head cleared slightly, and you became aware of the gnawing need at your core.

You needed him to move.

You shifted in his lap, just slightly, and Javy’s breath punched out of him, as you clenched around him.

“Jesus, honey, warn a man,” he choked, and you smiled.

“Can’t help it,” you said, honestly, “just feels too good.”

“You’re telling me,” he murmured, turning towards you.

He kissed you slowly, languidly, his tongue pressing between your lips as he gently pushed his hips upward. You felt your limbs go lax; he wasn’t even pumping but he was so damn deep inside you. It felt like a caress, something gentle and sacred, and you rested on him.

He pressed up again, and he broke the kiss, his warm breath coasting over your lips.

“Feels fucking unreal, honey,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re so tight, so wet. God, I can feel every inch of you like this, feels like heaven.”

You hummed your agreement, turning your head to kiss along his jaw. Your lips brushed over his jawline, your tongue tasting his sweat, kissing him lightly as he rocked slowly into you again. Time felt like molasses, seeping so slowly by, and everything was distilled to the press of his hips into yours, of his cock straining inside of you.

You whispered his name, and his hands slipped from your back to your waist.

“Need something, honey?” Javy asked, and you whined in response.

He was slow and steady, unhurried, stoking that heat inside of you. It was perfect, it was killing you, you needed more.

“Do you think,” Javy’s voice was still breathless, but took on a teasing lilt, “you were naughty or nice this year?”

You swatted at him weakly, his chest already huffing as he laughed.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled, turning to a moan at another gentle rock.

“You know I’d know if you’d been bad or good,” he said, amusing himself even as you squirmed on his cock. “I’ve got a list.”

“I swear, Javy–”

“Do you think you’ve been a good girl for Santa?”

God, he was such a dork, but he was also so hung, and you couldn’t handle both at once. But then Javy’s hands wrapped under your ass again. Before you could sigh in relief, he lifted you up, strong arms fully pulling you off his dick, and then thrusted up into you.

You screamed.

You couldn’t help it, you felt it so much, so deep, so fucking full of him, and Javy’s proud laugh turned to a groan as you clenched around his cock. He’d scrambled your brain with his dick, that was the only explanation, because you were moaning and you felt every limb shaking, and you needed him to do it again.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted someone to hear us,” he chastised you gently, and you whimpered at his words.

You both knew no one was left in the rec center, probably not even the parking lot, but fuck if the idea of someone walking in on you fucking your boyfriend on this throne of his didn’t turn you on even more.

Javy sighed, something awed. “Is that it, honey? You want someone to see you? Want someone to walk in on you milking this bare cock? Want someone to watch me shove it so deep into your pussy, see how badly you need it?”

He lifted you again before you could respond, his strong arms pulling you up and then bringing you back down into his lap, his cock thrusting deep into you. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only want more, need more. You felt something drip out of your mouth, realized belatedly you were literally drooling.

Javy swore when he felt it, too, and his hips moved faster. He held you steady as he pushed up into you, slamming his hips up to meet yours.

It was fast, it was rough, it was so, so deep, and you could only think that you needed him to keep going.

Javy was grunting with each thrust of his hips, a gorgeous sound that had your mind racing. You could feel his balls slapping against your ass as he drove into you, so deep, and you scrambled for purchase, your hands clinging to the back of the throne, anything for leverage as he pumped into you.

“I wouldn’t care,” Javy said, almost growled, and you felt your core clench tighter on him at that tone in his voice. “Fucking Simpson could break in now, honey, and I wouldn’t care, I couldn’t stop. You think anything could stop me now that I’ve felt this bare cunt around my cock? Nah, it’s too good, it’s so damn good. Fuck, honey, you feel—”

He broke off, and you felt his teeth bite into your shoulder, grounding himself as he drove into you. Vaguely you knew you were close, knew it in an abstract scientific way, because you could barely string two thoughts together, much less words.

You could only cling to him, to your sweet, strong, Javy.

“Riding me so good, baby,” Javy mumbled into your shoulder. “Being so good for me, honey, you’re always so good for me. My best girl, my beautiful, best girl. Sweetheart, I’m close, are you close?”

You nodded, or maybe you wailed, but you knew he could hear you, because his thrusts got more frantic. His thrusts were getting shorter, and you realized it was because he couldn’t reach as deep as he wanted, as fast as he wanted. Javy made a noise of frustration and his thighs flexed, then he was lifting you.

Still impaled on his cock, he shifted you, turned you, and then your back was pressed against the cool surface of the throne. Javy was between your legs, then, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him back into you.

“Please, baby,” you whimpered, and Javy groaned in response.

“Anything, fuck, you know that, sweetheart, anything,” he whispered, and then he grabbed the throne.

All you could do was take it.

Lie in the space between his arms, between his legs, clinging to him as Javy gripped the throne for leverage and thrust into you. You were held firm as he thrust into you, the new angle causing his dick to brush against a spot inside you that had your toes curling.

“Right there, Javy,” you cried, and you felt him press deeper, determined.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he panted, as his hips slammed into you. “God, you feel so good, I’ve got you… I know you feel good too, come for me, please..feels like fucking home in you, please honey, I need to feel you come–”

The throne was shaking with each of his thrusts and he pulled you even closer to him. Your body shook with each rutt of his hips, but as you molded to him, your clit brushed against the hard wall of muscle that was Javy. His cock hit that spot deep inside of you, your clit rubbed against his skin, and it was overwhelming, it was everything, it was enough.

“Come with me,” you gasped, begged, feeling a blinding heat at the tips of your toes. Javy groaned, and you knew he wanted to protest, but as your body seized, you felt him tense with you.

You cried out as you came, exhausted and overwriting and flying, but you felt it, felt him. Javy surged up to kiss you, his mouth locking on yours. You were too tired to kiss, too poised to respond, but so was he. And as you tipped over the edge, as you cried against his lips, Javy’s strong hips stilled, and you felt his chest heave as he pumped into you. Then you were warm, so warm, feeling his cum spill inside of you, feeling the world burn around you. It was everything, you and him, locked together and spiraling, shaking.

You were so full.

Javy collapsed against you, somehow finding the strength to push himself onto the throne beside you. You fidgeted, squirming until you were once again in his lap, panting and shaking, as Javy held you tight while your orgasms rolled over you.

You were grateful for the Christmas lights.

They were a gentle light, soft when you opened your eyes, illuminating Javy’s profile like a poem. Sweat slicked between both of your bodies, and you didn’t want to think about the state the suit was in. You could feel Javy’s heartbeat through his chest, a pounding rhythm, strong and steady as he was.

You should get up.

But you snuggled deeper into his chest, relieved by the deep breath you felt him draw. You both basked in the muted light, the warmth of each other's arms, and you decided the feeling was also the answer to Javy’s question– you’d been nice.

.............

Tagging some mutuals, some folks who asked for it, and general lovers of Javy: @daggerspare-standingby @blowmymbackout @teacupsandtopgun @mandylove1000 @callsign-fangirl @cheekymcgrath @goldenseresinretriever @mxgyver @laracrofted @coyotesamachado @wildbornsiren @bradshawsbitch @sebsxphia @roosterforme

#javy machado #javy machado fic #javy machado smut #javy coyote machado #javy coyote machado smut #coyote x reader #javy machado x reader #i've got to stop posting at 11pm and expecting people to see it #sorry in advance for all the reblogs i will be giving this #misskielwrites

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crushribbons · 5 months ago

Text

𝓈𝒾𝓁𝓀

summary: The years have been exceedingly kind to Garreth Weasley.

cw: 6.8k words, s m u t (18+ ONLY), bridgerton girlies this one's for y'all!, oral sex, penetrative sex, slight fix-it because ominis and anne are married because i love them, semi-public-ish sex, i don't know what year it's supposed to be and i refuse to choose one, fem reader. reqs open, put some filth in my inbox!

a/n: i sowwy xx laney

It was unclear why the Ministry of Magic felt it necessary to hold an annual gala for its employees; surely, the money could be put to better use. But another year had come and gone since her protestations of the last one, and her boss was very eager to know why the top-performing Auror never made an appearance at the time-honored event. So, as snow began to fall in gentle wafts from the night sky, she had forced herself into a borrowed dress of her friend Natsai’s before she had time to decide to stay home for another year.

After checking her reflection in the mirror above her mantle and being satisfied with the way her curled hair framed her face, the witch took a deep breath, which was hard to do in the restrictive corset that Natsai had also leant her.

“I’m not wearing that,” she had balked when her friend held up the lace and silk monstrosity.

“You have to! It maintains the shape of the dress,” Natty insisted. “Come now, that gown was my mother’s, and she wore it to her first ball, where she met my father. It is imbued with good luck already.”

The darling story did nothing to persuade the stubborn woman with her arms crossed in front of her. “And if a troll should barge in and attack the gala? How will I fight it off if I’m confined to a straitjacket?”

“You are impossible,” Natsai declared, and left the dress laid over an armchair and the corset in a crumpled heap on the floor as she turned on her heel and clipped back through the front door.

“Thank you!” her friend called meekly after her. It was so typically kind of Natty to lend her a dress with such a precious history without a second thought. The dress was a spectacular beauty: light violet silk hugged her torso and spilled down over voluminous netted skirts. Lace of the same color lined the neckline that swung low across her chest and shoulders, leaving her arms almost bare, and small satin violets were embroidered around the neck and hemline. It was easy to see how Mr. Onai had fallen in love with the professor after seeing her in this.

However, as the dress restricted her movement so much so that she could hardly clamber into the toilet that hid the entrance to the Ministry, she cursed Natty’s kindness under her breath. The apparating process had been hell, as it already gave the traveler the impression that they were being smothered without also wearing a bone-crushing corset, and the ride down and through the floo fireplace disoriented and oppressed her further. She tumbled several meters past the grate and into a pair of feet. “Oof.” The wind was knocked out of her, but she rolled over with as much grace as she could summon. A hand belonging to the owner of the pair of feet reached out and pulled her the rest of the way up.

“Ominis!” she breathed in intense relief. “Thank God that you’re here!” The slick Gaunt smiled in his gentle way when his wand passed in her direction and he identified her.

“You look lovely tonight, madame,” he said, with a gentlemanly bow and an affected French accent on the final word. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Clearly, you’ve lost your knack for truth-telling,” she replied.

“Is it just you this evening? Haven’t you come with anyone else?”

The worst part of all of this. She’d really hoped to just slip in long enough for her superiors to notice that she had come, then disappear the rest of the evening. Especially because Sebastian decided to schedule his convenient trip to Albania during this very week. She’d begged and pleaded with her coworker and friend to escort her to the gala, promising that they would be in and out in a matter of mere seconds, but he’d waved her off and insisted that this trip was of utmost importance. Their boss, Melodia Thistlewit, didn’t just hand out promotions, after all, and Sebastian was certain that this scouting trip would secure him one.

The witch continued to curse every horrible word she knew at Sebastian as she now faced down the prospect of walking into the large ballroom that Ministry workers had transformed their central atrium into. “Just me,” she told Ominis, but then a thought occurred to her that could save her from certain embarrassment. “And are you alone, as well?”

“Don’t sound so happy at the idea of my solitude,” Ominis drawled, although his smile was still in place. At that moment, a slender woman with pale skin and chocolate hair brushed into a beautiful updo appeared behind Ominis and took his arm.

She couldn’t find the space to be disappointed that she couldn’t poach Ominis as her own date when she looked at the couple in front of her, staring adoringly at one another. “Anne! You look so wonderful!” Sebastian’s sister blushed as she always did when complimented. Her dress was emerald green, matching the cravat Ominis wore against his all black tuxedo. They made a lovely pair.

“Yes, she does,” Ominis hummed. Anne looked ready to sink into the floor under the weight of the praise from her husband and friend.

“Thank you. You’re too kind!” Anne looked behind her as if expecting to see someone there. “Didn’t my brother come with you?”

She sighed and shook her head. “No, he preferred the company of Albanian dark wizards,” she replied and Anne grinned knowingly. Sebastian didn’t hide the fact that he was married to his work.

“Well, he’s missing out on a nice evening. We’ll see you in there?” Ominis asked as he held up an arm to escort Anne into the throng of party-goers. The Auror was left, standing alone, watching hundreds of couples shoot out of the fireplaces and giggle to each other as they stood and brushed the soot off the other’s clothes. Though it had been the only career she’d dreamed of having since her days at Hogwarts, being an Auror was not without its disadvantages. The work was exciting and invigorated her to no end, but there were often long hours of tedious research and documentation before she was able to leave the office. And when she went on expeditions, it was cutthroat. Sebastian was one of the only people she trusted to have her back, even though he’d failed in that regard tonight.

It had become commonplace for her to glance up at the calendar on her desk while she worked, do a double-take, and realize that it had been an embarrassing number of months since she’d gone to dinner with anyone. The streak continues, she thought as she gritted her teeth and finally began making her way into the ballroom. The shiny marble floor clicked underneath her heels, and she felt a little wobbly. Hoisting her numerous skirts until they floated above her ankles helped her awkward gait, and she wove in and out of the people dancing and chattering, champagne glasses tinkling softly in toasts all over the room. Silk skirts and starched trousers intermingled and a light strain of musical laughter floated through the revelry.

As a house elf carrying a tray loaded with flutes passed her, she reached down to snatch one and quickly take a gulp of it. Champagne was going to be a necessary social lubricant this evening. She was acutely aware of the many glances she got from men as she passed by. Natty had chosen a beautiful dress for the event, but it also showed off far more of her clavicle and décolletage than she was accustomed to showing. She was fairly certain she saw Leander Prewett stop talking to the short, middle-aged witch he was having a conversation with to gawk at her from across the room. He looked ready to start pushing through the crowd to make his way over to her. She didn’t much feel like talking to someone from the office of Muggle Relations; truthfully, she respected their work but found it terribly dull. Leander had once trapped her in the hall with a story about a rogue Puffskein that had fluffed its way through Hyde Park, spooking two Muggle children. “Couldn’t you have just told them it was a baby rabbit or something?” she’d asked. The look of smug satisfaction had slid off Prewett’s face as he considered this.

“Uh…well, I mean, it is standard practice to obliviate…” he’d muttered.

She wove through six couples that were waltzing to the tune the enchanted instruments were playing from the conjured stage at the front of the room. Many murmured “excuse me!”s and “pardon”s got her safely to a table tucked against a relatively deserted wall, and she leaned up against it, sighing in relief and scanning the room for any sign of Anne and Ominis, or the encroaching Prewett. It was then that she noticed the table she stood next to held still more glasses of champagne. She quickly downed the rest of the glass she still held and picked up another one.

From across the room, Melodia Thistlewit caught her eye and raised a glass. “Fuck,” muttered the Auror as she put on a painful fake smile and responded in kind. If she didn’t engage herself with someone else soon, Melodia would certainly drag her into the center of the gala and parade her around to anyone with a pulse. Glancing around again, desperate to see the Gaunts and run to the safety of their conversation, she noticed a man standing on the other side of the champagne table, alone. She ducked down out of sight of Melodia, who was just under five feet tall and could not see well over the large crowd in the ballroom.

“Alright, I know this is strange, but I really just want to avoid talking to my boss so if you could pretend that we are deeply engaged in some riveting bit of gossip for the next few minutes, I’d appreciate it so much,” she said as she sidled up to the man she’d spotted. She spoke in a low and commanding tone, as if negotiating hostages away from him. Her eyes were fixed on the spot of the room where she was sure she’d seen Melodia, but she startled and spun around when the man exclaimed her last name in a jovial tone and said,

“Are you trying to kidnap me? What’s going on here?!”

Garreth Weasley was beaming at her. She hadn’t even registered that she knew the stranger haunting the only other empty part of the room. He’d been in her year at Hogwarts, though she’d rarely had occasion to get to know him. The realization that she knew him at all, however, was enough to make her stand straight back up and feel relief wash over her.

“Weasley! I’m so sorry, I had no idea that was you! What are you–” The question regarding his reasons for being at the gala died in her throat as she took in his appearance. In almost ten years since leaving school, she hadn’t given him a single thought, and she saw now what an utter waste of ten years it had been. Weasley was tall, taller than he’d been even in seventh year. His broad shoulders were prominent under the white dress shirt and vest he was wearing, his bowtie and collar loose despite the party having just begun. A worn tuxedo jacket was slung over one arm and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing freckled and distractingly well-muscled forearms and hands. And his hair was fiery as ever, still growing in unruly curls that hung down into his eyes and over his ears. He was grinning the devilish grin she remembered from many ill-fated potions experiments.

“Look at you, all grown up. And top Auror as well!” he crowed. She blushed darker red than his hair.

“How did you know that?”

“Everyone here knows that.”

Forgetting herself, she gawked at him. “You work here?”

Garreth raised a hand to his heart, feigning a grievous injury. “You wound me,” he mocked, but the smile never left his lips. Always good mood Garreth. “I just started a few months ago, in the Improper Use of Magic department.” When he caught the still-shocked expression on her face, he acquiesced with a chuckle. “I’m only joking. Can you imagine? Me? Trying to stop anyone from doing something improper?” He reached forward and pinched her on the upper arm playfully. Why such a simple act caused electric sparks against her skin that traveled through her entire body, she had no idea.

She cleared her throat and took another sip of champagne. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t work here! Only that I thought you’d never be caught dead doing something so…sanctioned.” Garreth broke into a raucous laugh that, if she’d still been concerned with anyone else at the party, she would have been nervous would attract attention. Instead, she basked in the sunshiney feeling that his laughter brought and felt herself and her nerves melting away like ice cream on a summer’s day.

“Unsanctioned is the only way I know how to operate!” he quipped, and then his green eyes fell from hers to the dress she was wearing, and she caught him falter and trip over his next words slightly. “Y-you look gorgeous tonight, Merlin’s sake.” Her heart pounded in her chest and she wondered if Garreth could see it beating from the huge expanse of skin that Natty’s dress revealed. “How long has it been?”

Too long, she wanted to say. Entirely too long and I’d like it never to be this long again. His boyish good looks had matured so much better than she ever would have guessed. Rather than tell him that he, too, looked like sex wrapped in silk, she sputtered, “Nearly ten years, I believe. How is your aunt? Dear lady.”

He smiled appreciatively at the question. “She’s wonderful, thank you. Actually, she’s the entire reason I’m here tonight. Had an extra invitation and she wasn’t exactly about to take Professor Sharp.” The image of the two kind but stiff-upper-lipped teachers arm in arm on the dancefloor made the two of them giggle, Garreth leaning in conspiratorially to grumble in a poor imitation of their potions professor, “Why, Matilda, you dance divinely.” She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle laughter as he did the same.

“Well, I must say hello to her before the night is over.”

“I’ll see that it happens.”

The two lapsed into comfortable small talk as they continued scanning the room, making remarks about anyone they recognized from school. “My God, that can’t be–it is! Prewett!” Garreth exclaimed, but before he could wave and shout for Leander to come join them, she grabbed one of his arms in a death vice and pleaded with him not to.

“Noooo, not Prewett, not right now,” she begged, and Garreth looked down at her in surprise, his gaze then drifting to where her hands were wringing his arm. She flushed and dropped it quickly, hoping she hadn’t been too familiar with him. “He’s just so dreadfully boring and I am having so much fun right now,” she explained in hushed tones.

“I’ve never been one to prevent a lady from having fun,” Garreth muttered, so lowly that she almost missed it. She would have noticed the heat growing in her chest at being tucked away so close to him, but at that moment, she saw that Leander had caught Garreth’s call after all, and she groaned as she saw him making his way over to the both of them.

She cursed. “Prewett’s coming over. Ooh, he’s going to ask me to dance.” She looked up pleadingly at Garreth and begged, “Please don’t let him, Weasley. I have two left feet and frankly, so does he.” He gave a winning but somewhat awkward grin back.

“Where’s your escort for this evening? Surely, such an accomplished witch didn’t attend alone…?” His question was open and hung between the two of them as she stared into the depths of his eyes. They reminded her forcefully of sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees in the Forbidden Forest, green and gold and endless.

“I tried to arrange one, but couldn’t.” She also tried to inject a tone of disappointment into her words, but couldn’t. Sebastian’s trip to Albania was now possibly the greatest thing that had ever happened to her, and she made a mental note to bake him a cake or something to thank him for the enormous favor he’d done her by fucking off for the week.

Leander was almost upon them now, so she did not have time to react when Garreth slid his hand around her waist and pulled her gently so her back rested against his chest. “Prewett! How are you!” he cried when Leander finally stood before them. The stuffy Muggle Relations officer looked between the two of them with confusion.

“Nice to see you, Weasley.” He turned his attention to the Auror and started to ask, “Are you–” but Garreth interjected loudly over top of him,

“My love, you must say hello to Aunt Matilda soon or she will be in a right state.”

Her stomach flipped in a perfect circle and her head spun as she tried to make sense of what Garreth had said, but there was no time to process as Garreth bid the bewildered Leander goodbye and tugged her by her waist away from him. “You’re welcome,” he muttered into her hair as they squeezed through the crowd and found refuge near a table of desserts. Ah, he’d been trying to prevent Prewett from asking her to dance. That was all.

“Thank you,” she said with a small smile, too embarrassed at her body’s reaction to his few featherlight touches to make eye contact with him. Wetness was pooling between her legs by the second, and visions of Garreth pressing his mouth to her ear or running his fingers over the ribbons that laced her dress shut were flooding, unbidden, into her mind. My love. Fuck, it had sounded all too lovely when he said that. She needed a breath. “The champagne is making me a bit light-headed. I think I’ll step out for a moment.”

Garreth didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll join you. If you fall down, I can catch you,” he winked, and she wanted to groan in defeat.

It’s not the champagne, you infuriating delight. It’s you. “Alright.” The redhead trailed behind her as they slipped from the cavernous room into an empty hallway. Lamps lined it, flickering softly and providing only dim illumination without the daylight that usually filtered through from the atrium. She rested her back against the wall and took a deep breath, hoping Garreth couldn’t tell how silly and flustered she looked. A man she hadn’t seen in a decade pops back into her life, and half an hour later she could think about nothing but him taking her clothes off. And vice versa.

Next to her, Garreth was talking, and she only realized this in time to hear the tail end of what he was saying: “...mind-numbing. I’m glad for my own loudmouth sake that I didn’t land in an office. I’d drive everyone up the walls.”

She laughed. “You’d do wonderfully here, Garreth. We could always use clever people like you.” She didn’t expect his cheeks to turn pink at her words, but they did. He waved her off and looked bashfully down at his drink.

“Potions is my lot in life for now, and I’m quite happy with it,” he said. “Although…” He tapped his chin and she found her eyes sliding out of focus as they gazed dumbly at his soft, pink lips, also splashed with freckles. “Mr. Pippin has been considering opening a shop in London and having me run it. Perhaps I’ll be seeing more of you then.”

Oh, he’d probably be seeing too much of her. She wracked her brain for the name of a potion that she could believably purchase once a day.

They stayed in the hallway, chatting aimlessly, for what felt like hours. Every time Garreth launched into a new story about the unusual and zany clientele he catered to in Hogsmeade, she was sure that she’d hear the sickening sound of the music halting or the magnified voice of the Minister thanking everyone for attending the gala. But neither came, and as the hours ticked on, she found herself falling into dangerous infatuation with the Weasley boy who’d once set his own hair on fire at six o’clock in the morning.

His tuxedo jacket was thrown carelessly on the ground, and they’d long since slid down the wall to a seated position. The witch was trying her best not to crease Natty’s gown as she told Garreth the story behind it.

“It looks as though it was made for you,” he murmured when she had finished, and felt the silk of the skirt between two of his fingers. They’d each had three glasses of champagne at this point and were working on their fourth, and she couldn’t recall if his hair had been that tousled when they’d first run into each other, or if he was just running his long fingers through it quite a bit. And his bowtie had most definitely still been on his neck, but it was now cast down beside the jacket and the stiff collar of his shirt was open to expose a kissable swathe of neck. Her body felt hot, uncomfortable as it was from the corset, and even more so due to the looks Garreth kept giving her as they talked, an uncharacteristic darkness in his gaze.

“Thank you,” she whispered back. Absently, she ran her hand along the neckline of the dress, feeling the delicate lace that lined it while she took a sip of champagne. Over the rim of her glass, she swore she heard Garreth make a low, choked sound in the back of his throat. “Mm?” She lowered the glass and cocked her head at Garreth inquisitively, looking much more innocent than she felt.

He turned to face her directly, and she inhaled sharply when she saw the way he was staring her down. Like a man who hadn’t drunk water in eons looking at an oasis. Come to think of it, she hadn’t “drunk water” in eons either, and the thought made her want to burst. “Stop that,” he said, glancing down at where her fingers were still trailing over the lace lining. His voice was hoarse.

Her fingers dropped in dumb obedience to her lap and she set the glass aside. Before she could speak again, Garreth’s fingers replaced hers, ghosting over her neckline and making her skin burn in their wake. “So pretty, so fucking pretty,” he muttered under his breath. She decided then and there to wear that dress every single day of her life.

“Garreth,” she breathed. It seemed impossible to misread the way he was touching her, his fingertips just missing contact with her breasts as he played with the lace. But her nerves were alight and she had to be sure. “Garreth, what are you doing?”

In answer, he trailed one finger up from the lace, over her cleavage and neck and crooked it under her chin, lifting her face to him. She felt exposed in the most wonderful way as he thickly said, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” His eyes had lost all trace of humor. “Letting me see you in this…this fucking scrap of fabric? Merlin’s beard, you were always beautiful in school, but I never…I didn’t know how…” He trailed off and her cunt pulsed and begged for him, her body moving closer to his in unconscious desperation.

“What about you?” she whispered against his lips. Heat was rising in her chest once more. “Teasing me senseless for most of the night? You’re no cherub, either, Weasley.”

“A cherub, no,” he agreed, his signature smirk appearing briefly before the lust in his eyes won over. “I’d actually like to do some truly hellish things to you.”

“I bet they’d feel heavenly, though.”

They both snapped at the same time. Garreth buried his hands in her hair, upsetting the updo that Natty had painstakingly helped her pin, and groaned while she clutched him by his vest and pulled him to her lips. The kiss knocked the breath out of her. Tiny, whiny moans escaped him when she began fumbling around the buttons on his shirt. “Off,” was all she could huff out before she dove back to his mouth. Garreth somehow managed to laugh while still kissing her.

“Right here? Like this?” he panted, glancing around the hallway, still empty but only steps away from the bustling party.

They stopped discussing logistics for a moment to resume their fevered pawing at each other. Garreth’s hands wove back into her hair and pulled her with force against him, and she obliged by crawling the last few inches that separated them and onto his lap. The voluminous dress pressed and bunched between them, causing an irritated grunt to spill from Garreth. “Decide where you want to go now, angel, or I’m laying you bare on the carpet right here and ruining this gown.” She moaned with need, pleasure building in her core and spreading through her entire body at his touch. He kissed her like he’d been waiting to do so for a thousand years. His lips were every bit as soft as they looked, and he tasted like champagne and peppermint, a slight spice on his tongue that made her go mad with craving.

“Anywhere,” she whined, and meant it. The hallway was lined with closed offices, so Garreth pulled her up to stand on wobbly feet and they ran down the hall, trying every door to see if any happened to be unlocked. She would have used alohomora, but breaking into someone’s office for what promised to be a highly illicit act (if Garreth’s dark emerald eyes and the large bulge pressing against his trousers were any indication) just felt too indecorous. If a door happened to be open, however…it was practically an invitation.

It took turning down two more hallways, one stairwell, and yanking on probably twenty doors to find one that finally, blissfully, turned under Garreth’s hand. Mere seconds later, he had cleared every possession from the poor Ministry employee’s desk with a sweep of his arm and threw her onto it. “Gods, I’ve not been able to think about anything except this since I saw you,” he slurred through kiss-swollen lips as he grasped her shoulders and ran his featherlight touch down her bare arms, sending a cold shock through her body. He moved in between her legs and pressed himself, as best he could with the gown still on, against her. She could tell even with all the fabric that his cock was impressively hard and that she would certainly feel this in the morning.

“Fuck, yes, you will, you naughty little thing,” Garreth breathed against her teeth. For Merlin's sake, she’d said the last bit out loud. Oh, well. “If you don’t, I haven’t done my job.”

With this, he dropped to his knees in front of the desk and grabbed as much silk and netting as he could, shoving it up around her waist. She clutched at the silk as best as she could and fought to remain upright, but once Garreth had pulled her undergarments down so they pooled around her ankles, the feeling of his hot breath against her core had her arms going slack. She slumped against the desk and felt his fingers grip her by the thighs.

His muffled voice reached her buzzing ears through layers of fabric: “Bury me here, darling, promise you will.” A wretched cry tore from her throat as Garreth laid his tongue flat against her cunt and began moving it in circles, alternating light flicks and kisses against her clit that had pleasure ramping up wildly inside her stomach. She reached forward, desperate for something to steady herself with, and made contact with his strawberry locks. Using them as leverage, she yanked him closer to her until nearly his entire body was engulfed by her dress.

“Garreth,” she moaned. The pleasure was making her stupid, and words were taking extra long to form in her brain and exit her mouth. “How did we never do this back at–”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he panted, coming up for air and replacing his tongue with his pointer and middle fingers. He drew fast, hard patterns over her clit and her back arched. “Not thinking about back then because I have you now, and I never want this to end.” He was so genuine and earnest, his eyes pleading with her to let him stay in this position forever, that she pulled him up by his shirt collar into another kiss. The taste of herself on his lips made her blush prettily.

It was all happening so fast that it made her thoughts rush in a frenzied whirlwind around her head. She didn’t want it to end either, but what it was, she wasn’t quite sure. Would they go their separate ways again after tonight? Would she find herself staring glumly at that pesky desk calendar on Monday, starting the count over from zero? Was it a terrible idea to fuck him anyway? Her drunken mind produced one coherent thought: Who cares?

As Garreth ghosted his lips over the shell of her ear, whispering pure filth while he began undoing the laces of her dress, she wondered if perhaps she had been gifted with a touch of legilimency. Hadn’t she envisioned this very moment earlier while fighting to stay prim and proper against his flirtiness? Never again, she decided, would she doubt her excellent instincts. The dress fell away from her shoulders and chest, leaving her in only her corset, gown and undergarments discarded on the floor. “Oh, for fuck’s safe,” huffed Garreth as he noticed the corset. “You don’t need to wear one of those.”

He said it in such a matter-of-fact tone that she colored and muttered, “I don’t ordinarily but…it maintains the shape of the dress.” She glanced sheepishly up at him and he rolled his eyes.

“That gown should thank its lucky stars that it ever graced your body. My God, you’re just…” He trailed off, taking in every inch of her that was exposed to him. She was quickly losing her capacity for embarrassment or shyness as her need for him to ruin her overtook everything inside her.

“Take this off and fuck me, Weasley,” she tried to order, but it came out more as a breathless plea. Despite this, Garreth obeyed. He turned her over so her hips were digging into the front of the desk and began haphazardly yanking at the ribbons restricting her torso. The corset fell away after a few seconds, and she barely had time to crane her neck around and see that he was shedding his dress shirt, vest, and trousers with the urgency of a madman before he placed one strong hand at the base of her neck and directed her to bend over the desk. She tried to protest, having very much been looking forward to seeing his cock freed from its restraints, but she found the protests dying in her throat as she felt it.

Holy fucking–! Every impure word and expression she knew flooded from her brain and out her mouth as he pressed his hard length against her ass and bucked his hips involuntarily, groaning with the effort of holding himself back. “How does it feel?” he rasped against her ear, leaning over her to do so and inadvertently making his cock brush against her dripping wet center. She cried in shocked pleasure, and more incoherent begging and pleading followed. “Are you ready for me, darling?

“Yes,” she half-sobbed, half-demanded. She didn’t think she could hold on much longer. Garreth ran his hands down her bare back and rested his forehead against the back of her head, sparing one more second to worship her before he braced himself on her waist and pushed into her.

Their moans intermingled deliciously as he fully sheathed himself inside her. He was fucking huge, and she gritted her teeth against the initial stretch. After a moment, he asked if he could move and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His cock dragged against her walls, lazy and heavy, stoking the fire inside her and causing obscenities to fall from both their lips.

“You do feel fucking heavenly,” Garreth panted, picking up his pace after a few languid strokes. He flattened her more completely to the desk and moved his hands to her ass, kneading and using it to pull her harder back onto him. Sweat was beginning to pool on the back of her neck, and she felt a drop of it drip from Garreth’s hair onto her spine. “Shit!” he spat. “I’m not going to–fuck, not gonna last long. Are you close?”

Questions? At a time like this? He expected too much of her. She moaned vaguely, trying to indicate that she was close. He picked up his pace even more, fucking her in a ravenous way she’d never felt before, hitting deep and high points that made stars burst across her vision. Her fingernails dug into the mahogany desk in front of her, curls of wood left behind in long trails as her fingers curled. Through their frenzy, she managed to ask a question of her own that had been burning in her mind since she saw his shirtsleeves rolled. She tossed it over her shoulder with a grin, panting: “Does it have…Are there freckles on your–?”

Garreth’s hips stuttered as a hysterical laugh cut through him. “Plenty of time to find out for yourself, darling,” he retorted, and snaked a hand around to her clit. The second he applied pressure there, she found herself coming. Her orgasm rolled over and through her and burst out of her like she’d been filled with an uncontainable light. She cried Garreth’s name, tears rolling down her face, and felt herself clamp around him.

“O-oh, fuck.” He faltered, not expecting the silken sensation of her to take his breath away. “Where do you want me, sweetheart?”

She was still caught in the arms of ecstasy, and only had the energy to pant, “Inside.” That was everything Garreth needed to be pushed over the edge. He came with a strangled yell and fell on top of her, filling her completely. With his last remaining strength, Garreth rolled off of her and laid next to her, on his back. The desk was far from comfortable, but at the moment, it felt like a king-sized bed at the finest hotel.

They caught their breath for several minutes. She tried to make sense of it all; Garreth Weasley, who gained a reputation in sixth year for being a wildly damp kisser, had just given her the best sex of her life and she was ready to beg for more. Her heart hammered even as her breathing returned to normal, because she was very sure now that she could fall for her old classmate. Not to even mention his godlike sexual prowess.

Her face was still pressed to the desk, and as she waited to regain the ability to walk again, Garreth’s cum dripping steadily down her thigh, she turned her head to the side. The man was still panting, propped up by his elbows and staring at the ceiling in disbelief. Her gaze wandered southward and she couldn’t help but smile. It sure did have freckles, and even while softening was larger than any other she’d ever taken. Sighing, she turned her head the other way and caught sight of one of the pictures that he had thrown to the ground when clearing the desk.

It was a picture of her.

The confusion made her bolt upright. She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand and crouched down to pick up the photograph in its brass frame. There she was, smiling and laughing with her arm around Ominis Gaunt and–

“Oh, shit!” The frame clattered from her hands and Garreth sat straight up, startled, as she frantically raced around the room, taking in its contents. A bookshelf, filled with books by and about famous dark wizards. Several stained tea cups that needed to be taken home and washed. And worst of all, a gilded name plate cast onto the ground that read “S. Sallow, Auror.”

“Fuck! Fuck, oh no! How did this happen?!” She wailed, clasping her head in her hands. The scratches she had left in the desk glared back at her, their position making it far too obvious as to what had been done atop the piece of furniture. She snatched the ball gown from the ground and dug around in the skirts for the sewn-in wand pocket. When her fingers brushed against the yew wood, she pulled her wand free and frantically cast Reparo! at the desk. The scratches stayed resolute. She swore and cast the spell a second time, again to no avail.

“Er, it’s not really broken,” Garreth chuckled, watching her efforts as he yawned happily. He was reclining, his long legs stretched in front of him and arms clasped behind his head, showing off his toned chest and stomach. She wished he would have a smidgen of decency. Not because his body wasn’t spectacular, but because she found herself frustrated and turned on almost immediately. And now was not the time, not when they’d just accidentally fucked on top of Sebastian’s desk and left undeniable evidence that someone had done so.

“But this is–!” She began, but Garreth had spotted the nameplate and reached down to grab it.

“S. Sallow,” he read, then thoughtfully put a finger to his chin. “Hey, that’s not ‘Sallow’ as in–”

“Yes, EXACTLY as in Sebastian Sallow! I can’t believe I didn’t read the doorplate before you opened it!” she yelled. They’d been so blind with desire that she hadn’t even noticed they had landed in the Auror offices. Sebastian had told her that he was leaving his office door unlocked so that she could access any files he had while he was away. She wanted to sink into the ground. Her own office was just the next door down.

She could feel her hair falling free around her shoulders in her upset state and remembered with a jolt that she was naked. Snatching her undergarments from the floor, she began to pull them back on, but Garreth leapt into action when he sensed that clothes were entering into the equation once more.

“No need for that!” He shushed her frantic rambling that Sebastian was going to notice and he was going to put two and two together and wrapped his arms around her. “You can tell him that you, uh…” He squeezed his eyes closed while trying to come up with a believable lie, and she melted a little against him, recalling how he used to do the same thing in their shared classes when he was called upon unprepared. His eyes flew back open. “I’ve got it. You can sit that fantastic little cunt on my face.”

She spluttered, not sure if she was more indignant or approving of the proposal. “And how is that going to help this situation?”

Garreth grinned. “This won’t seem like such an ordeal when I’m finished with you.”

When he was right, he was right. It took no more convincing for her to push him down onto the soft carpet and swing a leg over the side of his face. He ate her out like it was his last meal, which, she reasoned, if Sebastian ever figured out what they had done in his office, it may be.

They stayed in Sebastian’s office and did all sorts of things that made Garreth turn the portrait of Anne that Sebastian kept on his bookshelf facedown for several hours more. It wasn’t until they were lying on top of the violet gown, legs tangled and whispering to one another while she ran her fingers through his hair that Garreth shot straight up and cried, “Aunt Matilda probably had to go home without me!”

She tried to stifle laughter at his genuine alarm. “Weasley, I’m sure she can make it there just fine without you.”

“You haven’t seen how she can put away champagne when it’s free and offered to her.”

They both laughed, and Garreth leaned over to kiss her, sweet and soft. “When can I see you again?” he murmured. He suddenly looked lost, like he wasn’t sure what he’d do next depending on her answer. It charmed her to no end.

“I’ll need an escort to this gala next year, I suppose.”

“And in the meantime?”

She smiled. “I’d like someone to go to dinner with.”

masterlist

#i luv a fancy dress fic :')#somebody sedate me!!!!!#garreth weasley fic #garreth weasley x reader #hogwarts legacy fic #garreth weasley x mc #hogwarts legacy x reader #laneywrites

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thisisourlovestory · 11 months ago

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Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Word count- 2.8k

Notes: Happy New Year! Hope you enjoy this one. My phone deleted half of it so I had to rewrite it but that worked in my favour and I think it’s better than it was

Chapter 3

The next morning I was awoken by knocking at my door. Assuming it to be Lysander I ignored it and took my sweet time getting ready, taking a long shower under burning water, brushing my teeth vigorously, loosely clipping back the front strands of my hair and slipping on a pale blue dress from the wardrobe in the wall before making my way to the dining area. I followed the smell of freshly cooked bacon and pancakes, my mouth watering as I sat down and took a few pancakes, stacking them up, cutting a slab of butter that melted as soon as I dropped it on top, drizzling sticky sweet syrup over them and layering bacon on top. I grabbed a fork and dug into my towering pillar of food, the salty bacon contrasting with the sugary syrup. I polished it off in no time at all and reached for the piles of jewel like fruits, stacked in tiny ceramic bowls in the centre of the table. I had just bit into a slice of watermelon, pink juice dripping down the corner of my mouth, when Mags walked in with Lysander who flaunted a garish purple and gold striped suit and he began to speak as loudly as ever as I quickly wiped my chin.

“Good morning!” My head hit the table.

“Goodness Y/N, did you not get enough sleep last night?” He asked, looking at me with slight concern.

“I'm fine thank you for asking,” I answered, “Just woke up a bit too early.” I rubbed my head, smiling sheepishly and his gaze softened.

“That simply won't do!” He exclaimed, “We need you to be on top form for when you’re in the arena.”

“Lysander.” I called out softly, interrupting what was sure to be a long tirade. “I… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for my outburst yesterday. I don't know what I was thinking. I suppose, well I suppose I was just a little overwhelmed by all this. I hope you can forgive me. “ I twisted a strand of my hair in my fingers and he took the bait immediately. I could almost see what he was thinking. Such a kind girl, she must be terrified, very sweet of her to apologise. His eyes gained a look of sympathy as he raised a hand to his heart and walked over to me.

“It's quite alright dear, no need for apologies. I completely understand you must be feeling absolutely terrified of all this. You did such a kind thing volunteering for Miss Cresta, so selfless, dear and I’m sure she appreciates it very much.” I nodded, going back to my food, and he clapped. “Now that's all sorted out, we need a plan for you.” He looked me up and down, assessing me as Mags grinned into her bowl at the look on my face. “I'm thinking we play the innocent card, the fact you were so young when you won will help with that a lot. You are one of the youngest in the games this year after all. We simply must also use the fact that you are a true performer and ballet is such a beautiful art form indeed so,” he turned to Mags, “I propose we paint her as an angel.”

I choked on a piece of watermelon, the apprehension on my face giving way to horror. Mags patted me gently on the back and I straightened in my seat, sending a grateful smile her way as Lysander continued, lost in his own world.

“Of course only your stylist can decide this but I’m fairly certain I can put in a word and if they didn't already have the same idea after watching the reaping then I'll eat my hat.” I eyed the purple monstrosity on his head and imagined it being stuffed into his mouth, wondering if maybe that would be the thing that would finally shut him up. I wanted to scream at him, tell him that I was no angel and he was a monster for finding some kind of pleasure in this, deciding what part I should play as I die. Instead I just smiled slightly and lowered my head to stop him from seeing the tears in my eyes. At that second Finnick walked in and Lysander's attention was immediately drawn to him. I sat silently as he practically interrogated him, asking how he was feeling, if he thought he could win. The answers were short, not letting anything interesting slip but giving enough to satisfy Lysander and fool him into thinking he was basically his new best friend. I zoned out part way through Lysanders rant about what the Gamemakers would throw at us this year- as if we hadn't all been thinking about it since they were announced. Suddenly, I was brought back to reality by the sound of my name.

“Y/N, Y/N.” I blinked and my gaze shifted to Lysander.

“Sorry.” I muttered

“Quite alright dear, you must be tired if you didn't get enough sleep. We're going to watch the games you were both in, for reference.” My mind didn't register the words and I simply nodded before I realised what he had said and my eyes widened in shock.

We watched Finnicks first, since he won before me. From the reaping all the way through to the crowning ceremony. He was confident in the interviews, dressed in the most impeccable suit and tie, clearly designed to show off his beauty, laughing at Caesar Flickerman's comments and responding with his own witty quips, not just a pretty face at all. Then utterly deadly in the arena. For the first few days he had lain low, not much excitement but enough to keep sponsors interested. Then he got the trident, the most expensive gift ever seen, and it was over. District 4 was fishing after all, and it seemed Finnick Odair was born to wield the trident. He captured tribute after tribute in a net and killed them all, offering no mercy. And finally the last cannon went off announcing him the winner. Fourteen years old and he had won, the youngest victor, the most handsome victor, the Capitol darling. Finnick Odair. If he was that good back then, I had no doubt he would be extraordinary now. He had it all as well, the looks which first made the Capitol love him, he was intelligent, and undoubtedly one of the best fighters that would be going into the arena. Mags and I sat there speechless as Lysander congratulated Finnick endlessly.

“And how you used that trident, extraordinary! I don't believe you'll struggle in these games now that you've had ten years to practise.” I could only think of how young he'd been, how he'd been forced to grow up so quickly after, how he'd won- but what was the cost?

Then my games were switched on; I saw myself going through it all over again. The walk up to the stage after my name was called, all eyes on me. The chariot ride where they had dressed me up as a mermaid, all shimmering fabrics and a golden crown. The interview, where Caesar asked me questions about my life back home and I answered quietly, barely audible, playing the sweet little girl as I danced for them momentarily. The arena, my frightened face as the boy from 10 died in front of me, running and hiding. Then a cut to as I made my first kills, I saw the light leave their eyes as the blood left their bodies. Another cut, to the chase and confrontation with Arion, the second the knife left my hand I closed my eyes and the thud as it hit him echoed in my ears.

They showed the crowning ceremony last, I stood calmly on the dais with my hands clasped in front of my body. I had been made to wear a white dress that fell to my knees and had a red bow tied around it. The same red adorned the pins in my hair, shaped like roses, and the single gem hanging from a silver chain around my neck. The significance was not lost on me, young as I was. I had killed three people in the arena so I wore three pieces of red. One for each of them, the crimson colour their blood on my hands. President Snow walked up slowly and placed the golden laurels on my head. He looked down at me, a small smile on his face as I gazed up at him, he whispered something that only I could hear. Words that left me pale and confused, words that could have been good but in the circumstances only sounded like the promise of a life of pain. His mouth moved on the screen and I read his lips.

“The Capitol will love you.” He stepped away and proclaimed me their victor. And it struck me how I looked so tiny compared to him and everyone around me, as the Capitol roared with applause and my big eyes stared out over them, disbelieving and uncertain before the tape ended leaving the compartment in silence.

I shoved my seat back, the legs screeching on the floor, and stood up quickly. Everyone turned to face me as I stayed still for a second.

“Y/N.” Lysander began but I cut him off.

“No, I just, I need to, I can't.” My brain was jumbled, old memories being dragged to the surface unwillingly. So I turned and I ran.

I sprinted along the train, pushing doors open as I ran through the compartments. Avoxes jumped out of my way as I barreled past them, looking at me in curiosity. I came to the end of the train and held my hands in front of me to push through the doors. I crashed through them and fell into the railing. I gripped onto the cold metal as if it was the only thing keeping me in reality, the wind rushed past me and my hair floated in front of me, strands whipping in the cold air. I could barely see, tears blurring my vision and hair covering my face. I took a shuddering breath, letting the cold air flood my lungs, and I broke. I cried and cried and cried. Letting out everything that I had kept bottled up for seven years. I had cried before, that day on the cliffs, that was for the games, for the fact that it was happening all over again for so many people across Panem. But this. This was for me. For every pain I had endured since I won, the evenings spent dancing and singing under lights focused solely on me, the fear of making a mistake stopping me from enjoying it fully, the nights spent alone, unable to sleep because of the nightmares, the days spent wandering around like a lost soul, wondering if it would ever be better than what it was.

So I cried for myself, in one selfish moment I allowed myself to only care about myself. Tears dripped down my face, droplets falling on the railing for what felt like forever. Eventually my throat grew raw and my eyes seemed to run out of tears to cry. I dropped my head forwards into my hands and my eyes glazed over with the memories I had suppressed.

I was no longer on the train headed to the Capitol. I was in the arena. Perched on an icy tree branch, pressed against the tree trunk to keep from slipping off. Hidden by the frozen leaves in the white fluffy clothing they had given us to wear. A tribute ran underneath my hiding spot, running away from something, two others followed chasing him. I immediately recognised them as career tributes, this was all just a game of cat and mouse to them. And they caught him. I shoved a piece of cloth in my mouth to stop myself from letting out any noise that would give myself away and clapped my hands over my ears to block out the noise of his screaming in pain and crying out for help from someone as they ripped into him, their laughter echoing in the otherwise silent forest. A warning that they were on the hunt and if you valued your life you would get out of there as soon as possible.

I had stayed in that tree for the first few days until I was eventually forced to move when the gamemakers released mutts into the arena. Great big slobbering beasts that lumbered along harmlessly until someone tried to kill one. Then all hell had broken loose as they chased tributes up trees and then hurled themselves unrelentingly at them, bringing them down and mauling them beyond recognition. They brought about the deaths of five tributes before they just disappeared, presumably called back out after doing their job.

I snapped out of my daze as I felt someone standing next to me. My gaze cleared as I pushed the memories back into a locked box in my mind. I didn’t need to look to know who it was, the mark on my wrist burning and on instinct I pulled my sleeve down and took a small step to the side to lessen the sting. It eased immediately from the small distance between us and faded to a dull throbbing. Finnick said nothing at my movement and we just looked out over the passing countryside, rolling green fields, trees that touched the sky and vast lakes stretching beyond the horizon. We stayed like that, peaceful, just taking it all in until he finally broke the silence.

“You were so young.”

I smiled bitterly, resting my chin on my open palm propped up on the railing.

“We all were but we had no choice. They just want to watch their games. And they don’t care if innocent children die so they can have them.” I laughed slightly. “Then they get the one that lives.” I shook my head, my fingers tightening on the rail, the cold metal biting into my skin. “They get to kill us then they get to keep us.” I turned around, leaning backwards onto the railing and looked up, watching the clouds move slowly away in the blue sea of the sky. Then the Capitol came into view, towering buildings taking up the skyline, marring it with grey,

“I'm going to go back in,” Finnick said, following my line of vision, “You should as well.” With that he stepped back into the train, not sparing a second glance as I watched him walk through a set of doors and out of sight. I relaxed as he left and stayed in my position, head tilted skywards, eyes closed until I felt tiny drops of water on my face. I opened my eyes to see rain falling, a light drizzle but enough to dampen my clothes and hair, I laughed slightly and walked inside, the warmth hitting me in a blast. I hadn't realised how cold I'd been before but the heat warmed me and my clothes quickly dried off. I looked over my shoulder as I walked through the doors that slid open, the rain pattering on the windows lightly, a last glimpse of normality.

I quickly made my way through the train, hearing Lysander screeching at unfortunate avoxes to find me as if I was missing and he had no idea where to find me. I stepped into the compartment to see him looking frazzled, he immediately caught sight of me standing unsurely at the edge of the room and gave a dramatic sigh of relief.

“Not to worry everyone she's here.” The train jolted to a stop. “We have arrived.” Lysander practically squealed and eyed me.” Dear, you should just fluff out your hair a bit, and try to look happy for the cameras.” I nod my head once and plaster a smile on my face. He nodded in approval.

We made our way to the doors. Finnick and I stood either side of Lysander and Mags was just behind us. I can see people through the windows already, screaming and shouting with excitement.

“Now everyone, remember this is the first time they will see you so make sure to leave a good impression. That means smile and wave, blow a few kisses if you have to.” Lysander told us, focusing his words mostly on me. A bell rang and he quickly turned around to me, perfecting everything he could see wrong, the tiniest hair out of place, my sleeves at different lengths and pushing my cheeks into a smile. Facing forward just in time as the doors slid open and we stepped out into the masses.

Taglist:

@nekee-lilac02 @hinata7346 @bambikitten @the-lonely-abyss @mxacegrey @m-maxie-ie @not-aya @camatchoum @maw1dk @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @somdreamy @thehairington86 @millzluvrs @val-writesstuff @erindiggory @reader-bookling123 @elisa20beth @maxinehufflepuffprincess @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @mystargirl-interlude @ponkaniee @missunicorn @purplelavin @user123453226780536 @littleanubis21

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x you #catching fire #angst #finnick x reader #finnick odair x annie cresta #the hunger games #thg x reader #finnick angst #this is going somewhere I promise #at the moment it's literally just angst

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pedroshotwifey · 7 months ago

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To The Flame chapter twelve

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Chapter w/c: 2.6k

Chapter warnings: mentions of physical abuse, manipulation, mental abuse, steve and connie!!, fluff but like backhanded fluff?, Javi being a dick, alcohol consumption, mild description of injury

Chapter Summary: Javi takes you out on your date and you meet some potential friends

A/N: Hey, y'all! Super excited about this one! These character introductions mean a lot to this story. Hope you like it! (also sorry about not posting last week, pls forgive me ❤)

*****

“Shit,” you mutter.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror, fixated on the ugly welt marring your right cheekbone. Your right eye is a bit swollen as well, but not too badly. You’re mostly worried about how the hell you’re going to hide the discoloring. Even with your makeup, it’s going to be a feat.

It makes your stomach twist up to remember last night’s events. You still don’t understand why you had chosen to freak out like that. It was completely immature and irrational. He was just worried about you and you chose to berate him for it.

Thankfully, Javi seems to have completely forgiven you for your outburst. He woke up as normal this morning, planted a kiss on your forehead, and made your breakfast. You smile to think about it. Despite everything that happened yesterday, everything today is back as it should be, just how you like it.

You sigh and turn the sink on. You’ll wash your face and get dressed, then worry about this monstrosity last. You’re excited for your date. Javi told you that he’ll be taking you to a small restaurant a few blocks from the apartment. He’s out running an errand right now, or so he said. He wasn’t very specific, but he did promise to be back in time for your dinner date.

You lean down and splash your face with the cool water, suppressing a wince as it hits your bruised flesh. You really didn’t realize the hit had landed that hard. You scrub it anyway, being careful to not press too hard. You don’t think Javi got a very good look at it this morning, which is probably a good thing. He’d likely be devastated to know he caused such an injury.

You finish washing your face and reach for your dress hanging on the back of the door. It’s one of Javi’s favorites, and you’re excited to finally have an excuse to wear it again. You slip it over your head and turn around to zip the back with the help of the mirror. You pull at the edge and smooth it out so it falls effortlessly just above your knees.

It’s a beautiful color in contrast with your skintone, hell, it’s a beautiful dress in general. You smile at your appearance in the mirror. It’s not often you feel confident, but this dress never fails to bring it out of you. Maybe that’s why Javi likes it so much, too.

You hear the front door open as you fix one of the sleeves of the dress, a smile spreading across your face at the sound. Javi calls your name in greeting and your stomach flutters.

“I’m in here,” you call back. His footsteps grow closer.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

You peek your head out from the bathroom, careful to hide your right side behind the door frame. Javi’s standing in the middle of the bedroom. He looks gorgeous—as usual. He’s wearing a blue button up with his jeans and his regular boots.

“Yup, I’ll be just a second.”

“Alright, baby, take your time. There’s no rush.” He sends you a wink.

You flash him a quick smile before ducking back in and cracking the door behind you. You pick up your compact and lean in close to the mirror. The first layer doesn’t do much at all. The second makes a small difference, and by the third, all that’s left is to touch up certain spots. Even then though, you know there’s nothing you can do about the swelling of your eye and one of the deeper bruises. You take a step back. It doesn’t look so bad when you’re not too close.

You sigh and finish up the rest of it, only putting everything away once you’re satisfied that you look pretty much normal. Like it’s any other date night. You turn the light off and step out of the bathroom.

“Javi?”

“In the kitchen, sweetheart.”

You follow his voice, finding him leaning against the kitchen counter and craning his neck slightly to look out the window.

You grin as you step into view, giving him a small twirl and watching his smile widen when his gaze lands on you. You do your best to hide your right side, but try to be casual enough that he won’t think that’s what you’re trying to do.

“You look gorgeous, baby,” he says, walking toward you with open arms.

You let him embrace you in a hug, wrapping your own arms around his middle as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you, Javi,” you mumble into his chest.

He lets you go after a moment and picks something up from the counter.

“Here, hermosa, got something for you” he offers you the bouquet of flowers. You gasp, sure that it’s the most beautiful bunch you’ve ever seen. That must have been why he went out. You’ll really never get over how thoughtful he is. It must have taken him a while to pick these out.

You beam at him as you take them in your hand. “Thank you,” you say again. He nods at you, warmth in his gaze as he watches you softly sniff the flowers. You look up when he clears his throat.

“Wanted to say I’m sorry,” he tells you, eyes flickering to and from yours. You frown a bit.

“It’s okay, Javi, I was the one acting up,” you assure him. You don’t want him to feel bad over something that wasn’t his fault. Just thinking about it puts a bad taste in your mouth. He’s much too sweet of a man to ever think that he’s done something wrong. You’re the childish one who threw a temper tantrum for no reason. It’s not fair for him to blame himself for what happened.

He nods solemnly, giving you a soft smile.

“I think we were both in the wrong there, sweetheart. I just don’t want it to happen again.”

Now it’s your turn to nod. You’re beaming inside at the fact that everything seems to be back to normal, but there’s also a sudden threat of tears pricking at your eyes and you’re not sure why. You look away, refusing to let them fall as you busy yourself putting them into a vase.

“Let me just put these in some water, and I’ll be ready,” you say as you turn on the sink.

****

You’re walking out the door minutes later, hand in hand with Javi as you try to contain the smile on your face. You’re way too excited about getting out. A part of you feels a bit guilty about getting your way after last night, but you suppose that Javi would have told you no if he thought it was really a bad idea tonight.

You stay silent and let him lead you downstairs, and you actually have to bite down on your lip to keep from full-on grinning when the evening air hits your face. It’s not too busy of a night, not many people out on the street at all. Still, Javi holds you close to his side as you make your way to the restaurant he was telling you about.

It’s not far, maybe a four or five minute walk from the complex. It’s small and cozy, exactly what you would hope for. He keeps his hand on the small of your back as you go to sit at an empty table, pulling your chair out for you and making sure you’re comfortable before sitting down in the seat across from you.

You smile at him as a waitress comes by and drops off a couple of menus. She takes your drink orders—a soda for you and a beer for Javi. You busy yourself with looking over the food options, failing to notice the way Javi’s started to stare at you.

His hand comes quickly across the table, making you flinch from surprise when he grabs your chin and tilts your head enough to see your right cheek.

“What’s this?” he demands.

You wince, really wishing you could have avoided this. You should have kept layering your makeup.

“”S from last night,” you mumble, ashamed even though you know you shouldn’t be. You just don’t want him to see what physical damage he may have done. He’ll tear himself up over it.

But he instead snaps, “And you didn’t fucking cover it?”

You’re taken aback, your head snapping away from his grasp. Shame fills you. Why can’t you just do something right for once? Tears again fill your eyes, only adding to your shame.

“I-I’m sorry, Javi,” you say quietly, staring at your hands in your lap. “I was just really excited to go out and—”

He sighs and leans back in his chair, cutting you off from your pointless excuse. “Just make sure nobody sees it,” he tells you. “Do you have any idea what that could do to me in my field of work?”

You nod, sniffing as your ears burn with embarrassment. Here he is taking you out and you ruin it by making another stupid decision. At least you’re not getting angry again. You have enough sense to keep that at bay.

You catch the waitress walking back with your drinks out of the corner of your eye and do your best to quickly collect yourself, giving her a warm, tear free smile when she sets your soda down in front of you. She smiles back and takes Javi’s order, which you order as well since you forgot to choose a dish for yourself.

You flash Javi a shy smile when she walks away, and, much to your relief, he gives you a small one in response. He’s still obviously not very thrilled with you, but at least he’s not straight mad.

“How have things been going at the house, baby?”

You know he means with renovations.

“They’re pretty good. Almost finished with all the painting and stuff. I might just need you to help me with some of the tile and cabinets.”

He nods. “Alright, I’ll see if I can get it done tomorrow.”

You nod back, trying not to be too tense. The conversation almost feels…awkward. It’s confusing. Luckily, the waitress comes quickly with your food, placing it in front of you and leaving you to it.

Conversation gets a bit better as the two of you eat. More casual and free-flowing.It’s not quite how it’s been the last few months, though. More like when the two of you had gone out together the first few times and had been a little shy. You brush it off though, sure that it won’t last too long. Even the two of you haven’t ever really been in a ‘post-fight’ situation yet, you believe that your chemistry is good enough for it to work itself out soon.

And it pretty much does by the time you’re finishing up your dinner. Javi’s smiling as you gush to him about a book you’re currently reading. It’s a very cute romance, one of the ones he’s brought you recently. He’s listening intently, happy to see your eyes light up with excitement.

The waitress comes back with the bill just as you’re telling him about the ending, and he hands his card over, along with a cash tip, as he continues to listen. It’s so nice to have someone who enjoys hearing about your interests. Before Javi, you can’t really remember having a person who would genuinely want to hear about your books.

You finish just as the waitress comes back, revealing the plot twist dramatically. His eyes widen with your reveal, both to indulge you but also probably a bit out of surprise because—in your opinion—it was a pretty insane plot twist.

But then his gaze darkens, pointed over your shoulder, and you frown.

“Javi?”

Your mouth is open to say his name, but it wasn’t you who said it. You snap your head around to see a couple walking toward you, the man smiling broadly. There’s a woman holding his hand, looking a little less enthusiastic than the man about seeing your husband.

You see Javi tense out of the corner of your eye as they reach your table. The man drops the woman's hand to round the table and clap Javi’s shoulder.

“What are you doing, you son of a bitch?” the man asks in a joking tone. “Thought you said you didn’t date.”

Javi’s jaw clenches as your brows furrow.

What?

“Uhm, yeah,” you supply, ignoring the way your stomach churns at the fact that he hadn’t mentioned you at all. “That may have something to do with the fact that he’s married.” You hold your left hand up, flashing your ring. The man’s light brows go up in surprise, a slight smirk overtaking his features. But then the smile drops and he shoots his gaze down to your husband.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he says slowly. “Didn’t think you were the type, Peña.” His tone is almost flat now. You don’t understand why it changed so quickly. Javi looks back up at him, a flicker of dark emotion that you can’t quite place showing in his eyes.

“Sweetheart,” Javi addresses you, keeping his eyes on the stranger. “This is Steve, my partner at work.”

He doesn’t talk about work much, but from what he’s told you about his partner, your understanding is that they get along pretty well. So you don’t quite understand the surge of hostility between the two of them right now.

You smile nonetheless, standing and reaching your hand out to him. You state your name. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He nods as he shakes your hand, giving you a tight smile in return. His expression is almost hard to read. He nods to the woman next to you. “That’s my wife, Connie.”

You turn to shake her hand as well, and you can tell you’ll immediately like her. She gives you a bright smile as well, telling you it’s nice to meet you. She seems very nice, but also like she wouldn’t be afraid to speak up for herself. You find yourself hoping that you’ll be able to see her again. Maybe be friends.

“We were just leaving,” Javi says from where he watches the two of you. Steve has taken a step back now, and is also watching you both with his arms crossed, though he doesn’t look mad, exactly. More like he’s contemplating something.

You frown though, having thought that you still had a little while before you had to go back.

“But—”

He flashes you a warning look, and you quiet down. Maybe you misunderstood him and he doesn’t like his partner. Either way, if he wants to go back, it’s probably for a good reason and you shouldn’t fight it. You nod at him instead, smoothing out your dress.

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” you say to Steve and Connie as Javi comes to your side and takes your arm in his.

“You, too,” Connie says, and Steve nods, another small smile offered as Javi starts to lead you out. You don’t turn to watch them as you leave, instead keeping your eyes on Javi, who has his on the exit.

“What was that about?” you ask.

He glances at you with a softer gaze than you’ve seen all night. Again, you can’t place the look.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he assures you and kisses the side of your head. So you don’t.

When the two of you get home, Javi cracks open another beer and holds you on the couch until you both fall asleep watching TV.

*****

You for reading! Taglist is always open!

Series taglist: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @callachloe @missladym1981 @sofiparallel @koshkaj-blog @sheepdogchick3 @movievillainess721 @jessie8605 @casa-boiardi @justlulu @iamsherlocked-1998 @hjzghi-b @solarecI1spe

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pininghermit · 1 year ago

Text

Just Talk to Me Already!

Genre: a sulking Adrian and struggling reader

Summary: All it took was a friends night out, 2 shots of vodka, and fake courage of your friends with your inflated drunk ego.

You woke up with empty arms and a spectacular view of Adrian's back – spectacular but tense. As if he hadn't just pushed himself away from your embrace the moment he felt your dream fading. But you are shameless. Unfazed by his earlier retreat, your arms circled his waist again as you drew closer. However, your attempt to settle comfortably as the big spoon was thwarted as your hands were gently pushed away, and your beloved extricated himself from the bed.

Sighing, you returned to your overheated pillow, its once-cool sides now exhausted. "Well, if this isn't the consequence of your stupid loud mouth," you groaned into your pillow.

It all began with a fateful night out with friends, two shots of vodka, and your inflated, drunken ego. Spilling the steamy details of your past steamy escapades with your ex to Adrian wasn't planned, but it happened, thanks to drunk you. A week had passed since that unfortunate incident, and Adrian was still sulking.

Normally, Adrian was impervious to your drunken antics, but this was different. It had hit a nerve, making him insecure about his own abilities and your genuine affection for him.

As the memories from that intoxicated night resurfaced amid the fog of a confusing hangover, you realized the extent of the damage. Of course, you'd apologized; you might be a wild drunk, but you were a civil person. You even tried to be cute, using the coy voice Adrian adored, but it didn't work.

Undeterred, you bought flowers, sweets, and, just for the heck of it, a dagger because your beloved had a penchant for such things. However, your care package failed to elicit even a faint smile. Instead, you found the dagger stabbed into the garden floor, a display of strength you chose to ignore for your own sanity.

Turning to a more romantic approach, you wrote a poetic letter. Adrian, known for his dramatic flair, should have appreciated it, right? Wrong. Your beautifully scripted words were obscured by grocery lists, budget planning, and reminders of yearly events...he could have used the plain blank side and no you did not pout looking at it.

Not to mention, he wouldn't even share dinner with you or rescue you from the culinary monstrosity you'd created. The desire for a simple meal prepared by Adrian had never been stronger.

In desperation you resorted to your trusted technique of annoyance. "Adrian look at me," you settled next to him, scooting whenever he tried to scoot. "Adrian look at my crooked tooth, does my finger look bent to you," you followed after him the entire day like a puppy.

Until Adrian became a damn bat and flew. Even the puppy eyes failed you.

It was only last night that he tried to slip out of your room, but you caught his wrist, stopping him. "Don't go," you said seriously. "Just sleep here. Give me a chance to make it right. So come here and lie next to me, Adrian. We can't act like a divorced couple; we aren't married, to begin with."

You pulled him back onto the bed, and he, despite his strength, let you. Wrapping your arms around him, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, ignoring the fact that his hair almost made you sneeze during this supposedly romantic moment.

"I won't say I was wrong," your words made him tense under your touch. "I've had my fill of fooling around, of being an untethered kite. It's great, but Adrian," you pulled him closer, preventing him from seeing your blush. "I don't need that with you. I don't need wild fantasies or extreme pleasures, though I can't get enough of you. Just being in the same room as you is more than satisfying."

Your hands traced patterns on his back as you thought through your words, articulating your feelings for the first time in your life. "Don't blame yourself for anything, Adrian. Don't carry that burden. I could never forgive myself if I became the reason for your sorrow. I will gladly be the crux of your resentment. Just stay by my side and let me make it up…" You spoke throughout the night until your words began to slur, and you woke up to the sight of Adrian's back.

At least he was still in the bed, which you counted as a small victory. You planned your next grand gesture to win him over, but little did you know that your antics were making a certain dhampir, you resisted to face you, smile uncontrollably.

As he heard you groan into your pillow, he promised himself to savor these moments just a bit longer, practicing his poker face in anticipation of the day filled with your endearing gestures.

#alucard #castlevania #alucard x reader #adrian tepes x reader #fluff

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alittlebitofloveliness · 22 days ago

Note

Trick or treat 👁️ 👁️

Treat! Enjoy your Outsiders halloween minific!

**********

“Trick or treat!”

Soda opens the door to yet another gaggle of children, grin already fixed firmly on his face. Halloween was, without a doubt, his favourite holiday of the year. Hell, maybe his favourite day of the year, period. It had everything. Costumes, candy, scary movies, whatever questionable alcoholic monstrosity Two-bit was gonna make- what wasn’t to love?

Soda knows Pony and Darry find it odd he’s always volunteered to stay home and hand out candy ever since he got too old for trick or treating himself, but it was ages more fun than going to some stupid party and getting stuck playing spin the bottle, or bumming around with Two-bit and trying to scare little kids. Back when mom was alive she and him used to make an event from it, dressing up and stealing from their own candy stash when they waited for trick or treaters. There was always a spark of feral mischief halloween put in little kids and adults alike that wasn’t present any other time of the year, the same mischief Soda found himself unable to ever turn off. Halloween was the only day of the year where he ever felt truly understood.

A little girl dressed as a dinosaur roars at him as he drops a stick of bubble gum into her pillowcase. He jolts back, feigning shock, and the girl squeals with giggles, running back to where her dad is waiting on the sidewalk.

The next kid has an eyepatch and a strip of fabric tied around his head, and was holding the hand of a little boy barely more than a toddler.

“I’m a pirate,” the kid informs him, as if it wasn’t obvious, “and he’s the dead body of a soc I threw off the ship.”

The toddler was, in fact, painted to resemble a corpse, round cheeks covered in white powder and eyes surrounded by greyish circles.

“Neat,” Soda decided, giving them each two pieces of candy. He had to reward ingenuity. Back when he and Steve used to go trick or treating together, no one ever knew what they were and they liked it that way. He could see himself in this kid and his designated corpse human accessory.

“Trick or treat!”

Soda grins into soulful brown eyes and his breath catches.

It’s Johnny.

Everyone says ghosts come back to haunt you on Halloween, but the ghosts Soda had seen so far had been kids playing dress up, not what looked like his now long dead friend reincarnated.

The kid had smooth brown skin, huge soulful eyes and the greasiest head of hair Soda had ever seen. A memory of Pony and Johnny when Pony was in first grade and Johnny in third floats to his mind unbidden, both of them dressed in zombie costumes they’d refused to let mom and dad help with, eyes bright like this kid’s are now. He’d wonder why- this kid isn’t dressed like a zombie after all- if the kid’s excitement wasn’t as palpable as Johnny’s had been then.

Suddenly it’s a little hard to breathe.

“I’m Elvis,” the kid informs him, and yeah, it makes sense given the white jumpsuit with the red scarf and the exaggerated swagger the kid is trying and failing to pull off, but all Soda can see is the ghost of a different little boy in a zombie costume, for once grinning ear to ear.

His hand shakes as he drops candy into the kid’s pillowcase- how much, he doesn’t know.

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” the kid offers Elvis’ signature sign off, and the corner of Soda’s mind that isn’t completely frozen notes that it’s not a half bad impression.

“Cade, c’mon hurry up!” The pirate kid calls from where he’s waiting impatiently at the end of the driveway, and Soda feels like he’s been doused in cold water as Johnny’s ghost hops off the porch and runs over to his friend, singing the opening chorus of ‘Jailhouse Rock’ as he does so.

Soda all but stumbles inside and slams the door shut, heart racing. He doesn’t both opening the door for anyone else the rest of the night.

He’s seen enough ghosts for one Halloween.

#the outsiders #sodapop curtis #johnny cade

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extralively · 8 months ago

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hi i'm extra and I just made this tumblr ¯\_(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)_/¯

I write fics in my free time! .......well ok, I've been writing this one monstrosity of a fic/series and that's about it. The first part is complete, though, and there are a bunch of fun (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) onsehots you can read as standalone:

Series: Under the Cover of Shadows

Gojo Satoru/Original Female Characters General tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, (but mostly) Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn (the slowest), Co-parenting the Fushiguros, Found Family, Sexual Tension, Pining (lots of it), Idiots in Love, Eventual Smut, Some Plot, Angst, Fluff

Out of the Shadows (Main story) (Complete) No one had expected Gojo Satoru to form a friendship with the unknown girl that joined school in the same year he did. Not even Gojo Satoru, or Yura herself, especially considering he’d been an asshole to her the first time they met. A complicated friendship was born, one that would last years to come no matter how many headaches the white haired menace would give her – he was like gum in your hair, she mused, too much work to cut it out so why even bother trying?

Morning Surprise (Oneshot) (NSFW) Satoru was happily surprised when he came back to his apartment and found that Yura was still there. ...And that she was wearing his shirt for the first time.

One Less Barrier (Oneshot) (NSFW) A little accident happens, and it leads Yura to seek out a new way of preventing them from accidentally producing any heirs...

A Private Onsen (Oneshot) (NSFW) Satoru and Yura finally get to enjoy their hotel room's private onsen bath together.

Drunk (Oneshot) At two different points in time, Satoru had to be the responsible one for a change and take a drunk Yura home. But a drunk Yura acted a little differently than normal, sober Yura...

Deeper in the Dark (Main story) (In progress) Sequel to Out of the Shadows. Life had fallen into an easy rhythm for Satoru and Yura as they got comfortable in their kinda-sorta relationship, teaching at Jujutsu Tech and caring for the Fushiguros together. But peace only lasts for so long in the jujutsu world, and when the safety of Yura’s little family is suddenly put in jeopardy, she has to fight to make sure everyone gets out alive—while still trying to figure out the truth of the thing inside of her.

Movie Night (Oneshot) (NSFW) Satoru has Yura over for a little movie night, but what he has in mind is something completely different. So Yura decides to teach him to have a little patience as she... 'enjoys the movie'.

Bringing You Home (Oneshot) (NSFW) After leaving a boring clan event, Satoru brings Yura with him to his private quarters on the Gojo Estate. Yura gets to snoop a bit in what is essentially Satoru's childhood bedroom, before the two of them actually get started with the, ahem, after-party...

School Stories (Collection of oneshots) A series of snapshots of Yura and Satoru's lives during high school, as their relationship evolves from constant bickering into a semi-functional friendship and all the hijinks in-between.

Catoru (Oneshot) (Absolutely unserious) Satoru gets turned into a cat, and Yura suddenly has to catsit the white furry menace until he turns back.

Married? (Oneshot) After a curse user ambush, Yura has to explain to Megumi just what exactly her bond with Satoru is...

Clubbing (Oneshot) Satoru and Yura go clubbing with Utahime and Shoko...

More will be added later, and new chapters are posted every week for the main fic!

Also! Let me actually organize everything I posted about the fic here:

My art: (aka this fic gave me an excuse to practice drawing some more)

Yura portrait + Satoru/Yura portrait

How SatoYura cuddle

Yura's adult jujutsu uniform

A SatoYura (attempted) manga-style drawing

Catoru fic header

Yura as a student

First(?) date night

Satoru not knowing personal space while brushing teeth

The Ritual (yes, That One)

Environments from the fic recreated in The Sims 4: (aka I have too much time in my hands)

Yura's first teeny tiny apartment

Yura's bigger and better second apartment

Satoru's luxury apartment Part 1 | Part 2

The Sims 4 SatorYura AU where nothing bad ever happens: (aka completely non-canon to the main fic but I am obsessed with them and also TS4 so yes)

Yura living in her teeny tiny apartment, already wants to flirt with Satoru

Satoru and Yura finally properly meet, they become friends (SLOW DOWN SATORU)

Satoru fell in love first

They finally "get together" (if you've read the fic, you know how this goes)

The Gojo House of this little AU (non-canon to the main fic)

Enter the Fushiguros

Found family shenanigans, Yura graduates

In love and living together

IT HAPPENED!!

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk fic #gojo smut #my fics #satoyura

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1d1195 · 1 year ago

Text

Protection X

You can read the rest here: Protection.

This is the final part, but I do have a few extras/check-in's in the works already.

~6.6k words (Total word count Part I-X: ~62.3k)

Personally, I think this part is a bit of a roller coaster but what else is new? Thank you so much for waiting out the last nine weeks (especially these last four, am I right?)

I hope you enjoy 💕

He clenched his hand at his side and shook his head at the thoughts. He didn’t want to think about it. Not in front of his mum and sister. He was supposed to be relaxing. He was supposed to be happy and excited to be with them.

Harry parked in the drive outside his mum’s house. He was tired. So beyond tired he thought he would pass out from just walking up the path to the porch. His two favorite women were snuggled under blankets from the sitting room inside. They were rocking gently on the old white chairs that had been there since his childhood. Passed from his grandma to Mum. Maybe one day the home would be Gemma and Harry’s and they’d be able to pass the chairs on to their children.

“Hey Harry,” Gemma smiled sympathetically at his sleepy form. Her fingers never paused her crocheting. She was midway through her scarf. He liked the colors. But it was huge. Harry adored his older sister. She was like a lighthouse to guide him through life. It hurt to leave England and not see her very often. Seeing her in front of him was like a sign that everything would be okay no matter what.

“The hell is that?” He mumbled trying to make sense of the monstrosity on her lap.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be mean, Harry. It’s a scarf.”

“Looks like a blanket Grandma would give us on our birthdays.”

“Harry Edward,” Anne admonished. They were seated side by side. They had the same smile so when they made fun of Harry, they looked like twins rather than mother and daughter. He missed them so terribly. It was so nice to see them—to be near them and be in his childhood home. Where he felt whole and safe. Where everything was quiet. He was glad that Mum had Gemma around, so they could look after one another. He felt a special sort of guilt leaving his mum as the baby of the family. He thought Anne was so sad regardless of how supportive she was of Harry and all his endeavors.

Mum was the first one he called when Miss Wildflower kicked him off the detail. He called her again when she was in her medical coma, sleeping without waking once for three days. He called her almost daily, after she woke up, just to keep him grounded with the thought he would be back in England in a matter of days not months.

“You need therapy,” Gemma said looking him up and down. He resented the way she just assumed (knew) that it was what he needed. He had been through so much in such a short amount of time. It hurt; Thinking about the events of the last five or so months, let alone the last three weeks, brought on a pain that ached him from head to toe. He felt it all the way through his bones and no amount of sleep seemed to cure him.

“I already plan on meeting with a therapist when I get back home,” he rolled his eyes. “And, I never said I didn’t like it, Mum. S’jus’ really big for a scarf.” Gemma glared at him and continued her repeated movements. Plus, the tiredness made him a bit sore on the delivery of his words.

“It’s the style,” she grumbled.

“I’ll never understand fashion,” he yawned. “M’gonna go nap.”

“Aw, honey bun, don’t you wanna hang out with us?” Anne frowned. He did. He really wanted to, but he was so tired. The jetlag from the awkwardly timed flight wasn’t helping. Not to mention he had hardly slept the week before leading up to the trip, worrying about... everything. Nightmares seemed to plague him every night. A projection of all the scenes flying by in a flash like the slideshow from hell—the message from DSS, the video from her, her hospital stay, her father, the icy water—

“What did you pick up?” Gemma asked, sensing his anxiety from just standing there in front of them on the top stoop of the porch. He had gone to the bookstore to pick up a few new releases he was waiting on and a journal. Something to help with the nightmares...and the daymares...

At least he hoped.

“Couple of books,” he murmured. The tiredness was winning over him quickly and he turned his attention from his sister back to his mum. “Jus’ need a quick nap, Mum,” he promised. He looked back at Gemma. “Then I’ll sit out here all night while y’make your sc-anket.”

“Mum, may I kill him?” Gemma asked, staring at him without an ounce of laughter on her face. Anne smirked as she continued crocheting the hat that she was making for Harry. She was insistent once she heard about the sub-artic temperatures that he was traipsing around in throughout the city...and the icy dip he had in the water.

“Sorry, Gem. I’d be really upset if you did,” the third most important woman (in number, not rank) in Harry’s life opened the front door and let herself onto the porch. She had a tray of tea and cookies in her hands. Harry grabbed it from her quickly. “Hi, baby,” she grinned sweetly over the tray. Harry smiled back at her, his heart slowing, and his bones finally felt reprieved of their deep ache for the moment. “Did you find what you were looking for at the bookstore?” She asked, shifting her weight from her bad leg to her good leg.

He nodded silently. Said nothing else.

“Ooh, tongue tied,” Anne commented as she took the tea from the tray now in Harry’s hands. She passed one each to his mum and sister. Her cheeks turned pink under their assessment of the pair of them. Harry rolled his eyes. They rather enjoyed the late-night arrival of Harry and the pretty, sweet girl holding his arm.

Gemma immediately hit him repeatedly saying it was horrible of him to not share the secret that she would be coming along. Gemma was furious that she had nothing to give her for Christmas and she would never forgive her brother for such an injustice. When he looked to Anne for help, exhausted and jetlagged, she merely shook her head at him, even though she gave him a big kiss on the cheek and hugged him for all he was worth. “No, I’m mad too,” she frowned squeezing him tightly.

“I’m not here for gifts,” she promised quickly. Even if their anger was fake, she hated it. Not after all Harry had done for her. After all he had sacrificed to get the pair of them to England. “I just...” she sighed looking at Harry whose tired smile made her so completely smitten with him, she nearly cried. “I’m so...” she looked pained to say it; nervous, too. Her mind was so tired. She felt so physically exhausted if it weren’t for Harry holding her around the waist, she may not have made it through introductions. “I couldn’t... be away from him that long. I promise I won’t even be around during the gift-opening—I’m so sorry for intruding. I’m not sure what Harry has told you...but it’s—”

Anne cut her off with a hug that made her voice die in her throat. She smelled faintly like Harry, which was a comforting notion in itself. Her hug felt like love and wisdom was seeping into her body just by being held by her. Anne kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back soothingly and she didn’t even know she needed to be soothed (at least not like this). “Thank you, for keeping him alive,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure if Harry was supposed to hear but she didn’t care. A mom was hugging her. Harry’s mom. Her perfect, lovely Harry. She was getting hugged by a mom in a way that she hadn’t felt in over seven years.

Swallowing against the emotion bubbling through her so she wouldn’t cry she squeezed her tighter and melted into her embrace. Anne didn’t seem to mind, in fact, she thought she held tighter right back.

Harry’s house might be her favorite place in the world.

She sat herself in the third seat on the porch and Harry handed her a blanket with his freehand before passing off the last cup of tea to her. He stepped inside his childhood home and dropped his bag inside the doorway. He came back outside to look at the three women he adored most and paused at the girl who had stolen every bit of his heart over the last few months. Despite everything he felt and everything they had gone through. This was truly the perfect holiday.

Night was harder, however. The first one, Harry had made sure her leg was firmly resting on a pillow beneath the blankets, he tried hard not to move her...despite his own fits of worry.

“Baby,” she murmured softly. Harry shook his head trying to shake himself out of the nightmare he was having. They started almost the moment his eyes closed, and he fell into his dream stage. “Harry, baby,” she tried again and touched his face. He could hear her gentle voice and physically felt her gentle touch but all he could mentally feel was the dread of his dream. Reliving the blood pooling around her and watching her fluttery eyes. He wasn’t fast enough. He was losing her...

He shook his head with a sharp inhale. His eyes tiredly fluttered against the dark getting rid of the last remnants of his nightmare and she stroked her thumb across his face. “M’okay. You’re okay,” she whispered. “M’here,” she promised.

Swallowing against the rock that formed in his throat he crushed her body towards his, minding her leg of course, and buried his face in her neck. “M’sorry,” he murmured his voice catching on the apology. She carded her fingers through his hair and shook her head at him.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” she whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly pressing his mouth against the pretty pulse in her neck, beating perfectly against his lips. “M’here,” she whispered.

He nodded silently. Trying to push the dream away from his mind. His pretty wildflower was okay. She was alive and in his arms. “Are y’okay?” He asked.

He felt her head nod, her chin bumping against his head still buried in the curve of her shoulder. “Just worried about you, baby.”

Sighing, he melted a bit more into her touch and words. “Did I wake you?” He asked.

She shook her head, but he didn’t love the implication she was already awake so late at night either. “Jet lag,” she murmured. “Keep dozing off and on, doesn’t feel right,” she giggled lightly. Harry thought he might start crying. That little giggle of hers made him so...

“Honey?” He asked softly into her skin. She shivered a bit, and he frowned pulling the blankets tighter around her. “Are y’comfortable?” His question had suddenly changed direction.

“Yeah, completely,” she said easily. It was too late at night for her to explain to Harry that when he called her honey she turned into a puddle of the very substance. “What’s wrong, Harry?” She asked softly.

He continued his thought before she shivered. “I love you.”

She had a very close run in with death. She wasn’t stupid. Over the last five or so months of getting to know Harry she had experienced many unfortunate happenstances. When her mom died, she was almost certain her heart stopped beating at the very same time.

But Harry saying I love you to her...? Maybe she had died, and her subconscious mind had floated to whatever version of heaven existed in this universe and Harry was just the angel that her brain conjured up.

“Kitten, love?” He murmured after a few silent seconds. Maybe she only loved him before he shot at her. Harry didn’t even love himself right now. “Y’okay?” He asked.

She nodded. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

“You don’t have t’say it, honey. Jus’ because I did. I know...what I did was...”

“No, Harry,” she shook her head. “I love you and have loved you long before I asked you to put a bullet in me.” He nodded against her skin, and she swore she felt a tear drop. She ignored it, turned slightly so she could press a kiss to whatever part of his hair she could reach. “I really, really love you,” she promised.

Harry felt so very broken by all the bad things that had happened to her since he met her. He felt responsible for every single one. He didn’t feel like he deserved her love after all that. After all the touches he denied her and all the things he failed to do to help her when she needed it most. But she loved him anyway.

He kissed her over and over until they both fell asleep.

Harry returned from the kitchen with her glass of water. He smiled sheepishly at her. Her eyes were scanning the book Harry got her from the bookstore before she dog eared the page and looked up at him. He bit the inside of his lip. “What?” She asked, her eyebrows inching toward each other. He pressed his finger there to smooth out the wrinkle. He hated the idea of her getting close to a headache.

“I tried,” he promised.

Tilting her head at him, she hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. He sounded like he was having a conversation with himself. “Tried what?”

“T’tell them that it wasn’t necessary,” he sighed and leaned back against the couch. At that moment, Gemma appeared holding a large box with neatly wrapped presents inside it. Her mouth fell open.

“Oh my God.”

“I know, I know. This probably looks ridiculous.”

At that moment, Anne appeared with another box and a Santa hat atop her head.

“Please, no,” she said putting her hands on her face to hide the blush that crept up her skin. Harry smiled getting off the couch to grab a trash bag for the wrapping paper and Gemma took his spot. She started handing out presents.

“Don’t even think about feeling weird. You brought us presents,” Gemma scowled. “That was not cool.”

She looked at the pile of presents Anne was stacking on the coffee table in addition to the presents Gemma was lining up. “You’re letting me stay here—”

“Honey bun,” Anne said with a smile. That same beautiful smile that Harry inherited from her. It was impossible not to feel comforted by it. “Just open the presents. It’s for us,” she gave a gentle wink to ease her mind.

Harry returned with a grin taking a seat beside his mom. She looked at him for help and he shook his head with a shrug. “I tried, kitten. Really. I told them it would overwhelm you,” he opened the bag ready for the paper.

Naturally, it had been a while since she had a family Christmas. Her mom was the one that did the Christmas presents, of course. Once she was gone, her dad hadn’t a clue what to get. His assistant was usually tasked with the chore and it felt obligatory and awkward whenever they exchanged gifts.

“I have all the receipts and we can go return anything you want as soon as you open them,” Gemma said. “Harry can stay here and make us dinner and we’ll go shopping.”

She felt a little awkward as they watched her open the card first. It had a certificate to get a mani-pedi inside it. “Especially after the trip to the nail salon,” Anne explained further.

Her heart was hammering against her chest. She was so overwhelmed. The tears were so close to the surface. Harry gave her an encouraging little smile nodding in affirmation. A silent gesture that this was okay. It was okay to be adored like this, and she deserved it.

Swallowing, she opened so many more presents it felt like it took hours—it didn’t but almost every gift was so carefully selected, Gemma and Anne were nearly giggling as they explained the significance of the sweater, the soft pajama set. Gemma got her a traveling kit of toiletries—for the idea she would have to come back. “With or without Harry,” she winked.

“I had to guess some of your shades, but I always have a theme for cosmetics, skin care, hair care for Gemma’s stocking and I couldn’t not get you one,” Anne smiled at the contents she emptied into her lap so she could see them all.

It didn’t feel like saying thank you was enough. Her voice was lost in her throat. Her sole focus was not crying. She saw Harry murmur something into Gemma’s ear and she shook her head in response. Harry gave her a wink and another supportive grin.

“Oh goodness, do you remember how cranky the woman was at the boutique?” Gemma asked her mother.

Anne rolled her eyes. “You did ask her a thousand questions Gemma Anne,” she reminded her.

“The first sweater I found had a stain on it, and then I wanted a different color,” she explained.

Her voice simply wasn’t working. She managed a smile and she hoped she looked grateful even though it felt so painful to be...adored like this.

“Harry said you needed a new pair of Keds,” Anne smiled as she unwrapped the box.

She looked at Harry and smiled weakly. The tears were so close to the surface it was getting almost painful. The three of them were so kind and gracious to ignore her inner turmoil and silence. Finally, she was down to two presents. Gemma smiled excitedly as she opened the second to last one. It was a crochet kit: a beginner's book, a set of hooks, and three different colored yarns.

“Mum and I wanted you to have your own set at home so you could practice,” Gemma looked so happy. “And we’re going to add you to our crocheting group chat, and we always have an extra set here for you,” she told her smiling excitedly.

Harry could see her fighting back every emotion she was feeling. She eyed that last present like it was going to kill her. He cleared his throat.

“That one’s from me,” he told her. “Last minute...had t’ship here,” he shrugged as he traded spots with Gemma. Anne kissed the top of her head, wished her a Happy Christmas, and Gemma squeezed her knee. It seemed they were going to give her a moment, finally to release all the emotions she felt.

Gemma grabbed the bag of used wrapping paper; Anne took the empty boxes. The pair of them left for the kitchen while she stared at the last present. It was wrapped in cream-colored paper with poinsettias patterned along it. It was a little lumpy looking. “M’not very good at wrapping,” he smiled sheepishly.

She knew whatever was in there was going to make her cry because it was all too much. So much. Harry and his family were perfect, and she was going to break. She pulled the paper off the object inside and she took a shaky breath as the tears blurred her vision. Sniffling, she released a choked sob and smiled through the tears that started down her cheeks at the name of her college on a cozy sweatshirt just like her old one.

“I love you,” she sniveled.

“I love you, honey,” he whispered. She dropped her head to his chest and cried against his shirt.

“I was wrong,” she told him, she was trying to talk around her broken sobs, so it was choppy. Her words were stilted and shaky, but Harry listened carefully. “After my exam?” She tried to brush her tears away so she would ruin Harry’s shirt with the salt from her tears. “This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Harry smiled kissing the top of her head and comfortingly trailed his hand up and down her back. “I’m glad, kitten,” he murmured. “Happy Christmas, love.” he whispered.

Harry was rattled again. When his eyes opened it felt like every nerve in his body was on alert and edge. His heart was so fast it felt like every blood cell in his body was simultaneously beating through every inch of his vascular system. He was completely, totally shaken. His arm reached out for her beside him, but he didn’t find her warm body there.

It wasn’t her fault that she got up to get a glass of water. Harry was sweating before he ran down the stairs to his childhood kitchen. He found her leaning against the counter casually, sipping from a glass and looking at the pictures his mum had hung on the fridge from when he and Gemma were little. He was breathless when he got to the kitchen. She heard his hurried footsteps coming down the stairs, but it was his gasping for air that broke her heart. Turning to him, she looked at him with a frown. “Baby,” she cooed sweetly.

Harry wasn’t afraid to admit he had tears in his eyes and was very close to openly sobbing. If she was in the bathroom instead of the kitchen, he might have lost his mind and maybe he would have collapsed. He knew Gemma was right; he needed therapy for all this. Bad.

He was so relieved that once more it was just a nightmare. But it was so hard to discern reality from his dreams; he lived his nightmares. There were several moments where he believed she was gone; where he lost her, and it was his fault.

He pressed his fingers around the bridge of his nose, hiding his teary vision marginally—he figured she saw it anyway.

She did.

A humorless smile fell to his lips and crossed his face in a half grimace that emphasized how shitty he really felt. “If...y’get up...can y’wake me up first?”

She sighed, her frown deepening, and then limped toward him. Quickly wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his chest so he could feel she was alive and well in his embrace. “I like that picture of you in the bunny costume,” she murmured ignoring the gloom of the moment.

He didn’t say anything. He focused on how he could feel her heart rhythmically against his own body. How her hair was a little frizzy from the pillows and snuggling so close to Harry. The way she smelled like soap. The warmth that radiated from her body to his was all he wanted to feel and focus on for... well... ever. “M’sorry I got up without telling you,” she said softly with a smirk in her voice. It was a ridiculous apology because she didn’t need to apologize. Harry was being dramatic.

“M'sorry,” he answered.

“Don’t be sorry,” she shook her head. “We’re gonna have to cope the way we need to. I will be my usual, hilarious self. And you can be mopey.”

“Oh my God,” he whispered quietly to himself.

They stood in the kitchen. Harry’s kitchen from childhood where he thought about bringing home the girl of his dreams a thousand times. Nothing compared to the feeling of holding her like this. Even if she was injured and Harry felt responsible. It felt more like home than it ever had.

“Can we go lay down? My leg is getting sore,” she asked softly. Harry scooped her up instantly. “This is very unnecessary.”

“No, s’not,” he said simply.

She smirked and pressed a kiss to the side of his face as he carried her. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he answered immediately. Once snuggled back between the covers, Harry brought her toward him, and he blindly traced her gentle features. He felt the flutter of her lashes. She was so fragile and delicate. The prettiest flower of all.

“You okay?” She asked softly.

He shook his head. “I almost lost you,” he reminded her. “Honey, it was awful.”

She nodded. She knew it had destroyed him. “I know, Harry,” she whispered quietly. “But...you could never lose me,” she promised.

He felt unwell. He was sure she wanted to sleep but it was all so very close to the surface. They had been so exhausted between their hypothermic swim and all the travel arrangements. There was hardly any time to digest what had really happened. To see from each other’s perspective.

To apologize.

“I’m so sorry, kitten.”

“Baby, you have nothing to apologize for,” she reminded him. She tucked herself against him. Eventually she would make more fun of him. Maybe even in a couple minutes—but she could feel how distressed he was; she felt it in the way he held her and how he was breathing. The poor thing.

So, for right now, she would comfort him as best as she possibly could.

“You know the nurses said you saved my life. A second longer and I would have lost too much blood.”

“S’my fault y’lost all that blood. I nearly killed you,” he mumbled.

“Baby,” she frowned. “You saved me. It was my plan. I told you to shoot me.”

He felt so utterly sad. “Kitten...”

“No, Harry seriously. It’s not your fault. Don’t you think you deserved it after I was such a brat all those months?” The humor came quicker than she thought it would. Harry didn’t bite though. He ignored her silly comment. Because no: he would never ever wish to harm her regardless of her attitude.

“Why didn’t y’tell me?” His voice sounded as tired as he felt. “I was trained for that sort of thing...I could have…love,” he sighed. He sounded as exhausted as the day they arrived, weary and falling asleep as soon as they made it to his old bedroom after saying hello to his mum and sister.

“Could have what, Harry? If I thought I could tell you, I would have, believe me. Nothing hurt me more than leaving you high and dry. Not the zip-ties, not the smack to the face, and not the gunshot. Kissing you goodbye outside the bar and not telling you my every thought wrecked me.”

He didn’t know what to say. Of course, he believed her. It was exactly the sort of thing he would expect her to say about the situation. The strength she continued to exude no matter what was admirable. But he admired her long before all this. For a moment he forgot about how he felt and imagined what it would be like if the roles were reversed. If he thought the only way to keep her safe was to just...go and not say a word to her.

That would have broken his heart maybe more than this did.

Harry was stuck between feeling guilty and knowing that she was, of course, right. Because what could he have done really? They had all the resources. They wouldn’t have believed Harry and maybe she was right. “Y’promised me y’wouldn’t run away anymore,” he reminded her. It wasn’t accusatory—not fully. He was still upset about everything. The nightmare didn’t help either.

“I’m sorry,” the gravity of her words was thick. Harry didn’t doubt she felt bad. It was obvious they both felt they had things to apologize for. But Harry didn’t think she needed to apologize. And she didn’t think Harry needed to apologize.

It seemed like years since she made the promise. When Harry had rescued her for what seemed like the umpteenth time in that park with a hurt ankle and a broken heart. “I didn’t know I needed to qualify it with a note about safety for you...” She smirked sadly in the dark. “In case it wasn’t obvious, Mr. Styles, I don’t really have anyone. You’re all there is for me. If something happened to you...” her voice cracked, and Harry could feel the vulnerability she felt. He squeezed her gently, reassuring her that he was okay. It was what she needed, and he knew that because he felt that way about her too. He had lived her vulnerability just watching her in the hospital. “You are my entire heart; completely exposed to the world without so much as a shield, Harry Styles. They would have...” she shook her head. “Who knows what they would have done to you. I would have caved so much faster if they had something on you or were going to hurt you,” she explained. “Then I would have gotten hurt. It’s a vicious cycle, baby... believe me, I know. I’m so sorry...but I had to get you away from me...for a little while. So they wouldn’t hurt you. I didn’t want to. I wanted you by my side the whole time.”

Harry didn’t know if she was right. She didn’t know either. They would never know all the what ifs, but Harry still didn’t like it. He liked it even less that she honestly made some good sense; but he was less surprised by that. “I would have figured it out, honey love,” his voice was soft.

“I know. Believe me I know, you would have. But...that wasn’t a risk I wanted to take. I didn’t want anything to happen to you,” she reminded him.

“S’not your job t’worry ‘bout my safety, kitten. You aren’t supposed t’protect me.”

“Harry,” she shook her head against him. “You’re the only thing I’ll ever protect. With my whole life. I wouldn’t do a thing differently about all this,” she pressed her hand on his chest, felt the way his heartbeat against her palm. It felt like it was beating for her.

Harry thought it was.

They were quiet. “I would do a hundred things differently,” he whispered eventually.

She couldn’t help herself. “Because you disagree with my execution? Is this about protocol? Honestly, Harry,” she joked cutely.

If he wasn’t so obsessed with her, he would have considered fake-sulking and turning away from her. But he couldn’t do a thing but hold her close to him, breathe in her pretty scent and press his lips to her forehead. Letting her ramble all her apologies and all her thought processes until they fell asleep again with Harry whispering how he didn’t need to forgive her because it wasn’t necessary. All that mattered was she was safe. Safe in Harry’s home shielding one another’s heart because their lives really felt dependent on it.

“How’s your leg, love?” Anne asked as they helped put their bags in Harry’s car. The three of them were insistent she was not to lift a thing and as much as they loved to help her give Harry a hard time, they refused to give on this. She stood idly by while they brought their things from the house to the car.

Harry wrinkled his nose thinking about that ugly wound on her thigh that he created. “S’fine,” she shrugged. “Doesn’t even hurt,” she added. Harry knew she only said that for his benefit. “I think it’s healing already.”

“I feel like you guys just got here, I’m sad you have to go back,” Gemma pouted.

“Me too,” she frowned. “I like it here, Harry,” she told him.

He wanted to say he would move her here and put every vine of flowers in her possession if she’d like. Because his previous supervisor was now in a jail cell, everyone at DSS got shifted around in positions. Niall was a bit higher up and able to give Harry some details on what was in store for him when he got back. “We...well, I suggested you just...be her private agent,” he smirked into the phone. “Figured you probably weren’t going to be leaving her alone anyway. May as well get paid for it.”

But Harry didn’t want to get paid to be around her, he wanted a normal relationship with her. But with her father under some serious allegations and court trials on the way, it was likely she was no longer going to be an entity for DSS. So... What was he supposed to do?

For now, it was waiting on her hand and foot.

“We’ll come back soon,” he offered.

“You should come visit though!” She smiled excitedly. This was everything Harry could ever have hoped for: a beautiful girl that got along with his family. Someone that liked England. Someone intelligent and perfect.

He just had to go and put a bullet hole in her.

“Harry, try not to injure the poor girl,” Gemma said knowingly giving him a hug and rubbing his back soothingly. Harry sighed bitterly hugging her back. “Stop wallowing, she’s not sad about it,” she murmured in his ear.

“It’s okay honey bun,” Anne smiled as she kissed his cheek. “She’s here because of you.”

She wasn’t privy to either of their little whispers and while she of course was very aware of how hurt Harry was by the whole situation, she did her best to ignore it. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t anticipated. It was obvious she trusted Harry.

Anne turned his attention to the girl that stole her son’s heart. “You, take really good care of yourself,” she said pointedly and pressed her lips on her forehead. She longed so terribly for her own mother. She sucked the back of her cheeks between her teeth so she could keep from sobbing before she left. “Harry wants you in one piece. So do I,” she said firmly and squeezed her for so long she thought they might miss their flight.

But she would be damned if she was going to pull away first.

Harry smirked at the pair of them. “Ready, kitten?”

She wasn’t sure. She imagined her dad was about to face the shock of his life. Harry’s supervisor was still working while Niall built a silent case against him: collecting papers, emails, documents, anything he could get his hands on. She was starting her TA position in a week. There would be physical therapy, more studying, regular therapy, and all she could think about was how she needed to move all her things into Harry’s apartment so she could properly decorate it with hundreds of wildflowers for the upcoming spring.

But Harry was holding his hand out waiting for her to take it and so of course she took it, squeezed his fingers between hers. “If you are,” she smiled softly.

They had been standing in line for Customs for twenty minutes. Niall had made sure they didn’t have to wait in long lines but there was only so much that could be done during an international flight. It was the first time Harry had ever been escorted anywhere. He was usually the one doing the escorting. She leaned her head against his chest as he draped an arm around her shoulders. “I wish this line would move faster,” she murmured. He kissed the top of her head.

“Y’okay, Miss Wildflower?”

“My leg is sore,” she shrugged one shoulder casually. Harry glanced down to see the way she bent at the knee to keep the pressure off it. He frowned; he hated the way she brushed it off so effortlessly. Like it wasn’t all that painful.

“Have I said sorry today?” Pulling her closer so more of her weight rested against Harry and her good leg. He should have gotten her a wheelchair or something.

“If I say yes, will you stop apologizing for today?”

He smirked, kissed the top of her head again. “M’sorry, love,” he murmured.

She rolled her eyes. “Literally, asked you to shoot me,” she grumbled.

“Don’t ever ask me t’do that again either. That was awful.”

She shrugged. “I really didn’t see any other way and, may I remind you, it worked.”

He sighed, shaking his head at her. “Y’nearly bled out,” he reminded her.

“You do realize I’m alive right? Thanks to you?” He stayed silent. Sure, she was alive but now she’d have a nasty scar to look at to remind her that he put a bullet through her leg and nearly killed her in the process. He winced as he thought about all that blood and how traumatized he had been—begging and crying in the hospital to every deity he could remember by name for her to be okay. “If you’re going to be weird, I’m going to start escaping again.”

“I’d like t’see y’try on with that leg,” he muttered.

“Oh, okay, so we can joke now,” she gave him a squeeze as she sank further toward his embrace. Normally she would be concerned about the pressure of her weight, but Harry didn’t mind in the slightest (and of course he never did either). She probably could have asked him to hold her and carry her to their seats on the plane.

“Do not joke ‘bout it,” he grumbled knowing full and well that she would be joking about it all the time.

He wished Niall sprung for early boarding access. He wanted her off her feet so she could rest. The wait to board felt endless. She was gazing around the airport at all the people. Harry wondered if she would spy some child that needed her help like she did when she was in Target months ago. But nothing in particular seemed to catch her eye. “Favorite sport?” She asked softly turning her attention to him.

Harry sighed, hating how casual she was about all this, but what was he to do except answer her? “Tennis.”

“Hmm...never would have guessed. We should play sometime. I’ll wear a cute tennis outfit that leaves very little to the imagination,” she smiled seductively, and Harry couldn’t help but smirk. She knew exactly what she was doing and knew just the cure for his melancholic disposition. “Favorite fruit?”

Feeling marginally better, he answered immediately. “Bananas.”

It occurred to her right that second, that she had never asked the most obvious “favorite” question. One that she should have asked back when Harry was tending to her injured ankle. When she promised to be really nice to Harry. She smiled to herself and looked up at him through those lashes that made him crazy and crazier for her. “Favorite flower?” Her voice was so sweet, Harry could practically taste honey as she spoke.

Harry smiled. His eyelids drooped a bit gazing at her lazily. The question pushed all the bad thoughts out of his mind. His face seemed so at ease after he had been stressed for so long, so guilt-ridden. It was nice to think he wasn’t worried about protocol for a change. That he wasn’t thinking about her scar or anything else. They were just two regular people enjoying a moment at the airport. His smile was so sweet and warm, she felt like she was sunbathing. She was certain he radiated the same solar energy as the sun. She would gladly bask in his aura all day. They wouldn’t even need to speak. Harry cupped her face between his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead. If she were sick, she was positive just his touch would heal her. He lightly brushed his thumbs over her cheeks and bumped his nose against hers. When he spoke, his lips got closer and closer to hers. He planned on kissing her until they could finally board.

“Wildflower, definitely wildflower.”

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aconflagrationofmyown · 2 years ago

Text

Even Educated Fleas Do It

A Sarge & lil Mama episode (wedding night)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now it’s all hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dodger was saying—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Birds do it, bees do it

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

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

-Even educated fleas do it,

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

-So let’s do it, let’s fall in love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That so?” she asks, utterly sarcastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It has a rather startling effect on her young husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who was he to deny her?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, why? it had been so lovely…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

E.P.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He aimed his cock into her waiting hand and watched with barely suppressed desire as her palm rolled over the rip and her nails gently raked across his veins as she moved to grip him and point him where she wanted him. There was a lewd sucking noise this time when he went in, like her body was finally trying to swallow him willingly, and he saw her head toss on the mat, dainty fingers woven into gold shag and her neck craned back to see him as he pressed in deep. Her face was flushed deep red and the makeup had worn off and she looked so innocent, so young beneath him, a single curl plastered dark and wet against her cheek from the bath. He’d unmade her, turned her back to her simplest form. He snapped his hips, lost his mind, noticed happily how her hand went to her hip and joined his there. He held onto it like a handle and jerked her back on him again and again, her cheek rubbing against the mat and her teeth sinking into her other fist to hush her cries. Those cries of hers, maybe something was very sick inside him that he liked them so much but he did, he did and he worked hard to draw more from her just as he dreamed of this, dreamed of her fluttering pink hole trying to take more and her eyes rolling back from the fatigue of it, her body unable to deny him.

“My poor belly,” he thought he heard her whimper, yet unsure he reached down and pulled her fist away from her mouth, it pushed him deeper in, bent her more starkly, speared her cervix, “Oh god, my belly, my poor belly.” she kept saying for sure this time.

“You alright, Lany?” he draped over her and brushed the damp strands off her face, her face that was red and splotchy from sensation and blood flow. She gave him a whimpering nod.

“You’resodeep” she accused him even as he felt her squeeze and shake around his girth, her mouth gaping for a brief moment at the unexpected little pleasure. “My poor belly.” she said it over and over again and he couldn’t stop. It was more just a bewildered mantra to comfort herself, as her mind betrayed her and wanted him but her body was so well used that was she was just…taking it

“You poor little thing,” he cooed, making sure to move slow and deep in a way that had them both shaking and stepping into madness, bent all over her bent frame himself, “you’re takin’ my cock so well, so obedient, never was a more righteous wife, never was, you’re a goddamn wonder, that’s what you are. I’ll thank God for ya every day.”

His praise always soothed her and he kept it up, not even sure what he was saying anymore as he chased his own release, focused on the bent little thing beneath him and the way it made her waist look minuscule in this position, her pink face, too. At one point he saw tears instead of bath splash on her face and as he felt himself begin to spurt he shushed her the best he could with the first thing that came to mind:

“Don’t cry Tink, please don’t cry.”

The nickname tickled her consciousness like a feather on the neck, some goosey thrill that tickled up her spine and added to the satisfied throb between her legs as he splashed hot and thick inside her.

“Tink?” she thought she had asked him, bewildered and charmed to have been christened. Maybe her words got lost in the bath mat.

He did not answer her, must’ve not heard her at all, but picked her up with his own shaking arms and like a couple of bambi's they toddled into the massive bed, throwing themselves under the covers quite unceremoniously. He tried to swat at the lamp as if that would turn it off, and realizing she was the more capable of the two -he seemed almost insensibley drained by that last encounter- she leaned over his chest and pulled at the lamp string, dousing the glow that surrounded them, only to realize dawn was splashing a violet haze through the crack of the window curtains.

“Good morning, Mrs. Presley.” he had teased softly, noticing the dawn too, his head tilted on the pillow to watch her shut off the lamp.

“Good morning, husband.” she murmured, wriggling on top of him as he held her fast, arms locked over her back and her head pillowed on his chest.

This cuddling was familiar, this drowsy holding of each other until he stilled and fell asleep, an art she had perfected since his mama died. But now she was the woman in his life, and strangely now that the hunger had been glutted and abated, they entwined around each other like babes or twins in a womb, this naked closeness the most natural of assurance in the world. Something Elvis had been missing since his brother had left him, since Jesse entered the world before him and chose not to stay and endure it with him, fell into place.

My sister! My spouse! -King Solomon had called his lover, and Elvis had felt that supremely odd when snooping through the Song of Songs as a boy. But now he knew -too many roles did she fill to be confined to one, and Elvis felt tempted as Elaine fell asleep atop him to whisper, “my brother, my spouse!” into her hair.

Sometime later, when deep unconscious, dreamless sleep had possessed them and held them fast, but not a long enough time for Elvis to be remotely cheerful about it, a obnoxious clanging sound broke in on their peaceful repose. Elaine jerked awake atop him with a startled little squeak and he put his hand to the back of her head to shush her, encouraging her to lay her cheek back on his shoulder. The noise resounded again and this time he was lucid enough to determine it was coming from outside the bedroom door.

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

Elaine huffed and rubbed her tired face into his chest, his sparse hairs there tickling her nose and making her sneeze. That made him laugh and with neither able to keep up the pretense of sleep, they raised their heads and looked towards the door with matching, raised and unimpressed eyebrows of displeasure.

“If this is the boys idea of a practical joke,” he growled with sleepy morning grit in his voice, “they won’t be boys much longer.”

“Will ya put them in boxes and give them to me?” she inquired and he realized with a self satisfied smirk that her melodic voice had gone hoarse from all the screaming he’d made her do the night before.

“Heavens Mrs. Presley,” he marveled, “ya sure have gotten comfy askin’ for things -I like it.”

“I could think of a thing or two I want right now.” she bit her lip and her eyes slanted hungrily and some scared part of him that worried she wouldn’t want this as much as he did got buried teen feet below the earth, locked away forever.

“Breakfast?” he acted dumb even as she propped herself up on his chest and gingerly tried rolling her hips along his thickening shaft, hissing at the soreness of her own petals.

The sheets falling away from her and pooling round her hips like some goddess that had condescended to come down to earth and make use of her spied after Adonis, Elaine was ethereal and happy and Elvis sank his head back into the pillow and watched her, wishing to pinch himself but the roll of his foreskin against her bud told him it was real. “Breakfast and water, breath mints and fresh air-“ she listed while speeding up and causing his cock to begin to weep and slick her way along-

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

“What?” he yelled fearsomely at the door and she shivered in spooked delight at his temper.

“I’m comin’ in wi’ breakfast,” came Mary’s unmistakable drawl through the door and to his horror he watched the gilt knob begin to turn, “y’all’s best disentangle yo’selves cause I done waited till two in the afternoon to feed yous, and I ain’t taking chances for waitin’ any longer-“ Mary stepped into the room about at the same second Elaine accomplished a dismount and roll that the would have made the marine corps proud, diving beneath the covers, only a bride sized lump to be seen by the cook as she came in with a heavy laden tray, her ingenious cowbell left behind in the hall. “Lawd Mr. Elvis, you’re wearing that loved on look just nicely, if you’ll lemme say so.” she admired his marital blush and scratched shoulders as only a proud auntie could, “Miss Elaine, you best come outta ‘der, I got bagels and cream cheese, jus’ as you like.”

“Oh Mary, you didn’t!” Came Elaine’s moan of appreciation beneath the bedding and it was altogether too close to his pelvis for Elvis’ sanity, “You’re much too good to us, you know that?” Elaine wriggled till just her head peeked out and bestowed on Mary a smile of such adoration the lady forgot the ache in her arms from carrying the tray upstairs.

“Yeas, well, wouldn't do to have y’all’s dying of malnourishment.” she huffed bashfully patting Elvis’ beet red cheeks while unconsciously setting the trey in his stiff lap.

He groaned. In appreciation for the eggs and burnt bacon, Elaine had to presume.

“Don’t you take your fill again till you’ve taken your fill, you get what I mean?” she wagged her fingers at them, first at Elvis, then at his bride as if she was second guessing who here was the more likely instigator, the groom seemingly meek and the bride grinning altogether too widely than was proper. Delighted, Mary couldn’t help her matching one, “Eat up.” She nodded, backing away while eying them suspiciously, as if at any minute they might overturn her carefully prepared victuals and begin to maul eachother anew.

“Wouldn’t think of letting it get cold!” Elvis assured her adamantly and to prove his point, stuck a bagel into his bride's mouth before getting into the eggs himself.

Satisfied, Mary left them and shut the door. They heard when she picked up her cowbell and the retreating sound of her footsteps down the hall assured Elvis it was safe. He moved the platter off his lap as if it were scorching him, flinging the offending sheets off his erection and patting his thighs, jerking his chin at a wide eyed Elaine.

“I’m a very talented man, I’ll have ya know,” he told her as she settled in his lap, his chest pressed to her back, “I can feed and fill ya at the same time.”

“So,” she began genially as she wiggled him in and got comfy, sucking cream cheese off his fingers and taking advantage of his compromised blood flow, “Is Tinkerbell gonna my nickname?”

Elvis choked on his bacon, and proceeded to cough into a pillow case. “I’ve no idea what you're on about.” he denied.

“Hey,” she grinned at him without wavering, “if you can enjoy splitting me in half, I can enjoy a nickname that outs ya for bein’ a lil nasty about it, hmm?” and she chucked his chin.

She -she had a point, Elvis supposed. “Sure, Tink, whatever you say, Tink.” he droned.

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