#my perfect birdie boy

[irregularbillcipher]

this year's @lisadigitalzine, "olathe, 199X" is finally out, meaning i can post my piece!

everybody's work for this project was so incredible, i really recommend checking everyone else's pieces out if you haven't already!

#lisa rpg #lisa the painful #birdie hall #birdie nash hall #i realized that i had somehow never drawn birdie with his boys outside of character design refs and very quick doodles #which seemed like a travesty considering *gestures towards all my birdie posting* #so! the pre-flash zine theme gave me the perfect opportunity

[eddiesxangel]

The Kissing Booth | E.M x G!N!Reader

Cw: flufffffff, mild angst on Eddie’s part. Smooching. Reader wears lipgloss. No use of pronouns.

Wc 1.4K

Eddie could not believe this was happening to him.

“Nope, nope, no way, man. Over my dead body-“

“What my boy means is he is grateful he is not being suspended and will graciously accept his punishment of volunteering at the school fair.” Wayne looks at his nephew with a glare in his eyes that Eddie hasn’t seen in a very long time.

“Great, then it’s settled,” Ms. Laughlin, the guidance councillor, smiles.

It was happening. Eddie was being served the most gruesome punishment, and all because he skipped P.E. of all classes.

Eddie Munson was being forced not only to participate in the school fair but to work the kissing booth, of all things.

How on earth would he survive this? Not only would he be the laughingstock of the school, but he would also have to endure the absolute embarrassment of having no one come up to his booth, and he would also have to be forced to participate in extracurricular activities.

“Just wait until Hellfire hears about this boy,” Wayne laughs as he drives him and Eddie back to the trailer.

All Eddie could do was roll his eyes; he could never show his face again.

“You’re not going to believe the rumour I heard today.” Nancy looks at you from over her shoulder. She is sat at your vanity.

“What?” You asked, intrigued, as you got dressed and got ready for tonight’s festivities.

“A little birdy told me that a certain someone is working the kissing booth tonight.” She smirks.

“Who?” You challenge her back.

“Who, what?” Robin walks into the bedroom from the bathroom.

“Nancy knows who is working one of the kissing booths tonight, but who’s telling me” you pout.

“Ohhhhhhhh,” Robin smirks knowingly.

“Oh, not you, too! Come on, who is it!”

Robin and Nancy give one another a nod of the head before Nancy speaks.

“Eddie Munson.”

“Ha ha, very funny; you think I’m going to believe that? How gullible do you think I am?” You snort.

“No, it’s true! Shelly from the student council told me when we were working on the student paper! Instead of detention, this is his punishment, to help out at the fair tonight.” She wiggled her brows at you suggestively.

“Who else’s working it?” You try and ask casually.

Your friends knew about your crush on Eddie. It had been about a month since you confessed to one of your late-night sleepovers.

“Um, I’m not too sure what other guy, but I think Chrissy is working the girl's booth. Nancy shrugged.

“Cool…cool…” you turned to the closet, now faced with a sense of anxiety to find the perfect top.

Eddie was actually dying on the inside. Ten minutes until his “shift” at the booth, and he wanted to book it.

Running away would solve his problems, right? He would much rather be suspended than have to endure this humiliation. This was a cruel and unusual punishment.

He watched from the sidelines as Josh was at the booth currently. He was the senior star quarterback on the football team. Everyone wanted him. He could just see now the long line disbursing once he stood there.

"Hey man, you're up next in 5." Eddie was snapped out of his internal monologue when he felt a hand resting on his shoulder. He wasn't sure how long he had been there stewing with his own thoughts. "Don't worry, it's not all bad. Some customers are cute," Josh smirks.

Oh god. What if he actually had to kiss someone tonight? He hadn’t thought of that option. Like, what if some actually came up? What would he do? Are they expecting tongue?

“You have some gum or something?” He asked quickly before Josh left.

He smirked and tossed him a pack of icy mint.

“Thanks.”

Eddie peaked around the corner to where the booth was set up. The fair was set up on the school football field. There was a small sign that said be back in 5 and no lineup to be seen.

That made Eddie feel a bit better; no one was there. That took some humility out of it.

Before Eddie could back out and run, he felt another hard hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Munson, your time to shine.” Jeff and Gareth practically dragged Eddie to the booth, kicking and screaming.

“You’re the worst friends ever,” Eddie huffed as they backed away from the booth. Watching him so he won’t run away.

“You can't serve the time and shouldn’t do the crime.” Jeff laughed.

“That’s not-“ Eddie was cut off mid-sentence as he saw Robin and Nancy pushing you towards the booth just like he had been moments ago.

“Don’t make me do this,” you plead with your best friends.

“You have to do it,” “It’s now or never,” “He’s right there. Just have him your ticket and pucker your lisp. It’s not that hard,” Robin and Nancy whispered in your ear as they dragged you towards Eddie.

“You guys, please, I can’t!” You say a bit too loudly as you fight back your friends from pushing you up to the booth.

You can see the look on Eddie’s face as you are pushed up the step of the booth. He looks disappointed? Disgusted? You’re not too sure.

You let out an embarrassing squeal as you stumbled in front of Eddie. “Um hi”

Despite not being well-acquainted with Eddie, you couldn't help but notice him whenever he walked by. You only exchanged a few words in passing and learned about him through your friends. Although you never had the opportunity to spend time together, you found him to be irresistibly charming and incredibly good-looking. Whenever you caught a glimpse of him in the cafeteria, he never failed to bring a smile to your face with his silly antics and infectious laughter.

“Uh hey,” he spoke back, clearly uncomfortable.

“Busy night for you?” You ask, trying to delay the inevitable.

“Uh nope.”

“Good,” you smile; the thought of Eddie kissing anyone else made you want to vomit.

“Good?” He cocks a brow at you. “The thought of nobody wanting to come up to the freak of Hawkins High is good to you?”

“Oh I didn’t mean it like-“

“Why are you even here?”

“Oh- well- I um-"

“No, I get it. You’re just here on a dare, or you lost the bet, right? I really thought better of Nancy and Robin; I thought they were my friends… You know I heard you say you can’t do this. I understand the thought of kissing me is so terrible that-“

You couldn't help but cut off Eddei from his intrusive thoughts. You held his face with both hands and smushed your lips together. The thought of Eddie thinking that about you was far worse than the fear of kissing him.

It wasn't everything you had dreamed of. However, the kiss was still nice. You felt the eruption of butterflies fill your stomach as Eddie deepened this kiss himself. You kissed him until you could no longer breathe. Only then is when you pull away.

“Woah”

“I hope that was okay.” You shy away.

“Yeah.” Eddie sighed as he took you in.

As he gazed upon you, he was struck by how pretty you were, which he had overlooked until now. The sweet aroma of strawberries wafted from you as the strawberry lipgloss lingered on his lips, just below his nose.

“Um, here,” you jut out your hand with the crinkled ticket you hadn't yet paid with.

“Oh no, no, the house,” Eddie said without thinking and that made you giggle.

“Well, I really only bought a ticket for this, so I might as well cash it in.” you flirt.

“Ok, yeah, sure. Two for one.” Eddie took the ticket from your hand and brought it back to cup your cheek before kissing you again.

You could hear the giggles and cheers of your friends from behind you in the distance, but your main focus was on Eddie. His soft, plush lips. His minty taste, the way his soft hair tickled your cheeks.

“Ok, lovebirds, that’s enough.” the supervising teacher returned with an unimpressed huff.

You begrudgingly pulled away, but with a smile nonetheless.

“Can I get your number?” Eddie’s mouth was moving before his brain could catch up.

“Come find us later, lover boy.” Robin giggled while snatching your arm and pulled you away before you could answer.

“Dude!” Gareth clapped his hands, having witnessed the whole thing.

“Maybe we should sign up for this,” Jeff laughed. A little jealous of what he just witnessed.

After you, Eddie didn’t care if he got another customer for the rest of the night. Maybe this whole kissing booth thing wasn’t too bad after all.

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson fluff #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x male reader #Eddie Munson imagine

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hiii how are you? Could i please request a jealousy fic with jason and dick, like how would they react? What would they do about it? I'm sorry its reallyyy cliche, but i love it anyway💕

Hi anon! I’ve been fine, been taking lots of power naps whenever I can, especially after work, but I’ve fine.

Jason’s jealously more or less comes from a place of insecurity.

He fears that one interaction with the right guy/ girl/ whomever would be enough to make you see that there were better options out there than him.

He never doubts your loyalty to him, never. He wasn’t that pathetic. He just didn’t trust everyone else that even looked at you in the same light as he did on the daily, and it was extremely evident when Jason didn’t like the looks of someone; Furrowed brows over narrowed judging eyes, his form practically towering over you protectively as he stares down the person whom he believes might take you from him.

His protectiveness tends to spike up periodically the moment he see the person get a little too close for comfort and he would clench his jaw to prevent himself from saying something he might regret later on; Jason tries to restrain himself for your sake but it was blatantly obvious that he was on the brink of exploding.

So when you both got home Jason didn’t waste any time in letting you know how he felt during the entire interaction after having forced himself to hold his own tongue.

‘Did you find that person attractive?’ He’d ask.

‘No.’ you said. ‘were you jealous?’

‘I thought me staring down the poor bastard was evident enough.’ Jason scoffs and you hugged his waist all the while pressing reassuring kisses at the base of his neck, when his hands reached to hold yours and intertwine your fingers together.

‘I know that you know I love you very much, no one else catches my eye when I have you,’ you reassured as you pressed another kiss to his neck, ‘my beautiful boy, my beautiful jay birdie.’ You added in a whisper as Jason felt the last remnants of jealously fade away into the background with every kiss you gave him.

‘Are you sure you can see yourself being with me? long term I mean.’ He then says as he squeezed your hands in his search of comfort from you and it broke your heart when he didn’t see himself the way you did, but you were more then willing to kiss and cuddle away his troubles if it meant reminding him of his worth.

‘Without question.’ You confidently told him, squeezing his hands. ‘I don’t see myself with anyone else but you because even though you may not think it, you are more then enough and you are not broken, to me you are whole and you are perfect.’ You finished by pressing a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades and resting your head there as you focused on his breathing.

‘Can…can we just forget about all this and just cuddle like any other cliche couples do?’ Jason asked, finding himself feeling a lot better upon hearing you laugh against his back as a smile crossed his face.

‘Sure big guy.’ You replied. ‘We can go cuddle now.’

And with that Jason was quick to pick you up in his arms and carry you off towards the bedroom where you inevitably feel asleep in the other’s arms, happy and content.

Dick wasn’t one to speak up on his emotions much, which was something that he knew he could better work on for the sake of your relationship with him.

He’s seen himself in the mirror. He knows his own appeal very well but physical appearance were secondary to you as it was his personality that won you over in the end. However he knew that beauty was subjective and that one day you might come across someone more physically appealing than him.

He’d act as though nothing was wrong but if you could easily tell something was off by just his stance alone, crossed arms over chest and a look in his eyes, as though he was trying to deduce the person you were trying to have a civil conversation with.

He may stand close to you and put a hand on your waist or throw an arm over your shoulders, pull you into his side and press a kiss to your forehead with a smile plastered across his face, but he wouldn’t say a word in hopes that would be enough to get across to the person that you were very much taken.

Upon arriving home however, Dick acts he wasn’t even remotely jealous to begin with, despite the glaring fact that he very much was.

‘Me? Jealous?’ He asks incredulously but upon seeing your face, he knew that this act of his had long since stopped working the moment you grew the ability to read him.

‘Yes, you were and you weren’t even trying to make it discreet at all.’ You told him as you settled aside your things on the kitchen counter and sighed. ‘I just wish you would talk to me about these things so that we could get this together like couples should.’

Dick frowned as he moved next to you and gently took your hand in his own, caressing it. ‘I know and I’m sorry that I haven’t been more open and honest with you it’s just-‘

‘You find it difficult to do so I know.’ You cut him off, looking him in the eyes. ‘I don’t blame you for that and I never would, you know that but I just wished that you trust me more to speak to me about these things.’ You tell him as you squeezed his hand. ‘I only want to help you.’

Dick kisses your forehead. ‘I know you do and I appreciate it very much.’ He whispered against your skin. ‘I just don’t know what you see in me sometimes, nor do I understand how you could have possibly put up with me as long as you have given how closed off I can be sometimes.’ He adds as he pulls away, his heart weighing heavily in his chest as he awaits your response.

‘I stay with you because I love you stupid.’ You said softly as you bumped his shoulder with your own. ‘And maybe because Hayley is too cute a pup to ever leave.’

‘I had a feeling Hayley was a major factor in you staying.’ Dick laughed. ‘Can’t say I blame you though, she is indeed very cute.’ He adds as he looks over at the staffy, who was very much fast asleep in her little bed in the living room before looking back to you with gentle eyes. ‘But I’m glad that you did stay. I love you too, dummy.’ He utters softly as he nudged you with his shoulder, vowing to himself to do better by you from this day forth.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #jason todd imagines #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fluff #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x you #nightwing fluff #nightwing imagines #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #red hood x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagines

[periprose]

Fly Away

Michael Berzatto x Reader

You're a family friend of the Berzattos and you're invited to have fun at their annual Christmas dinner. You think you still harbor feelings for Carmy, but as the evening progresses, you feel something for his brother.

Genre: friends to lovers, former crush on carm, really everything w carm is mostly platonic, unrequited stuff, insecurities, age gaps (reader and carm are 25, Michael is 38), takes place in 2017, takes place in S2E6, lots of angst, anxiety, some fluff, no use of y/n (you have a nickname: Birdie)

Word count: 11k

There’s a bauble and trinket everywhere you look. Festive, Christmas spirit seems to ebb from the very walls of the Berzatto household– and you would be remiss not to compliment it vocally in some way.

Donna is clearly waiting, teetering on a response from you as you take everything in from the front door. And you know how she reacts if you don’t say things in that perfect, supportive tone that she so desperately thrives off of.

“Wow, Mrs. Berzatto!” You clasp your hands, trying not to seem too cloying or ironic. “I love what you’ve done with the house. Such an eye for details.”

“Oh, stop.” She giggles, and lightly taps your shoulder as she takes your coat and hangs it up in the closet. 

“No, really. I wish my house was so… Christmassy this time of year.” You shrug, knowing that your dad isn’t the festive type after divorcing your mother.

“Aw. Well, we have love to spread here.” It’s a strange unseen sympathy coming from Donna, and she pulls you inside, and you take off your shoes, shuffling around in your socks and your comfy, hopefully chic, green loose turtleneck sweater. “Except you might have to wait a bit, because some of these fuckers are late.”

There’s that bitter tone you remember from Donna. You don’t really care for that– you tend to have an avoidant personality especially with how your own mother acts sometimes– and she yells out for Carmy and Mikey to greet you.

“Boys! Birdie’s here!” She calls from the stairs, and you suddenly feel self conscious.

Ever since your dad, a former co-worker and friend of Cicero’s, starting taking you as a teenager to these Berzatto hangouts, you have always had a eye for Carmen. It was hard not to be, seeing this bashful, slightly angry, awkward boy, around the same age as you, with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. You felt like sometimes, he really, really listened to you, and that was all you needed.

You wish you could be there for him too. 

It’s something you’ve never acted on, never bothered to actually approach him about– he always seemed so absorbed by his own thing.

You relished in the fact that he never had a girlfriend. You felt secure in that, because he just seemed safe. And it’s not like he would’ve been mean about rejecting you if he knew– you were always close to the Berzatto siblings. You were Bear and Birdie, ready to head out on a walk together, while the adults gossiped and drank.

Of course, you haven’t seen him in about… two years now. Around after he left to his apartment, and did his chef-education-training (you’re a bit vague on the details, honestly), and ever since then, as far as you know he’s slowly been doing what he loves. He does text you from time to time, but you’d be overstating those texts’ importance if you pretended it really quantified a relationship.

Mikey clambers down the stairs, wearing what looks to be pajamas, or very chill homebody clothes, and he raises his arm in a big, Italian gesture.

“Oh! Is that little Bird I see?” He exclaims, and pulls you into an eager hug. Maybe a little too eager– you think it’s almost as if you’re comforting him as you hug him back, his face coming down onto your shoulder, as he encapsulates you– and he pulls away, grinning.

He actually looks really good. You don’t know when you started thinking that Mikey was good looking, but it’s true– he has a certain, rough around the edges appeal that you find yourself drawn to.

“Merry Christmas. You’ve been keeping away from us.” Mikey points as you, intended as a stern remark, but you snort.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas. I’ve been busy with work and law school, Michael. I’m not a kid anymore.” You resist the urge to comment on his beard, and then do it anyways. “Are you sure I’ve been keeping away? You’re the one with a hermit-ass beard.”

“Oh… they grow up and just start taking shots at you, don’t they, Ma?” Mikey places his hand over his heart, as if he’s wounded, and Donna shakes her head in agreement, before heading back to the kitchen, already seeming annoyed about something. “Beards are fashionable in 2017, Bird. Maybe come back to our current time– no reason for you to start dressing like a grandma already.”

You scoff at that, pointing at your sweater. “It’s semi-formal, c’mon! It looks nice. Respect the gathering’s rules.”

“It’s my house, babe.” Mikey leans in with maybe a little too much comfort, his eyes shining with some warmth, mirth even, and you don’t exactly pull away– the guy is like thirteen years older than you, and even if he does kid around, play up an older brother thing, you’ve started feeling like he’s restraining something more as of late, maybe some primal level of attraction that he knows better than to mess around with. You know that the feeling is kind of mutual– but you really don’t know how to quantify it. “I’m man of the house, and I say you should wear something that maybe, uh, shows off the pretty twenty-five year old that you are.”

The last part of this sentence has you swallowing a little, and you feel your face turning warm, and Mikey himself looks embarrassed that he’s said it, that he’s given a bit of evidence to your theories– he seems to brush something off, inside himself. 

You have never thought you were all that. You’ve always been pretty sure you should be glad that you’ve gotten by without having to worry about your looks. The idea of wearing a nice, somewhat revealing dress to the Berzattos’ house has you cringing, because you know it would just be… bad. 

“I’m not–” Mikey scowls at himself and you can visibly see himself fighting something, looking a little anxious, and you tentatively grasp his forearm.

“I know what you mean. I’m not offended.” You smile slightly, making the effort to calm him down a little, because you would never want Michael to beat himself up over you (he really seems to do that as of late and you know you’re not worth the trouble), and he nods and inhales. “You look good, too.”

“Right. Right on, Birdie. You can do what you want, anyways. Not up to me.” He seems to really dial back some of what he said, and before you can respond, Carmy walks downstairs.

“Hi. Hey, Birdie. Merry Christmas.” He says, kind of quietly, and you find yourself somewhat happy to hear him say your nickname again. Carmy looks especially nice– deep blue has always been his colour, it brightens up his eyes– and he has slightly longer hair than you remember. 

He leans in for a brief but firm hug, and glances at your eyes once, before looking towards the floor again.

Mikey nods and proceeds to exit to the kitchen, and you’re left with Carmy grappling with what to say.

“How have you–”

“How’s law sch–”

Carmy coughs awkwardly, and you find your face turning warm as he looks towards you.

“Sorry, Bear.” You let him speak, hoping not to scare him away. “How’s everything? You okay?”

“Yeah. Uh… well, I’ve been training at Copenhagen?” He furrows his brows, runs his hand through his hair. “Just learning as much as I can.”

“Oh. Uh-huh.” Your curiosity is piqued– you didn’t know he was in Denmark, much to your disappointment– but you want to pry more of an answer out of him. He doesn’t seem interested in talking about it more than that. 

“Sorry. Sorry. Stupid answer, there’s just not much to say.” Carmy shrugs, and then realizes suddenly that you’ve been standing at the foyer of the house for quite some time now, which isn’t very polite or inviting of him. “Wait, hold on. Let’s go sit inside and talk.”

Carmy makes some offhand comment about how you need to speak up sometimes and stop being so nice and accommodating to idiots like him, and you snicker, knowing that this is the Carmy you remember– snarky, ready to fight people on sometimes, even if he is a little weird and bashful. Although he’s short– he makes up for it with his resilience.

Carmy leads you through golden-lit hallways, a certain pepperminty, pine tree scent seeming to overlay the entire house, and there’s bushels and wreathes and mistletoe everywhere, and somehow even more baubles, ornaments, trinkets, knickknacks, all gold and red and warm tones that do make you feel a little fuzzy.

Carmy sits you down in the living room, on the sofa, and you’re next to him, and you place a foot under your knee, trying to feel casual. Not freaking out about him sitting right next to you. Weirdly enough… you don’t think you feel anything anxiety inducing. 

Perhaps you’re just getting more reassured of yourself with age. 

“So? How is Copenhagen, otherwise? I know Denmark is really interesting, but you’re probably busy with chef stuff, huh?” You prod just a little further. Just out of your own personal curiosity to see how far Carmy will go for you, and he nods. “Any friends?”

“Ah…” Carmy winces a little. “Can’t say if he’s a friend yet, but there is this guy that’s out of this world with pastries. I don’t know if I can meet his standard on that.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. “Bear, you make my dad cookies all the time. Or, well, you used to. You can’t be that bad at it, considering that he always eats all of them.”

“Oh, really? Fuck, man.” Carmy looks at you in disbelief, settling more into his corner of the couch, closer to the tree, but looking more openly at you. You feel yourself cower a little under his watchful gaze. “I didn’t know your dad enjoyed them that much… I would’ve made more. Did you ever try them?”

“Hm?” You were getting lost in the details around Carmy– the dark blue shirt, the little bits of stubble around his jaw, the tattoos peeping out from under his long sleeves– and you nod. “Ah, I tried a batch around the last time you gave him some. I think it was… macadamia, matcha, white chocolate? Really good.”

Carmy is unreadable, his eyes flickering from the ground to your eyes– you think maybe you’ve embarrassed him a little– but he thanks you. “Where is your dad, anyways?”

“Ah. He’s got the flu, and he was kind enough to not want to infect you guys.” You admit. “Even though he was trying his best to walk over here from our house.”

Carmy remembers that you live in the neighbourhood over. You two used to hang out a lot during elementary and high school. He kind of missed you– something he’d never say out loud, but Carmy knows friends are few with him, and you were always a good friend to him growing up. You were always a comforting presence for him– you never asked him for too much, and he could tell you were being careful to do so. No pressure.

You just became really busy with law school, and he became really busy with chef stuff, and now you’re both… you both just lost touch. He feels bad about it– bad like he always does, with former friends and acquaintances from high school that he’s accidentally ghosted and lost– but at least you don’t seem to be annoyed about it. 

He thinks it’s probably because in this case, you pulled away just as much as he had to.

“How’s law school, anyways?” Carmy counts the years in his head. “You’ve either just finished or you’re in your final year?”

“I’m in my final year.” You stretch out your arms, looking eager. “It’s a lot of work– I’m only here because I’m lucky enough to have a bit of a break in the winter months, and I’m ahead on my courses. But, uh… I don’t know. It’s fun.”

“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little. 

“What?”

“I don’t know, Birdie. Fun is more… fucking, I don’t know, fireworks or something? Drugs, maybe, yeah.” Carmy watches as you laugh, and laugh, at what he’s said, and again he’s never really sure what’s so funny about what he’s said, but he likes to hear you laugh.

“Clearly you don’t know either.” You snort, and lightly punch his arm. “When did we become workaholics?”

“Probably when we became, uh, adults and entered the workforce.” Carmy states, and you wrinkle your brows.

“We’re not really in the workforce yet, but–”

“What, really? C’mon. You’re a fucking receptionist or some shit, right?”

“Business administration specialist.”

“Yeah, there you go. That’s work, especially with all the school you have to do.” Carmy shrugs. “But what do you really want to be, then?”

“Oh, we getting into dreams, then?” You cock an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think you cared that much, Bear.”

Carmy, for some reason he can’t detect, turns a little red. “No, of course I do. We’re still friends, right?”

“Acquaintances.”

“For real?” Carmy looks back at you, affronted, but you have a little smile and he knows you’re teasing. “Oh fuck you. Stop it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You shake your head, giggling a little, glad to have so easily fallen back into a comfortable, friendly banter. “Of course we’re friends, it’s just that… I always thought very highly of you, Carmen, and I can’t always be sure that feeling was returned. You know? I assumed that you’d be out doing sophisticated cooking in big, upscale restaurants, and the rest of us would just be reading about it. Forgive me for feeling a little behind it all.”

“No, no, no. You got it all wrong, Birdie.” Carmy half-laughs at how you put him on such a pedestal. “You were always the one doing real work, as Mom would call it. You’re the one who’s actually smart and good at arguing, debating– that’s a real skill coming from me, because I just yell fuck at everyone and hope it works. I always thought you were the impressive one out of all of us.”

You snicker, but you’re actually quite pleased with that, and you feel your heart warm at his praise. “Ah, that’s so sweet. Thank you. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been surviving off of ramen and convenience store food for the last month. I can hardly make the time to cook efficiently.”

“...” Carmy shakes his head. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You’re gonna eat good food today then, I hope.”

Almost as if on cue, Donna calls for Carmy to come help her with something– and you’re left sitting as he tells you that he’s going to hear about your dream job when he gets back.

/

Fifteen minutes later– Carmy is still MIA, and you’re starting to get a little hungry. 

You know it’s rude, but luckily Michael comes by and asks if you want a snack.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You ask, and Michael snickers.

“You’re the same girl that can eat a whole number four combo at the Beef. I’m pretty sure you were hungry before you got here.” Michael jokes, and you blush in embarrassment.

“Oh my god, stop it.” You shake your head. “Anyways, yeah. A snack would be nice.”

Michael gives you a wink that strangely has you a little twitterpated, before you shake that off. He comes back a few minutes later, chewing on something himself– and he hands you a bowl full of Italian sausage stirfry.

“Thanks, Michael.” You smile up at him, and he nods, trying not to smile too much back at your gratitude, but he likes how you take a bite and look super relieved, happy with the food. He’s always loved giving food to people– taking care of them. Especially you, for some reason.

Michael heads back to the kitchen, and Natalie comes by and takes his place.

“Birdie!” She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, equally happy. “Oh my gosh, if I knew you were down here I would’ve come by ages ago!”

“Aw.” You beam at her. “That’s okay, Nat. I’m happy to see you too.”

She’s off ranting about how Pete, her husband, is late, and how she can barely manage everything going on, and you’re sympathetic. You know Nat gets more of a harsh treatment from Donna, and you tell her that you’re there if she needs a person on her side.

“Oh, Birdie. I couldn’t do that to you. Even if you are amazing at talking, Miss Lawyer-to-be.” She lets you continue to sit down in your corner of the living room, as she heads off to check on her mom– maybe pour out some alcohol.

 Carmy comes back in, slightly powdered with flour on his forehead– and he sits back down, sighing, as he drinks a glass of water.

There’s the slightest air of awkward tension still– even if you and Carmy have fallen back into your old ways, he still keeps a slight distance, one that he’s grown into, and you feel that you have to break the silence. You don’t know if he’s just tired or if there’s some level of irritation of having to deal with all the holiday bullshit, but you take a guess it has to do with Donna.

“That bad?” You grimace, and Carmy matches your expression.

“That bad.” He shakes his head. “She always gets a little woo-woo around these fucking events. Like, I never wanted her to do all of this– but she insists and insists and doesn’t know how to let go of the, uh…”

“Hubris.” 

“Yes. Hubris.” Carmy sighs, glad you still have the perfect word for everything. “Whatever. Anyways, haven’t forgotten. Hit me with your dream.”

“Okay, it’s going to sound a little weird, but, um… I’m really interested in becoming a labour relations lawyer?” You feel almost too much glee at the fact that Carmy remembered, and you see Carmy bite his lip, a little confused, so you continue, hoping you don’t sound like too much of a fucking nerd. “Meaning to help employees get out of their shitty situations with wages, working hours, benefits and fight for their rights. Union stuff. I don’t know, just feels like everyone is struggling with this nowadays… might as well push forward and try to help them out.”

“Wow, now that you’ve said that, it makes a lot of sense.” Carmy blinks. “I mean, uh, it’s not just that you’re good at arguing– you always go for the justice part of things. Remember when Michael and Sugar were arguing about cleaning the basement?”

You do remember that. You suggested dividing up either equally or by who owned what, and they eventually came to an agreement based on that. Michael wanted to dip because he was older, and Sugar thought it was demeaning to ask a girl to clean.

“Or when Lee said that women can’t think analytically, or what was it… mathematically?” Carmy laughs as he watches your face turn angry again.

“Yeah. I especially remember that. I told him to think about Ada Lovelace and to shut up.” You wince. “Maybe not the most mature thing I’ve ever said. I don’t think that’s such a great thing… sometimes I don’t know when to let go of arguments.”

“It’s alright, it was funny.” Carmy plays with his fingers. “That being said, I think you’ll be good if you choose to be that. A labour relations lawyer. You’re smart, and god fucking knows we all need the help. You should check out how many chefs get fucked over because they work at places for the prestige of doing so.”

“Damn.” You make a mental note of that, feeling embarrassed over how much praise Carmy has freely given you. “Is that going to be you?”

“Doesn’t matter if it is. Sometimes you gotta do what you can.” Carmy doesn’t really give you a clear answer, and you feel bad for him. Bad that he’s still stuck in that mindset.

/

You can hear people hooting and jeering near the stairs, as you walk around the house, exploring a little. Tiff was grateful that you visited her for a brief moment– she told you being pregnant was not all it was cracked up to be– and now you’re just on the upper floor, near the stair railing, on your phone.

You’re not really one to eavesdrop, but you hear– you believe it’s Mikey and Richie– they’re chanting “Claire! Claire Bear!”

Your stomach drops, as you hear them hoot about how hot she is, whoever this Claire girl is– how stacked she is, apparently, the banging body she has, the glasses no longer ruining her appearance– and although you know it’s gross men talk, there’s a small, sad part of you that wants to be perceived as attractive, too. 

Still, even as you find yourself frowning and turning away in disgust, you can’t stop yourself from listening.

You remember her. Claire, one of the neighbours down the street. Went to the same high school as you and Carmy. She was really something, someone of note if you remember the popular kid cliques correctly, but she had largely gone unnoticed by you, and it wasn’t for any reason in particular. You can’t be close with every person in high school.

But still– you feel jealous. Just a teeny bit. What was so different about her?

Sure, she was a nice girl. But weren’t you? You arguably had more history with the Berzattos, and yet… it’s as if you’ve simply blended into the wallpaper, their assortment of home decor and furniture. You’ve always been here, and so you don’t stand out.

You might never stand out.

You can hear Carmy trying his best to argue against them, asking them what they did, telling them to fuck off with their teasing– but he sounds sheepish, embarrassed, righteously mortified in the telltale way one would be when they have a crush, and you feel sick. 

They’re heaping compliments on her. You know what they mean when they talk about her like this– she’s the clear, obvious choice, probably closer to the family, more interesting, more affectionate, a genius. You don’t really know Claire that well, but apparently, she’s perfect. And you know you, in your silly frumpy sweater, in your attempts to dress up– you are not. You feel humiliated that you even believed Mikey when he said you were pretty– he was clearly complimenting you just to be nice. 

You weren’t even an idea in their minds, not for Carmy, anyways. You don’t even think Carmy is capable of seeing you like that now, and it’s with a crushing blow that you realize you were holding out hope. Mistaking familiarity for affection.

It’s a rookie mistake. One that you thought you were self aware enough not to make, because you’ve always known Carmen Berzatto was just out of reach for you.

You wait for them to leave, and come down the stairs, running into Carmy as he groans in annoyance.

/

Carmy says he needs to wipe some of the flour out of his hair, and you let him go upstairs, not really wanting to look at him, doing everything you can to make your way back to the living room unnoticed. In the meanwhile, Michael comes back and flops into Carmy’s seat on the sofa, next to where you sit, sullen.

“Hey, Birdie.” Michael starts, and you can’t read his tone, and you’re a little annoyed with his fake-nice attention. “Why not sit with me, the Faks, Michelle and Stevie? They’re really good people, I promise.”

“How do you know I’m avoiding people?” You snap back, maybe a little too aggrieved.

“It’s written all over your face, little Birdie.” He touches his knee to yours, and you bite your lip, swallowing your confusion, and Mikey enjoys the fact that you’ve chosen to wear a deep, brick-red Christmas lip colour. It’s hot– he doesn’t get how you don’t seem to be aware that you’re attractive.

He wants to kiss you. Maybe mess up that fancy lipstick and that sweet, annoyingly justice oriented, always-right character of yours. But he keeps it to himself.

“Don’t be antisocial. You of all people shouldn’t be alone during the holidays.”

“I’m not trying to be antisocial. I promise.” You shrug, trying to keep your emotions, that sinking feeling in your gut at bay– the last thing you want is for Michael to see you upset. “I was keeping Bear company, but I can come sit with you guys.” 

“That’s my girl.” Michael pulls you up by the arm, and you can feel your face warming at his choice of words– you like being in Michael’s good graces, even if you feel less than great right now.

Michelle, cousin of the Berzattos, has always been sweet to you. She’s impressive in her own right, and as you sit down in front of her and Stevie– she gushes about New York.

“Ah, that’s not to say Chicago isn’t impressive. Right, Birdie?” She smiles at you, not unkindly, and you feel happy to be included. 

“Right.” You shrug, knowing that the law firm you work at isn’t all that crazy. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re nothing special, not after what transpired just a few minutes ago, and you voice it. “It’s just okay.”

“No, c’mon. You work at one of the top fucking law firms in the city– you’re gonna make it.” Michael admonishes you. “Out of us Chicagoans, I mean, Michelle, before you take offense.”

“Yeah, Mish.” Richie echoes, popping up out of nowhere.

“None taken.” Michelle fixes her eyes between you and Michael– perhaps reading on something that you’re not even really sure how to understand, let alone explain– and she laughs. “Anyways, what was I saying? Right.”

She launches into a story about hating a woman who didn’t understand the Berzatto name. It’s quite funny– you find yourself laughing every now and then, the dull ache in your heart less noticeable, especially with how good Michelle is at telling stories, and somewhere along the story, Michael’s hand has stayed intertwined with yours, without you really noticing. You only notice when he lets go, and again– a pitfall in your stomach, wondering if Michael just feels familiar around you because there’s nothing to be attracted to and thus respectful of– and it’s such a stupid thought, but you still just know you want to feel wanted. You want to get a hold on yourself– remind yourself you’re not owed attraction and there’s nothing wrong with Mikey or Carmy seeing you as just a friend.

You realize with a start that you’re feeling confused about Michael, too. Was it just a weird quirk of his, calling every single girl pretty just for laughs? Could you even trust what he said? Why does Michael’s opinion of you feel way more pertinent and important than Carmy’s does?

You find yourself mulling over these thoughts, not sure of what’s going on around you, and you hear Michael tell the Fak bros, Ned and Ted, to shut up about California, which they do.

Donna starts screaming in the background, which causes you to turn abruptly. “Oh, fuck me!”

Michael turns and looks at you with some caution– he’s used to his mother’s outbursts, but he never ever wants you to face them. You don’t deserve that, you’ve probably never done anything to deserve it. Not like him.

Stevie gets up, much to the surprise of everyone around him. “Looks like Auntie D needs help, huh?”

“No, no, no.” Everyone tries to stop him, including you.

“What?”

Michelle pushes him back down, but he gets back up, resilient. 

Lee decides to comment in. “Let him, why not?”

“I’m sure she could use a few extra hands. I’m going.” He goes, and you stand up to follow, not willing to let an innocent person get dragged into Donna’s insanity.

“Wait, Birdie. Where are you going?” Michael holds your hand again, and you turn red at his action– a little angry, a little glum that he seems to care for you, and you can’t even be grateful for it. “Don’t throw yourself to the wolves. It’s not fucking worth it.”

“Not throwing myself– just want to make sure Stevie is protected.” You move forward, your face stony, and Michael lets go of you, sighing as he wraps his blanket around himself, wondering when you got all pissed off, but glad that you’re not so upset that you wouldn’t act all lawyer-y for Stevie.

Lee is glancing at him, while Michelle looks pleased as punch.

“What? What the fuck are these expressions?” Michael looks around questioningly, and Richie gives him a side glance.

“When’d you get all sweet on her, bro?” Richie gags a little. “Not that she’s not your type, but, uh–”

“I’m just being friendly.” Michael dismisses him, leaning back in his seat. “It’s the holidays, she shouldn’t be lonely.”

“Bullshit you are.” Richie sniggers, and Michael lightly shoves him.

“Yeah, I call bullshit too.” Michelle grins. “I can see it– you’re blushing.”

Michael groans, hating to be so obviously vulnerable in front of everyone. 

“Well I, for one, think it’s a huge, fucking catastrophic mistake.” Lee starts, and Michael feels himself blanch under the judgement of this guy. “You’re going to ruin that young woman’s potential if you go around messing with her.”

“Lee, she’s not that young–” Neil starts. “I think she can decide that herself?”

“Whatever. This one knows he isn’t right for her– always wants what he can’t have.” Lee mutters, and Michael feels that white-hot rage– the anger he feels bubbling inside of him as of late. 

He does his best to swallow it down, but a part of him knows that it’s true. As much as Michael enjoys your random visits over the past two years, he knows– you’re too good for someone like him. Too young, too selfless, too honest and good and pretty, and he feels an overwhelming wave of shame that he came so close. It’s like he just… doesn’t know how to be a good, responsible person, and it kills him on the inside that he could be so shameful, be so abhorrent and take advantage of you like that, and even if there is a tiny part of him screaming that it’s not so black and white– that you could be just as interested, of your own volition, in him as he is in you– he feels guilt. 

Michael is ashamed of who he is. Over, and over, there’s that feeling again– kill yourself– that he doesn’t know how to suppress, and he ignores it as he starts up a new story.

/

Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.

You came towards them in the midst of Donna yelling for Stevie to get the fuck out of the kitchen, and Sugar shushing him and shoving him away, and you now place a hand on her shoulder– clearly Stevie has it handled, somewhat.

When he lets go, she sniffles and you smile encouragingly, albeit a little sadly, and Natalie wipes away a tear. 

“It’s okay. It’s fine, it’s nothing. You don’t need to talk to her.” She starts, and you shake your head.

“I’m not going to. I can see that would make things worse.” You squeeze her shoulders, and Stevie nods.

“Yeah, Natalie. But we’re here. We’ll always be here if you want to talk.” He tries, and you smile at her– but something about Nat’s slightly upset, off putting expression, and Donna’s grumbling in the background– you feel your heart seizing a little at the tense emotions, so similar to your own, and you excuse yourself.

You walk until you reach the pantry, hot tears already working their way down your face. Every single negative emotion have come to a head, and you’re in terrible danger of having to explain things if you don’t get it together in under ten minutes or so.

You sit on the high table in the pantry, trying not to cry anymore than you already have, your head between your knees– but something about today has all your nerves on edge, and you know it’s because you put in some effort to come here, to see your dear friends, to look appealing enough, to be someone worth talking to, and now you feel as if they never really cared about you at all. 

You know these are lousy, immature feelings. You know you can be above them if you really, truly tried, but you let yourself sink into them further, because something about this environment is terrible and you just can’t let it go.

Even worse, no one has really done anything wrong. If this was a court case, you wouldn’t even have any evidence to make a claim. You’re simply confused, perhaps looking at things from the wrong angles– but the fact that you can’t look at this rationally makes you feel worse. As if you’re not as smart as you believed.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in here, when you hear someone shuffle into the pantry, next to you– it’s Michael.

He’s quick on his feet– you try to move away, let him grab whatever household ingredient he needed– but his full attention is on you as his eyes narrow, scanning your tear stained face and your hunched over body.

“Birdie?”

You can’t quite look at him, and you desperately try to wipe your tears, burying your face more between your knees. 

“Hey, no. Birdie.” He shakes his head, grabs your arms. He thinks it’s a little strange he’s had to cheer up two different people in the pantry, but he chalks it up to how his house always is. “What happened? Was it Ma?”

“No.” You sight and swallow down the sobs in your throat.

“Then what was it?” Michael’s eyes turn steely. “Fucking ‘Uncle’ Lee? Asshole. Told me I can’t finish any fucking businesses.”

“But… you run the Beef, don’t you?” You say, amid sniffles, entirely honest about it, and Michael’s eyes soften. “That has to count for something.”

“Yeah, little Bird.” He’s glad to have you here– he doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, not when you’re the only person on his side at this moment. “But why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

“I–” You shake your head, and feel your head hang heavy as you slouch over the table, and Michael leans over you, pressing your head to his chest, and you feel yourself crying silently into his shirt, as he shushes you and combs back your hair, his other arm caressing your back.

Michael’s not the best person– not the most comforting to be around– but he knows, by being an older brother, by being someone people want to be around, he knows how to make it count when he does give in to comfort. 

He just wishes he didn’t feel so goddamned depressed himself, so he would know the right things to say. He doesn’t want to be so useless all the time.

“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small. 

He feels both elated that you would trust him with this, and devastated that he’ll never be good enough to deserve your trust. 

“Yeah, Birdie?”

“It’s so juvenile, but I…" You shake your head and decide to commit to it. "I wish I was pretty."

“Is that it?” Michael’s arm wraps around your shoulder as he squishes onto the seat of the table, next to you. “You think you’re ugly, huh?”

“I don’t think I’m–” You inhale deeply, and wipe away your tears again. “It’s not about being ugly. It’s more like an objective reality that I have to accept. I’m just not… I’m not anything special to look at.”

“Wow, kid.” Michael tuts and shakes his head. “Ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? That stupid fucking mantra, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s true.” Michael almost starts laughing, but you look so solemn and serious, he resists the urge. “You’re not ugly. You might not think you’re all that, but you don’t see what I see.”

Michael tenses, and you watch as he falters over how to explain.

Michael thinks you're so damn annoying with that ardent, sweet expression– even if your tears are staining your face, you still look so grateful to hear him say those words– and it just crushes him. It crushes him to know that you look for his approval so much, when he knows you're worth so much more than that.

He doesn't want to let you down. You and Carmen– he will never be enough for the two of you. 

"I don't– I'm fucking stupid, Birdie, don't listen to me." He swallows, but you're hanging onto his words and your face falls again. 

"But I can listen to you get all poetic about Claire, right?" You mutter, angry, and you get up to leave– but Michael grabs your forearm, and he's quite a bit stronger than you are. 

“Hey. That’s different.” Michael tries, but you shake your head, and you’re left sitting on the table again. “I was only teasing Bear. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I know.” You turn even more glum, and Michael is left feeling terrible, wondering what was so wrong with what he said. 

You’re silent for a moment– you know that you like Carmy, but something about telling Michael about it feels weird, like you’re pre-emptively rejecting him rather than Carmy by confessing feelings that are slowly disappearing– and you just don’t want to.

But you know you need to. You need to accept that Carmy would never see you that way.

“I just… for a really long time, I thought that I…” You fall to silence, again, and Michael is staring at you, hanging onto every word, watching your side profile shake as you try to gather your thoughts. “I really liked him, you know? I don’t even know why– maybe he was just the clearly available, safe option, and now that’s not even true and I feel like I’m mourning something that was never even real. How stupid and childish can I get?”

“Wait, Birdie–”

“And I just… I know I’m not like Claire. I don’t know what I got myself into. I don’t even really like him anymore– it’s just that the situation makes it so damn apparent that I am just average.” You huff out your words with an air of finality that even has Michael flinching a little, and he runs his hands through his hair, unbelieving of what you’ve said. “You can’t even say I’m not, Mikey, because I know how you talked about her and it was just so different to how anyone here has ever thought about me.”

“Birdie, shut the fuck up.” Michael breathes out really heavily, pinching his brows, thinking that he regrets everything he said and he wishes he could take it back. “I didn’t really– I was trying to tease Carmy, you know? It didn’t mean the shit you think it does. Hell, I would be way more serious if I was talking about you.”

He takes a beat of silence– should he read your reaction to that, or keep going? And he decides to keep going.

“You can’t just act like you can read everyone’s minds because you’re a lawyer, Birdie.” Michael says it with a slightly lighter tone, and his hand traces the small of your back as you lean against your knees, staring up at him. “Didn’t you learn about intent or whatever the fuck it was? In school?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You admit despite yourself, and Michael smiles but continues seriously.

“I don’t think that about Claire, okay? If anything, I’m fucking embarrassed you heard me talk all of that shit– that was just meant to be, uh, guy talk. I swear.” Michael swallows, feeling guilty that he still had to be so low about it. “I don’t– I care so much about him, I just went too far in working him up. I think it would be a good thing for him, right?”

Hurt flashes across your face– you still don’t think you like Carmy anymore, you just don’t know how to feel about someone else being portrayed as a “good thing.” But you inhale– you know part of getting over it is having to accept this, and you let yourself think and then nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I could see that.” You agree, and it doesn’t hurt as much since Michael is looking at you sympathetically. “I just… I want to be a good thing, too. Not for Carmy, just…”

“For someone?” Michael answers as you trail off. 

“Yeah.”

“Listen, Birdie. I’m gonna tell you something you gotta hear.” Michael has that determined look where you know he’s going to say something smart– he has his fleeting moments of wisdom even if he doesn’t believe in himself– and he goes for it. “I can’t believe no one has ever told you just to, I don’t know, fucking love yourself a little? Like, c’mon, you should be able to like yourself! You’re an incredible person and you deserve– you have the right to be insanely fucking confident and it’s so fucking annoying that you don’t see it.”

In the heat of his argument, Michael’s come too close again, and he can feel your breath on somewhere near his jaw or neck, and he has to remind himself to pull away again.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Michael combs back a strand of your hair.

“Don’t be sorry. Just listen to what I’m saying.” Michael inhales, thinks over why he can’t do this himself– Tina always tells him to be a little easier on himself, but he just struggles– and he thinks that you look terribly cute so it’s just a lot easier to root for you. “Don’t do it for some idiot guy who will never really appreciate you, little Birdie.”

You can feel the conclusion of that sentence, even if Michael doesn’t quite say it: do it for yourself. Be there for yourself. Listen to the good part of yourself, rather than him.

“Oh. I guess that’s…” You swallow, taking it in, knowing the value of his words. “It’s true.”

“See? You know it.” Michael leans in a little too close again, his face a mere breadth away from your own.

“I think you’d actually make a fantastic lawyer.” You slyly comment amid wiping your face, and Michael blinks and then laughs.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d get to see me and hear my advice all the time.” Michael mumbles a little over his words but to his surprise, you nod. 

“Yeah, then I’d get to see some idiot who really does appreciate me.” You murmur even more quietly, and Michael, feeling stupid, has a wistful smile on his face that he maybe has not felt in a decade. It’s so sweet– he thinks his heart is bursting with something. 

Maybe love. Maybe that jovial, Christmas spirit that seems to emanate as the food smells closer to ready, maybe what Carmen gave him as a kind gift, most likely the closeness he feels with you– not just being close in familiarity, more like– he can make out the little spots and freckles adorning your face, every single eyelash your still watery eyes have, the faint lines in your still-red lips, and it occurs to him that he’s too close. Somewhere during this talk, his hand has stayed around your back, and you have been tentatively tracing his right hand’s knuckles with your own thumb. 

Michael knows how it looks. If anyone was to walk in right now (and he’s sure Michelle or Richie have already put it together that the two of you have been gone for a while) they would assume you two are a couple.

He has a sudden air of regret– it’s not because he wants to reject you, he just… he struggles a lot with feeling wanted. He struggles with the standards that people seem to put on him. Michael has always known he’s not a good guy– he doesn’t know how to be the person that everyone seems to think he is. Carmen, Natalie, Richie, you– you all seem to think the best of him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He nearly had a breakdown watching Carmen look up to him so lovingly.

Before he can pull away– with another responsible refusal, telling you that he’s too old and washed up, and that you deserve the whole world and he is not enough to offer that to you– you gently but firmly grab his face, tracing his cheek, and he thinks it could be wrong– what if you’re just feeling all confused and willy-nilly about feelings because you’re displacing what you felt about Carmen, what if you don’t actually like him and you’re assuming that you do because of his clear attraction to you, what if you’re just feeling the moment and the sweet guidance he’s given you?

Tons of questions seem to flow from his mind, things that he wants to ask you, but Michael thinks fuck it, because you’re leaning in first and pulling him in and it’s something he would’ve never expected in a million years, that you could be just as attracted to him.

He kisses you maybe a little too hard– maybe it should’ve been softer, more gentle since you’ve opened up to him so much, but you kiss him just as eagerly back, and he doesn’t fucking care to be gentle anymore. He’s leaning over you and Michael knows he’s quite a bit taller, so he has to pull you upwards to really reach your lips, and the table the two of you are sitting on is quite small– it shakes a little and there’s not much room for Michael to really feel you.

Until you climb into his lap, because of course you do, and now you’re just tangling your fingers in his hair, and he thinks he can feel whatever migraine that the day’s events have spurred on him slipping away, and his hands wrap around the smallest part of your waist as he pulls you in, pressing his chest against yours. 

You feel like Michael’s beard tickles a little– but you don’t mind that. You weren’t sure until you did it that you’ve wanted to kiss him for a while. You feel like maybe you’ve actually been more attracted to him than you ever were with Carmy, maybe even just going for Carmy due to his aforementioned security. 

Michael groans, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you sharply inhale as his tongue roams around your own, and he knows he likes hearing you gasp when his hands come up under your sweater, just to feel your bare skin, and you pull away.

Michael comes in too close again, placing a soft yet firm kiss on the corner of your mouth, and you laugh at him, and it’s one of the best sounds he could hear. No longer are you all gloomy and sullen in the corner of the room– but there’s still an air of heat around you two, and he knows he should let you go before things go too far. 

“Consider that a Christmas present.” You murmur softly, tapping his face, genuinely smiling despite the smeared lipstick, and you clamber off his lap, and peek out the pantry. “I think you’re good to go eat dinner– let me just…”

You wipe the red lipstick from his mouth using the corner of your sweater sleeve, so not to leave evidence, and it’s an intimate moment that has Michael staring at your hand, to your eyes, and there’s something in his eyes– maybe sorrow, maybe appreciation, but most of all, tenderness, and he takes a silly, soft moment to just kiss your hand. You beam at him.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” You tease him, because you know that Michael has always had that look, and he stiffens for a moment.

“Ah… maybe around when you came back from graduating college.” Michael admits, feeling weirdly high and low all at the same time, but he questions you too. “What about you? Don’t tell me you just decided to kiss me right now. That would fucking… that would be too much.”

His heart falls for a split second– thinking about how again you could’ve just been having a little fling– why would you ever like him? He struggles to think how you could, even after having kissed you.

“No, no. I swear it’s not like that.” You turn a little red and play with your hands. “Um. You’re not like a rebound, Mikey, I just… I think I liked you ever since I started coming around more, maybe around last year? I probably just didn’t notice because I thought I was into Carmy. You know? Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael tries not to let the relief show through his face too much. “I thought maybe I was… reading too much into it. Putting pressure on you.”

“No, you’re good.” You shake off his concerns. “I don’t think that at all. I really do like you… might’ve just been obsessed with the idea of a childhood friend turning into a lover.”

Michael grins. “Well, who’s to say that didn’t fucking happen, Birdie? Are we not childhood friends?”

“Eh… kind of. You’re a bit old.” You give him a so-so motion, and Michael jokingly pushes you a little. “I’m kidding! This is more like– your friend’s hot older brother gives you a chance and it’s crazy and exciting and you just want to know more.”

You were half kidding, but you’re so honest about it, and Michael loves it, but there’s still that undercurrent of agony– he wants to just openly like you, too, but he doesn’t want to be such a fucking failure about it.

“I’m gonna just head to the dining table, I think.” You check your watch. “Gotta go think about this a little more– is that okay? Not in a bad way, I’m just overwhelmed with everything that’s happened today…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s okay, Birdie.” Michael presses a kiss into your hairline. He knows it is a lot for anyone to handle– getting over a crush you thought you had, realizing that you like someone else– he gets it. “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay.” You smile eagerly at him and then walk outside through the hallway, wiping your mouth so it looks less kiss-stained, and peek around so no one is looking at you. 

Michael feels a million emotions hit him at once, and he knows he has to cool himself down before explaining to everyone where you’ve gone, what’s happened– or he’s certain to implicate himself, and he can’t have that. 

/ 

It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.

You’re sitting pretty between Richie and Tiff, who seem to be a little bit… awkward, maybe arguing mentally about something you don’t completely understand. No one has really commented on your disappearance, but you’re sure it’s obvious based on how Michelle and Stevie are whispering and smiling at you.

Michael gets a massive, depressive episode right after you’ve left him. He can’t exactly pinpoint why– he feels like a creep even if he isn’t one. Hell, he only actually met you when you were nineteen– he was in a different state when you started visiting the Berzattos. But even if Michael ignores his potential, old-man creepiness… he also feels like you’re headed for so much more than he ever was, and he knows he’s holding you back if he does this. 

For once in his life, he just wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be wanted without the stigma of not being good enough. 

You, Carmy, and Nat. He knows you guys are on your way. Michael feels a pit in his stomach as he imagines why you guys all have to look up to him so much– he just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

He can’t ignore the feeling that he is just a major fucking loser.

That’s why Michael goes and gets high. He knows he’s making a mistake, and he doesn’t want to do something so disappointing– but he figures he’s already a disappointment anyways. He’s grateful you’re not here outside to see how pathetic he really is– how much he craves a hit just to feel a little less shitty. And yes, it calms him down as he feels the high of the painkillers exacerbate positive memories, like with you, Carmy, Natalie– but it still makes his anger, his depressive tendencies strong, too. 

When he sits down at the dining table– he’s not that intoxicated, but he knows it’s a little apparent on his face, based on the mild alarm on your own. You’re sitting just far enough from him for there to be plausible deniability, but still– you are worried about him.

“You good?” You mouth, and he waves away your question with an air of fake nonchalance. 

You don’t look convinced. You can see the red in Michael’s eyes, the general tension in his shoulders, the unnerving sense of resentment in his expression. You wonder what could have happened in the last ten minutes that you’ve been sitting at the table, why Michael decided to go and get intoxicated just minutes after kissing you.

Were you too much for him? Maybe.

You know Michael gets high. In fact, last Easter, you’re pretty sure he spent the entire time high on something– but you only vaguely know about his anger flare ups. About his negative emotions, the supposed depressive periods he goes through. You’ve seen him argue a bit with Richie, you know he’s gotten a bit harsh with Carmy, but you know he’s a bit more troubled than that. The whole family seems a bit troubled. Natalie has told you that much, and you have your experience with that– your mother and father’s fights are ones that still make you quiver to think about. But with Michael?

You don’t know how much you believed it, until now, because Michael always seemed kind of… like he always had the right thing to say. You almost feel like he’s in the right to get upset, because he’s had a hard time, with his family, some of his luck surrounding his career– especially with how Lee continually riles him up.

The table is formal and nice for a bit. Michael and Tiff converse about something, Carmy asks if you’re okay and you mostly are. Michelle asks Mikey to say grace, and he sounds resentful, again, of Lee cutting him off so often. 

Cicero, being the responsible uncle that he is, tries to push off grace to Stevie, who promptly rejects it, and Michelle decides to ease the tension by asking what the hell the seven fishes are all about. Lee, of course, gleefully answers, about the dutch potatoes and the bible.

Michael glares at him and throws a fork. A real, honest-to-god, heavy piece of silverware. It clatters on the carpeted floor– you feel yourself flinch, and you watch Natalie and Pete’s expressions crumble into the realization that Michael is not okay, and everyone seems to look towards him in fear.

“You see what you did, right? You already did that. You already bitched about the dutch oven.” Michael retorts at him, not completely coherent, and you can feel the lights glazing over– the Christmas tree, the wreaths and baubles, everything seems to lose focus in comparison to the red-hot anger that Michael is bubbling over with.

Cicero and Carmy try to call him off, but Michael isn’t listening, and you can tell– he’s in a place to be upset. It’s like a slowly proceeding car crash– as much as you don’t want him to do it, you understand why he’s going to. You feel like there is a bit of a double standard in place here– Cicero seems to want him to respect his elders, and Michael is being kind of childish, but you can’t say you don’t understand why.

Michael asks for Fak’s fork, in direct opposition to Lee’s attempts to play the father in this house. Despite Fak’s insistent refusals, Michael successfully takes it. Everyone speaks with the intent to stop him, and he’s too focused on Lee to stop.

You know you hate Lee too. But such a severe reaction, coming from Michael? It has you wincing a little. You want to pull him away– tell him to be the nice older brother you’ve always known him to be– but you know it takes time. You know it’s probably going to get worse. You try to catch his eye– and he can't quite look at you.

You have faith in him. You know Michael can do better than this– you just hope he can see it, too. 

Michael throws the second fork, and you feel regret in trusting him, again, because he’s making things bad but it’s almost as if he can’t help it. You catch Natalie’s eyes– she’s clearly disappointed, too.

Michael feels a sick sense of pleasure, as he often does when it comes to acting out his worst desires. But he feels a flash of anger with himself– is that what he did with you? Is he really this guy? He thinks that he is, he is a bad dude and he can commit to that role if that’s what’s needed.  

“Cousin, you’re scaring the normals.” Richie tries, looking at Tiff and you, but you’re still yearning to catch his glance– and Michael can only respond that it’s nothing, everything is fine, and you’re suddenly reminded of when your parents used to fight and how you used to have to be the middle man and convince them that things were alright.

Michael looks towards you this time– but you’re not looking at him. You have your hands neatly clasped in your lap, your eyes are focused on the set of candles in the middle of the table, and you look horribly upset, with your neck all tense as you wait for things to blow over, and he can tell– he’s fucking up big time. Stevie, Carmy, everyone is looking pained, and Michael can only think that he doesn’t give a shit. He wants to make Lee feel just as terrible as he does.

"You see– I can throw forks because this is our father’s house." Michael scoffs back, and there's real agony in his tone. “My father’s house.”

Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”

“Okay, you got everyone's attention, so go ahead, tell us a story we've all heard a million times already.” Lee spits out, barely holding back his own contempt for Michael, and Michael starts laughing as if everything’s alright. “Tell a story about how you're living with your mom and you're borrowing money off of her and any other sucker who'll listen to your bullshit.”

Everyone looks towards the table, feeling terribly awkward about Lee’s accusations– it’s not that it’s necessarily untrue, but there’s a hefty amount of his own assumptions, his own bias thrown in there, and you want to speak up.

“Lee, shut the fuck up.” Cicero looks absolutely pissed off at him, and you’re grateful someone has taken some of the heat off of Michael. It’s Lee’s fault, too.

“I’m sorry. I told you not to be a sucker, Jimmy.” Lee comments, and Cicero exhales, exasperated.

“Lee. That’s not really fair– you’re being too hard on him.” You utter through gritted teeth, and Lee’s eyes narrow on you. It's the first time you've spoken, and Michael glances at you– his eyes are bright and he genuinely looks sorry. Sorry he had to go this far.

“Oh, am I? Really, Birdie? I would suggest I’m not being hard enough.” Lee raises his hands, invites you to speak more, and you know that it’s not really your place to do so, especially because Lee and Michael seem to have a lot of history.

But you have your almost-lawyer tendencies, and of course you’re not exactly unbiased either, because you want to see the best in Michael�� you want to like him. 

"Please, Lee… Michael's working on himself. You don't need to lie to him." You stare at him, and Lee’s face seems to turn darker with that. “I’m sure we all have our issues… it feels like a lot.”

"Is that what he's told you, Birdie?" Lee sneers at you, and you suddenly feel small. "He's a sick, fucking twisted man, and you would trust him, wouldn't you?"

He doesn’t go further than that– but it’s enough that you feel humiliated for being read so thoroughly. It’s obvious what he’s implying– you’re a silly little girl who doesn’t know any better. 

“It's fine. It's fine. Because this guy's nothing and he's nobody.” Lee points at Michael again, and his expression sours so much. You watch as Michael seems to zero in on what Lee’s rambling on about. 

Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.

“Hey… Petey… I just need to, uh… I need to borrow this for one second.” Michael’s got that nonchalant expression again, but there’s pain in his eyes, and there’s a clamour of everyone again telling Michael to stop, calling his name, trying to distract him.

"Michael. Michael. Please don’t do this. Hey. Hey. Hey!" Natalie calls at him, and you know she's just begging for him to leave it alone. “I love you. Okay?” 

You watch as Michael, holding the fork, just holding it, clear malicious intent in his eyes, tension building in the air and you feel a little sick, but his eyes are watering and he clearly doesn’t want to do what he thinks he has to.

“I love you too, Sug.” Michael says honestly.

Stevie giggles, Cicero de-escalates things further, and you think you see the light at the end of the tunnel, if not for the fact that Michael is still holding the fork. Still standing up, taunting him, acting like a big old child as Carmy rebukes him– and it’s really just two grown men beginning to get all macho and toxic about who’s tougher, who’s really the man of the house, and they start screeching at each other and you watch as Michael’s eyes glaze over with something, with Lee’s final insult that “he’s nothing.”

You watch as Michael takes his seat. He seems ambivalent, hard to read– he’s not meeting anyone’s eyes and you feel terrible about it.

Donna comes in and takes her seat– she seems rather drunk, too, and the last thing you need is more evidence that substance abuse is a bad thing– and Stevie starts the most wonderful prayer that still isn’t enough to dissuade Michael. You catch his gaze– he’s mulling over something, his eyes are watery, and you want to go over there and talk him down, even if that idea is unwise.

Donna cries over the prayer, and Natalie commits the most cardinal sin that she could at this moment: she asks if she’s okay.

You flinch with recognition as Donna starts screaming at her, about how she is okay and could a person who isn’t okay make such a gorgeous meal, and she exits the room in visible anger, and Natalie begins to hyperventilate, while Michelle tries to calm everyone down.

Donna throws a plate down on the floor, and exits the room continuing to scream– and there’s a beat of tense silence, full of angst and what-nows, and Lee decides to take initiative breaking that silence with a silly joke– almost in a paternal role, again, a hot topic between him and Mikey– and you watch Michael’s eyes start narrowing as he leans against his hand.

Michael throws the third fork.

It’s like every single nerve you felt, every bit of tension that was already in place, comes to a head as Michael starts going batshit, trying his best to attack Lee, while the Fak brothers and Richie are between them, and you can barely think straight as everyone starts screaming at each other. 

Tiff almost gets dragged into the chaos, and you're left shielding and comforting her from the fight. Pete and Richie hold Michael off and you're thankful– the last thing you want is to go up in there and get caught in the crossfire yourself. It’s genuinely a blur– you have no idea how bad things are getting until Cicero starts telling them to get the fuck out.

Suddenly, the wall of the living room bursts inwards, the Christmas tree getting dragged in the crossfire, and you realize with shock that someone’s driven a car inside.

Not just any car– that’s Donna in there, driving, and you think for a moment she’s dead. You can’t believe what’s happening– you can feel your heart hammering through your chest.

Michael runs towards the car, tries to open the front door, yelling and asking her what she did, asking her to open the door. She stirs a little.

Everyone else is standing there, in shock, not focusing properly on what to do, and you pull yourself away from the crowd of people, as they stare on in horror. You don’t want to be a part of this, but you are, and you know what a responsible adult would do. 

You go outside, into the December night’s cold air, and call 911. Specify for the firefighters and ambulances, because Cicero has a big thing against narcs and cops and you’re not getting into that right now.

Even though you’re freezing, and that’s what you should be focusing on? You’re in an incredible amount of despair because of what’s taken place. You hang up the call and feel exhausted by everything that’s happened, and you wonder if Michael really knows better. If he can be more than this. It’s not something you’re judging him for– but you feel terrible about his circumstances and you want him to get out of there.

Worse, you can’t help but feel a little upset with him. Because you know that Michael didn’t have to stoop that low– he chose to, and that’s what bothers you the most. He let his emotional responses dictate how he was going to act, and you know it’s hard to not be so provoked in this environment, but still: you are concerned and upset with him, and you know you need to take a step back. As much as it hurts you to stay away, you feel like it’s going to hurt even more if you intentionally stay around.

You wait for the ambulance and fire trucks to show up– you take a minute to direct them through the house, and then you trust that someone else has got it from there. Carmy, Natalie, Michelle, Stevie– they’ve got each other, they’re whispering about something, and you know where you’re not needed.

You grab your coat and leave, leave as silently as you can without interrupting everything that’s going on. It’s an strange walk home– ten minutes of you thinking about everything.

You hope next Christmas will be better.

/

Michael comes down from his high hard. Someone’s wrapped a blanket around him, and he’s sitting on the front porch’s staircase, wondering what the hell is going on. Donna’s apparently been taken to the hospital– and there’s a makeshift tarp where the wall has been crashed in. Everyone has gone home.

Where did you go? He has a moment of panic. Are you okay? Did he fuck it up that badly? That you would leave without saying goodbye? Michael can picture the disappointment on your face, and he wishes– he really wishes he was someone else.

He’s stressing really hard, his eyes are beginning to tear up. God, he knew he wasn’t really worthy of your attention– you’re young still, you have the whole world ahead of you– and he wonders if he can apologize. He wonders what he could possibly say to make it right. After such an insane situation, he can’t even blame you for taking off.

Natalie tells him, kind sister that she is, that you were the one to call emergency services. Of course you were– you have a strong head on your shoulders and Michael feels strongly that his family is in debt to you. And then you headed home, but Natalie doesn’t know why.

He does have your number. But he’s not going to call you, not right now– he’s not going to make a bigger mistake and fuck things up further. 

Michael sighs, and leans back. He doesn’t deserve to be happy.

#michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto x reader #michael berzatto x you #the bear fx #the bear #x reader #reader insert #michael berzatto fluff #fluff #angst #carmy berzatto x reader #jon bernthal #donna berzatto #natalie berzatto #sugar berzatto #neil fak #the bear s2 #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #the berzattos #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #michelle berzatto

[yourfavpasifikacreator]

A little Birdy told me you are taking Clarisse requests 👀. Little idea: Clarisse x child of hades reader who is like a lava girl? Aka she has hair that can turn into fire, can breath fire and can shoot lava from her hands?

When reader gets angry hair air bursts into flames. (And when she gets pouty she creates a fire circle to sit in the middle of to sulk) lol.

Thanks!

Clarisse la rue x daughter of hades!reader

A/n:sorry it's so bad and late.

⚠️ Warning ⚠️:fluff

Summary: clarisse comforting you after someone says something mean to you in capture the flag

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.

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Today was capture the flag as always you were very happy but at the same time not cause you knew your girlfriend was very competitive last night she spoke to you about the game "look, don't take anything serious, okay?" She knew you like the back of your head cause she knew you were hot-tempered you didn't say anything to her you didn't want to lie to her.

Not even five minutes into the game you've already fallen flat on your face you got up and dusted yourself off people tripped you over by accident they all say their sorry but then go off laughing your try so hard to not take it to heart but then someone trips you over again you thought 'what the hades is going on here, did I make someone angry or something?"before he muttered in your ear "the daughter of hades but out all his children, your weakest." You looked shocked at what he said your hair literally burst in fire you got off the floor as he tried to run away you shot a ball of lava out of your hands and shot it at him he was severely burnt on his back and you walked up to him and pushed him on the a breathed fire at him he ran away probably to go snitch or something you were told off by the teacher you sighed upsetting.

Sitting near the lake you bring your knees near your chest for comfort tears falling down your face you sniffled your team did not win because of your outburst everyone blamed you for it but tried truly to not cause a scene sobbing and a big ring of fire surrounded all around you clarisse asked everyone where you were nobody knew she truly thought and figured you would be at the lake she wondered towards the lake looking for you only to hear you sniffing and a sobbing "y/n?" She spoke softly hearing her you quickly wiped your tears away from your face and tried to calm down so the fire wouldn't show anymore it worked you "hello, rissey what you doing here bubs?" You said quietly your eyes are still glassy from your tears looking down clarisse responded "I was looking for you, sweetheart, why are you crying?" She said putting her hand on your arm for comfort you broke your silence "it's just I lost my temper I didn't mean to like I really did but he sai-" you stopped on your words and just choked out tears you always thought you were a burden and now you know it "I always thought I was a burden to my father know I know it's true.." clarisse sat there shocked "am I hearing this right?, you mean to tell me someone like you is a burden to your father?." y/n looked at clarisse and then she held your hand together "look to me your perfect, my love." She said kissing your forehead.

Bonus:

Clarisse: "honey, cool down before you burn something!"

Literally hair on fire and a big ring of fire around her Y/n: *mumbling about the boy that tripped her*

But then the boy was actually put on life support.

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Blind Boy 🥀

(An Ominis Gaunt friends-to-lovers playlist)

A/N: Please listen in order. There's a method to my madness.

Ominis Gaunt fell in love slowly...

It began, he thinks, when he started hanging out with her. Without Sebastian that is.

Young folks - Peter Biorn and John

Lake Shore Drive - Skip Haynes

She makes him rather happy. It's odd...

Dog Days are Over - Florence + the Machine

Sunshine Lollypops and Rainbows - Lesley Gore

She understands him like no one else. And even if she doesn't, she never pretends to. Just listens.

Wow, I'm Not Crazy - AJR

He really likes his time spent with her. He thinks about her when she's not around. She occupies his thoughts rather a lot. Her time feels like a currency and he fears running out. He's never had to be afraid of any sort of lack before.

putting a spin on Ophelia - Egg

What is this warm feeling? A dream - a wish, certainly. His parents would hurt him if they found out... Besides, he's just the blind boy. Who's he kidding?

One Last Wish - Casper

If I Could Ride A Bike - Park Bird, Chevy

Creep - Radiohead

It's impossible... but what's the point of it all if he doesn't at least try? It could be so beautiful. He doesn't have to be brave about it.

Do Not Let Your Spirit Wane - Gang of Youths

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

He starts to try.

Passing Papers - Egg

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Are You Bored Yet - Wallows

Please Notice - Christian Leave

Feelings Are Fatal - Mxmtoon

These feelings are deeper than he thought. He can't help but indulge them.

Can't Help Falling in Love - Elvis

Amazing - Rex Orange Country

Golden Hour - JVKE

This Side of Paradise - Coyote Theory

Can I Call You Tonight? - Dayglow

I Couldn't Be More In Love - The 1975

It's so wonderful. It's beyond good. And she's always so kind to him. So perfect.

Infinitely Ordinary - The Wrecks

Remember When - Wallows

Ratisim - The Suicide Squad

One night in the Undercroft, he plucks up a little courage. And then... then he asks that girl to dance.

Not About Angels - Birdy

Once Upon A December - Anastasia

The Princess Diaries Waltz

And oh... oh he's fallen so far. He's hopeless.

Thinking Out Loud - Ed Sheeran

Line Without A Hook - Rick Montgomery

First Kiss.

Like Real People Do - Hozier

And things just get better from there...

I Hear A Symphony - Cody Fry

Say You Won't Let Go - James Arthur

I Feel Good About This - The Mowgli's

Darling - Christian Leave

Love - Lana Del Rey

the world could end with you - Llunar

After graduation, he proposes. The ring doesn't come from a distant ancestor - it's not plucked off his family tree. It's just for her. For that lovely muggle-born girl and nobody else.

Until I Found You - Steven Sanchez

His first night with her is better than he ever could have dreamed.

Saturn - Sleeping At Last

He elopes with her two months later. And married life with her is perfect. Utterly and completely perfect. Away from his family and his high-society upbringing... it's lazy and soft and simple.

Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson

Waltz for Sweatpants - Cody Fry

Would That I - Hozier

You Are Enough - Sleeping At Last

Photograph - Cody Fry

Love theme:

Hearing - Sleeping At Last

Happy Valentine's Day 💘

#I know its a little late but I spent hours on this #its so sappy #but young love guys #my name is cas and i write stuff #fanfic #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy sebastian #fluffy fluff #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis x mc #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #sebastian sallow x reader #friends to lovers #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy x reader #soft ominis #hes just a little guy #valentine's post #Hogwarts Valentine's #cas says stuff

[ghouljams]

Gaz and birdie ahhhhhhhhh we love to see it good for him good for her I love it love it love it. Are they the couple who invited everyone over for dinner and then surprise this is our wedding? I mean I can’t see any of the boys having a big wedding. But also just Gaz holding Bug while they’re signing papers and all that?????? My fucking heart.

They are!! They have a small surprise wedding. I think people forget Gaz is as much an agent of chaos as Soap is. So when Birdie suggests they invite everyone over and just spring the wedding on them he's 100% on board. Besides a big wedding doesn't suit either of them, but they also want a little more than just going to the courthouse. I'm gonna write a little bit of both their weddings, because they're both important.

It must be a slow day at the courthouse because you barely have time to sit down before your name is called. Kyle bounces Bug on his hip, keeping the baby entertained while you sort through your documents. It's been a little tricky figuring out the whole dual citizenship thing for the both of you, but hopefully worth it in the end. This isn't the most romantic thing in the world, it sort of makes you rethink your stance on weddings. You glance at Kyle, the way he grins while he talks to your child, you suppose you'd be here eventually anyway.

Kyle grabs your hand when you stand to make sure you're truly alright with just this, and you nod. Reassure him you are. You're not sure if he believes you, but he doesn't have time to ask. You're both taken back into a notary's office, and they drone about legality and consent, while you and Kyle check boxes. It's quick, both of you signing your name on the paper then watching the notary do the same.

"Alright if you go through those doors the judge will finish up," The notary directs. You nod and turn to go, but Kyle grabs your hand.

"You think we could do a two-fer?" He asks. The notary gives him a once over, not amused by his wasting time. Gaz tugs a bundle of papers from his back pocket and sets them on the desk. You see Bug's name neatly penned in at the top and blink up at Gaz. "I'm adopting too, may as well squeeze it in right?" He smiles at you.

"You're adopting your wife's child?" The notary raises her brows, looks over the rim of her glasses at you, "Seems like news to her."

You quickly school the surprise on your face, feeling your smile overtake it. Gaz seems to falter a little, unsure even in the face of your growing excitement.

"I know we haven't really talked about it, but-"

"No," You stop him, and fan your face with your hand to try and stop the happy tears forming on your lash line, "I didn't think you wanted-"

"Didn't think I-" Gaz balks, and pokes Bug's tummy, "This is my kid! Of course I want- Watch." He boosts Bug up a little higher, holds them with both hands to properly look in their face. "Dada, Bug, tell your mum."

Bug reaches out with grabbing hands, gurgling excitedly as Kyle tries not to laugh at them. You know Bug's been making sounds around the house, doing their best with words, but you can't believe Kyle's been coaching them. Well, maybe you can. You feel your whole face scrunch with your smile hearing the babbling "da da da" from your child. Kyle lights up, and turns them back to you proudly. You hear the click of the notary's stamp behind you.

"Sign here please," She tells you, with a sort of bored fondness.

Standing in front of the judge holding Kyle's hand you change your mind. You think this is perfect. Even if you were having a big wedding you'd end up here, the only difference would be a white dress. You'd still kiss your new husband, and you'd still be surprised when he tells you,

"You know, I had an idea for our wedding."

-

"I'm so happy you all could make it to this engagement party," You tell your guests. There's only about 15 people, but they all smile warmly at you. "Unfortunately there has been a slight miscommunication," a murmur goes through the crowd, "because this is actually our wedding."

To say chaos ensues is an understatement. Kyle tugs you out of the way of the excited guests, and settles a hand on your stomach. He's been doing that a lot since you told him you were pregnant. He gives you a quick kiss on your forehead before Goose is dragging you off to get changed.

"The caterers are gonna be here in an hour," He yells over the noise, "My mum's passin' out envelopes with your role, so quit panickin' and do what she says."

Your wedding is chaotic and spontaneous. Your guests set up tables and chairs, and put out decorations while your best friend does your hair and makeup. Your mother is thrilled and appalled in equal measure at the fact she was given no prior notice. No one has gifts, and at least three people are in jeans. It's perfectly imperfect in every way that counts. It's yours.

When you walk down the makeshift aisle towards the man that's already your husband in every way that counts, you don't think you ever could have asked for anything better.

#cod x reader #x reader #cod x oc #x oc #kyle garrick mw2 #kyle garrick x oc #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz mw2 #gaz x oc #oc: birdie #oc: bug #I guess!!! #Jamie “Bug” Garrick once all the papers go through #Birdie and Gaz power couple forreal #they're so good together

[nothomegal]

“The little owl family” (Part 1)

(RZ!Michael Myers x GNReader)

Summary: your and your little sister’s life had an 180° turn when your parents got into a severe car crash, dying on the spot. You, being already past 18 had to figure out how to keep things afloat and give yourself, specially your sister, a good future. And you did! It was hard but you did it and became the absolute hero in the little girl’s eyes. People would often involuntary smile at the dynamic of your two, so wholesome and supportive, the perfect family bond. Bond that a certain Boogeyman noticed as well…

Warnings: none, maybe mentions of murder(?).

Word Count: 2.7k

Additional info: Gender Neutral reader. (S/N) = sister’s name.

Also apologies for any mistakes, English is not my first language ;u;

Well, with all that said, enjoy the fic! ^^

(Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

—“(Y/N)! (Y/N) look!”—

The voice of a little girl resonated behind the mentioned person, who was finishing putting on their shoes.

—“Mmh? What is it songbird?”— you curiously say as you walk towards your sister.

The little 6 y/o was enthusiastically pointing at the window.

—“Look! The owl family! They actually made a nest in the backyard!”— she exclaims excitedly, giving little jumps in her place as she speaks and points.

The older sibling looks through the window, focusing on the large tree they had in the backyard. And it’s true! Inside of a tree hollow was a barely noticiable owl head curiously peaking out, staring at the duo with it’s dark, almost pitch black, eyes.

—“It’s not just an owl, it’s a barn owl!”— you comment, glancing at your sister. —“Not sure if they’re going to find much food around here though… Maybe we could buy some meat later?”—

—“Oh, yes! We need to help the birdies!”—

—“Aight’ I’ll write it down in our 'to do' list. But now we gotta go or you’ll be late for school.”— you gently remind her.

—“Oww, but will I see the birdies later?”— she looks at you with a little frown.

—“Of corse! Maybe we could even stay up at night a bit longer since they are nocturnal animals.”—

—“Past bedtime?!”— she gasps a bit.

—“Yup, past bedtime.”— you nod with a chuckle. —“But only this time for tonight, and maybe ones in Halloween… And Christmas… And new year…”—

(S/N) lets out a childish laugh as she swings her arms around her sibling’s waist.

—“You are the best (Y/N)!”—

The mentioned person laughs a bit and crouches down to hug their sister properly.

—“I learned from the greatest. Now come on or your teacher is going to reprimand both of us.”—

The little girl pouts a bit but does as told, clearly not wanting to get scolded again by the old witch Rosemary.

. . .

After a couple of hours, (Y/N) had picked up their sibling from their school and were currently on their ride to the store, when suddenly…

—“(Y/N), who is ‘Michael Myers’?”— (S/N) innocently asks.

They almost choke whit their own saliva when they heard that name leaving their sister’s mouth, their body going a bit stiff.

—“Uh…”— you think about what to reply. —“Where did you hear that name?…”—

—“A classmate told me! She said the friend of their older brother was killed by Michael Myers!”— she replies, saying the last part in a more dramatic tone.

—“Uhuh…”— you hum thoughtfully.

—“So… Who is he?”—

—“Well…”— you pause for a moment. —“He was ones a boy that lived in Haddonfield, around 16 years ago, and then at Halloween he… He killed some people; his stepfather, his own sister and her boyfriend.”—

(S/N)’s eyes wide and her mouth slightly gapes.

—“Own sister?! How dared he?!”—

—“Yeah, but can’t blame him. His sister wasn’t a good person, in fact no one was really kind to him except his mother.”—

—“Oh…”— she pauses, trying to process the fact that not all siblings are as amazing as the one she has.

—“So yeah, that’s the story of Michael Myers, and his old house is now a source of spooky stories, claimed to be the ‘house of the Boogeyman’.”—

(Y/N) replied honestly, they rarely kept secrets from their sister and would often do their best to explain certain things, she will learn them anyways at some point so they rather to be the ones who explain it.

The little girl nods a bit, her gaze thoughtful.

—“Is his house like… Haunted?”—

—“Mmm… Nah, it’s just an old abandoned house. Sure, some teens may come in for kicks and giggles but that’s it”—

(S/N) nods again and then silently looks through the car window. Through the rear mirror (Y/N) could see the girl's expression, it was clear that she still has things to ask and wonder but chooses not to.

Eventually though, whatever was bugging the girl's mind becomes too much and she's forced to ask...

—"Can we go and see the house?..."—

(Y/N)'s grip on the steering wheel tightened, their body stiff again.

—"...Why?"— you simply ask.

The girl shrinks in her sit a bit, her expression a bit sheepish.

—"I... W-Well... While exiting the shcool I heard Terry say that his dad is going to demolish the Myers house in a few days, I got curious and... I just really want to see a real haunted house at least ones!"— she exclaims at the last part.

—"I just said it's not-"—

—"It looks haunted! Please! Pretty please (Y/N)!"— she begs. —"I promise I will look quick! Just a little peak and I won't ask you anything ever again!"—

—"Didn't you say the same yesterday when you wanted pizza for dinner?"— you ask in a teasing tone, subtly trying to change topic.

—"But now I'm super-duper serious! Please."—

The older sibling remains quiet, eyes gluet to the road yet their mind going completely coconuts. Part of them wanted their sister to know the truth, to know that just last year all grown up Michael Myers had escaped from the asylum he's been locked for so long, to know the people he killed, to know he kidnapped and nearly murdered his own young sister, to know that... His body is still to be found, despite originally being claimed as dead.

On the other hand, a more permisive part of them saw nothing wrong in making a quick visit. The old house is several blocks away from their neighborhood and police cars still patrolling the streets quite regulary, specially now durning October.

NO, their gut screams as they slouch on their sit a bit. This is probably a terrible idea! Did they forget all the horror movies and the ridiculously avoidable threats the main characters go through? Do they really want to get themselves in such mess?

But again, it's just a house... Some stupid old building that is barely standing.

And even though (Y/N) doesn't want to admit it... They too are kinda curious to see how the house looks after the last year events.

It's just a little peak.

Just a tiny glance that will last no longer that a minute or two.

Plus, they're god damn aware that if they don't accept (S/N) is going to give them a one hell of a time, and their nerves deserve some mercy.

With a sigh, (Y/N) corrects their position.

—"Just a small glance, okay?"—

At that, (S/N)'s face lights like a firework, her smile wide and bright.

—"Yes! Yes thank you so much (Y/N)! I promise I'll be super good from now on!"—

They simply hum with a smile, this is going to be a quick visit, just a minute and they'll be over it, going to the store to buy some groceries and maybe some new Halloween decorations, the holiday was still three weeks away but in Haddonfield, even after the Boogeyman's horrors, Halloween is still welcomed.

. . .

The car pulls and stops, at the opposite street from the old house.

Just like they imagined, neither time or the people of this town had mercy on the structure. The poor building looked even more vandalized and broken than before, still miraculously standing.

(Y/N) frowned, they’ve expected to feel the classic thrill, the unexplainable sense of danger that our primal instincts send to alert about any sketchy situation, yet… They’re feeling non of it, instead of irrational fear and dread they feel sadness, a melancholy so deep it consumes all other emotions, leaving a huge void in their chest.

The little girl stares at the house, frowning too, as if feeling the same deep sadness.

(Y/N) eventually stops the engine, making everything go silent.

It’s uncertain how long the duo was sitting like this, staring at the building and barely breathing. Eventually, a tiny voice breaks it.

—“Can we…”— she hesitates.

—“Want to look closer?”— you ask, unimpressed.

—“Y-Yeah…”— she shyly admits.

(Y/N) hesitates, not wanting to abandon the safety of the car. But again, what threats are out there?

With a sigh and a small nod, they unbuckle their belt as a silent 'okay'.

When out of the vehicle, the duo got a spine chill almost at the same time. The house looked even bigger, the old structure menacingly hovering over them, reminding how little they are.

But even then, even despite the house's menacing look...

The atmosphere remained melancholic, lonely.

—"The house looks so sad..."— your sister comments with a frown.

—"Indeed it does songbird... Indeed it does..."— you reply, having a frown as well.

—"Do you think the ghost of Michael Myers is looking at us?"— she asks innocently.

(Y/N) gives their sister a look.

—"(S/N), I said he was locked up, not that he died- "— you try to correct her.

—"He may have super powers! What if he can turn secretly into a ghost?!"— she exclaims, though more that scared she sounded excited about such possibility.

(Y/N) simply chucles at the girl's innocence and how quickly she could get out of track with her theories and imagination.

—"Yeah, maybe you're right. It's a cool super power though."— you comment, a bit more casually. —"But I think it's time for us to go sweetheart, remember we still have groceries to buy, as well some stuff for Halloween."—

(S/N) lets out a little gasp.

—"Oh my god you're right! Let's go let's go!- "—she grabs your hand ready to leave but abruptly stops. —"Wait!..."—

She suddenly starts to rummage in her school backpack, gaining a confused yet curious look from (Y/N). With a little 'aha!' she pulls out a drawing.

—"Okaaaay...? What are you planning young lady?"— you arch a brow.

—"It's a gift, I want to gift it to the house!"— she exclaims with a big smile.

—"...What?"— you look at her with confusion. —"You want to gift one of your drawings to an old house?"— your eyes narrow a bit when she nods.

—"Yeah! I mean... I don't like how sad the house looks, so gloomy and... Lonely. You always smile when I gift you a drawing, so I want to try it here!"—

(Y/N) remains silent, though a bit of warmth tickled in their chest at how innocent and sweet (S/N) is acting. They look towards the house, the path to the front door completely overgrown, the dry grass being as unwelcoming as possible, threatning to stick and pinch whoever is dumb enough to enter.

—"I will be fast! Just slide it through the mail slot and then we run back into the car!"—

Their eyes narrow even more.

—"You want to slide it inside?!"—

—"Yes! So the ghost can see and see what a cool artist I am, I even made it spooky!"—

(Y/N) finally takes a moment to glance at the drawing; it was an orange dinosaur, a spinosaurus to be more specific, that had an agry expression. What's the spooky part? The dinosaur is wearing a black witch hat with a red magic wand and a scarf. The drawing also had some things written, all of them spelled wrong of course, insead of saying 'Dinosaur! Happy Halloween!' it said 'Dienosore! Happee Hallowin!'.

(Y/N) couldn't help but to let out a small chuckle at the spelling, they definetely must start teaching their sister some grammar.

—"Alright... But we go together, okay? You slide that in there real quick and we're out."— you say, a bit more strictly.

—"Okay!... Well, maybe also this."— she takes out a little chocolate bar out of her pocket.

—"You want to also leave a treat for the ghost?"— you arch your brow again.

(S/N) simply giggles.

—"No silly, it's for the Boogeyman! So he eats this instead of my ankles."—

—"Didn't we agree that a ghost lives- "—

—"The Boogeyman is the ghost's dog!"—

(Y/N) let out a tired sigh as they roll their eyes, whatever lore (S/N) is having in her mind is getting progressively worse.

—"Okay okay, as you say. Let's hurry up, we don't want the store to get flooded and have all the best decorations sold."—

The little girl nods enthusiastically and takes their hand before they start walking.

(Y/N) is careful with their steps, making sure to not step on any thorn or stick that could potentially hurt their sister, (S/N) meanwhile was loyally following her sibling's footsteps, trusting them completely.

Ones they made their way to the front door, the odd sense of alarm starts to finally creep through (Y/N)'s back, like a bunch of bugs running under their skin in sheer panic, trying to escape and hide from whatever threat is looming in the air.

The older sibling takes a more protective pose, griping their sister's shoulder firmply and eyeing at every possible direction, looking for the sourse of that alarming feeling (S/N) was totally oblivious of.

The little girl, with a happy-go-lucky attitude slides the drawing and the candy through the mail slot like she said, and ones done turns toward (Y/N).

—"Done!"—

As soon as (S/N) said that, her small frame is yanked towards the fence, away from the sketchy building.

—"Good... Now let's go."— you say, your tone a bit more urgent.

(S/N) glances at them with a little frown, noticing the change in their attitude.

—"Are you scared, (Y/N)?"— she innocently asks.

The question made them stop in their tracks, they pause for a moment but eventually sigh.

—"A bit, maybe..."— you reply honestly.

The girl frowns more, but then her expression brightens as she wraps her arms around her sibling's waist.

—"Don't worry (Y/N)! If the Boogeyman dares to come for you I'm going to protect you!"—

Such statemant made them release a scoff.

—"You? A little garden gnome is going to safe the day?"— you tease.

—"Yes! If a monster tries to do something to you then I'll uh... I'll step on their big toe and slap their elbows! Yeah!"— she exclaims, determination shining in her eyes.

Though the childrish threat didn't soothe (Y/N)'s mind, it did lightened their mood a bit.

—"Step on toes, huh? Watch out sis, that's some very serious threats right there."—

—"I know! Bet I'll make the monster cry."— she grins mischievously.

—"You sure? You won't back away at the last second? Just like you did this summer when you tried to catch a gekko in our backyard."— you chuckle at her angry face.

—"The lizard was scary! I didn't know it could climb on walls!"— she childishly whines as she gives you a little punch in the arm. —"And stop laughing! It wasn't funny!"—

—"Didn't you hysterically laugh when you spooked me with that hideous horse mask on?"—

—"Thas was fuuny! The gekko running up walls wasn't!"—

The both siblings started to go back and forth with their little argument of what was or not funny, the argument at some point turned into a small playful fight that was anything but serious. At some point the duo lean against the car, loudly cackling and hugging each other for additional support.

Their roudy interaction didn't go unnoticed, appart from some disapproving glares from the local neighbors, a pair of dark eyes oberved them as well.

The icy blue eyes of the monster hiding in the darkest part of the house watched the duo since their arrival. At first, he was indifferent, just a pair of dummies coming to retell the same story over and over... But eventually, his opinion changed, their dynamic and behavoir was something unique to him.

The way that little girl wasn't afraid of the 'Boogeyman' living inside and how calm her sibling was towards her request to come closer was something he never seen before. Sure some teens would drag their young brothers and sisters towards his old house to give them a scare, terrify them with stories and how he is going to supposedly come and take them, but these two...

Something awakened inside of him, not just curiousity but also something bittersweet... If things had turned the way he wanted he may had the same relationship with boo... The same strong bond he always craved since childhood.

When the car eventually left the neighborhood, that odd awakened feeling vanished as well, making his chest feel empty and cold again...

He has no idea why or what is going on with him. Why some strangers affected him in a such personal level. All he knows is that now the emptiness is being slowly replaced with an unhinged desire...

Desire to find these two and observe them again...

#nothomegal fic #michael myers #rz michael myers #michael myers x reader #slasher x reader #gn reader #rz michael myers x reader #halloween

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 28

Hello! This is the last chapter before the epilogue. I'm so grateful for everyone who's still reading this little big story. Longest thing I've ever written. It caps out at nearly 60k words. I want to thank the people who have been reading this since day one and all the people that joined us for the ride along the way.

I love reading your comments and theories. I especially loved reading the freak outs over cliffhangers and the abuse I piled on our poor boys. But I am a sucker for happy endings.

Also a little treat for @goodolefashionedloverboi who wanted this way back in part 21.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24  Pt 25 Pt 26 Pt 27

***

“Steve!” Robin called out. “Your boyfriend is here!”

Steve came running out of the back room. His grin nearly split his face in two.

He lifted Eddie up and spun him around. Eddie laughed out loud.

“Put me down, you menace!” Eddie said between gasps of giggles.

Steve gently put him down. And then kissed him right in front of Robin.

Who promptly fake gagged.

“Shush you,” Steve said. “You should be grateful I didn’t let him keep me in bed this morning.”

Robin gasped. “Betrayal! And in front of my coffee no less!” She covered her coffee with her hands as if to shield it from the scene in front of her.

Eddie laughed. “Sorry there Birdie, it was a very near thing. I had to be bribed!”

She shook her head. “Go on, get! Before you ruin my coffee with your sugary sweetness.”

Steve and Eddie just smiled and walked back to Steve’s room, hands in each other’s back pockets.

Once they got to the room, Eddie was all over Steve. Hands tangled in his hair, lips on that perfect mouth. Gripping the back of Eddie’s shirt was all he could do to keep upright.

“Baby,” Eddie whined when they finally broke apart. “I missed you so much. I promise to never leave you like that again.”

Steve nuzzled their noses together and sighed happily. “I know, Eds. I missed you too.”

Eddie stepped back to take off his shirt and Steve scanned over the expanse of his chest.

Eddie caught the look and grinned. “No new tattoos, sweetheart. I don’t trust anyone else but you.”

Steve blushed. “That’s nice to hear, beautiful. But I was just ogling my boyfriend.”

Eddie laughed. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.” He walked over the chair and straddled it, resting his head on his folded arms.

“Let’s get this bad boy done, shall we?” Steve sighed happily.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” Eddie murmured. “Can’t wait.”

Steve started up his gun and got to work. All the while they chatted about the lighter stuff of the last three weeks. Eddie caught up on all the shop gossip.

“Honestly,” Steve said, “if Robin doesn’t pick soon, she’s going to be in the world’s most awkward polycule.”

Eddie laughed. “She’ll figure it out. But I guess Birdie really has a thing for redheads.”

Steve chuckled too. “Oh, yeah. Pretty much always had. Except once with Nancy back in high school. But that was more a ‘everyone had a crush on Nancy’ thing then a specific crush.”

Eddie hummed. “You said you had a thing for curly haired smart people with soulful eyes. You were talking about me too, right?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Oh yeah. I’m not a subtle person when it comes to my crushes. Pretty much everyone figures it out before I do. Except in your case. I’ve had a crush on you since high school.”

“Me too, Stevie.”

“It’s about time we got our heads out of our asses, then.”

Eddie murmured his agreement and they settled into a comfortable silence.

*

Robin was still going to kick Eddie’s ass for making Steve sad for two weeks, but after hearing it from him how much he hated touring and how much he missed Steve, she forgave him for the most part. He sounded like he had been more miserable than Steve and that was honestly saying something.

So she went to Corroded Coffin’s return concert at the Nightmare Holes and cheered loudly for them.

She also knew she had to chose between Chrissy and Vickie soon otherwise they were going to have a cat fight.

But Robin didn’t want to chose. She liked the attention from both girls plus it would be super awkward if she chose Vickie and Chrissy stayed at the shop. But it would also be awkward working with Vickie at the front desk if she picked Chrissy.

It was a mess.

But then a lightbulb dawned over her head. Maybe she didn’t have to chose.

She spoke to them on their way to the club and ended up dancing with both of them all night.

*

Steve waved at the rest of the band as Eddie dragged him to his car, eager to get back to Steve’s apartment.

Steve laughed as Eddie shoved him into the passenger seat of his own car and got in the driver’s seat.

“Someone’s in a hurry there,” Steve teased.

“Stevie darling,” Eddie said. “I am vibrating out of my skin here with anticipation and if I don’t see that tattoo of yours soon, I’m might go absolutely feral. Do you understand?”

He laughed. “Yeah, baby, I hear you.”

Eddie breathed out and drove to the apartment. They walked up the stairs and once the door was closed behind they were all over each other. Hands and mouths all over as they tumbled onto the sofa.

Shirts were the first to fly, Steve careful with Eddie’s still healing tattoo.

“Baby,” Eddie whined. “Is your tattoo healed?”

Steve wiggled underneath him. “For the most part, it’s been about two weeks.”

Eddie let out another whine. “This won’t hurt you?”

Steve shook his head. “The scab is already gone. I heal fast.”

Eddie undid Steve’s jeans and slid them down his legs. He looked up at Steve for permission for the final layer of clothes to be removed. Steve nodded and lifted his hips for Eddie to slide off his underwear.

Eddie gasped when he saw it.

His thumb gently rubbed over the tattoo. It wasn’t very large, about the size of a half dollar. It was a simple heart with bat wings and a little crown.

“Baby, is this us?” he asked, breathless.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I love it, sweetheart,” Eddie whispered. “And when my back is done, I am going to get it done on me, too.”

Steve’s eyes glistened with happy tears. “Okay, yeah. Suddenly I need that.”

Eddie kissed him deeply. “Me, too. I need you so much.”

They got Eddie’s pants and underwear off and Steve moaned at the long, graceful lines of his boyfriend’s lean body.

“Fuck, Eds,” Steve murmured. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

Eddie threw his head back and moaned. They had to be careful with Eddie’s still healing back, but they managed to make do and had a great time.

Once they had cleaned up and dressed, Steve began making dinner.

“So how did your meeting with Murray Bauman go?” he asked as he fried up the chicken for fajitas.

“It went great,” Eddie said. “Cec is still going to bring the contract to one of his law professors to make sure he didn’t miss any hidden bullshit, but yeah. It seems like Corroded Coffin is going to make an EP.”

Steve hummed. “And that different than a full record, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, nodding. “It’s about five songs. But it’s what most new artists get. The record company doesn’t want to spend a boat load of money on an LP only for the band to not go anywhere.”

“That makes sense,” Steve murmured. “And you guys are going to keep working at the Nightmare Holes?”

Eddie nodded again. “Yeah, and if the record hits big, we can renegotiate our contract with Rick to get more money each week.”

“That’s great,” Steve said with a smile.

“And you and your genius schedule is going to work out great,” Eddie said with an answering grin. “They’ll even send a car for us every time, too.”

“Wow,” Steve said. “That’s awesome. Looks like I’m going have a rockstar boyfriend.”

“A perfect compliment to my tattoo artist boyfriend.”

Steve came over to where Eddie was seated at the table to kiss him. “Perfect indeed.”

They had dinner and sat down to watch a movie. They curled up on the sofa and just enjoyed each other’s company. Like they had so many times before.

Other than the sex, they were still Eddie and Steve. They still enjoyed the same movies, food, and music that they did before they got together.

They were just finally on the same page.

Once the movie was over, Eddie pulled out his guitar.

“You ready for this, baby?” he asked as Steve turned to face him on the couch.

Eddie played the first song he wrote on the road, the one that made Jeff and the others cry.

Tears streamed down Steve’s cheeks, too. “I’m sorry you were so lonely, Eds. I’m glad you’re home now.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he murmured. “But I think you’ll like this one more.”

And he play the most beautiful, heart-stoppingly romantic song Steve had ever heard and it was for him. About them. And he was crying for a completely different reason now.

“Sunshine,” Steve said through his tears. “That was amazing. They both were. Thank you for sharing them with me.”

Eddie kissed him fiercely over the guitar. “Just you wait, Stevie. You’re going to get a life time of sappy love songs.”

“And I’ll cherish every single one.”

They got ready for bed and snuggled up together, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

*

The next morning led to morning sex, showers, and breakfast, never too far apart.

They were getting ready for a walk in the park when they got to witness a Robin Buckley walk of shame.

She opened the door and jumped when she saw them. “Shit!”

Eddie and Steve shared a glance.

“And what time do you call this, young lady,” Eddie teased.

Robin blushed all the way to her roots. She pulled out her phone. “Uh...11:13am?”

Eddie cackled as Steve grinned.

“And which lovely lady did you go home with last night?” Steve asked.

Robin’s blush deepened. “Both?”

Eddie and Steve glanced at each other again.

“You want to repeat that?” Eddie asked.

She shrugged. “I couldn’t decide. And Chrissy had hit on Vickie before, which lead to us talking to Vickie and once it was made clear that it wasn’t just a one time threesome she decided she was down for poly relationship.”

Eddie and Steve both held up their fists for her to bump and she fist bumped them both at the same time.

“You go girl!” Eddie crowed.

“Hell, yeah, Robs,” Steve said. “That’s awesome!”

“Where are you two love birds going?” Robin asked.

“Just for a walk in the park.”

“Have fun.”

***

Epilogue

Tag list: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@bookworm0690 @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @archermightbegay @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95 @novelnovella @jonesn4coffee @slowandsteddie @awkwardgravity1 @steaddie-on

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #tattoo artist steve

[emlovslennon]

Ok so I have a request along the lines of the beach post you made with John and him being insecure but like reader continues to make him flustered and all blushy 🥰 I’m a sucker for flustered John

SAME HERE!!! Literally am obsessed with this

Era: 1965

Plot: basically the last post i made but with more spice bc yes.

-

You and the boys decided to take a nice trip to Orlando and enjoy a relaxing day at the Beach. It was dreadfully hot and you were all basically melting even with swim suits on. You couldn’t help but look at John, tho. He wouldn’t stop messing with his stomach and trying to pull his trunks up as high as they can go, trying to cover his stomach as much as possible.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” You ask, after making sure no one else was around and taking a swim in the ocean water.

“Wha? Oh, nothing love, I’m fine.” He stuttered, clearly not fine.

“Johnny, there’s clearly something wrong. Come on, let’s go inside.” You said, reaching your hand out for him to grab, and you both entered the hotel room you both shared. Once inside, John immediately tried searching for a shirt to put on, but you stopped him.

“Love, please let go.” He said, as calm as he possibly could, but you didn’t budge.

“No, I’m not. You’re perfect, John. I see the way you tried to hide yourself every-time we take a trip like this, but you don’t need to. You’re still the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes one back in art school.” You said, trailing your hands down his body, John looked at you completely flustered, his face a crimson red and his body slowly relaxing to your touch.

“Birdie… I-“

“Sh, John, let me take care of you, please?” You said softly, John nodded frantically and you couldn’t help but giggle, you slowly laid him on the bed and got on top of him, your lips connected and you, wanting to push the limits a bit, slightly yanked at his hair, causing John to let out a surprised moan. You then moved to his neck, making sure to not leave bruises just for the sake of the others seeing, and Brian would kill him if he dared to go on stage with his lovers hickeys all over him. John’s breath started getting more ragged as your lips traveled from his neck to his stomach, until you reached the start of his trunks, but John grabbed your hair and pulled at it, causing your head to go up.

“Birdie, you’re fucking killing me. I can’t wait like this.” John whispered as he slightly pushed you off and took off his trunks, you then removed your bikini as John used his fingers to do a “come hither” motion and patted his thighs. You got back up as you slowly sink down, even after all your years together, he never fails to not stretch you out, every time felt like the first time with him.

“Fuck, you’re such a good little girl for me, you treat me so well, take me well too.” He whispered as he bucked his hips into you, causing you to moan loudly.

“I’m so proud to be yours, Johnny” you managed to get out without moaning, you both stared deeply into each others eyes, John smiled and kissed your face all over. John’s panting then turned into grunts as he began to go faster, basically pounding into you, your control was starting to fade, but you couldn’t help but mentally give yourself a high five for making him basically melt for you.

“Come on, baby, I can feel you’re getting close, good girl, my little girl, cum for me.” He groaned, your moans were pretty much pornographic, basically screaming for him. And then, the final straw for you was when he slightly grabbed your neck, you screamed his name as you came, your legs violently shaking. John smirked, like it was a job well done. John thrusted a few more times until he came inside you with a loud moan. You couldn’t help but stare as he came down from his high, his hair was completely disheveled, his cheeks were flushed red and slightly pink, and his mouth hung open. You couldn’t help but be completely amazed by it.

“We should probably go back.” You giggled, completely wore out. John helped you get up and get your bikini back on, your legs were like putty, and almost losing your balance from how wobbly they were. As soon as John put his trunks back on, your hearts both stopped as you heard the door knock.

“Hey, are you guys okay? I heard screaming.”

It was Ringo.

-

BAHHA poor Ringo my boy😭BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT I TRIED MY BEST I did wanna have a mix of dom john tho bc dude like AHHHH but yes yes here you are

#classic rock #classic rock imagines #george harrison #john lennon #paul mccartney #ringo starr #the beatles #john lennon x reader #the beatles x reader #60s #john lennon smut #60s vintage

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Even Educated Fleas Do It

A Sarge & lil Mama episode (wedding night)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now it’s all hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dodger was saying—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Birds do it, bees do it

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

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

-Even educated fleas do it,

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

-So let’s do it, let’s fall in love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That so?” she asks, utterly sarcastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It has a rather startling effect on her young husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who was he to deny her?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, why? it had been so lovely…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

E.P.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He aimed his cock into her waiting hand and watched with barely suppressed desire as her palm rolled over the rip and her nails gently raked across his veins as she moved to grip him and point him where she wanted him. There was a lewd sucking noise this time when he went in, like her body was finally trying to swallow him willingly, and he saw her head toss on the mat, dainty fingers woven into gold shag and her neck craned back to see him as he pressed in deep. Her face was flushed deep red and the makeup had worn off and she looked so innocent, so young beneath him, a single curl plastered dark and wet against her cheek from the bath. He’d unmade her, turned her back to her simplest form. He snapped his hips, lost his mind, noticed happily how her hand went to her hip and joined his there. He held onto it like a handle and jerked her back on him again and again, her cheek rubbing against the mat and her teeth sinking into her other fist to hush her cries. Those cries of hers, maybe something was very sick inside him that he liked them so much but he did, he did and he worked hard to draw more from her just as he dreamed of this, dreamed of her fluttering pink hole trying to take more and her eyes rolling back from the fatigue of it, her body unable to deny him.

“My poor belly,” he thought he heard her whimper, yet unsure he reached down and pulled her fist away from her mouth, it pushed him deeper in, bent her more starkly, speared her cervix, “Oh god, my belly, my poor belly.” she kept saying for sure this time.

“You alright, Lany?” he draped over her and brushed the damp strands off her face, her face that was red and splotchy from sensation and blood flow. She gave him a whimpering nod.

“You’resodeep” she accused him even as he felt her squeeze and shake around his girth, her mouth gaping for a brief moment at the unexpected little pleasure. “My poor belly.” she said it over and over again and he couldn’t stop. It was more just a bewildered mantra to comfort herself, as her mind betrayed her and wanted him but her body was so well used that was she was just…taking it

“You poor little thing,” he cooed, making sure to move slow and deep in a way that had them both shaking and stepping into madness, bent all over her bent frame himself, “you’re takin’ my cock so well, so obedient, never was a more righteous wife, never was, you’re a goddamn wonder, that’s what you are. I’ll thank God for ya every day.”

His praise always soothed her and he kept it up, not even sure what he was saying anymore as he chased his own release, focused on the bent little thing beneath him and the way it made her waist look minuscule in this position, her pink face, too. At one point he saw tears instead of bath splash on her face and as he felt himself begin to spurt he shushed her the best he could with the first thing that came to mind:

“Don’t cry Tink, please don’t cry.”

The nickname tickled her consciousness like a feather on the neck, some goosey thrill that tickled up her spine and added to the satisfied throb between her legs as he splashed hot and thick inside her.

“Tink?” she thought she had asked him, bewildered and charmed to have been christened. Maybe her words got lost in the bath mat.

He did not answer her, must’ve not heard her at all, but picked her up with his own shaking arms and like a couple of bambi's they toddled into the massive bed, throwing themselves under the covers quite unceremoniously. He tried to swat at the lamp as if that would turn it off, and realizing she was the more capable of the two -he seemed almost insensibley drained by that last encounter- she leaned over his chest and pulled at the lamp string, dousing the glow that surrounded them, only to realize dawn was splashing a violet haze through the crack of the window curtains.

“Good morning, Mrs. Presley.” he had teased softly, noticing the dawn too, his head tilted on the pillow to watch her shut off the lamp.

“Good morning, husband.” she murmured, wriggling on top of him as he held her fast, arms locked over her back and her head pillowed on his chest.

This cuddling was familiar, this drowsy holding of each other until he stilled and fell asleep, an art she had perfected since his mama died. But now she was the woman in his life, and strangely now that the hunger had been glutted and abated, they entwined around each other like babes or twins in a womb, this naked closeness the most natural of assurance in the world. Something Elvis had been missing since his brother had left him, since Jesse entered the world before him and chose not to stay and endure it with him, fell into place.

My sister! My spouse! -King Solomon had called his lover, and Elvis had felt that supremely odd when snooping through the Song of Songs as a boy. But now he knew -too many roles did she fill to be confined to one, and Elvis felt tempted as Elaine fell asleep atop him to whisper, “my brother, my spouse!” into her hair.

Sometime later, when deep unconscious, dreamless sleep had possessed them and held them fast, but not a long enough time for Elvis to be remotely cheerful about it, a obnoxious clanging sound broke in on their peaceful repose. Elaine jerked awake atop him with a startled little squeak and he put his hand to the back of her head to shush her, encouraging her to lay her cheek back on his shoulder. The noise resounded again and this time he was lucid enough to determine it was coming from outside the bedroom door.

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

Elaine huffed and rubbed her tired face into his chest, his sparse hairs there tickling her nose and making her sneeze. That made him laugh and with neither able to keep up the pretense of sleep, they raised their heads and looked towards the door with matching, raised and unimpressed eyebrows of displeasure.

“If this is the boys idea of a practical joke,” he growled with sleepy morning grit in his voice, “they won’t be boys much longer.”

“Will ya put them in boxes and give them to me?” she inquired and he realized with a self satisfied smirk that her melodic voice had gone hoarse from all the screaming he’d made her do the night before.

“Heavens Mrs. Presley,” he marveled, “ya sure have gotten comfy askin’ for things -I like it.”

“I could think of a thing or two I want right now.” she bit her lip and her eyes slanted hungrily and some scared part of him that worried she wouldn’t want this as much as he did got buried teen feet below the earth, locked away forever.

“Breakfast?” he acted dumb even as she propped herself up on his chest and gingerly tried rolling her hips along his thickening shaft, hissing at the soreness of her own petals.

The sheets falling away from her and pooling round her hips like some goddess that had condescended to come down to earth and make use of her spied after Adonis, Elaine was ethereal and happy and Elvis sank his head back into the pillow and watched her, wishing to pinch himself but the roll of his foreskin against her bud told him it was real. “Breakfast and water, breath mints and fresh air-“ she listed while speeding up and causing his cock to begin to weep and slick her way along-

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

“What?” he yelled fearsomely at the door and she shivered in spooked delight at his temper.

“I’m comin’ in wi’ breakfast,” came Mary’s unmistakable drawl through the door and to his horror he watched the gilt knob begin to turn, “y’all’s best disentangle yo’selves cause I done waited till two in the afternoon to feed yous, and I ain’t taking chances for waitin’ any longer-“ Mary stepped into the room about at the same second Elaine accomplished a dismount and roll that the would have made the marine corps proud, diving beneath the covers, only a bride sized lump to be seen by the cook as she came in with a heavy laden tray, her ingenious cowbell left behind in the hall. “Lawd Mr. Elvis, you’re wearing that loved on look just nicely, if you’ll lemme say so.” she admired his marital blush and scratched shoulders as only a proud auntie could, “Miss Elaine, you best come outta ‘der, I got bagels and cream cheese, jus’ as you like.”

“Oh Mary, you didn’t!” Came Elaine’s moan of appreciation beneath the bedding and it was altogether too close to his pelvis for Elvis’ sanity, “You’re much too good to us, you know that?” Elaine wriggled till just her head peeked out and bestowed on Mary a smile of such adoration the lady forgot the ache in her arms from carrying the tray upstairs.

“Yeas, well, wouldn't do to have y’all’s dying of malnourishment.” she huffed bashfully patting Elvis’ beet red cheeks while unconsciously setting the trey in his stiff lap.

He groaned. In appreciation for the eggs and burnt bacon, Elaine had to presume.

“Don’t you take your fill again till you’ve taken your fill, you get what I mean?” she wagged her fingers at them, first at Elvis, then at his bride as if she was second guessing who here was the more likely instigator, the groom seemingly meek and the bride grinning altogether too widely than was proper. Delighted, Mary couldn’t help her matching one, “Eat up.” She nodded, backing away while eying them suspiciously, as if at any minute they might overturn her carefully prepared victuals and begin to maul eachother anew.

“Wouldn’t think of letting it get cold!” Elvis assured her adamantly and to prove his point, stuck a bagel into his bride's mouth before getting into the eggs himself.

Satisfied, Mary left them and shut the door. They heard when she picked up her cowbell and the retreating sound of her footsteps down the hall assured Elvis it was safe. He moved the platter off his lap as if it were scorching him, flinging the offending sheets off his erection and patting his thighs, jerking his chin at a wide eyed Elaine.

“I’m a very talented man, I’ll have ya know,” he told her as she settled in his lap, his chest pressed to her back, “I can feed and fill ya at the same time.”

“So,” she began genially as she wiggled him in and got comfy, sucking cream cheese off his fingers and taking advantage of his compromised blood flow, “Is Tinkerbell gonna my nickname?”

Elvis choked on his bacon, and proceeded to cough into a pillow case. “I’ve no idea what you're on about.” he denied.

“Hey,” she grinned at him without wavering, “if you can enjoy splitting me in half, I can enjoy a nickname that outs ya for bein’ a lil nasty about it, hmm?” and she chucked his chin.

She -she had a point, Elvis supposed. “Sure, Tink, whatever you say, Tink.” he droned.

Masterlist

Taglist

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@presleyenterprise

#elvis fanfiction #sarge and lil mama #elvis x you #elvis movie #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #austin butler elvis #austin elvis imagine #austin elvis fandom #austin elvis smut #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis x elaine #elvis one shot

[orions-tears]

Truly Yours - Ominis Gaunt [Part 1]

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x fem!Ravenclaw Reader

A/N: Oh hey. Long time no see. I've had a lot happening and I finally feel like I'm able to write again. I haven't replayed the game just yet so I apologise if Ominis seems off this is just my mind Ominis. Also you may read this and question if I remember that Ominis is blind. I do. Anyways, you may look at this and say, "Milo, this is weirdly similar to another fic your wrote. Truly Yours, remember?" An my answer is yes, yes it is. Someone lovingly requested that I switch the roles of the fic to Ominis pining after the reader. I love the request so here she is. To be honest I'm most worried about this not living up to the original but we can't all be perfect can we? Anyways, I'm back and I love you all. Thank you for still reading my work and giving it love. Enjoy.

You feel the bench shift as it’s weighed down to your left. You look over and see that Ominis has joined you. Odd…you think. You look around for Sebastian and see him lounging at a table in the back of the classroom, talking to Poppy. You look back at Ominis and smile lightly.

“Umm, Ominis…sorry, I’m not Sebastian,” you say quietly, hoping not to embarrass him.

He turns his head toward you and pauses, opening his mouth as if to say something. Before he does, he closes his mouth again, standing up and pulling his wand out. “Sorry,” he replies, walking over to Sebastian and sitting down.

You watch him as he walks away and turn back around, frowning. I hope I didn’t offend him…

As Professor Ronin walks in, Poppy walks over and sits next to you. She smiles widely at you and lays her hand on yours. “So what was Ominis doing over here?”

You shrug and smile back. “No idea. I assumed he just had the wrong table.”

She nods and leans back. “Okay…”

You fold your arms and laugh. “What?”

She shakes her head and looks up at Professor Ronin who stands at the front of the class, beginning his lesson. You look over at Ominis and see him listening intently. You sigh and look down at your textbook, tuning into the rest of Professor Ronin’s lecture.

***

“Ow!” you shout as something hits you in the back of the head, thumping onto the ground of your room. You turn around and see a small box on the ground at your feet. You pick it up and look up to see Samantha standing in your doorway.

“Little birdy left that for you at dinner but you never showed.” She smiles. “Gift from an admirer, Y/N?”

You laugh and shake your head. “Not possible, but I’m grateful you think so highly of me.” The box is small enough to fit in your hand with a string tying it shut. A small piece of parchment lies under the string and you pull it out, flipping it over.

Y/N,

I had hoped to find something as beautiful as you,

but this will have to do. I hope you enjoy.

Yours Truly,

G

You stare at it for a moment and look back up at Samantha. “You may be right, actually.”

She gasps and runs over, looking down at the box in your hands. “Well open it then!”

You look down at the box and pull the string. Opening it up you find a necklace. A gorgeous sliver chain adorned with jewels and a large sapphire. Samantha gasps again and you stare down at the necklace.

“That’s beautiful,” Samantha says quietly. “You have to try it on,” she says, looking up at you.

You look at her and smile. “I don’t even know who this is from.” She takes the note from your hand and looks at it. She frowns and looks back up at you. “Not Garreth…right?”

You laugh and shake your head. “I hope not! I’m sure it’s not. Sweet boy, but no.”

Samantha gestures to the necklace and you nod. She picks it up and gently puts it around your neck, clasping it. You walk over to your mirror and look at it. It really is beautiful…you think. You turn to Samantha and sigh. “I guess I have to go ask Garreth about it, don’t I…?”

She presses her lips together and nods. “Best option.”

As you make your way to find Garreth you think about how you’ll even ask him. Hi, Garreth. Did you gift me this necklace? No, too forward. Hi, Garreth. Are you secretly in love with me? That’s worse. Hi, Garreth do you-

“Y/N!” shouts a voice behind you.

You turn around to see Sebastian walking over. “Hi, Sebastian,” you reply, smiling.

He stops in front of you and looks down at your necklace. “Nice jewels. I was wondering who that was for.”

You smile at his statement. “Thanks! I got it from…wait…you know who gave this to me?”

He stares at your for a moment, eyes growing wide. He returned himself to a calm composure and folds his arms. “I do not.”

You put your hands on your hips and frown. “You definitely do.”

He shakes his head and backs up. “No idea, have a nice day.” He smiles mischievously and walks away, humming to himself. You sigh and touch the necklace. That whole interaction created more questions than it answered. Garreth will have to wait.

***

“I find it hard to describe my feelings for you,” Everett says theatrically, holding up a piece of paper. The students around him laugh and you sit down, looking over at him.

“What’s that, Everett?”

He freezes and looks over at you. “Oh…umm…yours…?” he replies, slowing handing the paper to you.

You take it and look down at it. It’s a letter. From G again. Your frown and look back at Everett. “That’s not very nice, opening people’s mail, is it?”

He swallows. “No. Sorry, Y/N.” You sigh and look back at the letter, reading it.

Y/N,

I had hoped to write a letter to you, explaining why I feel the need to present you with gifts. This issue at hand, however, is that I find it hard to describe my feelings for you. I know how I feel, but attempting to express this in words has proved troublesome. I will attempt to express them hear and I hope my quill portrays my feelings correctly.

You are, in short, beautiful. I have been searching for ways to explain this and can only come up with this: You are beautiful like the moon. You are beautiful like the flowers that bend in the breeze. You are beautiful like the sea, rushing up against the cliffs.

You are so intelligent as well. Of course, you may claim I say this just because you are a Ravenclaw, but I do mean it. You are one of the smartest witches I have ever met. You rival even the best witches and wizards and I am humbled to know you.

You radiate a warmth that feels safe and kind. I wonder how often you notice me and if it is as often as I notice you. The time we spend apart is too much for me to bear. I long to be near you again and I hope we will meet again soon. Until then…

Eternally yours,

G

You stare at the letter for a long moment, taking in the words. Whoever this is has spent a lot of time thinking about you. You fold the letter and shove it in your robe pockets, standing and leaving the Great Hall. You round the corner towards the stairs and bump into someone, stumbling back. You hear a quiet grumble and look up to see Ominis. “Oh! Ominis, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

He straightens and turns his face toward you. “I could say the same thing,” he replies, flatly. You stare at him for a moment and then burst into laughter. He smiles lightly. “Where were you going in such a hurry?” he asks, tiling his head.

You pull the letter from your pocket. “Someone sent me a letter. A…uh…well, a love letter, I guess. I was going to my room to think.”

He stiffens and turns away, slightly, smile dropping. “I see. I hope it isn’t crass.”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “No. It’s…well it’s very sweet actually.”

He turns back toward you, smile returning and nods. "Good."

You put the letter back in your pocket and open your mouth to say something, hesitating. “Ominis…you don’t happen to know who G is, do you? Sebastian definitely knows but he won’t say anything.”

He shakes his head. “No…sorry…”

You smile. “No worries. I should get going though, I don’t want to hold you up,” you say, resting a hand on his shoulder. “See you in Potions Class, Ominis.” You drop your hand and head back to your room. They’re both totally lying, huh…?

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy imagine #ominis gaunt #hogwarts #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis gaunt fluff #ominis x you #ominis #ominis x reader #ominis x mc

[ereardon]

That Summer || Epilogue [Bradley Bradshaw x Reader]

A Bradley Bradshaw AU

Synopsis: One night during the summer you turned eighteen, you woke up to a surprise. Your father, a retired Navy Admiral, had posted bail for the son of a former colleague who was now orphaned and had gotten himself mixed up with the law. Instead of letting him get lost in the judicial system, your father signed himself up as Bradley Bradshaw’s guardian to prevent him from going to juvie. You were explicitly told to stay away from the boy in the attic room. But as the summer went on, you and Bradley struck up an unlikely friendship that turned into a forbidden relationship. Bradley tipped your world upside down, challenging everything you had once thought you knew. How could the two of you think it would end any differently than it did when your father called the cops the night he found the two of you in bed together?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, angst, illusion to smut, happy endings, time jumps, premature baby, hospital scene

Chapter summary: Twelve years after the night they're torn apart, Bradley and Birdy reunite in San Diego

Wordcount: 4.5K

Series masterlist here; Part Ten here

“Do you know him?” 

You looked at Amanda and then back to where you had been staring. 

You’d recognize him anywhere. Even though it had been twelve years since you had last seen him. Even though you hadn’t heard your voice falling from his perfect lips since that late August night, all those years ago, when your world was turned on its axis. 

Bradley Bradshaw was a part of you. Your thumb automatically touched the gold ring around your fourth finger. 

You watched as Bradley slid the sunglasses off of the bridge of his nose, squinting into the distance, trying to place you. 

And for a fleeting moment it was just the two of you, standing in a hospital parking lot. And you were eighteen again, with everything spread out in front of you, a future that you were desperate not to do alone. 

You dropped your gaze and shook your head. “No,” you whispered. “Not anymore.” 

*the aftermath*

You went off to Stanford three weeks later. 

It was the longest three weeks of your life. 

By the time you got to the police station a few hours later, Bradley was gone. No one would tell you where he was or what had really happened. 

You spent the first week in a daze, barely speaking. And then, one night, drunk off of a bottle of stolen Sancerre you had pilfered from your mother’s stash, you barged into your father’s study. 

“Tell me what you did,” you demanded, swaying from side to side, a dull ringing in one ear. 

He looked up, dejected. “Not now, Y/N.” 

“Yes, now,” you countered. “Tell me or I never speak to either of you ever again.” 

He sighed, folding his hands on his desk. “Fine. You want to know the truth?” 

“Yes.”

The story your father wove sounded improbable. Unbelievable for the Bradley you had known. 

He said that Bradley had stolen. From him and from others at the debutante ball. A pilfered wallet here and there. Pierce’s wallet. That he had found Bradley in his study a few nights before the incident, combing through his files. That when he confronted him, Bradley denied it. 

Your father shook his head. “You’re better off, Y/N. We tried, your mother and I. I owed it to his parents to try. But he was an unruly kid, just like I expected. Look what he did. He corrupted you.” 

You lifted your gaze. “He didn’t corrupt me, daddy. I love him.” 

His face hardened. “You’re too young to know love, Y/N.”

“Were you too young when you fell in love with Carole?” 

He was silent. The air in the room stilled. 

Finally, your father looked up. 

“You can hate me,” he said, “for the rest of your life, if you want. But it’s never going to change the fact that I did what I did because you’re my daughter and it is my duty to protect you. Your mother and I, we just want the best for you.” 

“Did you ever stop and think that maybe Bradley was the best thing that ever happened to me?” you asked, standing up and crossing the room to the doors, flinging them open. “And that maybe instead of saving me, you broke my life apart?” 

You stormed out of the study and up the stairs, to the third floor. Louise had cleaned out Bradley’s room. All that remained was the bed, stripped of sheets and pillows and comforters, just a mattress on a rickety metal frame. You laid down on the bare mattress and cried. There was nothing you could do to bring him back. 

*Four years after*

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back? Texas A&M is only an hour away.” 

You frowned. “I got into Stanford’s medical school. Why would I decline that?” 

“Because Texas is your home.” 

You shook your head at your mother. “No, it’s not. Not anymore.” 

“Y/N.” She laid a hand on your arm and you brushed it off. The California sun was strong as it beat down on your shoulders. Graduation had taken nearly three hours and you had only just packed up the final box in your car. 

“Mother,” you said coolly, “it’s done. I’m not coming back. California is my home now.” 

“Is this still about that boy?” 

“Do not speak to me about Bradley.” Your voice was sharp. 

She sighed. “Y/N, it’s been years. You can forgive us now.” 

“I will never forgive you,” you whispered and the simmering violence beneath your words scared her. You could tell by the way she inched backward. 

“Leave her be, Evelyn.” Your father stepped forward, closing the trunk door. “She’s made up her mind.” 

“But–”

He cut her off. “We dug our grave, Evelyn. Time to lie in it.” 

You opened the car door. “I’ll see you in November for Thanksgiving.” 

“Can we at least help you move into your new apartment?” your mother asked. 

You shook your head. “The movers are there, and so is Ivy. Nothing more you can do.” You looked at the two of them. Bright under the blinding sun. In four years they had aged. So had you. 

Leaving Texas had been the best decision you ever made. Going back after Bradley never felt like an option. 

You sank into the driver’s seat and pulled out onto the road. In the rearview, your parents grew smaller and smaller, until they were only specks in the mirror. 

You blinked, and they were gone. 

*Six months after*

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you repeated into the phone. “He would have come in on August twenty fifth.” 

“Sorry, ma’am, that’s classified information.” 

“I just need to know where he was released,” you begged. “Any information you can give me would be so helpful.” 

The receptionist sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I can’t.” 

You hung up, frustrated. Your phone was clamped so hard in your hands that you thought you might break it. Leaning back on your dorm-issued bed, you pulled up a new Safari window and pressed return, finding a phone number instantly. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi,” you said, voice shaky. “My name is Y/N Sullivan. Admiral Sullivan’s daughter. I’m looking for any last known address for Bradley Bradshaw. His father was a Top Gun instructor years ago, Goose?” 

“Ms. Sullivan,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “One moment.” You jiggled your knee. “The last known address we have for the Bradshaws is here in San Diego.” 

“Can I have it please?” 

You grabbed a pen and your biology lab notebook, scribbling it down on the corner. After hanging up the phone, you sat there, looking at the address before ripping the corner piece off and tacking the triangle of scrap paper to the corkboard above your desk. 

*Five years after* 

Bradley smoothed his hands over his hair. He locked the door of his rental car and started up the familiar driveway. 

Galveston has taken on an ethereal quality in his mind. He closed his eyes and saw you – swimming in the ocean late at night, laughing with your hair thrown back under the skylight, eating breakfast in the kitchen nook, driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other fiddling with the radio. 

Being back felt like bursting that bubble. 

It felt duller. Even the house, which held so many memories, felt like it had faded with the years. 

He knocked on the door, heart beating erratically. 

It opened and Bradley gulped. Your father stood with one hand on the large wooden door frame. “Bradley.” 

“Admiral.” 

The two men looked at each other. Finally, your father stepped to the side. “Come in.” 

Bradley nodded, ducking his head. Inside, the house felt like a time capsule. Everywhere he looked, Bradley saw you. And yet, you were nowhere to be found. 

If he looked closely, he could see the chip in the wood trim of the doorway where his handcuffs had scraped the night he was dragged out of the house. 

The last time he saw you. 

The two sat down in the study, staring at each other wordlessly. 

Finally, Bradley opened his mouth. “I report to Pensacola next week for training.” 

Your father’s mouth drifted open. “So you finished at the Academy.” It was a statement, not a question. 

Bradley nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

“Will you become a WSO, like your father?” 

He shook his head. “Aviator, sir.” 

Your father took him in for a moment. Then, “I always knew you’d come back.” 

“Did you?” Bradley asked. “I didn’t.” 

“What we did, son, we did for her own good.” 

Even at the slightest mention of you, Bradley’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to attack your father with questions. How were you? Where were you? Did you remember him? Were you seeing someone? But he settled with, “I understand.” 

“You do?” 

He nodded. “Now, yes. Back then I didn’t.” Bradley folded his hands in his lap. “I loved her, you know. It wasn’t some kind of game.”

“I know it wasn’t.” Your father stood up, pouring himself a drink and handing Bradley a second glass without him ever asking. “She never forgave us for that night. And I don’t know if I can blame her. I did what I thought was right. But now, I don’t know.” 

“Why did you do it?” Bradley asked. “Was it just to keep me away from her?” 

Your father shook his head. “You were a thief, Bradley. Why would I want that for my daughter?”

“I thought it was the only way to provide for her,” Bradley said. “I’m ashamed of what I did, sir. I thought, I don’t know. That maybe I could go with her to California. But to do that, I needed money. I wanted to provide a life for her. I just didn’t know how.” 

“You were a child, Bradley,” he said. “A child can’t provide for a woman. A wife.” 

“I know.” Bradley hung his head. “Is she?” 

“She’s happy,” your father said. That was all he said. It was enough and they both knew it. 

Bradley stood up, setting down the glass. “I just came here to say thank you.” 

“For what?” Your father let the shock ring through his voice. 

“For protecting her,” he said. “It forced me to grow up. To be realistic. I appreciate you taking me in. But having you kick me out did more for me than shelter ever would have.” 

Your father nodded. Bradley stepped out into the foyer and opened the door. “Son.” 

He stopped, looking over at your father in the doorway to the office. 

“Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“For knowing when to walk away.” 

*Twelve years after* 

“Dr. Sullivan, triage on room five says the baby isn’t breathing.” 

“Fuck.” Your sneakers squeaked along the linoleum floors as you sprinted down the hallway. You rounded the corner, tugging on a gown, skidding through the door. “I’m here, walk me through.” 

A nurse gave you the verbal run down as you approached the baby on the warming table. 

“She needs a trache. Call anesthesia, tell them we have a thirty-three week preemie and page an attending.” 

“Dr. Kettering is with a patient in OR two, uterine hemorrhage after a c-section.” 

“Shit,” you whispered under your breath. “OK, gloves.” 

You carefully sliced a small opening in the baby’s neck, inserting a tiny breathing tube, waiting with baited breath until her chest inflated. 

You sighed, hair sticking to the underside of your scrub cap. “Page Dr. Kettering and tell her to meet us in OR three. Tell her we’re bringing in baby Katherine.” 

“Yes, doctor.” 

You watched the nurses wheel away the baby in the warmer before peeling off your gloves, stepping over to the woman in the bed near the window. “Mrs. Yates? Are you doing OK?” 

The tiny brunette shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “She’s too small. It’s too early.” 

You patted her hand softly. “It’s going to be OK. We talked about this. We’re ready. Right?” 

She nodded. Behind her, her husband had the same look of apprehension. You recognized it instantly. It was the same with most patients. 

“I’m going to go see your daughter. Get some rest, I’ll be back soon.” 

They nodded weakly. Five hours later, you returned in a sweat-drenched pair of blue scrubs. Mr. and Mrs. Yates looked up the moment you walked in. 

“Katherine did perfect,” you said and they collapsed into each other with joy. “Our team is closing right now and then you can go visit her in the NICU. One of the nurses will take you down there.” 

“Thank you.” The husband gathered you into his arms and you hugged him back. When he pulled back, there were tears in his eyes. “Seriously, thank you.” 

You grinned. “It was my pleasure.” 

***

The sun was blinding. Sinking down against the sky toward the water. You stepped out of the hospital doors and took in a deep breath. 

“Birdy.” 

Every atom in your body froze. Then, you turned, eyes wide. 

Bradley stood ten feet away, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and jeans. He smiled and you felt it in your toes, your stomach, your inner ear. 

“Bradley,” you breathed. So it had been him the other day. Not a mirage like you thought. 

He smiled and it lit up his entire face. “Birdy.” 

A part of you wanted to jump into his arms. Toss your hands around his neck, breathe him in deeply. Make up for lost time. But you held back. What if he was married? Or engaged? 

Instead, you smiled back. 

“Hey there.” 

He pushed his right hand into his pocket. You fiddled with your badge. “Are you, uh, do you work here?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“That’s great.” Bradley couldn’t take his eyes off of you. “Sorry, I just—” 

You shook your head. “I know, it’s been a while.” 

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked. “Can we get dinner? Drinks? Whatever you want.” 

You frowned and Bradley’s heart broke. 

“Or if you can’t, I understand.” 

“No, that’s not it,” you said and he brightened. “I just, are you here with someone?” 

“My friends had a baby,” he said, “but she’s out of surgery and doing OK, I guess.”

“What’s her name?” 

“Katherine.” 

You smiled. “I did her surgery this afternoon. She did great.” 

“You did her surgery?” 

A nod. “Well, there were a few of us in there, but yeah.” 

“I always knew you’d be amazing,” he said softly. And suddenly you were eighteen again. Lying on your bed holding hands with Bradley, dreaming of the rest of your life. “Listen, I should go tell Mel and Jim that I’m heading out. I’ll meet you for dinner. Charlie’s, by the water. Do you know it?” 

You smiled. It was less than a five minute drive from your house. “Yeah, I know it.”

“OK. See you there in like thirty?” 

You nodded. As you turned to leave, Bradley reached out, grabbing your wrist lightly. The electricity of his touch set you on fire. 

He smiled. “God, I missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you, too, B,” you whispered. 

“I don’t want to let you go,” he admitted and you chuckled. “Promise me I’m not going to show up to an empty table?” 

“I promise.” 

***

By the time you arrived, wearing a light linen dress and a pair of sandals, Bradley was already there. He stood up when you came into view and waited until you sat down to take a seat. 

“You look great,” he said softly. 

“Thank you.” You opened the menu, trying to stop your heart from racing. Peering over the top of the menu, you caught Bradley staring. “You look good, too.” 

He blushed. “I’m sorry, I’m probably being so awkward.” 

“I am, too.” 

Bradley held out his hand across the table, palm up. You set the menu down, sliding your hand into his. It was the easiest thing in the world. He looked down, fingers tracing your ring, before looking up with wide eyes. “Is that?” 

You nodded. “I never took it off.” 

Bradley could barely breathe, let alone speak. “Just to be clear, you’re not dating someone, are you?” 

You laughed. “With all my spare time? No, I’m not. There’s barely enough time outside of the hospital to do laundry, let alone meet someone.” You paused. “Are you?” 

He shook his head. “Same here, never really had the time.” Bradley took a sip of water before lifting his gaze. “Besides, why bother when I know it’ll never live up to what I had and lost?” 

“Bradley,” you breathed. 

His hand squeezed yours. “It’s you, Birdy. It’s always been you.” 

“Tell me what happened,” you whispered. “That night. All of it. I spoke to my father, but I want to hear your side.” 

Bradley squeezed your hand before letting it fall back onto the table. “Of course. You deserve to know the truth.” 

Your gaze was locked on Bradley as he recounted it all. How he had pilfered one wallet at the debutante ball out of desperation so he could afford to go to California with you when you left for Stanford. That he had gone into your father’s study, but only to look for documents about his parents. How he had floated for a minute before finding his footing, using his father’s connections to reconnect with his father’s best friend, a man named Maverick, who had taken him under his care and helped Bradley get into the Naval Academy. How he had gone back, five years later, to your parent’s house in Galveston, to apologize. That he had wanted to ask for your contact information, but when your father said you were happy he decided to let you be. He had lost you once. It was more important to him that you were happy, than that you were his. 

“I thought about trying to find you,” he said softly. The plates in front of the two of you were empty. Most of the other dining patrons had cleared out. Once again, it was just you and Bradley, sitting hand-in-hand, two of you against the world. “A hundred times. A thousand, even. But I was always worried that if I did, maybe you wouldn’t want me anymore. Or worse, that I would ruin your life all over again.” 

“You didn’t ruin anything. Not then, and not now.” 

Your heart was fluttering. 

And then the waiter came around. “Check?” 

You smiled, pulling out your wallet. Bradley slipped his card onto the leather bill holder with a frown. “I’m paying, Birdy.”

“Things have changed,” you whispered. 

“Some,” he said softly, signing the check and standing, holding out one hand. “And some things are the same.”

You took his hand. “Can we talk more?” 

“Yes, please.” 

“Follow my car, I live just a few miles from here.” 

Bradley squeezed your hand before letting go. You slid into the driver’s seat, setting off down the road. A few minutes later, you hit the blinker, turning into the shallow driveway of the blue bungalow. Bradley’s Bronco appeared in the rearview, slowly before parking behind your sedan. Bradley stepped out of the truck, his eyes locked on the house. 

You unlocked the front door, ushering him in and sliding off your shoes. “Wine?” 

“Sure.” 

“Make yourself comfortable.” 

You stepped toward the back of the house to the galley kitchen, pulling out a bottle of white wine and two glasses before making your way to the living room. Bradley stood in the center of the room with one hand pressed against his jaw. He turned around. “Honey, I have to tell you something.” 

You set the glasses and wine bottle down. “What is it?” 

“I, um, I used to live here,” he said quietly. “When my parents were alive.” 

“Bradley?” 

“Yeah?”

“I know.” 

He squinted. “You know?” 

You nodded, sitting down on the couch and patting the space next to you. Bradley sat down. “I called Top Gun that summer, trying to find any way I could to reach you. They gave me your last known address and this was it. I bought it after my first year at Stanford and used it as a rental property until I finished medical school and got my residency at UCSD.” 

“I–” Bradley shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.” 

Nerves flooded your body. “I hope it’s not weird. I just, I wanted to feel closer to you. I thought maybe one day you’d come back and you’d find me.” 

He placed one hand on your bare knee. “I lived in your house. Only makes sense that you would live in mine.” 

“I never thought about it that way.” 

The two of you sat in silence for a minute. Bradley’s hand was warm on your bare skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after a moment. 

“What are you sorry for?” 

“I made you promises I was never going to be able to keep,” Bradley said. “I just loved you so much, I wanted to make you happy. Even if that meant telling you what I thought I should say instead of what I could say.” 

“Bradley,” you whispered, reaching out softly, placing one hand on his cheek. He had a mustache now, and the stubble scraped against the skin of your palm but it felt right. There were small crows feet in the corner of his eyes from too much time in the sun. Your fingers slid back toward his hair. “You made me happy and that’s what mattered. We were both naive. It wasn’t either of our faults. We were just kids back then.” 

“You always seemed ahead of things,” he murmured. “When you set your mind to something, I knew it would happen. That’s why I really thought we might be able to do it. Run away together. Instead, I was just running. I think I was always running.” 

“When did that stop?” you asked.

“Four hours ago,” he said and your breath caught in your throat, “when I saw you again.” 

“Oh.” 

Bradley’s fingers trailed up your extended arm, from where your fingers were threaded in his hair, down past your elbow, toward your shoulder, tugging you in closer until his face was only a few inches away. “I know it’s been twelve years, Y/N. I know that in reality we’re strangers. But I think a part of me stopped growing without you. It’s like I was on pause and I’ve only now gotten the remote back and I can press play again.” 

“I know what you mean,” you whispered. “Even though it was crazy, somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I’ve always been waiting for you.” 

Bradley had both hands pressed to either side of your face. He smelled familiar, but with something else, something new. You thought about the men you had been with since him. How empty it would feel after, or even during. How you’d lay there in the darkness and think about what it had been like with Bradley. 

“I thought maybe everyone has something like we did when they were young,” you murmured. “That I needed to stop comparing everyone to you. Because maybe your first love is just different. I didn’t know if what we had was real, or if it was just powerful because it was the first time.” 

His thumb stroked your cheek delicately. “It was real, Birdy. At least for me it was.” 

“It was real for me, too.” 

“This is going to sound crazy,” he said, lips pulled back in a smile. You remembered the first time you saw him smile. The first time the two of you swam in the ocean together. 

“I like crazy.” 

He grinned. “I still love you, honey. I never stopped loving you.” 

You held him tightly. “I know,” you whispered. “I never stopped either.” 

And then his lips were on yours as you fell back against the couch cushions, Bradley’s more muscular and defined body slotted between your legs as he pressed you back against the couch, his kiss powerful and familiar and perfect. 

You melted into him. His scent, his touch. A tear slid out from your eye as Bradley’s lips moved slowly, choreographed, against yours, his hands smoothing over your body slowly, as if he was reminding himself about the lines of your figure, tracing a path to a map he had read once but never forgotten. 

Twelve years disappeared in a fleeting moment as you and Bradley moved together, your fingers tight against his biceps, his mouth trailing wet, open kisses to the bare expanse of your neck as the two of you clung to each other tightly. 

You would know Bradley Bradshaw anywhere. You would know Bradley Bradshaw with your eyes closed. You would know Bradley Bradshaw until the moment you died. 

He was bonded to you. He was infused in every single atom in your body. He ran through your veins alongside your blood. He haunted your dreams. He patrolled your memories. His touches were tattooed on your skin like a glow-in-the-dark map that only you could see.  

He was your home. 

THE END 

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read this!! I originally was going to do it as a simple one shot but it truly took on a life of its own.

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[minkkumaz]

WHAT'S THE ANSWER FOR ME + YOU?

although woonhak was deemed the golden boy of your school, he lacked in academics. when he goes to the pretty girl (whom also has a tad bit of a crush on him) in the library for math help, how'd he know you'd be this cute?

PAIRING kim woonhak x fem!reader WC 1.1k TAGS adults dni. so much fluff it hurts. mutual pining. OMI NOTE my sweet boy omg i love writing for him. tbh i wrote this as a distraction for the other woonhak fic i started oops. not proofread sorry for mistakes hehe

november was cloudy, as if the sun was too shy to peek over the soft blankets that covered the sky. despite the dreariness, his spirit was always there. kim woonhak was the golden boy of your academy. the school’s star athlete, good at winning over hearts and games.

though he had far from perfect grades, he was good at getting away with an f every now and then. however this wasn’t the most ideal.

sometimes you sat inside of the library, taking in the smell of new books. you had no practical reason to be there, but the quiet environment was good enough for you. you weren’t used to the popularity scene like he was. and though everything in your heart was telling you to talk to him, you just couldn’t.

that specific day, you settled on the floor with your back against the hard books. notebooks, pencils, and a laptop was sprawled out everywhere, but not so much that people couldn’t walk past you. you had an immense headache from cramming in an assignment last minute. because of this, you hardly noticed the body that was towering over you, until he spoke.

“hey! your name is y/n, right?” his voice was alluring like honey dripping down your throat, and a striped cardigan draped over his messily buttoned shirt and slightly loose tie. 

but in that moment you froze. admiring him for so long wasn’t considered as practice for actually talking to him.

“hi, yes! um, am i in your way?” you hurry to scoot away but he hesitantly places a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“no not at all!” he tells you anxiously. in his mind he was thinking you were much prettier in person.

“then what’s up?” you felt small in comparison to his large figure. 

“the counselor sent me over to you actually! she said i’d find you here.” he explained, “i need someone to tutor me.”

“you need a tutor?” you questioned with a confused expression on your face.

“yeah.. they’re going to pull me out of basketball if i don’t get my math grade up. and a little birdie told me you were one of the best.” he grinned at you happily and held his hand out for you to get up.

“oh! well i think i have some time right now. i just finished my assignment so you’re in luck.” you quickly grab your things and shove them into your bag before taking his hand.

the touch of his hand on yours made the both of you blush, swiftly pulling away after you were on your feet. you followed behind him to one of the nearest tables, setting your things down beside you before taking a seat.

“so ahm, what specifically were you needing help with?” you ask, pulling out your math notebook and flipping through the chapters.

“literally everything! like how do you even add exponents with different bases?” he whined next to you, letting his head fall onto the desk. 

“no i totally get how that can be tricky!” you laugh, “here i’ll write down an example.”

conversation throughout the rest of the study session flowed smoothly. despite it being your first proper interaction, he knew how to make you smile. 

a stupid joke here and then, sometimes a wink, or his hand grazing slightly against yours. what were you even saying?

meeting up became more frequent between the two of you. it came to the point where you met every tuesday and thursday for the remainder of the month. he wasn’t difficult to teach, but there were time’s he’d zone out in the middle of your mini lesson.

you wondered what went on in his mind, but every part of you wanted to hope you were the one he thought about.

“woon! are you even listening to me?” you frown, snapping your fingers infront of the boy.

“yes yes, i’m sorry i’m just a little sidetracked today.” he sighs, scribbling nothings onto his paper.

“we have our math exam next week and you’ve been doing so much better than when we met for the first time. you can’t be lacking on me now!” you pout at him. it was maybe your eighth time studying in the library together.

“you’re just so pretty, it’s distracting.” he says quietly, not exactly loud enough for you to hear.

“what?” you tilt your head a little.

“nothing! it’s nothing i promise.” he leans his head back, groaning, “there’s just this problem i’m really having trouble figuring out.” “what kind of problem, i’m sure we can find a solution to it.” your interest was piqued. why would he get so worked up over a math problem?

“i don’t think i’m ready to ask you yet, i want to try to figure it out on my own first.” he sighs into his hands, barely getting a glimpse of you through the cracks of his fingers.

“you want to figure it out on your own? when’d you get so independent without me?” you fake a sad expression.

“okay okay, i’ll write it down for you then. but close your eyes!” he gives in, ripping off a sticky note from the pad you took out earlier.

covering your eyes, your other senses seem to heighten. you can hear the rough writing of his pencil against the note he stole from your pile of supplies. he hesitates in between what you can only assume are numbers, before you feel him press the paper against your forehead.

“open your eyes now.” 

your vision is covered slightly from the note, so you can hardly see him fidgeting with his hands. when you peel it off to read, you’re met with a very mysterious question.

‘what’s the answer for me + you?’

“huh? what does this mean woonhak..?” you squint, re - reading the same words over and over again.

“um..” he laughs nervously, “i just don’t want us to be just friends yknow? i really really like you.”

“woon i–”

“i don’t know i just think i’d be a little heartbroken if i had to see you smile so prettily everyday and not be able to call you my.. girlfriend.” he rambled, “but you don’t have to say anything yet! don’t even worry or anything i know this is kinda sudden and we’ve only been hanging out for so long but–”

you interrupt him with a gentle kiss against his lips. he smiles against yours, placing his hands perfectly against your flush cheeks to pull you closer.

“i really like you too, woonhak.” you let your head fall heavy into his hands after finally pulling away, staring at him blissfully.

“i guess i have my answer then, right?”

© 2023 minkkumaz, all rights reserved support your writers by reblogging + giving feedback! it is greatly encouraged and appreciated. thank you! → why feedback + reblogging is so important. ~ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ if you'd like, donate to minkkumaz !

#⋆｡˚ my works #kim woonhak x reader #kim woonhak x you #kim woonhak x y/n #woonhak x reader #woonhak x you #woonhak x y/n #boynextdoor #riwoo #sungho #taesan #park sung ho #myung jae hyun #woonhak #boynextdoor fanfic #boynextdoor fluff #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor scenarios #boynextdoor x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop x reader #boynextdoor woonhak #boynextdoor riwoo #boynextdoor sungho #boynextdoor taesan #boynextdoor jaehyun #boynextdoor leehan #woonhak drabbles

[respectthepetty]

Because most of y'all noticed the colors all on your own in I Became the Lead in a BL Drama and understood that Aoyanagi Hajime is a Blue Boy and Akafuji Yuichiro is a Red Rascal, I'm simply going to post some images with brief descriptions regarding the colors in episode two and three, but the write-up of episode one is here:

Akafuji in his red pants with Hajime settled down in his blue.

Akafuji's red shoes.

Hajime in a blue shirt practicing archery.

Both boys in their colors with their color-coded mugs as well.

Akafuji's slippers are red.

Hajime reading comments in the dark and getting sadder about it.

Akafuji writing a note for Hajime on pink paper!

Hajime eating in the blue with Akafuji's side of the table covered with blue, pink, and purple stickers.

Color-coded ties, my beloved!

The air hockey table was in their colors.

Then the outfits they wore on the date were color coded!

The practice kiss!

And even the background is color coded on each other's side with a little bit of the other color backing them (the blue curtain and the red book).

The kitchen already incorporates both of their color with Akafuji stirring the blue pot, and Hajime getting the plates above the red microwave.

Akafuji wore purple ties and purple clothing throughout the series since he was already in love with Hajime.

Akafuji's loyalty to the fandoms he cares about shows up in the blue which makes sense why he would be enamored by Hajime.

Hajime being super blue and gloomy because he thinks he'll be alone again for his birthday and working.

The birthday balloons are gold, blue, white, and red.

And the traditional birthday cake incorporates their colors too with strawberries and blueberries.

The managers, just like in the first episode, are color coded opposite of their clients.

Akafuji leaning in to kiss Hajime while in character and surrounded by the blue lights.

Both boys in their color when Akafuji brings Hajime an apple pie in a red box.

Hajime dropping and breaking the vase that held the flowers that were their colors combined because he thinks Akafuji is interested in Tendo.

Not a rainbow.

Akafuji being deeply in love with his Blue Boy.

There is not a trace of his red color because he is so lost in the deep blue.

It's just pretty!

Hajime reading comments on his blue phone while dressed in blue, but being in the light because he feels better about it.

And finally, the Blinding Light of Love right before their kiss!

This series was the perfect way to end 2023. In the colors.

#I Became the Main Role in a BL Drama #BL Drama no Shuen ni Narimashita #color coded boys in love #the colors mean things #japanese bl #this was the best gift! #the perfect way to end the year

[in1-nutshell]

Bot Buddy crushing on another Autobot and their friend Jazz finds it out

SFW, platonic, romantic, Cybertronian/ Bot reader

Oh boy.

Listen, Jazz is probably the best bot to find out Buddy has a crush. Especially if the bot in question is in his circle of friends. Once he gets a whiff that Buddy might have feelings for someone in the Autobot ranks, he wants to know everything.

“Buddy, my bot, a little birdie told me you have optics on a mutual friend of ours.”--Jazz

“…What do you mean?”--Buddy

“Buddy we both know what it means.”--Jazz

He won’t push Buddy in saying who their crush is. He is respectful of their boundaries. If Buddy wants to tell him, he knows they will come to him. Jokingly tells Buddy that he will sic Prowl on the crush if the bot is a douchebag. If Buddy is good friends with Jazz, there’s a good chance they work with Prowl and becoming his friend despite him calling them coworkers.

“Jazz I don’t think Prowl would be interested in finding out who my crush is, not that I have one of course!”--Buddy

“They’re right I don’t want any part of this plan Jazz.”--Prowl

“Uh huh. Okay keep telling yourself that Prowl. I know you want to do some digging in this crush.”--Jazz

“…no?..”--Prowl

“Prowl!?”--Buddy

Prowl would 100% go over and interrogate the poor bot if he gets the chance. And if Buddy is really good friends with him, it’s going to be sooner rather than later.

There is a good chance that Jazz has met the bot before or at least heard of them. He gets around fast and gets along with a lot of people.

“So, who are the suspects?”--Jazz

“I have a full file on potential ‘crushes’ Buddy might like. None seems suitable for them though.”--Prowl

“Aww. You care Prowl.”--Jazz

“… Anyways I have a board with the top 5 potential bots on a rating of—”--Prowl

“Prowl? Jazz? What are you guys—”--Buddy

“We’ve been discovered! Hide the evidence!”—Jazz

“Ten steps ahead of you already!”--Prowl

“What did I walk into?”--Buddy

Let’s say that the bot in question fall in Jazz’s Good Guy book. Jazz would 110% be Buddy’s wingman. He would help come up with romantic scenery and ideas if Buddy doesn’t know what to do.

“Jazz, I don’t know about this. Maybe I should wait a little longer.”--Buddy

“Listen, there’s a full moon is overhead and several Madona songs are going to be on the radio when you’re with them on patrol. Its perfect timing, now go and get ‘em tiger!”--Jazz

If he ever came across the bot in question, he would definitely put in a good word about Buddy so casually no one notices.

“Hey man, you know who is perfect for this job? Buddy. Buddy has to be one of the best in the business. Hold on I’ll go get them.”--Jazz

“You know Buddy could definitely tell you what’s going on with this. Really, they can tell you so fast and save you the extra paperwork.”--Jazz

However, he will be honest with Buddy if the bot doesn’t seem worth it. Which brings the question to what would happen if the bot was in Jazz’s Bad Guys book.  Not many end up on his book but if they are there it means that they are definitely not worth it.

Would be serious about sicing Prowl on them if Buddy gets hurt.

“Buddy, I’m telling you. They are no good. They aren’t worth it.”--Jazz

“But Jazz—”--Buddy

“I have a whole file on their history and things they have done.”--Prowl

“Prowl!”—Buddy

Overall, would be happy if Buddy found someone who could potentially become their significant other.

But will not stray away from violence if the need arrives.

#transformers x reader #transformers idw #tf jazz #tf prowl #transformers #Bot Buddy #maccadam