#these are the moments i wish i had a proper camera

[protoindoeuropean]

when i tell you i gasped looking through the window just now

[38riku]

𝐁𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🎂 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

scenarios based on their birthday voice line. includes trey clover, cater diamond, leona kingscholar, and idia shroud.

/ suggestive if you squint. some of their voice lines are so flirty it's not my fault. gender neutral. /

𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 ☀︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

"ha-ha, way to put me on the spot. well, thanks. you know, according to the Queen of Hearts' laws, we're allowed to ask for anything we want on our birthdays ... h-hey, chill. I was joking."

it was slightly amusing to see the usually composed and cool headed trey clover flustered. his cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment. 'why did I say that?' he questioned over and over silently until his head started to spin.

"well, I'd hate to break one the Queen's laws." golden eyes widened in bewilderment at your statement. you were having the time of your life teasing him, weren't you? giggling like the menace he knows you to be.

your hands toyed with his tie, slowly and gently tugging at the fabric. if riddle saw him he'd surely hear an earful about proper dress, but, who cares? not him. not when you were flirting with him so blatantly in his room.

"what will it be clover?"

"what're you willing to give darling?"

the look in your eyes answered for him. everything. anything. no matter how ludicrous the request or object it would be his.

"you know you have my consent, yes?" your question was met with a nod, and a very deep gulp. he was great at keeping up the calm, cool and collected facade but, upon closer inspection — thundering heartbeat, cheeks now turning a deep red color, sweaty palms — he was, in fact, far from that.

trey didn't realize he had leaned in until he felt your breath fan his cheek. the faint smell of his birthday tart from the party reminded him that anyone could walk in. even so, there was no need to rush this moment.

it's his birthday after all. he deserves to be a bit selfish.

especially when it tastes like cherries.

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 ☀︎ 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘

"you remembered my birthday? thanks! you're so nice, taking the time to celebrate with me. okay, bring it in for a pic! gotta commemorate this on Magicam."

"today was fun! i can't believe you planned all this just for me." although he kept his usual happy go lucky cadence, there was an underlying tone of disbelief. he had asked you to pinch him many times during your outing yet it still didn't feel real.

each part of the day was calculated. no matter how many times you deny it, he was in the forefront of your mind.

there was no cake or sweet treat. instead, a plate of spicy curry with happy birthday written in sauce. it was a bit sloppy but made his heart warm and brain fuzzy.

he half expected the two of you to go shopping, however, you surprised him again with a trip to the bookstore. cater knew you enjoyed manga. it was a popular topic amongst you and the underclassmen.

"branching out is an important part of growing up!" you had lectured him. he found it amusing but allowed you to coerce him into getting a few volumes of your favorites.

not that it took much. you could ask for the moon and cater would find a way to make it happen.

lastly, was his dislike for crowds. thus, the two of you were on the quiet beach, watching the sunset as the sky exploded in various hues of warmth. it had been a cinematic ending to his birthday. and, for once, he didn't want it to end.

the celebrations typically left a bad taste in his mouth. literally.

if anyone were to make today the least bit tolerable it would be you. the two of you were friends, not super close but far from distant, and today – like many other days – time went by too fast, and wish you'd stay beside him a but longer.

"let's take a picture!" cater smiled, not waiting for your answer as he pulled you close. hopefully you didn't notice how nervous he was to hold you like this, so close, so warm.

with a silly face for the camera he snapped the photo, only to feel a burst of warmth on his cheek.

"happy birthday cater!" you were so genuine, smiling softly and asking "same time next year?"

cater couldn't bring himself to answer. but, if his toothy smile was anything to go by then it was a resounding yes.

for once he looked forward to next year. more importantly, spending it with you.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 ☀︎ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

ain't nothin' great about birthdays. it's just the day I was born. but if you really wanna celebrate it, I won't stop you. I always welcome presents.

"you know it's rude not to greet the birthday boy." it wasn't unusual to hear snide remarks from leona. in fact, he was ninety percent sure you expected this from your reaction. or the lack of one.

he didn't know why you gave him a birthday gift. but, since you did, it irritated him that you didn't deliver it yourself.

"you don't like it?" tease. even when you're cornered by a predator like himself you find time to dig under his skin. it was entertaining most of the time. right now, it simply pissed him off.

"if you're gonna be so bold as to give me a gift, at least deliver it yourself." huffing, he stood straight, content with getting his point across.

as hard as you tried to remain unbothered by his presence, you failed. your eyes watched him warily, anticipating something but not knowing what.

"leona, I don't know what you're planning but–"

"just thought i'd take the rest of my gift to go."

and, just like that, you were over his shoulder. as far as he's concerned the rest of your schedule is cleared to entertain the birthday boy.

what were you thinking? giving someone like him "coupons" as if he didn't already have someone to do his tedious work. as stupidly endearing your gift is, he intends to use each and every one.

naturally you end up in his room. unnaturally, he placed you down on your feet gently. he snorted at your surprise and handed you a small stack of clothes.

"your ... gym uniform?"

"put it on. you smell like your friends, and cat, I won't be able to sleep peacefully like that."

you scoffed at his reasoning but it was very very believable. leona felt a tinge of guilt for lying but, in his defense, if he was going to use you as a pillow you could at least smell like him.

the shirt was too big and you replaced his pants with your own clean pair of sweats. it seemed to have sufficed, because a moment later the two of you were, what he calls 'platonically cuddling'.

in his eyes, there was nothing platonic.

not the way you gently scratched his hair while scrolling on your phone.

not the way his tail curled around your waist protectively.

not the way he felt so at ease it he's barely conscious long enough to question the feeling before drifting to sleep.

𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐃 ☀︎ 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐄

what's up? I'm kinda busy collecting birthday voice clips from my game faves. after all, the only people who celebrate for me IRL are, like, my relatives. huh? you came to throw a birthday party? f-for me?! hrk... c-couldn't you give me a ready check or something before springing a raid on me?! i'm totally ungeared, and I haven't even watched a tutorial video yet!

the party wasn't as bad as he expected. just as you predicted, there are people who enjoy the same things he does — he and lilia play the same type of games, ace is a manga nerd — in short, his pop culture skillset was a sufficient substitute for his lack of social exp.

"look at you, increasing buddy levels with npc's. is now a bad time to say i told you so?"

"yes. you can't make fun of me on my b-birthday."

you laughter caused his hair to flare underneath his hood. although the party wasn't as overwhelming as he expected, you were still ... well, you, and you never failed to reduce his HP to zero with a smile.

imagine the damage he took when you suddenly took his hand, dragging him off to who knows where?

it was a critical hit.

"one more surprise." you giggled, opening one of the many doors in your recently renovated dorm. this specific room was decorated with the purpose of gaming.

the pc was decent, dual monitors, a soundbar, and a handful of game systems that cost more than a few thaumarks.

"now you can teach a mere noob like me all about gaming in the magic world."

all of this, to play games with him? it was unbelievable. he didn't deserve it. you were friends with plenty of maxed out characters and there were various love interest routes for you to take, yet, you chose him.

"i am pretty g-good. tutorial videos wouldn't help someone as h-hopeless as you."

it was the first time he spent his birthday with someone that wasn't related to him. teaching the main character (in his eyes) how to play video games. your shoulders were touching, faces inches apart whenever you'd turn to him, listening to him explain this and that.

idia had muted the party. buddy levels with npc's didn't matter when he was filling the romance bar.

© 2024 — 38riku. Do not copy or repost or plagiarize my work. All Rights Reserved.

[thefanficmonster]

Never Beating the Allegations

Colby Brock x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: A compilation of Colby and Y/N being far too obvious with their feelings for one another for the entire world to see. Basically, a YouTube documentation spanning several channels that marks the history of this goofy relationship

"It's fucking nighttime already, dude! We're running two hours behind schedule!" Sam complains through a smile, shaking his head at Colby who's trailing behind him with bags full of snacks. "All because someone spent those two hours scouring a store!

They're currently in Canada following the filming of a couple investigations for Hell Week with Kris and Celina. As Sam said, they were supposed to be two hours along the road back home already - a very tiny portion of their roadtrip back, seeing as how they didn't get to buy plane tickets on time. So, they settled for a two day roadtrip and the adventure it would bring on.

Colby, not at all bothered by Sam's accusations, smiles at the camera, "I promised Y/N I'd bring back signature Canadian snacks for her. There is no chance in hell I go home empty-handed. She'd kill me." As if to prove he is serious about his quest, he lifts the two heavy looking bags for the camera to get a better shot of them.

Sam's smile falters, replaced by a highly offended frown, "So you're telling me we're not gonna eat any of those snack on the road?" Colby - folding with laughter, mind you - shakes his head. "Are you fucking ki-...."

* * * * *

"I'm almost done!" Y/N calls out from her spot in front of the mirror where she's been stuck for the past thirty minutes trying to even out her winged liner.

A groan comes from a far distance but is still picked up by her phone microphone and is heard by the audience of Y/N's Instagram live, "You keep saying that!"

Not ten seconds later, the door is thrown open, provoking a laugh from the girl. She lowers her hand and takes her attention away from her reflection to pay her roommate proper acknowledgement. "Give me a second, sheesh! Can't a girl make herself pretty in peace?"

Although he never enters the frame fully, the live chat is already flowing with cheers of Colby's name. Whether it was wishful thinking or an educated guess on their part is a mystery. Regardless, they're entirely correct, their suspicions confirmed when they hear his voice and see his arm come into frame, his hand cupping Y/N's chin to tilt up her face.

"You're always pretty." He says, causing her to roll her eyes. At that, he boops her nose with his pointer finger before withdrawing his arm, "You have five minutes to wrap things up."

Y/N's gaze lingers on him until he's out of sight. She shakes her head and catches the camera's eye in the mirror reflection, "The audacity on that man. Tsk

* * * * *

@_y/n_dragonfly Fuck Valentine's Day @_colbybrock

Needless to say, the comments went wild, running with this post on Y/N's Instagram as unofficial proof of the ship the fandom seems to hold so near and dear to their hearts.

Hope dies last, after all. Maybe one day their ship might set-sail.

* * * * *

"Ok, so, update..." Colby chuckles, looking away from the camera he's currently holding blogging style to make sure he doesn't trip on anything, "We were supposed to go grab food before starting the investigation, but then...." He flips the camera to show the backyard of the abandoned house they'll be exploring tonight, "Y/N found a trampoline in the backyard."

As the camera focuses, both Sam and Y/N come into clear view - the former laughing at the latter who's too busy to care. She's too occupied having the time of her life on this raggedy looking trampoline, reveling in childlike joy as she hops around.

Colby sets the camera on the tripod Sam had left nearby, wanting to capture this wholesome moment, even if it didn't make it into the final cut of the video. Though he doesn't see why it wouldn't.

After adjusting the camera, he turns to find Sam has joined Y/N on the trampoline, far more hesitant than she is, though.

"You guys are ridiculous." He remarks as he approaches them, shaking his head with a bright smile on his face.

Y/N lands on her knees so she can be at least halfway at eye-level with her friend, offering him a beckoning hand, "Come be ridiculous too. Don't be a bore."

Colby scoffs and rolls his eyes. Still, he accepts her hand but instead of using it for support to climb up to join his friends on the trampoline, he tugs on it. Y/N lets out a little yelp as she's enveloped in his arms. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, unwilling to have a rather unpleasant encounter with the ground.

"Colby! Put me down!!" Put her down he most certainly doesn't, instead opting to spin her while securely holding her in his arms, eliciting mock terror-filled screams from her.

Eventually, he does get persuaded into joining her and Sam on the trampoline.

And the whole fiasco eventually makes it into the final cut and onto the internet.

And, inevitably, in edits.

* * * * *

It's an innocent, wholesome TikTok they filmed in the garden of the Conjuring house. Yes, the Conjuring house, no biggie.

Sam is the cameraman who much to his relief didn't even need to orchestrate anything. He just pressed the record button on his phone to capture the tomfoolery going on. The lighting is perfect, provided by the few remaining rays of sunlight before dark befell them. A little lighthearted fun was more than needed before they'd have to go back in the house to chat with spirits for the night.

The video captures Y/N in her natural element - dancing goofily with the pair of headphones they use for the Estes method on her head. The caption under the video reads: 'When the spirits drop a sick beat' and is quite the perfect depiction of the trio's dynamic.

Sam documenting the chaos. Y/N being the chaos. And Colby observing her chaos with heart-eyes from the sidelines.

Although Sam hadn't originally noticed his best friend's awed gaze accidentally captured in the video, the fans most definitely noticed. And, as per usual, they ran with it.

*sigh* These two are never beating the allegations.

@benbarnesprettygurl @jessy-shine @mushycore @richardsamboramylove55 @smuttiest-smuttt @honey-bees-13 @rei-ito

[enidette]

RISK IT ALL

warnings :: reader gets injured, kinda short… but that’s it

carl grimes x reader

you and carl often went over the walls. be it for some time with just the two of you, no worries about being interrupted by his dad or michonne or judith. the only worry being the walker’s roaming the woods, but the two of you would rather take your chances there.

he leans his bag of, most likely expired, candy to you. his eyes don’t leave his comic and his head is on your shoulder, just enjoying being near you. ironically enough it feels calm, normal, despite the looming threat of the walking dead lingering. you take some and toss them into your mouth, letting your hand go up to take his hat off and place it on your head.

he hums when your fingers comb through his hair, head tilting up to look at you. he lets out an endeared laugh at the sight of you wearing his hat, “i wish i had a camera with me.” you tilt your head at him and giggle,

“why?” his hand comes up to your face, thumb rubbing your cheek soothingly.

“i don’t get to capture moments like these often,” he mumbles lowly, looking at your lips before giving them a small peck. you go to protest, to make him give you a proper one when a growl from behind you interrupts.

your heads turn at the noise, a small herd of maybe six walkers headed your way. you look at carl to see him shoveling your things back into the chest he had. “think we can take ‘em?”

carl stands up with a small laugh, taking his hat back. “oh yeah.” he slides his knife from his belt, charging at one and shoving the knife through it’s skull. you cringe at the gurgling noise it makes before thudding to the ground, you’ll never get used to the noises, the smells.

you run to help him, taking down one with ease. it was barely hanging on, it’s stomach was ripped apart, everything falling out that made you want to gag. a second one tries to creep behind you but fails, receiving a blade to the eye. but that’s when things get tricky.

you hear carl grunt behind you, whipping around to see him on the ground topped by a, bigger than usual, walker. you yank it off of him, falling to the ground under it’s weight. you hear a nasty crunch and don’t have time to dwell on the pain in your left arm, plunging your knife into the back of it’s head.

you use your right arm to haul the thing off of you, breathing heavily on the ground as he takes the last two easier. he rushes to your side, frantically checking you for injuries. he lifts your left arm a little too fast, eliciting a whined from you.

“shit, it hurts? were you bit? we need to amputate it,” carl breaths heavily as his words fall from his lips with panic. he starts ripping fabric from his shirt when your hand comes up to stop him.

“slow your roll, cowboy. i’m not bit, i think i broke my arm pretty bad though.” carl sighs and let’s his hands fall, giving you a short, humorless laugh.

“you better not be,” he huffs, lifting you up bridal style. “i’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. i’d risk it all for you.”

“how romantic,” you laugh and wrap your right arm around his back, “and i broke my arm, not my legs!”

carl shushes you, “let me be a good boyfriend, hm?”

[gilbirda]

I'm just a simple guard, man

Part 6 of my Danny is an Arkham Security Guard AU (og tumblr post)

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

<< Prequel - Clown around and find out | First Part

There was silence and tension as they watched Batman go through the motions, tying up the unmoving but awake Joker and moving him to somewhere closer to the entrance. Joker was surprisingly responsive and lucid, just mellowed and obedient. Somehow it made it better — if he was a vegetable Jason knew Batman wouldn’t let that go until Danny undid what he had done.

Danny.

The Ghost King.

Jason didn’t know exactly what that meant. Heck, until today he didn’t know that ghosts were kind of a thing. Mythical creatures, he could buy. Apparitions, imprints of conscience that were unavenged — that he could buy too. But a Ghost King implied an organized society with status and a legal organization. A power structure.

“Oh yeah, forgot to mention that.”

He turned towards the doctor well aware his face showed every emotion.

“The fuck?”

“Did that really happen?” Duke was trying to keep calm, but his eyes were wide open and his hands slightly trembling.

“Yeah?” She lifted an eyebrow.

“But—”

“How the heck—”

“ — how did he do that —”

“ — did he set him on fire!”

“ — and is he even human?”

“Children,” Alfred stood from his seat, positioning himself between the brothers and their guest. “Let her breathe.”

“It’s okay, Mr. — uh…” She blushed as she realized she never asked for his name.

“Alfred,” the butler smiled, “Alfred Pennyworth.”

“Mr. Pennyworth,” she nodded politely. “I’m fine. I am aware that after that… theatrical spectacle, explanations are needed.”

“Indeed.” Batman cut in the conversation. “Proper explanations are in order. After I deliver the Joker to Arkham.”

“You can’t be serious!” Did the old man go crazy? Back to that place?

Jazz frowned, seemingly sharing his thoughts. She leaned closer to the microphone and spoke in a controlled voice. “Where are you delivering him? In the hospital.”

Bruce took way too long to answer, so Tim did it for him. “Through the front door?”

Jazz didn’t find it funny. “Wait for me.”

“What?”

“I said, wait for me.” Jazz reached for her discarded jacket, eyeing the door to the elevator back to the manor. “Joker is my patient and I need to be there.”

“What for?”

She turned to look at Jason. “He doesn’t deserve to be left at the mercy of some of the people in the Asylum. They could—”

“He can rot for all I care.”

The vigilante walked up to her, getting in her way and using his height and build to scare her into submission. Jazz held his gaze, defiant, muscles tense and ready to throw down if needed.

“You don’t know that place like I do.”

Jason huffed. “Whatever the inmates want to do to him, he deserves it.”

“I wasn’t talking about the inmates.” Her teal eyes steeled with fury. “Arkham has a history of staff abusing their authority.”

Duke glanced at Alfred, unsure what to make of that statement. He quietly stood up, getting ready to intervene in case Jason decided to get violent; but Alfred held him back with a gloved hand on his shoulder.

“Again, he deserves it.”

Tired of craning her neck to look up at him, Jazz stepped back. “He deserves the judgment of the people he’d hurt in the past — something my brother and I can promise you will happen.” Given what they saw in the camera feeds, nobody doubted the siblings could ensure it. “But I’m not going to tolerate that my patient spends his last years alive being unnecessarily abused.”

“I told you—”

“What do you think,” she interrupted Jason, her gaze cold and her body tense, “will happen if someone dies full of rage? If in their last moments they wish they could enact vengeance on those that harmed them?” She narrowed her eyes, knowing her words were hitting something in him. “What do you think will happen to the Joker’s soul if he’s abused and tortured at Arkham, and probably killed, after he crosses the Veil?”

“I—”

“A huge pain in the ass, it’s what will happen.”

The tense silence could be cut with a knife. Duke couldn’t understand how Jazz not only managed to stare down the six foot something tank that Jason was, but she also commanded the attention and respect. He was a newcomer to the place and he had done more than enough crazy stuff during his time in a gang; but he still struggled with openly challenging Jason and Cass. And Tim, but that was when the vigilante fell into his weird mumbling-in-the-dark episodes.

“I’m taking you there.”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the garage section of the cave. Jazz yanked her arm free and stopped to cross her arms.

“I can walk on my own.”

Jason bristled, opened his mouth to continue their fight, but apparently that was when Alfred had enough.

“If you want to get there in time,” his voice was neutral, controlled, and his face wore his signature arched eyebrow, “I'd recommend leaving right now.”

His tone was final.

Jazz and Jason looked at each other, frozen under the certified Alfred glare. They nodded and walked quickly towards where Jason’s signature red bike was parked.

***

Arkham Asylum was a mess when the duo arrived — police cars flooded the entrance, and the Batmobile stood out like a sore thumb in the midst of all the red and blue lights flashing around.

Jazz cursed under her breath. She would have preferred to not turn the situation into a circus.

They managed to walk through the sea of cops and civilians looking in the compound from the metal gates. Funny enough, the few guards blocking the way didn’t move to stop them once both glared at them at the same time.

Jazz made a beeline at the Director chatting animatedly with Batman. Black Bat was standing a bit back with Red Robin, probably discussing what just happened with Danny, but the Arkham doctor didn’t care about them.

“I demand I see my patient.” Jazz didn’t beat around the bush.

The Director blinked and slowly looked away from Batman, as if he couldn’t believe someone had the audacity to interrupt this moment. “Miss Fenton—”

“Doctor.” She corrected him.

The man cleared his throat, throwing a nervous glance at the silent Dark Knight.

“Doctor Fenton,” the word was spit like it was a curse, “your shift doesn’t start until eight.”

“But the Joker is my patient and I know he’s in there.” She gestured at the looming Asylum with her hand. “After such a traumatic event I need to see him.”

Someone coughed a laugh behind the Director. At least the man had the decency of hiding a smile.

“The Joker is not going anywhere, Miss— Doctor.” He added when she glared at him. “You can schedule a session tomorrow. That is, if your patient is up for conversation.” With that, the man deemed their conversation over and turned back to Batman. “Once again, thank you so much, Batman. I’m not going to ask how you did it this time, but we will certainly appreciate the results.”

Jason was as happy as everyone else that Joker wouldn’t be a problem anymore, but the way this bastard was treating Jasmine was outright criminal. He squared up for a fight and tried to step forward, but a cold hand on his forearm stopped him. Jazz moved her eyebrows up and her eyes went over his body before she looked back towards the police. Several new vehicles joined the party — all the Gotham news channels were here to record the event.

And he wasn’t wearing his suit. Right.

He nodded and remained where he was, but made a gesture towards where the Director was waxing poetry about how good Batman was for their city and how much the city owed him.

Do you want me to beat him up for you? He wanted to ask.

Jazz chuckled, hiding her smile behind her hand. She shook her head and patted his arm a few times.

“Thanks,” she whispered, “but not today.”

He didn’t know how serious she was. This was the same person who pulled a gun at Red Hood and five seconds later forced him into a therapy session. The same lunatic that was excited about having the whole bat flock in her apartment so she could question them.

For the first time since the alarm sounded about Joker’s escape, Jason let himself relax a little bit. Jazz was crazy enough to take on Arkham’s finest and leave victorious.

“Director Kallwick,” her voice was pure steel, “I’m afraid it’s imperative I see my patient after such a traumatic—”

“I think there’s something you are not understanding, Miss Fenton.”

“And what is it?” She crossed her arms.

The Director raised an eyebrow, now fully facing her. It didn’t escape Jason how the man squared his shoulders to look bigger and overpower Jazz. He had seen that behavior way too many times, in many different situations — and he didn’t like it when men like the Director used it against people that couldn't fight back, specially women.

He glanced at Bruce, trying to gauge how much the old man would flip if he intervened anyway. He trusted Jazz, but he really didn’t like the Director right now.

“I’m positive that after today’s… development,” he smiled, “things at Arkham will definitely change. For the best, of course.” He raised an eyebrow. “Starting with streamlining our staff and making sure we count on experienced doctors to treat the patients that really need it.”

Was he implying…?

Jazz hummed, regarding the man with as much contempt as she allowed herself to show. “I know you don’t like me, Mr. Kallwick. You never did. I know you hired me because you needed cannon fodder to sacrifice and keep the Joker entertained.” She smiled. “I’m young, but I’m not stupid. And I know men like you — weak, scared, and cowardly.”

“Hey there young—”

“I know you’d rather let your staff die than develop better and healthier outlets for patient’s destructive tendencies.” She lifted a hand and walked closer, poking the man’s chest. “I know that you look the other way when guards and doctors mentally and physically abuse inmates because you actually think they deserve it.” She poked him again.

“I don’t—” He went to grab her hand.

She moved away from him so quickly and so smoothly that it looked like a dance step.

She smiled. It wasn’t nice. “And I know all about what you’ve been doing with the funds and donations.”

Even in the middle of the noise from the crowd at the gates, you could hear the man loudly swallow.

“I know about the embezzling and the bribes and the interesting filing mistakes and convenient registration mishaps, Mr. Kallwick.” Her eyes slowly turned greener. It was subtle, but you could see that her usual teal color suddenly looked greener than blue. A trick of the lights, you could think, but the bats knew better. “I know you don’t care how or why the Joker is unresponsive, but I do; and if you want me to stay in my lane I highly recommend you stay in yours.”

The man processed her words, the thoughts clear in his eyes. He was probably thinking how she could have found out, or who told her, or how was he going to silence her better.

Jason saw the switch to the later thought as clear as day.

Bruce saw it too.

Before the man said or did anything else, the tall and quiet shadow of Batman placed himself behind Jazz, one hand on her shoulder as an obvious sign of his support. The other two bats placed themselves on the sides of the Arkham doctor, arms crossed, looking down at the man who was realizing too late the mistake he made.

***

“Are you still mad?”

“Hm.”

“You sound like the old man.”

Jazz glared at him, violently stabbing her ice cream cup and breaking her plastic spoon.

“You may need to deal with those anger issues. Have you thought about going to therapy?” He said with a bright smile.

She stood up, not caring about attracting attention. Who was going to pay attention to them, Jason didn’t know. It was way early in the morning — or late at night, it depends on how you see it — and Jazz had demanded they go to the closest ice cream place that was open.

Luckily he knew a place, because of course only in Gotham someone would be crazy enough to have an ice cream shop open at this hour.

“Some vigilantes, and some rogues, really like ice cream. It is an untapped market.” The man running the place said when asked, shrugging like it was obvious.

Jazz sat back down, now with a new spoon, and continued eating her sweet monstrosity of layered chocolate and dulce de leche.

“If you are this mad I highly recommend you take it with Bruce. I’m sure he will be very understanding and accept your feedback.”

She kicked him in the shins, rolling her eyes at his sarcasm.

“Whatever you say, mister Daddy Issues.”

It was his turn to kick her, but she was expecting the movement and moved away before he made contact. She smirked, taking another bite of her ice cream with a smug smile on her face.

God, he hated older siblings and their knowing smiles.

He prepared to kick her again..

“Don’t even try,” a new voice said, the person taking the empty chair on their little table. “Jazz is like a ninja when she really wants to.”

Jason wanted to differ and explain he had trained with literal ninjas, but the speed at which she whipped a gun on him not that long ago came to his mind. Was it a liminal thing? Or a Jasmine thing? Maybe a Fenton thing?

“Hey.”

“Hey back at you.” Danny sighed, taking Jazz’s ice cream cup and biting directly from the top layer. “That bad, huh?”

Jason bit his simple chocolate cone, watching the siblings talk.

“She’s mad because B scary dog privileged his way into making the Arkham Director submit and it undermined Jazz’s authority. She did a neat speech and everything.” He shook his head. “All wasted.”

She huffed and stole her ice cream back. “I didn’t need his support.”

“I know you don’t.” Danny glanced at Jason. “But it’s better if you have Batman’s backup, yes?”

Jazz ignored him.

Jason took the chance to look at Danny, trying to find anything that was different about the young man. He still had the scene back with Joker burned in his mind.

King of the Ghosts.

He would have never guessed, given the scrawny and sleep deprived raccoon of a man sitting next to him. He was still wearing the same shirt and under the fluorescent lights of the ice cream shop, it was easier to see the scars on his arms and hands — and the ones peeking from under his collar.

“Spit it out.”

“Huh?”

Danny rolled his eyes. “You have questions. Ask.”

“I don’t—” He tried to deny it, but thought better about it. Jason bit his ice cream and cleared his throat. “I want to ask about —”

“Of course you want to ask about what happened.”

A soft thump! came from under the table, and given Danny’s glare at Jazz then she probably kicked him for the sass.

“What do you want to know?”

“Why are you being so forthcoming?”

“I’m feeling charitable today.” Another kick from under the table. “Ok, ok! No need for violence.” He sighed. “Jazz’s right. This is not my territory. If we want to stay, we have to play nice with you guys.”

The way he said it, and the way he made a face when he said it, told Jason that Danny was really struggling with trusting the bats with the information. Trust issues he could understand — one wasn’t in their line of work without being betrayed or hurt enough to warrant these issues.

No. It was something deeper.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

There were many questions burning in his mind and he didn’t know how long they had. “Why… Gotham? Why Arkham? Why a guard?”

“You just wasted your time man. You already know the answer for that.” He pointed at his sister, who nodded in agreement. “I followed her.”

“And I came here because I was interested in the rogues.” She added, licking her spoon clean.

Jason shook his head. “I meant — why is the King of the Ghosts… just… here?” He lowered his voice, glancing at the ice cream man. The man was half asleep on the counter and clearly not listening. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

Danny responded with a dry laugh. “I have no interest in being the king of anything.”

“But?”

He looked away, suddenly very uncomfortable.

Jason glanced at Jazz, but she was glaring at the table.

“What happened?” He poked the siblings, trying to be soft. It was obviously a touchy subject, and whatever happened was painful enough that they’ve been avoiding any mention of their past before Gotham like the plague.

“It was… It happened a few years ago. I defeated the previous Ghost King, but nothing happened for a while. I thought… I thought things had calmed down since ghosts stopped attacking my town so often. And then, after I graduated highschool, the Observants started harassing me about taking the throne.”

“Did they hurt you?” Jason didn’t know what these “Observants” were, but he could guess from context.

Danny shook his head, stealing Jazz’s ice cream again. “They were fucking annoying, but they couldn’t touch me. As the Prince, I was technically their superior and untouchable.” He bit the cold treat and chewed. Somehow Jason wasn’t surprised Danny never got a brain freeze. “It was a few more years of avoiding them and trying to keep peace in town, as well as trying to get to know the Infinite Realms.” He chuckled again. “I even considered, for a moment, that being King wasn’t even that bad.

“It was a pretty normal day when it happened. I went to the mall with my friends. Sam, she — She had a fight with her parents and went there to cool down and cheer her up. The ghosts came first,” he pushed the ice cream back to his sister, and avoided Jason’s eyes, “but nothing was out of the ordinary. We fought. I defeated them. More and more kept coming, faster than I — than we could contain them.”

“I was away at college, but I later learned that it was a massive all out attack on just Danny.” Jazz placed a hand on Danny’s. “It was a coup attempt.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know that so many people were against me being King, and all that time they were planning the attack, and if I just paid a little more attention… If I wasn’t so—”

Another kick under the table. Danny cleared his throat and tried again.

“The GIW came as well. Things went from bad to worse, and by the end of the day it was an all out war between us, the ghosts doing a coup and the GIW. With our parents at the head of the attack.”

Jason frowned. “But you guys knew they worked with the GIW.”

Jazz gave him a warning look. “We knew they collaborated and consulted for them. We knew about the patent weapons.”

“But we didn’t know that they’d lead an attack on me.”

Danny did a brief pause to breathe, and stole more ice cream from his sister. She just pushed the cup towards him, apparently done with the treat.

Jason followed where the siblings were going. “They knew you’d be at the mall. That… That Phantom would be at the mall.” Danny looked up, his tired eyes confirming his thoughts. “They knew.”

It wasn’t a question.

Jazz nodded anyway. “We don’t know how long they did, but the truth is they knew about Danny. And went for him anyway.”

Minutes ticked by. Jason and Danny made quick work of their ice creams, lost in thought. Jazz checked her phone, frowned, and typed a few messages before putting it away.

“People died.”

Jason blinked at the non sequitur. Danny swallowed the last of the ice cream and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Neighbors, friends, people I knew. That day. They were fine and then they were dead.”

Guilt. It was clear as day.

“Is not your—”

“Don’t.” He cut him off. “Please.”

Jason nodded and decided to move on. “So you won the fight?”

“Barely. The ghosts were either captured by the GIW or retreated when they became outnumbered. Tucker and Sam managed to mess up with the idiots in white’s machines and weapons long enough for us to retreat. But we knew that wasn’t the end of it.

“We packed what we could and I hid at Sam’s, with the excuse that I would help her while she recovered — she broke her arm at the fight. We were a hundred percent sure if… if Jack and Maddie actually knew I was Phantom or not, but just in case.”

“I stayed. They didn’t target me so we were positive they didn’t know about me being liminal, so I stayed home.”

The vigilante frowned at Jazz. “What for?”

“Someone had to monitor them to see what they knew exactly. I also hid away any weapon they could potentially use against Danny.” She shrugged. “Not that it actually helped, because neither came back home in the weeks after the incident.”

“They were at the GIW base.” Danny crossed his arms and leaned back on his seat. The young man looked tired. “Because of course there was work to do with the captured ghosts.”

Jason hummed. “So they’ve been working on experimentation since then?”

Jazz shook her head. “We were telling the truth when we said they weren’t involved in that, at least not by the time we left Amity Park. Back then they were more involved in investigation on ghost containment and weapons research.”

He nodded, and turned back to Danny. “And the coup?”

The young man cursed under his breath. “Dealt with them.”

Jason waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What—”

“Listen, man.” He slapped the table and stood up. “That doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. I dealt with it. I accepted the damn crown and then told everybody to fuck off. And they have done that so far.” He breathed in, breathed out. “I’m nobody’s king, I’m just a simple guard now, okay? Nothing more, nothing less.”

With that, Danny walked away and left Jazz and Jason simmer in the tense silence. He looked at her, trying to gauge if he had said the wrong thing, but Jazz appeared apologetic.

“Before you ask — I don’t know either. Nobody does. He just… after we took down the GIW base, he took the captured ghosts back to the Realms. He came back two days later, hurt and barely coherent, and never spoke of what happened there. To anybody.” Not even me, the hurt statement was implied. “He was… changed. He didn’t say what happened but from what we could piece together it was bad, very bad.”

A myriad of possibilities crossed Jason’s mind. How bad is “very bad”? How much did Danny stir things up at the Realms that he had remained unbothered ever since? He tried to map the scars that he saw, and grimaced at the idea of two straight days of fighting after doing a raid to the GIW base.

Danny was done. With being a hero. With fighting. With trying to do the right thing.

What was even the “right thing” here? Going back to being the King of a dimension that doesn’t want him and he doesn’t want in return? Give it up, and risk someone worse taking control of so much power? Destroying the GIW? Going after their own parents?

He thought about the Joker. He asked Jazz when she was back from checking on the clown, and she willingly shared some details about his state. Jason never felt sorry for the fucker, but gained a new appreciation for Danny and his abilities.

The power to take someone’s soul and seal it inside their bodies — what else could he do? What other otherworldly and potentially devastating powers did he have at his disposal?

What else was he choosing not to face? What else was he running away from?

He stood up and followed Danny outside, finding him standing in the cold morning rain of Gotham. It wasn’t pouring, but it was easy to get soaking wet if you underestimated it.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

Both ignored the door when Jazz quietly followed them out of the ice cream shop.

“Good.” The younger man looked up at the gray sky, maybe looking for the sun. Water droplets fell down his face, and he welcomed them with a relieved, albeit tiny, smile. “Because I don’t have anything else to say.”

Jason rolled his eyes. What a drama queen.

He glanced at Jazz, who was shaking her head. “Whatever you say, edgelord.”

She pulled Danny to her chest for a hug, which he only protested with a tiny grumble. Jason chuckled before he was pulled in too by a surprisingly strong grip.

“If I have to suffer sisterly hugs then so do you.”

Jazz giggled but welcomed the addition to her arms, not caring that she could barely hold both of them and her arms fell short. She squeezed them harder towards her chest, humming in delight.

Great, she was a hugger. Jason really didn’t need another Grayson in his life.

<< Prequel - Clown around and find out | First Part

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[ther3allyra]

hii ^^ since you're taking Vanessa requests could you do Vanessa and reader who's really introverted and shy? like reader always tries to avoid eye contact and all 😭?

im sorry if that was a little hard to read but yeah feel free to ignore if you dont want to do it!

Please look at me.

Vanessa Shelly x Reader

Summary: Your extremely shy and have an obvious crush on the blonde police officer, maybe once she makes a move you’ll gain some confidence

Warnings: N/A

Word count: 918

A/N: HII lovely! Thank you for this request I absolutely loved writing this, apologise for this being later than I intended but school was busy, it’s also a little on the shorter side so I hope you don’t mind. Enjoy<3

You sat in the office bored, you longed for the time Vanessa would show up to spend time with you, not that you’d even be able to talk to her I mean the only words you e ever managed to speak to her was ‘Hi’ and ‘Y/N’. Most of the time it was a simple nod or a quick smile you’d give her before looking away shyly rubbing your arm. You longed for the moment you would be able to talk to her, hug her, kiss her. To say the least you had a HUGE crush on her, and you wanted to do something about it but couldn’t.

As you sat watching the monster screen you saw a car pull up just to the side, the vehicle almost staying out of view from the security camera hanging over the entrance door. Standing up quickly with such excitement that you flung open the office door and ran for the entrance, stopping suddenly in your tracks. The jingle of keys. Keys? Vanessa doesn’t have keys but you didn’t have much time to think before you had an Abby running straight for you.

‘Y/N!!!’ She squealed with delight, as you opened your arms bringing her in for a big hug. You look up to see your older brother Mike just closing the door, it must’ve been a double shift with him, had you forgotten?. You looked from Abby who was still giving you a big hug and giggling to Mike, back to Abby, and then back to Mike again mouthing the words ‘what is she doing here?’

Mike took a step forward as your little sister jumped out of your arms, saying something of ‘be right back’ and ‘saying hi to friends’. ‘I couldn’t find a babysitter, Max isn’t answering the phone’ Mike shrug at you, you honestly couldn’t feel to guilty as the night dragged on a little even though it was 3:46Am and you knew you couldn’t actually afford a proper babysitter, that’s why once you were old enough you started working here with your older brother.

As the night dragged itself along you longed wished Vanessa would turn up, maybe she would maybe she wouldn’t?, again it wasn’t as if you could talk to her which you so desperately wanted to do that it was obvious. Abby was busy trying to play a claw machine as Freddy and Mike stood next to her, to say the least it didn’t look as if the animatronic and your brother liked each other very much but both you and Abby hand gotten along great with all of them, you having the closest bond with Foxy. FOXY! You could ask his opinion on how you could talk to Vanessa, he couldn’t exactly speak but the amount you talk about her on the nights she usually calls he could tell you liked her very much. You looked around for the animatronic and once you saw him near the front door you ran for him.

‘Foxy!’ You called as you skidded to a halt near him, your breath catches in your throat as you realised Vanessa had actually turned up, she was most likely talking to the fox animatronic. You snuck a glance up at her and noticed both her and foxy staring at you so you stared down at the floor, your cheeks heating up a tad. You tried your best to avoid eye contact with her but you so desperately wanted to be with her. But now? You felt your heart race and you stood in your place.

‘Y/N?, are you ok?’ She questioned looking at you up and down in your spot, all you could do was nod and let out a simple ‘mhm’, not wanting to move, hoping the ground would open up and swallow you then and there to save you from the embarrassment.

The entire place was silent until Mike had popped up, he probably left Abby with the other animatronics. ‘Hey Ness!’ He smiled approaching you and Vanessa, the ground shook a little as Foxy had walked away. Mike ruffled the top of your hair as you glanced at him. You were so deep in thought you hadn’t noticed the conversation, and mikes watch beeping 6Am. It was 6Am and you hadn’t even spoken to Vanessa!!. Mike walked away to go and grab Abby as she’d most likely fallen asleep on one of the animatronics.

‘I have to go, but it was nice seeing you again Y/N!’ She smiled, but before she left she stepped forward embracing you in her arms. ‘Maybe next time you look at me, huh?’ She smiled and gave you a small kiss on the cheek, before stepping back giving you a smile and walking to her car.

She hugged you, SHE LITERALLY HUGGED YOU!! You got so excited, even the small kiss on the cheek there was some interaction between you and there was a glimmer of hope that you’d gain more confidence next time, and even more hope there was a chance she’d like you back. You followed Mike who was carrying Abby in his arms out to both of your guys car, you waved bye to Mike as he strapped Abby in, getting into your own car. You watched as Vanessa’s car drove by as she honked at you not long followed after Mike’s. You’d probably go grab some breakfast before going back to to Mike, and that’s what you decided to do, extremely happy with how the shift went.

[marinas-drafts]

Honeymoon

A Sky High Lovin’ segment, the swingin’ 60’s

Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu

Warnings 18+: (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🌷🎀🌷

Repost here from my main: @precious-little-scoundrel

There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.

He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.

He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.

The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.

Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.

You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”

He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”

Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.

He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.

He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.

“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.

It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.

“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.

He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.

“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.

You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.

If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.

“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.

“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”

“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”

You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.

It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.

“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.

“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”

That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?

He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.

Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.

And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.

He earned your trust.

“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.

“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.

“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.

“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”

You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.

His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.

His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.

“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?

“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,

“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”

The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-

“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.

You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.

You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”

He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.

You flush red hot at the sight of him

lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.

He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.

“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.

“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”

He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.

“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.

He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.

You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.

“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”

You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.

You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.

“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.

He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.

“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.

The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.

His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”

You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow

“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.

It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.

Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”

You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.

“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”

Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.

“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”

The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.

“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”

“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”

You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.

“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”

“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.

He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”

You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.

“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.

“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.

“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.

“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.

“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”

“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.

He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.

“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”

With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.

You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.

You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.

You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.

He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.

The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:

“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”

It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.

Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.

“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”

It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.

“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”

His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.

“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.

“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.

Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.

Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”

You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.

“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.

“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.

You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.

Married life, he could get used to this.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels

“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.

This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.

Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.

Hope y’all enjoyed. This is a repost from my (currently censored) main blog @precious-little-scoundrel and in turn it’s a repost from the original written over a year ago on my deleted OG Elvis blog@aconflagrationofmyown I want to start collecting my fics here in case anything happens with my main. Xoxo

[redroomreflections]

Not Easily Broken Chapter 5

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce

Masterlist | General Masterlist

5/10

Note: Yes, it's getting finished besties.

W/c: 7.4k (this was a bitch to edit just so you know!)

Rating: M (Minors DNI; angst, fluff, smut, heartbreak, heart fix? the best ending for them coming soon)

“And Mommy, I went to the park, we played on the swings. I went so high. Not even Mama could grab me.” Emma gestured with her hands somewhere beyond the camera. You smiled at the expression on her face as she described to you what her day was like. You were just returning home from the gym when you received a Facetime call from Natasha. You quickly answered it thinking it was an emergency. Nope. It was just Emma missing you. You could tell that time apart tore through her as the five-year-old tried to understand the current family dynamics. Not that it was easy for you to understand. Still, you listened to her tell stories just like she always did. Slightly out of breath and a lot of emotion. She held the phone in her shaky hands as she bounced around her bed. You’re not sure you could get her to sit down if you tried.

“You didn’t go that high,” Ryan’s ‘know-it-all’ tone surprised you. It was classic sibling bickering. Only this time you had a front-row seat. You could see Emma hold the camera in place as she frowned over at her brother.

“How do you know? You were over on the slides.” Emma said.

“I could still see,” Ryan climbed onto the bed to bounce with his sister. You could see his hair flopping in a corner of the frame. You wish they would just set you up somewhere you could see. Not that either of them was professional on the proper lighting and angles. All you could see was bouncing and their breathless bickering. Until there was a knock at the door, Emma bounced onto her bottom to look innocently at whoever interrupted their playtime.

“Okay, you two, time for bed,” Natasha said. She held onto the doorknob as she watched them deflate.

“We are still talking to Mommy,” Emma pouted. “Can we have just five more minutes?”

“Oh, you said that ten minutes ago.” Natasha matched her pout. “Say goodnight to Mommy.”

“Goodnight Mommy,” Emma said. She passed the phone to Ryan before stumping out of his bedroom and into her own. She was stopped in her tracks by Natasha as she scooped the little girl into her arms. She kissed along her cheeks, and forehead, before raising her a bit higher to press kisses against her belly. Emma’s laughter filled the room as Ryan watched them with his smile. You couldn’t help but feel that familiar loneliness resurfacing. You wanted to be there with them. You belong there with them.

“Mommy, are you coming to my game on Wednesday?” Ryan spoke over the giggles coming from Emma. They seemed to be further away now. Natasha was carrying her to her bedroom.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You promised. A promise you were ensuring you would keep.

“If we win, can we get ice cream?” Ryan smiled hopefully.

“I will get you three scoops no matter if you win or not.” You replied. At his smile, you felt a bit better. You wouldn’t let him down this time. There was silence as you both enjoyed each other’s virtual company. He crawled under the covers, somehow keeping the phone in his hold before he fixed the camera to show his face again. “Are you all warm and cozy?”

“Yeah,” Ryan nodded. He paused before speaking again. “I want you to come to stay with us again, Mommy. Then we could have another sleepover. Like we had in Florida.”

“I’d like that so much, Ryan.” You said sincerely. “I knew you liked those sleepovers.”

“Of course,” Ryan shrugged. “I like it when everyone is happy. It’s always fun.” He said in a way that made him seem so much older. He sounded bigger than his seven years of life. He was always worrying about everyone else’s feelings.

Natasha chose that moment to enter his room again. She stood by the doorway with her arms folded against her chest. She allowed Ryan to have his moment with you. As the oldest child, it was easy for him to step into the background and let Emma have her moments. You both were always reminding him that his feelings and interests mattered too.

Turns out neither of you had anything to say. He held the phone, clearly stalling his bedtime so that he could get a few more moments with you. Finally, Natasha intervened. You could tell she secretly wanted to talk with you too.

“Okay, tell Mommy goodnight,” Natasha instructed. She ambled over to his bed to hold out her hand.

“Goodnight, Mommy,” Ryan said lowly. He reluctantly passed the phone to Natasha before sliding further under the covers. He waited for his kiss goodnight before turning towards the wall. You could see Natasha turn off his bedroom light and close the door. She shuffled down the hallway, wisps of her hair flying freely in her messy bun, as she walked towards her bedroom. She settled onto her bed, crossing her legs before looking down at the camera.

“Hey you,” You smile. The lighting in the bedroom cast a warm glow against her skin. Her reading glasses sit perched on the top of her head as she leans back against the headboard. She doesn’t need them all the time but you figure she’s had a long day. She smiles lazily into the camera before returning your greeting. You mirror her position on the other side of town.

“Hi back,” She smiles.

“Do you need to be tucked in too?” You joke and she snorts.

“I haven’t needed to be tucked in in a long time, Romanoff,” The way she uses the last name for you causes your heart to flutter. If that were possible. Her voice is a bit raspier. A bit huskier. You scan her face and the top of her shoulders. She’s wearing a thin purple tank top. You can see the way her skin flushes at your heated gaze.

“So, about the no-sex thing?” You try. She raises a brow for you to continue. “Did that include phone sex?”

“Hmm?” Natasha pretends to take a moment to think.

“Because I think I would be able to stay awake for that,” You quip.

“Oh yeah?” Natasha asks. She moves to grab a pillow from your forgotten side of the bed. She props the phone up, fluffing the pillow for the correct angle, before laying on her side. “What did you have in mind?” The ball is in your court. She’s certainly entertaining you and your horniness. She props herself up on her elbow, cradling her head with her hand, as she looks at you expectantly.

“I think a nip slip wouldn’t be so bad,” You suggest. You’re not serious. Not 100% at least. It’s not like you haven’t had phone sex before. Back when she would have long missions, or you would be away on a business trip, you had taken to sending each other racy texts or faceless nudes. It’s how you kept things alive and “spicy”. Not that you ever needed it.

“You’re always so obsessed with my breasts,” Natasha comments. She doesn’t care all that much. She likes the attention. From you and only you.

“They’re nice breasts,” You shrug.

“What do I get out of this?” Natasha decides she’ll continue to play along. This is the least sexy amount of flirting you’ve done but it still manages to get a rise out of you. You like it this way. There’s no expectation to be something you’re not. There’s no expectation to get back to a flame that has long died down. At least for the time being. You’d rather not think about what that means.

“Um,” You bring your left hand to your chin. You pretend to think before grinning mischievously. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Natasha laughs this time. She shakes her head before pulling at the strap of her top.

“You have yourself a deal,” Natasha says. She fingers along the strap, pulling it down from her arm teasingly. She bites her lip, watching the way your pupils dilate, as she finally removes the side. She sits up on her bottom. The anticipation is killing you as you wait for her to show you what you’ve been waiting for. Natasha pushes the other strap from her shoulder. She rolls her eyes as you settle further back into the pillows. Typical. Making her go first. Natasha raises her hands to push the shirt down her abdomen. More skin is exposed until you can see the top of her breasts. God, you wish she wouldn’t tease you.

The pink of her nipples takes you by surprise just before the screen goes black. You let out an audible sound of shock as you rise from the pillows. You tap the screen of your phone to see if you still have half a battery. Natasha’s phone has died. You thumb through the screen of your phone to get back to her name only for it to show up unavailable. You sigh in frustration. Maybe a shower will cool you off. You drop your phone onto the bed with a promise to text her back when you’re out. You needed to cool off.

The steam from the shower doesn’t seem to help you. You scrub your skin, relieving yourself of the day’s grime, as you think about Natasha. You miss her. You want her next to you. Not only for sex. It’s never been just sex for you. You want to feel her breathing against the back of your neck when she decides to be the big spoon. You want her too warm limbs pressed against your calves. You want her steady hand resting in the valley between your breasts. You want Natasha.

You get out of the shower feeling refreshed. You brush your teeth. The feeling of loneliness fills you once again. No one is here to lie with you. There’s no one here to wake up to. No one to keep the darkness in your mind away. You’re here all alone and you can’t help but think that you deserve it. You’re the culprit after all. You’re the one that tore apart your family. You’re the one that pushed everyone away in exchange for work. Everything comes down to you.

As you finish your skincare routine, you can’t help but wonder if things will change. Would you change? Your first counseling session is tomorrow and you want more than anything to work things out. Natasha is too great of a woman to pass up. She’s too much of your heart for you to throw away. Like you’ve been doing. You shut off your bathroom light and crawl back under the covers of your bed. It’s much too big to have for yourself.

You fumble around for the phone and tap the screen alive. There are four messages from Natasha. You swipe the unlock screen, using FACE ID to open it, as you tap the first message. “Sorry my phone died,” The message reads with an attachment.

It’s a series of pictures. The anticipation kills you as you wait for the HD versions to load. Your eyes almost pop out of your head as Natasha poses for the camera. Damn. If she ever wanted to quit her day job as a spy to become a photographer you would support her decision one thousand percent. Okay, you’re being a bit dramatic but these are good.

She’s on her side, in the same position as before, only this time she’s naked save for her panties. They’re a thin bit of silk with lace trim in the color black. You take in the whole picture. The way her left leg is bent just slightly, her left arm stretched across her breasts, as she lies faceless in the picture. She’s not showing anything but to you it is everything. Damn indeed.

You immediately swipe to the next wanting to see the other photos. This one is a bit more personal. Her lips are the highlight of this one. She’s closer to the camera, her mouth slightly open, as her tongue peeks from behind her perfectly white teeth. Only Natasha could make this pose sexy. She manages to make everything sexy. Your eyes trail down to find the tops of her breasts hidden once again as she poses.

You’re extremely thankful that while these are sexy, Natasha trusts you enough to send them to you. You know she’s put herself in a vulnerable position. She’s throwing herself out there and you can’t help but feel elated. The next picture makes you audibly gasp. The camera is positioned further down. Her nipple stands rosy and hard as she pinches it between her index finger and thumb. Her wrist lies against the breast cupping it as she balances the phone with the other hand. In the background, you can see the look of pleasure on her face. She’s sensitive. Her breasts have always been sensitive. Even to her touch.

You don’t realize your hand has traveled to the waistband of your underwear until you feel your wetness at the tip of your fingers. You miss her. You need her. You open your legs wider, as you skirt past your clit to dip your fingers inside your opening. There’s no need to get ready. She should be here right now. You imagine the way she would feel inside of you. You imagine the curl of your fingers is hers. You imagine that morning at the hotel and how she’d taken initiative.

Damn Natasha and her sexy pictures. You know she’s not expecting pictures back but you feel inclined to send them. You push the sports bra over your breast, balancing the phone in one hand, as you arch your back just so. You quickly snap the picture before sending another one showcasing the bump of your hand inside of your panties. You’re not sure you can wait for her to reply as you push another finger inside of yourself. You pump at an increasingly fast pace as you imagine it’s Natasha here in bed with you. You clench hard around your fingers at the thought of her body pressed against yours.

There’s a vibration from your phone just as you reach that spongey spot inside of yourself. You raise the phone to look through narrowed eyes. She’s calling again. You move a shaky thumb to the green phone button to answer it.

“Nat,” You whimper.

“You couldn’t wait for the phone to charge?” She says in a light scold. You shake your head no.

“Well, I want you to slow down.” Natasha begins. You whimper again at her voice as she husks. “Shh, I want to come with you.” She purrs. This prompts a gush of wetness as you force yourself to slow down. It’s rare for Natasha to take over in the bedroom and when she does it’s phenomenal. You don’t want to think about how long it’s been since you’ve truly been intimate. All you can think about is the chase of your current orgasm.

“Want you,” You whine.

“I know,” Natasha breathes. “Want you too.” Natasha fumbles with the camera as she flips onto her stomach. She props the phone up on the side of her again and for a second your fingers are still inside of you as you watch her. She’s naked this time as the sheets cover her from the waist down. You wish so badly that she would let it slip away. You watch as her left hand slips under the covers. She arches her back with her face pressed into the pillow.

She’s not. She won’t. She is.

You try to keep your eyes open as the moment overtakes you. Natasha’s lips fall open as she slides her fingers into herself. You can see the subtle movements of her hand under the covers and the outline of her perfectly rounded bottom. She lets out a choked noise as she adjusts to the fullness of her fingers.

“Nat, open your eyes,” You beg. Her thick lashes flutter open and you’re thrown by how dark her eyes are at the moment.

“I’m ‘supposed to be in charge.” She sputters as she ruts against her fingers.

“You’re doing such a good job of that, baby.” You encourage. “Tell me what you want me to do,” You say. Her brows knit together as she attempts to form words.

“I want to see you too,” She manages. You quickly push your panties from your body, moaning at the loss of your fingers, as you toss your pillows to the side. You prop up the phone to show off your body.

“G-good,” Natasha says.

“Now what?” You ask.

“I’m not gonna last,” Natasha swallows. “I want you to push inside of yourself. Gently.” You do as told. It’s much easier this time around. “Wanna hear you.” She mentions. She begins to rock her hips as she rides her fingers. You don’t hold back as you match her pace. The sight in front of you is too much as you watch Natasha hump against the covers. She doesn’t swallow her moans, though conscious of little ears, as she breathes. “Can’t wait to have you inside me.” She babbles. “Been so long.” She continues. “How does it feel, Zaya?” She questions as you pump your fingers faster. You can feel your hips jump at the thought of being inside Natasha again. “Zaya,” it’s such a sweet nickname despite how “dirty” you’re being. You manage to look at the phone again. Feeling your walls clench around your fingers as you watch Natasha rock against herself.

“So good,” You moan.

“When we fuck, I want you to use the big one,” Natasha confesses. You immediately know what she’s talking about. The strap-on. “Want to feel it inside me for a week.” Natasha arches her back more as her movements become frantic. Her hair is held by the tie draped over her shoulders and the pillow as she moves. “Want you to fill me.”

She still has it. Not that you expected her to just throw it away. She’s talking big game right now. Natasha has never been able to fully take that strap with ease no matter how much you’ve both tried. It’s bordering 8 inches. Not too big where it hurts but the girth is. The way it fills her. She likes the challenge and so do you.

“You still have it?” You ask through your thrusts.

“I tried to use it on myself,” She admits and you’re sure you’d died and gone to heaven. “Couldn’t come. Not without you.” She gasps. You can feel the arrival of your orgasm as Natasha tells you about her time with the strap. “Wouldn’t fit.” She shakes her head.

“Shit,” You whine as the last part of her statement sends you into your orgasm head first. You don’t know which way is up or down as your eyes snap shut. Your legs lock up and your back arches to an impossible level. From somewhere back down on earth you can hear Natasha’s moans as she climaxes. There’s a solid thirty seconds before the grip your body has on your fingers loosens. It’s another thirty seconds before you can relax your legs and pull out. When you finally do open your eyes to look over at the phone, Natasha’s green ones, are looking back at you lazily.

“Were you telling the truth?” You ask. She lifts her head giving you a satisfied smirk. “About the strap?”

“I was,” Natasha dares to blush. As confident as she is in bed, she always has that shyness that you find so endearing. “I tried but I couldn’t get it past the first three inches.” You believe her. It’s always taken some extensive foreplay and at least one orgasm for her to take it. Your mind flashes back to the time she insisted on riding you to the ends of the earth and back. Her form. Her stamina. Always a ten out of ten. Natasha can tell where your mind is going and she smirks again. “You need to sleep.”

“How can I when you’ve told me that?” You look at her incredulously.

“Well the faster you go to sleep, the quicker you get to see me.” She reminds you. The counseling session is in the morning. Right.

“You should have started with that,” You quip ignoring the nervousness of tomorrow. You watch as Natasha shifts, her hand still laid under her, and suddenly you’re made aware of something.

“Nat,” You ask and she hums in response as her eyes flutter closed. “Are you still inside of yourself?”

“Mhmm,” She nods sleepily. “Too sensitive to move,” She mumbles. Did she want to kill you?

“Baby, you need to get up and pee. Then we can sleep.” Her eyes snap open at your words. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep. I promise.” This time you mean it. Natasha nods again as she lifts her lower half to slowly remove her fingers from herself. She can’t help but whimper at the loss.

“You too,” She tilts her chin up. You rush to the bathroom to clean yourself up and wash your hands before returning to the bed. Natasha is much slower as she enters the frame again. She lies on her side again to face you.

“Y/n,” She says.

“Yes, Tasha?”

“Can you promise me something,” Her tone is more serious and she’s suddenly more awake than before. “If at any point you feel any of this is too much. You tell me.” Her gaze is piercing as she waits for you to respond. “Don’t let it fester. Don’t leave me in the dark. If we need to pause on whatever this is right now, we do. Don’t hide.”

You bite your lip. You hate that she even has to say this. Given your track record, you’re not surprised.

“I promise, baby.” You murmur. “I love you.” You say and Natasha smiles.

“I love you too.”

You can tell sleep is overtaking her now as she plugs the phone into its charger before leaving it against the pillow. You watch her for a bit longer than necessary as she slips into sleep so easily.

You wouldn’t mess this up. Not this time.

*********************************

One thing Natasha didn’t expect from her family when informing them that she would be attending couples counseling with you - was their reluctance. She sat in her car, her sunglasses pushed to the top of her head, as she listened to them talk through the speakers of her car. Her iPhone remained in the cupholder as she traced her fingers over the edges. She could hear the sound of a pin drop with how silent the other occupants on the phone were.

“Hello?” She asked attempting to hide the annoyance in her tone. She glanced around the parking lot of the office building. She’s been here for the better part of ten minutes. After dropping off the children at school she headed here. Part of it was to keep herself in check and talk with her family without the worry of traffic. Now she’s glad she did. There’s no sign of you just yet and she hopes you find a parking spot in time. She would hate to be late.

“It’s pretty packed for a Monday morning,” She muses to herself. She could feel the tension deep in her bones as she tried to calm herself.

“Yes, Natasha, we are still here.” It was Melina’s soft voice that spoke first. Natasha glanced towards the touchscreen radio of her car. She was currently on a three-way call with the Russian members of her family. The names Mama and Yelena in both English and Russian sat unmoving across the screen. “We are just surprised is all.”

Natasha imagined her holding up the phone to an ear as Alexei tried to hold in his thoughts.

“Surprised? We’re fucking shocked is what we are,” Yelena breathes. She doesn’t hold back. While Natasha appreciated her sister’s bluntness she didn’t find it helpful at this moment.

“Yelena,” Melina scolded her. There was an eye roll somewhere in there.

“What?” Yelena’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Just last year, Natasha came crying to us. Utterly fucking destroyed might I add. Telling us that her marriage was over. Y/n left her with their two kids to do who knows what with god knows who. We were left to pick up the pieces and you mean to tell me all of that was for nothing?”

Natasha listens to her family bicker about her relationship. She understands what Yelena is saying. She might be right on this one. As surprising as it may be, she has her reasons. There’s still a part of her that believes your relationship could work. Sue her for holding on to that.

“Yeah, what she said,” Alexei finally joined it. “I don’t forget. I would like to break her puny little arms still.”

Natasha’s brow raised in amusement as a smirk tugged at her lips. She didn’t think your arms were puny.

“Alexei, you’re not going to break my wife’s arms,” Natasha says drily.

“Wife?” Yelena comments at the same time that Melina scolds her husband in the background. “I can’t believe this.”

Natasha licks her lips in annoyance. If there’s one thing she could never do was stand up to her family. In the rare moments that she did, she would blow up. She doesn’t need that right now.

“I think what Natasha is saying is that she and y/n are willing to work on their mistakes,” Melina chooses her words carefully. “I do just like the rest of you that their split was terrible. We were all rooting for the both of you. I think if you two are going to make it work we support that. Even if we have our reservations.”

“Reservations?” Yelena asks incredulously. “I don’t have reservations. I’m pissed about it is what I am. I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back to someone who has shown time and time again how much she doesn’t care.” That’s the part that sends tiny knives through Natasha’s heart.

“Please,” She mutters but it’s loud enough for them to hear. “I know how you all feel. I know you’re still mad at her and part of me is too. That other part of me still wants so badly for this to work. I owe it to myself to see it through. I owe it to Ryan and Emma, too.” Just as she finishes there’s rapping on her window. She glances up to find you giving her a small wave. She raises a finger to tell you to wait and you give her a small smile before walking over to the front of the car. “I have to go but please keep an open mind. I need your support.”

“Of course, big girl,” Melina says easily. She hears a sound akin to whack and suddenly Alexei joins in. “I will.”

“Еле́на?” Natasha asks.

Yelena smacks her lip and Natasha can tell there’s another eye roll at the other end of the line.

“Okay fine,” She relents. “I can’t say that I won’t poison her drink if she tries something else.”

“I will hold you to that,” Natasha laughs. “I have to go but I love you all so much.” She says before rushing to hang up the phone. She doesn’t want to leave you waiting any longer. She presses the button to turn off her car as she quickly stuffs her phone inside of her pockets. Even after all this time, she refuses to carry a purse. She opens the door of the car, giving you another smile, before slamming it shut.

“Hey,” You say softly as she continues to walk until she’s standing right in front of you. The height difference is still so endearing. She looks up at you with a shy smile before stretching her neck to kiss you. It’s soft and so damn sweet. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept fine,” Natasha pulls back.

“Good,” You respond. You take a look at the building to the side of you before turning back to her inquisitive eyes. “Ready to go and have our entire relationship picked apart?”

She nods. She’s been in therapy before. She knows what it entails. She can’t say she’s that big of a fan but she wants this to work. She needs this to work.

*********************

When you sit down on the couch of the therapist's office you don’t intentionally mean to sit so far apart. You’re not on opposite ends of the couch. Natasha is mere inches away from you. If needed you can reach out and touch her. You sit with a rigid posture and fidgety eyes. Natasha ever the calm one sits with her legs crossed and a relaxed form. You’re a bit jealous of the fact that she’s always able to play it so cool. You look around the room of the office to ground yourself. The therapist, Cheryl, sits across from you shuffling papers together before she can begin. You notice the plaques on the wall, framed in a deep brown shade, hung up with pride. The walls are painted soft gray with white trim. The couch is comfy, new, and a bit stiff. It hasn’t been sat on much as a testament to its recent purchase. You adjust in your seat to test this theory and Cheryl notices. She looks up at you with something sort of like a smile.

“Oh, the entire office just got new furniture last week,” She mentions. Finally, she folds the papers and flips to an open page in her pad. “Now I want to begin by getting to know you both a little bit. From your intake papers, I understand that you have been divorced for almost nine months now but you’re seeking reconciliation.” She glances up from her pad to confirm. You nod. She looks back down. “I want to know your origin story. How did Y/n and Natasha begin? Then we can go ahead into more detail.”

She waits patiently for either of you to start. You glance at Natasha and she gives you the okay to speak. You were fine going first.

“Natasha and I met almost twelve? Twelve years ago at Stark Tower.” You start looking to Natasha for confirmation. She gives a subtle nod. “I was recently appointed creative director working alongside Tony Stark. As you know she’s an Avenger. Initially, we didn’t have that much contact. I was simply there to take in what Tony wanted. Um, I think I was three months into the job before we officially met. Tony wanted to go over some of the marketing for his latest gadget. Usually, a creative director just oversees the project from end to finish. With Tony, it’s everything.” You talk with your hands and suddenly you’re a bit self-conscious about that. “We had lunch in his lounge and Natasha walked in. She introduced herself, didn’t say much, she left after that. It was so quick.”

“Was this the first time you saw her?”

“Yes,” You answer.

“It wasn’t the first time I saw her,” Natasha offers. “It was at least a week before that. She was on her phone at one of the luncheons Tony was having. She was talking to her mom or something of that sort. She was complaining about Tony even with him a few feet away. Something about that interested me. How unafraid she was of the consequences with him standing right there.”

Natasha stops to let you continue the story.

“I don’t know how it was for Natasha but I… I fell in love the moment she held out her hand for me to shake,” You admit. You lick your lips before starting again. “I wanted her in every way.” There’s no sense of lying. “So I spent more time at the office than working from home. I would ask Tony about her. I would hope that I would get a chance to see her more.”

“It was pretty much the same for me,” Natasha says. “I tried to be around more. Usually, I would, um, make myself scarce. Product of my childhood. I stayed out of the way. With Y/N, for some reason, I didn’t feel I had to do that.”

“Our first kiss was at one of Tony Stark’s many, many parties.” You describe. “It was in the kitchen and I remember feeling so happy. I was also a bit nervous. How could a woman like her ever want someone like me?”

“Someone like you?” Cheryl hangs on to your words. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug. “I wasn’t very put together. I was very open and brash and she was more collected. More grown-up. Like she had her entire life together.”

“And you didn’t? You were a young creative director,” Cherly mentions.

“I didn’t feel like it at the moment,” You say and she writes something down on her pad. “So, anyway, neither of us had been in a relationship where we were one hundred percent serious about the other person. Everything felt so right with Natasha. It felt easy. To love her. It happened so easily.”

“I feel that way too,” Natasha agrees.

“Sounds like a beautiful love story,” Cheryl drops her pen for just a second. “Do you always talk in tandem like that? Like finishing the story for each other.”

You and Natasha blink. You hadn’t noticed it. You guess that’s what eleven years together would do.

“I find it cute,” Cheryl assures you. “Now, you have two children together correct?” She glances at her notes. “Ryan and Emma?”

“Yes,” Natasha answers.

“Great,” She mutters to herself. “So, I have my notes here and I guess I would like to ask what do you think the problems are in your relationship?” At your look she rephrases. “I am wondering what caused you two to divorce in the first place?”

“Several things really,” You say.

“We grew apart,” Natasha begins. “I don’t want to play the blame game. It’s just that for the past few years, y/n has been tied up with work. A lot.”

You nod. That’s a given she would tell this. “I think for a while we were just skirting by on being busy. The both of us.” You emphasize. “We lead such busy lives that we, mainly me, spent more time putting effort into that instead of putting effort into our relationship. I felt that I couldn't make her happy. We were fighting more. I was miserable. I don’t want to speak for her but it just became too much at once.” Cheryl scribbles on her notepad.

“Natasha, do you agree with this?” Cheryl asks.

Natasha nods. “Yes.”

“So what I’m hearing is that somewhere your lives got so busy that at some point there was a disconnect?” Cheryl summarizes. “Is there something that you think initiated this change?”

“I think it was after we had kids,” You say reluctantly. “Suddenly, we were balancing our careers, our relationship, and then kids. It was like in every direction there was always something. It’s a lot to say you can successfully juggle all of those. Something which I struggling with.”

“I think…. I agree.” Natasha thinks. “To an extent. My job offers me a bit more time off. Though it’s not always all at once. Since I’m traveling so much it was easy to curate our lives around that.”

“And you travel for work too?” Cheryl directs her question to you.

“I do,” You confirm. “Not as much. Well, not now, anyway. I took a sabbatical.” Cheryl’s eyes widen as she writes it down. “It was my own choice. I felt that I was neglecting my family. I - when Natasha suggested counseling it was something I knew I had to do.”

“Why?” Cheryl’s curious tone is nonjudgemental.

“For the reason, I said before,” You shift. “I was spending way more time there than necessary.”

“Are those your words or someone else,” A noise catches in your throat and she clarifies. “I just want to make sure I’m understanding the bigger picture.”

“They’re both,” You say.

“It was a concern that came up,” Natasha says. “The constant working wasn’t a problem at first. At least, I think it wasn’t. When we were first dating it was easier. It was simple. We could take entire weekends off. We would plan dates. She would come to spend the night with me in the tower. It’s like she made time and put effort into our relationship.”

“Of course, marriage and just dating are two separate hurricanes, I like to say.” Cheryl agrees.

“Which is kind of my concern,” Natasha’s brow furrows. “That it was easier. I mean, I didn’t come with the expectation that everything would be, that’s not what I’m saying. I just…”

“Felt that marriage would work better for us than it did,” You finish. “Considering both of our pasts, issues with abandonment, intimacy, all of it. We put so much work into it until we didn’t. I think we both had these expectations.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think with us it was a sort of push and pull,” You say. You look to see if Natasha is still with you and for the most part, she is. “As easy as it was, I felt for a while that Natasha was emotionally unavailable in the beginning. Which we worked on. Obviously. Then with me, I was sort of guarded. I wanted to protect a lot of our relationship and what we had which just turned into unrealistic expectations for each other. Which prompted our first break up.” You both remember the heartbreak of that one. It was within the first few months of dating. You wanted to commit and Natasha didn’t. You already had her heart. Why did you need more?

“What are the expectations of your relationship?” Cheryl asks. “Are they realistic now versus that time?”

There’s a pause as both of you think of what to say.

“I expect stability, time, romance,” Natasha lists off. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Honesty.”

“Same,” You cross your legs. “I also expect patience and understanding,”

“What?” Natasha asks. “What part of me has not been either of those things?”

“I’m not saying you haven’t been, Tasha.” You assure her. “I’m just saying those are what I expect. It’s not a dig.”

“What if you felt that way, y/n?” Cheryl prompts. “Would you be willing, to be honest with Natasha and tell her that?”

“Yes, of course,” You say.

“And Natasha would you be honest with y/n if any of your expectations weren’t being met?”

“Yes,” Natasha says. You must have made a look as Cheryl catches it painting her Inkpen towards you.

“Y/n, do you not agree?”

“No, I,” You fumble. “I do to a certain degree. Natasha is just fine expressing her feelings. Often it's way after the fact. She lets things simmer for a while.”

“Natasha do you?”

“I do,” Natasha allows herself to show that insecurity. “It’s the way I was raised. Don’t show emotion and don’t bring up conflict. It’s, it’s nothing but I’m not how everyone thinks. Sure, I can put someone in their place but I can’t stand up for myself. That’s not the issue. The issue is not wanting there to be conflict when it’s quiet. I guess.”

“Y/n, how does that make you feel?” It’s a classic cliche therapist question.

“It kind of ticks me off,” You admit. “I want her to tell me things she’s felt beforehand. A lot of the times she says I leave her in the dark but I feel that way too.”

Cheryl writes something down again. She takes a bit longer to do it this time.

“So, from what we have discussed so far today, Natasha you feel unheard and maybe a bit neglected?” Cheryl tilts her head and Natasha gives a subtle nod. She’s right on the money. “And y/n, you are a bit unclear how you feel but you seem to be feeling like you’re stretched thin and struggling with how to make Natasha happy while also keeping your own identity?”

“You got it,” You say.

“Okay,” Cheryl says. “So, I know we don’t have a lot of time here. Just a couple more minutes. I want to ask you what are your goals for couples therapy?”

“I want one of our goals to be better communication,” You say first. “Then maybe better methods of handling whatever conflict there may be.”

“I second that,” Natasha folds her arms under her chest. “I also want to better understand our relationship and each other. I want us to find and talk about the root of our problems.”

“Those sound like very realistic expectations,” Cheryl makes a list on her notepad. “I have a couple more questions before I’ll let you go. My major one is are you having sex?”

There’s a sense of discomfort coming from both of you. Not because you’re embarrassed. You’re both very private people and you’re not exactly willing to talk about your sex life or lack thereof.

“No, kind of?” Natasha says. “We haven’t completely been together for sex in almost three years.”

“There have been some instances where we have been intimate but it’s not--”

“Very satisfactory?”

“Yes,” You shake your head. “We weren’t able to finish since we always seem to get interrupted. We uh, we both decided that we wouldn't have sex until we worked through some of our problems.”

“I hear a lot of couples say that,” Cheryl nods. “I think while it is a great feat there are many benefits of a healthy sexual relationship in couples. It can improve your self-confidence, it could be a way of showing someone how much you love them, a way to bond with your partner.”

“So you’re saying have more sex?”

“In so many words,” Cheryl sets down her pad. “I think if it’s a goal of yours not to have sex then that is perfectly fine. There are plenty of ways to also share in the intimacy of that without full-blown intercourse.” Like phone sex but you won’t bring that up to her.

“Like?”

“Kissing, simply touching each other, a bath together, dry humping,” Her bluntness almost has the two of you blushing. “Massages. Mutual Masturbation. The list is quite endless.” She stands from her chair and you follow her with your eyes. She grabs two sheets of paper and hands them to you both.

Your eyes scan over the sheet finding questions and blanks to be filled in. “The Relationship Assessment? It looks like homework.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Cheryl gives a grin. “For therapy to work inside you must be doing the work out there. So this is the first assignment. Finish this and then find something to do that you both enjoy. Sexual or no sexual.”

“And we bring this back for our next session?” Natasha asks.

“Yes,” Cheryl glances over to the clock. “This time together is to relearn each other. Just as if you were dating again.”

You reach over to grab Natasha’s hand. She clasps yours while reading over the sheet again.

“Your time is up, I will see you next week.” Cheryl ends.

Guess you had work to do.

---> next part

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Three Years Behind

Requested?: No/Yes

Notes: this sucks ass as it was spit out while I was in the car and was written in like 20 minutes

Description: after a one night stand with Bill Kaulitz, you thought nothing would be left behind. But something was. A small boy and girl, the children of Bill Kaulitz.

If someone had told you three years ago, at just seventeen you would become a teen mother to twins, a girl and a boy, you would've laughed in their face.

But three years ago you didn't expect to go to a Tokio Hotel concert. Three years ago you didn't expect to be taken on stage by Bill Kaulitz.

Three years ago you didn't expect to be taken back to a hotel room, much less expect what happened that night in those sheets.

Yet you didn't expect to be treated so nicely. So genuine only to be left behind in the dust when Bill and the band switched cities the next morning.

You also didn't expect to be staring down at a positive pregnancy test a month later.

Much less down at twins heads in the hospital at barely eighteen years old.

But you did it.

You were (Name) (Last Name). And you were the mother to the daughter and son to Bill Kaulitz.

You tried getting hold of him, but were sworn as a crazed fan girl who lied to catch his attention. You were broke, as most eighteen year olds were, and couldn't afford a meet and greet nor concert to talk to him.

It took three years, and your son and daughter had grown up in that time.

First steps, first words, first birthdays and everything.

You did good though, as well as you could. Your life went on, you raised your kids and almost gave up hope on Bill ever reaching your children

But what you least expected was to be standing in a plaza, hand in hand with your children as you walked through the grass to get to the playground.

You saw an almost crowd of people, band equipment and people crowding around the men dressed in black, a camera and so much more.

You didn't register what was happening until you stopped in your steps, your children looking up at you as you stared at a familiar head of black hair, accompanied by a smile you loved, smiling at fans as he signed autographs and CDs.

You couldn't help but stare, and almost as if he felt it, Bill looked up and around, finally making eye contact with you in almost three years.

It felt like the world stopped spinning.

But to Bill, he did too.

A genuine smile crossed his face, a toothy grin as he broke off from fans and went towards you, security keeping them at bay.

Bill walked to you, stopping just a few feet away, his smile never leaving.

Until he saw the two children hooked onto your hands.

Bill looked confused, between them to you for moments before he studied them.

You watched his face fall into widened eyes and a parted jaw dropped mouth, eyes flashing between you and them vigorously as he took in their features, blonde hair and similar smiles.

He finally looked back to you, adding it all up in his own mind of assumptions as you looked down, every rehearsed word flying out your brain as you stood frozen.

Tom came looking for his brother, smiling playfully as he hooked an arm around his brother's shoulder.

"Bill? Come on, we gotta go." Tom said before his voice faded into background noise for Bill, who was still stuck staring at you three.

Tom raised a brow, confused before he glanced at you. Tom knew you immediately.

From the speeches from Bill about the one he felt guilty about leaving. The one who couldn't leave his mind and who he hoped to see in the crowd.

The one who Bill wished he could go back for and ask you on a proper date.

Tom half smiled at you, almost in pride for his brother in his second chance, still confused on why his brother remained so still and wide eyed.

Tom finally looked down at the two kids, confusion even more evident as he looked between all of you.

Tom then studied the shocked look on Bill's face, the frozen on yours and the way the twins held onto your hands, looking up at you.

"Mom?" Your son mumbled out, tugging your hand in agitation as he wanted to go out of the hot sun.

You finally looked up at Bill, seeing the almost tears in his eyes out of shock, guilt and realization.

Tom's eyes almost blew wide, adding it all up as he looked between his niece and nephew.

"Holy shit."

Tom's voice faded away.

You never looked away from Bill after that

-------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @billsjum6ie @bigbootahjudy @ilovebill-and-gustav @r3dheadedw0rld @kiwitsune @novaaisstupid @billybabeskaulitz @yas-v @iischafer @dilfverz @ahswhore0 @graciegizmo3184 @sweetpuffy12 @80s-tingz @ryiana @yuriayato5 @bunnysenpai31 @banshailey @bellastoner420 @victryzvv9 @stxngnr @killed-kiss @stilesandjames @m00nzyblogs

[highonmarvel]

Hello! It's not 2024 yet,but it will be in one more day so Happy New Year in Advance! May I please request a dark!reader with a soft!dark Bucky? Not a dark or fully dark Bucky but soft dark one like the Bucky you wrote in your recent story called 'Himalayan Salt'. Your dark Bucky really scares me as they are truly dark and cruel,and stay true to the dark fics genre. But for this request,may I request that he won't do any hitting or physical abuse towards the reader? Because I find that I really liked your 'Himalayan Salt' soft!dark!Bucky.

My request is dark!reader is obsessed with Bucky and stalks him,snaps his pictures to keep to herself,steal his stuffs to keep as souveniers,basically everything a yandere would do. But she has no clue that Bucky is also obsessed with her,probably more than she is of him and that he knows everything that she's doing to him when she thought he wasn't looking or didn't notice. He even finds it amusing and think of her as an adorable amateur stalker. She doesn't talk to him and never introduces herself to him (which Bucky wishes she would do) because she thinks someone as handsome as Bucky wouldn't even spare someone like her a glance so she resorts to watching him and fantasizing about him from afar.

Reader got herself in his apartment (that he didn't have proper security or proper locks for on purpose so she can enter easily and his apartment,not hers,because she wouldn't be able to get him back to her place as easily) to hide and wait until he gets back. He has tiny cameras in his apartment that connects to his phone that let him know that Reader is in his apartment and is about to kidnap him. He get home ASAP,acts normal and unaware and purposely stands near to a spot that he knows reader is hiding at and turns his back to her to let her knock him out. She knocked him out and tied him up/restraints him on his bed. He woke up some time later to reader explaining her plan to keep him and reader forces herself on him. Which he pretends not to like at first so he can let her have her moment and let her think she has the upper hand here. But then he started laughing and giggling which confuses and creeps reader out before he broke out of his restraints easily and flipped her over,pinning her on his bed and revealing that he's knew all along and he's far more obsessed with her as he thinks about her everyday,enjoying the little game they play that's she's unaware of and have his way with her in the end. His turn.

I know you said to expect physical abuse or hitting in your fics as they are dark fics but I want to request that Bucky doesn't hit or physically abuse reader in any way in this one,if I can. And vice versa with reader never hitting or physically abuse Bucky except to knock him out as I find her chloroforming an enchanced super soldier unrealistic. Just the non con or dub con committed towards Reader by Bucky in the end. So I guess it's a soft!dark!reader x soft!dark!Bucky request.

Sorry for this long & shitty request and sorry if this isn't really in your lane. I just needed to get this off my chest before I forgot about the idea completely. And I just wanted to try my luck. It's also okay if you don't want to do it,I understand ❤ I'll be treating myself to your other works and upcoming stories in the future. Take care of yourself,hope you're doing well,stay safe and have a blessed New Year ❤❤❤ Thank you for just reading through my terrible request alone and sorry to put you through this lol. Thanks again ❤ Much love! 💞

i’m gonna be honest with you, i wasn’t really into this. the idea sounds cool but i’m not really into dark!reader, though i see where you’re coming from, and i get that my fics are really fucking dark, but someone has to do it. but this was so well thought out and you were so kind at the end i had to do it for ya. and i had fun! it was outside my comfort zone, that’s why it took so long (among other things.) you had a lot here so i apologise if it doesn’t come out as you wanted, but i tried my best, and i did change it just a little bit. here it is:

Amateur Hour

Bucky Barnes: A glimpse generates an obsession, though maybe it’s not as one-sided as you think.

content warnings here!

Sort of subdued all your life, you’ve never had the courage to come right out and say you liked someone, and that led you to observation more than conversation, watching people you admire closely, but nothing more, until you see him.

It’s a fairly overcast day, the sun just peaking out enough so as to not make the air cold. You sit peacefully on a park bench, reading a novel without the threat of rain tempting fear of getting your book wet. You hear someone coming down the path, obviously, because this is a public park, and you don’t know why you look up, but you do, and the wind is knocked right out of your chest.

You’ve never seen a man as beautiful as him, brown hair and mysterious steel blue eyes with a perfectly sculpted jawline and just enough stubble so as to make your heart rate pick up. You don’t realise you’re staring after him until he turns and gives you a quick friendly smile, pink lips upturning for a moment before he continues, but enough to make you develop an obsession of sorts.

You’re used to watching people you admire, and that’s as far as it goes, but this… this is different. He has to have been sculpted by God Himself, strong arms and broad shoulders you all but want to be wrapped in. You could never speak to a man like that, but you could never let him escape in the streets and never see him again, you’re already haunted by the image of him having only briefly met his eyes, you know you’ll go insane if you don’t know him, and so a less insane option is to… watch.

Very casually, you shut your book and stand, stretching before strolling in his direction, keeping your footsteps small enough so that you can follow without him getting suspicious as to why you don’t overtake him. You take in the tress around you, nature you usually appreciate, but you can’t really observe any beauty anymore without knowing they will never compare to the man in front of you. It’ll never be enough now.

And you don’t know it, but Bucky smirks to himself as he hears your gentle footsteps behind him.

You turn out as he does, and usually you would be more vigilant to pickpockets and busy people speed walking on the pavements of New York, but there’s nothing in the world that can take your focus off of the back of his head. You’re sure you must have bumped into a few people, but you can’t recall it, mumbling an apology every once in a while until you stop them completely, trying to keep as silent as possible. You follow him for a bit, though you’re not sure how long; every concept you’ve ever known—time and space—are nothing compared to him. You’re desperate for him to look at you again, you almost want to out yourself right then and there and force his lips onto yours, but you know that’s dumb, yet still it takes you a lot more self control that you ever thought you needed to keep your cool.

You reach a block of apartment buildings and slow down slightly—with less people around, you don’t want to look suspicious. When he turns to one, you turn to the one across the street, watching in the reflection of the glass door entrance as he lets himself into a building. So that’s where he lives. You jot down the address in your notes app and take a picture of the place, just in case, ducking behind a car to see if one of the windows will open revealing him. You frown when after a few minutes, there’s no movement, and so you head around the back, where the flat is facing an empty lot rather than a long road. And you see him, standing by his window, the breeze perfectly combing through his hair.

So you’re the quiet type, you note, seeing as he’d rather his place face no one than everyone. You can’t help yourself from taking another picture, and just before he disappears from your sight. Once he’s gone, you press your back against the wall and grip your phone with both hands to take in that beautiful sight forever. You can’t fight it anymore, you have to know him.

***

Bucky chuckles to himself as he steps back. He knew you were in the park, he came specifically for a walk to see you, but he wasn’t really expecting you to have such an immediate and visceral reaction to the sight of him. Bucky’s no stranger to flirty glances, but he saw that glint in your eyes, and he knows it; it’s the same one he had when he saw you. When he heard you get up behind him, he hoped it was because you were going to introduce yourself (not that he needed your name, but that seemed like an easier way to go about it) but when the sound of your footsteps didn’t speed up or die down, he knew you were following him. Bucky’s obsession with your started when you’d sweetly bought a cake in a cute bakery, and you just screamed innocence to him right off the bat. Now, well, maybe you’re not so innocent in your own eyes, but, if anything, you’re a little naïve to him, and he finds it adorable.

***

The next day you head back over and sit in your car for a little bit, waiting for him to come out, but you get an opportunity just as good. The mailman comes around with probably some junk mail, and you hop out your car, pretending you were entering your own building. When he opens the door, you stop him.

“I’m just going in, don’t worry, I can take it from you,” you say with a friendly smiles. He thanks you for helping him on his long route as he hands you a few letters and magazines: junk. You wave him goodbye as you step in and the door falls shut behind you.

“Do you live here?” a voice asks, and you startle as you turn to security seated behind a desk.

“No! I’m just volunteering a little on the mail route,” you smile at him, innocently, and raising the pitch of your voice to appear sweeter, “And I’m sorry, I just need a little help getting it into the right boxes.

“Well, I can do it for you,” he offers, but you shake your head.

To avoid suspicion you offer, “Well, there’s five floors, you can do floors one and two and I’ll do three and up.” You counted that the man you’re obsessed with lives on the fourth floor.

He agrees and you get to work putting mail where he tells you each person and their door number.

*

“James B Barnes?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. You had done a few on his floor and asked a little about each, but most of them were either women or people living together, and you knew he had to live alone, he seems really reserved and to himself, likes the quiet.

“James? I don’t know a James…” you frown as he furrows his brows in thought, but suddenly he snaps his fingers and smiles, “Ah, Barnes! That’s Bucky, 4D, really keeps to himself.”

Bucky. But you have to make sure it’s the right person.

“I see,” you say as you gently place letters in a box on the fourth row marked with the letter D, “You don’t know much about him?”

“Nah, only that he’s really into gloves, never see him without ‘em, even in scorching hot weather.”

The man you saw yesterday was wearing gloves, even though it wasn’t really cold. That has to be him.

It takes a while to fill up the rest as you try to keep friendly conversation going to not appear suspicious. When you’re finally done, he goes back to scribble something down on a piece of paper.

“You know, he says as he finishes it off, “If you’re going to be coming down this way for a while, you should have the building code, make it easier for you,” he hands you the piece of paper with a smile.

“Thank you!” you say, a little too eagerly as you read the code: 8496, “I’m often busy with work so I’m not sure how many days I can be here,” you sulk, “But I’ll try come in every once in a while, count on it.”

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, apartment 4D, you’re getting somewhere.

You’ve started to notice that you’ve been so distracted lately you’ve been misplacing items; a t-shirt you thought was in your cupboard would end up on the floor, a few of your bras seem to have disappeared, and you can’t find random notes you’ve written and placed throughout the house. But it’s fine, once you have him you can deal with all that: none of that is as important as Bucky.

*

You’ve always been a bit of a loner, but the next two weeks you spend talking to no one, not even responding to work emails as you stalk Bucky. You’ve managed to sneak in a few times (he doesn’t lock his door) and grab some of his stuff—you even wear his t-shirts sometimes, absolutely intoxicated by his scent—snap a few pictures for memories. Following him around, you find that you were right: he is more of a loner; he hardly talks to anyone, he’s got two friends, Sam and Steve, who he sees maybe once a week for drinks, but that’s it.

On a Friday night, you snap: you have to have him.

***

Bucky is in the middle of taking a sip of beer, watching Sam and Steve laugh at his deadpan joke, when he gets a notification on his phone. It’s a specific sound he has just for the cameras in his house, tells the guys it’s security, and they get it, they think Bucky is a little paranoid from his past, but if anything, his past makes him more comfortable to being exposed to attack, he knows he can take them, and no one with half a brain cell would try a serious-looking well-built man.

He manages to excuse himself for the night, but not without a little protest from Steve and Sam. To get out of explaining himself, he places money on the table for the men to get another round on him, and they cheer as he exits the bar.

Outside in the dark, he opens the app and turns his phone landscape to swipe through the multiple cameras set up in his house to get to the one where you are. Of course you’re in his bedroom; he’s noticed you’ve been stealing some of his clothes, once even a pair of his boxers, and so he moved your stuff to a better hiding spot. From watching you, it didn’t even seem like you noticed your things going missing, that or you didn’t care, but he knew you weren’t as attentive as you thought. Once he literally followed you in his car just to see how far he could go and you didn’t pay it any mind, walking through your neighbourhood as normal—though, granted, you did have your earphones in.

Excitement ripples down Bucky’s spine and he can’t help but smile at the screen as he notices you ducking behind his bed. Really? Behind his bed? Not even in the closet? He bites his lip to prevent himself from laughing, but not in a malicious way, in an adoring way, that you really are committed to this, but not as committed as he is. He’s seen the chloroform, baseball bat and ropes you bought, you’ve been planning it for a little, but nothing could prepare you for him.

He has to stop himself from full on sprinting down the road to get back home. He does to want to show up sweaty and panting, so he tries with all his might to make it casual stroll. He makes sure to slam the front door behind him so you know he’s here, and he sighs loudly as he shrugs off his jacket before tossing it onto the couch. Maybe it’ll spook you too much if he went straight to his bedroom, so he goes to the bathroom first to freshen up a bit, give you time to really think this through, maybe you’ll change your mind. Not that he’ll change his.

His bedroom door is closed, which he finds a little cute because he knows he left it slightly ajar, but you didn’t really take that into consideration. When he enters, he turns to close the door behind him, giving you time to sneak up and hit him over the head with a bat.

He falls, pretends he’s been knocked out, as if a bat could take him out; he’s been punched through walls and barely flinched before getting back up to fight. It takes a lot in him to stop himself from smiling as he feels you lift him from under his armpits and drag him onto the bed. It takes a bit, but once he’s lying down, you puff out a breath and wipe your brows; that was a bit of a workout for you, but for him… how easy it would be to manhandle you.

He hears you shuffling and feels harsh rope chafe against his skin as you wrap a piece around his ankle, not nearly tight enough, and he thinks it’s because you don’t want to hurt him, which is sweet. You’re just so sweet.

Once you’ve ‘secured’ his ankles and wrists, he waits a few moments before he pretends to stir, coming to consciousness. He puts on a confused and scared look as he notices you at the edge of the bed, as if he hasn’t been dreaming about this for the longest time. As soon as your eyes meet his, he can hear the near whisper, swoon-like sigh you give. Bucky has never considered himself too attractive, doesn’t pay much mind when someone is attracted to him, neither gives him an ego boost or knocks him down a notch, but you, the way you’re so affected by his presence has his heart rate picking up.

“You’re just so beautiful,” you breathe, “Bucky.”

Bucky tightens his fists to prevent himself groaning at the sound of his name falling from your lips, and he’s struggling even more now to restrain himself, wanting to fuck you so hard that’s all you can say, just broken sobs of his name as you come over and over, legs trembling around his waist…

“I’m sorry,” you apologise as you stand.

The corner of his lip twitches, and he can tell you’ve noticed, but that scared face he’s putting on for your benefit quickly takes over his expression as you climb over him. He wants to beg you to stop, maybe give you a little more time to feel in control, but it’s been a while now, and he can’t help the chuckle that slips past his smiling lips.

You look up from his crotch to see him full-on laughing now, not necessarily deranged, but laughing like you’ve told him a genuinely funny joke. You sit back on him carefully as you watch this odd behaviour, that really unsettles you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologies, still with a smile on his face as he shakes his head, “It’s just… come on, now. You’re adorable, but what is this, amateur hour?”

You don’t really have time to take in his giggly response to being ostensibly held captive before he easily pulls himself free of the restraints. You gasp and grab hold of his waist as he grabs hold of your hips, easily pinning you underneath him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Trying to contain his amusement, he drops his head to hide his smile, but can’t hide it away again when he looks back down at you.

“Two weeks?” he breaths over you, his tone not mocking, but near incredulous, “Try two months, sweetheart. I’ve seen your internal conflict, knowing what you were doing is wrong but not being able to stop, huh?”

He raises an eyebrow with his question and you gulp and look down from his eyes to through his legs.

“Where do you think all your shit’s being going? Things don’t just disappear, touches aren’t always just dreams. And listen,” he brings a hand up from your waist to gently tap your cheek, signalling for you to look back at him, and you do, “I’ve enjoyed playing this little game with you, but I’ve been waiting too long for this now to let you have all the fun.”

You gasp as he ducks his head to press a gentle yet possessing kiss to your neck, grasping onto his hair to keep his mouth against your pulse. He smiles against you, and you take a deep breath in as you turn your head to allow him more space, gently tugging him downwards as you listen to his soft kisses and feel the loving stroke of his fingers on your inner thigh. His gentleness soon turns a little more rushed, like he’s desperate; he lets out a choked groan as he grinds his tightening jeans against your thigh, which you return with a moan of your own, pulling his head from your neck which he at first tries to fight, so lost in the taste of your skin, the quickening rise and fall of your chest against his, your sighs of his name, but he reluctantly pulls away, only to be immediately pulled down to your face as you crash your lips against his. He can tell you’re eager by the way you shift your thighs every once in a while, but he knows there’s fear in the trembling fingers that hold him against you.

Once his tongue slides into your mouth, you know it’s over, unable to stop yourself from draping your arm over his neck so he’s as close to you as possible.

“Bucky…” you moan against his mouth, rolling your hips against him.

“Fuck,” he rasps.

You desperately claw at the waistband of his jeans, and he smiles as he pulls away and sits up to take in your flushed cheeks; he’s hardly touched you and you’re already pleading, “Please, please, please.” He’s sure by now the only words you can get out are ‘fuck,’ ‘please,’ or ‘Bucky,’ and he can’t quite decide which is his favourite one… Definitely his name.

“It’s coming, sweetheart,” he says as he undoes his belt, “Hold on.”

It’s no task for him to pull off your pants as you arch your hips, and he really can’t help but smirk to himself as he notices the dark patch on your underwear when he slides it off next.

He props himself up as he slowly pushes into you, grunting at how good you feel. You moan and Bucky rewards the sweet sound by hiking up your thigh to hit you deeper. You cry out as he bottoms inside you, digging your nails into his back and squeezing your eyes shut, cunt tightening around him, too.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines as he pulls back and pushes into you again. Your hands move to grasp onto his shoulders, and if you’re pushing him off, he doesn’t notice it, letting out a whimper when he hits your spot again, your fingers grasping onto him for dear life.

He tried to keep slow, but he hurries a little, fucking addicted to feeling you, so lost he’s letting pathetic noises fall from his lips as he pushes into you each time, making sure to give praises of, “Fuck, that’s good, you’re so good, fuck,” between harsh breaths, and you can reply with nothing but whines and moans under him.

When he feels your legs begin to tremble, he pulls the one over his waist further back, hitting you even deeper, causing your eyes to roll into the back of your head, and this time he feels your nails break into his skin.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” is all you can get out as he hovers over you.

“You gonna come, sweetheart? You can do that, fuck, please, please come for me.”

If the feeling of his cock wasn’t enough to drive you over the edge, his pleads and whines do it; you let out a broken sob of his name as you clench down on him, orgasm ripping through you better than in all your fantasies.

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, that’s good, ‘m gonna come in you now, okay?”

And it doesn’t take long, a few more thrusts and he releases himself inside of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting out a long groan of your name. When his breathing has slowed slightly, he raises himself to look down at you, and he doesn’t think he could deny himself another round, whether you want it or not.

✪

[taglist; @cjand10, @pr30087, fill out this form if you’d like to be added!]

[lingering-42-long]

The Last Goodbye

When they are Kia

Cod characters x f! reader

Inspired by MW3 and the tragic events that occurred this will be a three-part series if I do not get writers block lol.

So sorry for the not posting as much! It’s been a really crazy month and a lot of things had happened and caused me to have a bit of a depressive episode so thank you all for being super patient!

Warnings: mentions of death

John Price

You saw it on the news first before you got the visit. Your breath hitched when you saw the news of the air strike that had hit the base where your husband of 12 years was stationed at everything was decimated. And you couldn’t call or check to make sure that he was all right as he would not have his personal cell phone with him. It wasn’t until two days after the attack did two uniformed military officers showed up at your door holding prices old hat and SAS badge and dog tags. How they got them so quickly, you weren’t sure, but the news came like a sudden wave of cold water. “ we are so sorry for your loss.” One of the officers told you. The body would be arriving shortly within a week or so for proper burial you two had purchased side-by-side grave plots. And the will was already drawn up well before all of this had happened. John was a very precise man and always make sure to think 12 steps ahead. He knew his job was rough and he knew that at any moment he could drop dead. He made sure that his life insurance would be going to you, which was some relief sense the army didn’t pay much.

How to tell your daughter, that her father was not going to be coming back. What is the worst thing you could ever do to her young heart. She was only eight years old. She adored her father practically worship the ground. He walked on. She was always his little girl, and now the war stripped her of him. Stripped you of him..

When she came home from school, you had to sit her down. You held her hands, and with tears, you told the heartbreaking news. The young girl did not understand at first on why her father wasn’t coming back, and once again, you explained that he had died in action, and he would never be able to come home you’re a little girl started to cry, and when he tried to comfort her, she bolted from your arms and ran to her room, slamming the door, and she could hear her wails. You yourself cried yourself to sleep for the first few weeks all the way up until the funeral your friends and family members gathered around you doing everything that they could to comfort you and your daughter people were calling in every single day talking with you for hours on end, while other people stopped by to bring you food.

Every day it felt like a horrifying nightmare. The one that reoccurs every single time slightly more horrifying than the last. As you were going through your stuff and trying to decide what if his you wanted to keep and what of his you wanted to donate you noticed on your phone you had gotten an email from Kate Lasswell. She had sent a video to you actually several saying in the email that he wanted you to have this and gave her explicit instructions in case if he was to ever die.

Pressing the play button, you watched as his face appeared in the camera as he sat down and smiled at you. The way, his eyes twinkled and the crows feet around them creased. “ hello dove” he started at first and you had to pause the video because you were overwhelmed with the emotions. When you stabilized yourself again, you continued. “ I know it’s been a long time since I’ve talked to you and I know that if you’re seeing this, it means that I have passed….. mission was going to be botched no matter what I just didn’t want to tell you the statistics at first…” he paused himself, as he seem to be collecting his words in his own voice was shaking “ I really wish I could come back home to you. I told you that this would be the last mission that I would do before retiring… I promise to take you out on that date that you wanted to go to that fancy restaurant.” he paused again, closing his eyes, and releasing out a large sigh.

“ I’m sorry I never got to take you…. I had so many plans to do with you and Alice… it doesn’t seem fair that I didn’t get a chance to do that” once again, you had a pause the video so that you could take a minute to cry. The plans that you had with each other right now by the wayside. You unpause did it again, and continued on listening. “ I know right now you’re depressed.” he stated, folding folding his hands, and leaning on the desk in a slightly business fashion way. “ in the email that Kate sent you there is several groups that you can join that are for the spouses of the deceased militant partner. Please join one as well as make sure our daughter also goes to one for kids. She’s going to need that support… you both are.” he smiled again, but it was a Sad smile. “ I also made sure to have a college fund started for her. You don’t have to worry about it until she’s ready. There should be plenty of money for her to attend all the way up until graduate year as long as she goes to a decent university. Make sure it’s only used for that if she chooses not to go to university or to go to a less expensive one, you can use the money to buy her a car or whatever she needs to get her life started…. I’m sorry this had all come to this…. As you know I have set aside a life insurance, and the beneficiary goes to you. I also saved up a lot of my savings as well. Feel free to use it as necessary.” he knew that you were going to be smart with the money. “ He paused and looked at you “you are my beloved…. I’m so sorry my dove that you have to face this alone. Please take care of yourself. Find a husband that loves you like I did and a good father figure for our daughter.” This made him tear up. “I will wait for you in heaven and I will watch over you both. You mean so much love. No one or nothing can separate this love. The email that is sent to you also has several videos for Alice. For her birthdays, graduation, moving out to university, marriage and their child. I made sure to make a video for all of that… I also left many for you. Please don’t hesitate to just let me listen to you… I love you.”

The video ended and you sat in the chair, Thinking things though. He set life up for you and your daughter. He was still looking after both of you. You cried for a bit before getting up and knocking on your daughters door. Your little girl opened up with tears on her face. “Hey baby… daddy sent you something.” She sniffed as you picked her up and took her to your old husband’s office. After sitting down with her in his old chair, you turned on the next video. “Hey Angel!” John’s face lit up when the camera started you could see he had been crying. “Angel, im not coming home, it’s not that I don’t want to but it’s because I got called up to heaven. I want you to do something for me my sweet, I want you to watch over momma ok? She is going to need you and you are going to need her. He glanced up as if looking at you then looked back down at his daughter. “You are such a special little girl. I love you so much. Momma has the other videos for you to watch when you grow up. I’m so so sorry to leave you like this. I did not

I did not want to go. I know you were looking forward to see me and so was I… you are my sunshine. My only sunshine.” He stated singing the song he sang when she was down or sad. “You make me happy, when sky’s are grey. You never know dear, how much I love you, so please don’t take my sunshine away…. I love you my angel.” The video ended. Your daughter looked at you. “What now?” She asked. “Well… now we do what daddy said… we do our best to move on, but not to forget him. We will be OK.” You held her as you too watched the sunset fade beneath the horizon, a beautiful white dove landed on he window, cooed and looked at you before flying off into the golden rays of the pink sky.

Simon Riley

You were cleaning in the kitchen when you heard a knock at the door. Putting the sponge back in the soapy hot water. You wiped your hands and made your way to the door. Two military officers took at the door, Solum faces as they greeted you. “Hello can I help you?” You asked

“Mrs (y/n) Riley?” One of them asked.

“Yes that is me.” You looked at them worried.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Simon Riley was killed in action.” The officer said gravely as he handed you a box of his things.

You took the box with tears in your eyes. The men told you that his body was found and would be returning soon. You thanked them and closed the door as you held the box tightly in your arms and sunk to the floor sobbing. Your sweet Simon. He was gone, never to come home to you and your son. You knew it was a dangerous job, but it never really hit you till now. Your husband, the man that always let you take off his mask, the man that would cuddle with you at night and rub your back after a long day, the father of your 3 month old son who he would stay up late to let you sleep. He was gone, ripped apart from you. How were you going to tell your son about his father, the man who loved his son from the moment he was born. You cried on the cold floor till you fell asleep, still holding onto the box. You woke up to the sound of your son crying in his room. Getting up, you walked and a dead sonter to his room. Tomas your son named after your husbands brother, was crying in his cradle. Carfully you picked him up and held him close. He looked so much like his daddy, blonde hair, dark blue eyes, fair skin. “Shhhhh my love” you rocked your son with tears in your eyes. “Daddy isn’t coming back.” You stated as a hiccup got you. “He loved you so much…. He loved me.” You knew your son wouldn’t remember this but it was still so sad to hold your little boy and know he would never have a father and son bonding.

You sobbed as you held onto him. Tomas sensing his mothers destress, he quieted down and cooed. After a while you fed him and put him down to bed once more. You opened the box after sitting down with a hot cup of tea, ready to take on what you needed to. With a sniffle, you opened the lid to reveal his skull mask, the dog tags that he wore, his SAS badge, and a few other things. “Oh Simon” new murmured as you carefully picked up the mask and set the box down as he traced over the lines to his skeletal features on his balaclava. It smelled like him. That rich, earthy smell, that he always seems to have with a hint of gunpowder and bourbon. It was a lingering sent, but it was a good one at that. You held the mass close as you leaned back on the couch and close your eyes. You already missed him more than you did before maybe it was because you knew that you would never see him again, to have him be in the house and be present with you and your son. You would go on with your life fine you are a tough woman, one of the many reasons to why Simon married you, but it was your son that you were worried about. You wanted your son to have a father figure. A dad that he would learn to grow up and love. Simon never had that sort of dad, and had always wanted to be that way for his own children.

Now Simon was never going to live out his dream, and Thomas, your son, was never going to have that sort of special bond. I thought made you incredibly sad once more but no tears fell, your eyes were all dried from the previous crying. The weeks came and the funeral happened, your husband looked peaceful in his casket. You wanted some alone time with him first and held his stiff, cold hand. “ Thomas will miss you… I will miss you. You were my rock and shield. It’s going to be hard without you Si… I will always love you and miss you.” The funeral took place and it was a sad time. The team of 141, your family and friends helped with whatever you needed. Now, you were cleaning out things from your late husband. As you were cleaning out his bedside table drawer, you saw a note, folded up neatly. Curious, you unfolded the lined paper and read the words on the paper.

“My dear (y/n), Birdie if you are digging in my drawer then that means I have passed, the mission was botched… I’m sorry… I know Thomas is in good hands with you. Please don’t worry about money. My account will be given to you. As I am writing this, it’s late, you’re sleeping next to me. It’s the night before we leave… I am looking at you for the last time, taking in all your beautiful details. Your face is so soft in sleep, you look so angelic. I am going to miss you… I know you will miss me too… I’m sorry I haven’t said ‘I love you’ that much. I hope you know I cherished and deeply loved you. I still do. I know you are a strong woman, that is what drew me to you. I know you will move on. If you wish, find someone who can love you and our son just as much as I loved you. I will be waiting for you when you come. I will always be watching out for you. Please don’t let our son forget me. I want him to know how much I loved him and you. I love you my Birdie, my beautiful wife. ~Simon.”

You held onto the paper and cried. This was going to be ruff. You were going to be ok. A sense of comfort filled your mind and warmth flooded your body. “I love you my Simon” you smiled and the familiar sent of him wafted and you felt his warmth envelop you.

Gaz

when the news reached you, it hurt like 1000 tiny little daggers. You had just gotten married to Gaz, your Relationship was just beginning. The two of you had been high school sweethearts. Times had gotten tough for both of you and you broke off your relationship before time being until you rekindled it once again, realizing that he was the only person for you. You had only gotten married a few months prior and just had your honeymoon before he was shipped off. Four months he was gone. And he was supposed to come back in two, however, the letter that you received told a different story. He would never be coming home. His body was blown up so badly that they couldn’t find all the pieces to him. We would do everything that they could to get the majority of him back home so that there could be some proper burial. This broke your heart. He would never get to share the life with you that you too so desperately dreamed about, a small home, somewhere on the suburbs of London with a dog, and maybe a child somewhere down the line. That was your plan at least but now things have changed, and now your beloved was gone.

It had been a few weeks since the death, and the burial of what was left at him. You had moved back in with your parents for the time being. As you were cleaning up your room, doing the best to get over your grieving you noticed a note on your bed they have been delivered by your mother earlier. Carefully you walked up to the letter and looked at it. It was addressed to you by Gaz. A sense of panic swelled in your chest. Did he really survive? Or was this some cool trick that somebody was playing? Quickly opened the envelope, and you looked at the letter the date showing that it was a month ago that he had sent this; before his death. With shaky hands, you begin to read the chicken, scratch lettering, tracing over every word, and taking to heart as if it was the gospel.

“Hey Love!

Things are crazy right now! We’re going to be going into a city not too far from here. I’ll make sure to pick up some stuff for you. I know you’ve been wanting to decorate the house for a while and I’m so excited to see what sort of projects you’ve been working on? How’s the art piece coming? I remember you telling me that you wanted to start up painting again. We always had such a pretty drawings. I have no doubt that they’re not going to be beautiful. I hope you hang them on the wall for us to see. I miss you. A part of me wishes that you were here at least the part that isn’t the most violent. Unfortunately, we’re not in the best area we are being attacked left and right. Don’t worry sweetheart. I’ll be home soon! I promise I’ll fix the leaky faucet. I know it’s been driving you crazy. I I sent a letter to my folks, but could you tell them that I miss them as well? I want them to know how much I miss them, but I think I miss you the most. When I get back can we get a dog? Also, can we have like a full day of playing video games just with you and me? I know I sound like I’m rambling, but it’s just what’s on my mind recently. Late night cuddles with you while playing Mario kart. It just sounds so relaxing right now. I’m really tired. Well sweetheart, I better get to bed. I love you and I hope that you have an amazing day tomorrow and the next and the next after that.

Your Husband,

Gaz”

Hugging the letter, you cried your eyes out. Tears streaming down your face as you laid on the bed, holding onto the last remnant of what your husband left you. It sounded as if he was somewhere in a safer, better place. You hoped that he died quickly that he didn’t suffer and his last thoughts were good thoughts. A breeze drifted into the room from your open window and a warm bit of sunshine hit your cheek as the breeze drifted passed it felt like a stroke on your soft face. He was there sitting beside you, even though you couldn’t see it, you could feel his presence. He was safe and he was watching over you.

Johnny McTavish

The news has gotten to you quickly. It was actually delivered by Price himself. You couldn’t believe it. Your Scottish highland your man was no longer going to come home to you. He was shot through the head. Taking a bullet to save a life. Your young son, John, named after his father, was going to be home from school soon the devastating news hurt you more than anything else out there. How are you going to tell your six-year-old son that he was not gonna have his daddy near anymore? Who was going to play football with him in the yard? Who is going to read bedtime stories? Who is going to play in the rain with him? Your son needed his father that boy looked up to his dad, like he was the sun, its self. The news hurt you hard calling his parents and his family was going to be hard as well if they had an already heard the news. He was close with everybody and his family and he had quite a large family.

The upcoming days to the Memorial as you wish to have been cremated, were hard and brutal. Everybody that you knew, and your friends and his family all gave their condolences to you and to each other he was loved and well liked by everyone your son took it hard he didn’t understand why his dad wasn’t coming home and cried and cried and cried it was like that for almost a whole week, he was doing so bad that you had to pull him out of school for the time being because he was unable to function properly. You did everything you could you hold him tight in your arms until he cried himself to sleep at night in which you also cried your own silent tears. You would go walk on the open, Highlands that overlooked the beautiful scenery where your husband, his father’s ashes, cast out upon the open landscape. A small memorial was placed there in memory. You would have picnics out there are frequently, simply listening to the birds call from high above and feel the warm sun cast It’s beautiful rays. They felt cold and dull to you, but you did your best to hold out for your son.

Cleaning out the closet with all of his stuff. What is your next task as you were taking some of his old stuff down you noticed a hard drive they had fallen out of one of his pockets with your name on it. Curious, you took the hard drive and you plugged it into your laptop. It open the file which had a video and it. You clicked play.

The video with your husband sitting on the couch in your living room, smiling at you “Hello my bonne Lass. if yer seeing this then ye know what happened and I don’t think I need ta say anymore abou tha’. I am so sorry that I cannot be with Yer. I love ye so much. I love our son John so much. Please remind hem’ every day how much I love him. Please play football with hem as much as ye can. Please read to hem every night fer me. I know it’s a lot ta ask with what’s going on but I think it might be good fer both of ya ta share tha’ quality time. I’m gonna miss ye both, but I’m always going te be with yer. I’m always going to be watching over mo little family. Don’t worry Lass, life insurance should cover a huge portion of everything. Hopefully it can help provide some security fer you and fer John. I also have tha’ university fund ye wanted me ta set up fer him. Let the money grow and add te it. If ye want by the time he turns 18 he can open that account. The files are actually in my cabinet on the right side of the desk. It has all the important paperwork and documentaries yer gonna need. I really wish I was there with ya Lass. I’m going to miss holding you at night and whispering I love yous.” His beautiful eyes stared right back at you with his stupid little mohawk and broad shoulders facing the camera. “ I know you got this, please don’t ferget about me, but I do want you moving on. Find a man that makes yer heart is happy to be with as it was with meh. I know it’s a lot ta ask for, and I’m not expecting ye ta get married right this instant… I want ta see ye happy I want to see you taken care of. I love ye, my princess.” he reached over to turn off the device that he was using, and the video ended abruptly. A new wave of tears hit your face as you laid your head on the desk and cried for the fifth or sixth time in the past few days. Your son came in the room and gently touched your shoulder. “It’s OK mama! Daddy’s going to be with us. He’s just going to be invisible.” he was quoting some thing that you had told him. When you had to break the news to John, you had told him that the angels up in heaven needed his daddy to help fight the battle up there because he was so good at his job. One day he would be able to meet his daddy up there as well. Now John had taken this to heart and there’s now quoting this in hopes to make you feel better. You carefully picked up your son and held him close to you. “ you know you’re the best against your father had ever giving me? When you were born, he had tears in his eyes and he was hugging you and kissing all over your face and just absolutely doting on you 24 seven. He told me how proud he was of you. He told me how proud he was of me. Those were good times.” Your son gently hold you tight in his own little arms. “ it’s OK mama will make it out together.” You could almost feel a kiss on your forehead as if…. As if your husband was leaning over to comfort you.

[tinietaehyun]

Sweet Nothings

Elf!Hueningkai x Researcher!reader] [One-shot series]

Pairing: Elf!Hueningkai x Researcher!reader

Genre(s): Fantasy, romance, dark fantasy, mystery, thriller, one-shot.

Contains: Profanity, mythical creatures/supernatural beings, mentions of blood, injury, captivity, dark themes. 

Link: MYSTIC TRAIL MASTERLIST (for the other members!)

Summary: Your footsteps crunch through the dead leaf litter as you grunt and push through the numerous vines. You’d gotten separated from your fellow researcher and now you were additionally lost. You had no idea where your base camp was. You knew this was a fucking bad idea; but the pay check was just too damn good. Now you know it was more likely incentive.

A pure voice alerts you through the shrubbery, “Goodness, don’t you look all bruised up! You’re rather far from your little camp, no?” You peer up at the source of the voice. Holy fuck, this man was beautiful.

————————••••••••••••••—————————

“This is insane, I can’t believe we’re here finally!” Your colleague utters in awe. You had to agree with him, you were practically vibrating with excitement. You were finally brought on the expedition to Deep Grove.

A forest known for its vast array of supernatural species living within it. Some people say once stepping into it, you’re stepping into another dimension, others say, that’s it’s heaven on Earth. Researchers such as yourself though, simple see it as a perfect spot to collect and expand your information on the supernatural creatures present.

For years, researchers have visited this area. Some attempts have been successful with even entire beings being brought back to labs and research facilities and others not quite as successful. Not all supernatural creatures were harmless. It was a dangerous profession but you enjoyed it regardless. This was your first time going on a proper expedition with your current organisation.

You and your colleagues had been assigned a particular section of the forest and had been trekking for around ten minutes now. Everything was stunning; it appeared as though everything had this ethereal glow to it. You, yourself felt almost feather-light and airy. You felt free and were overjoyed at the prospect of seeing all this untouched nature.

You knew if any humans attempted to hurt the nature here, there would be catastrophic consequences not only to the ecosystems here but a vast array of hexes, curses and spells would be placed on whoever hurt this place. Thus, it’s remained untouched.

At the center of the dense forest is a small clearing where the sunlight filters through the dense canopy and foliage of the trees. You feel as though the air is alive with the buzzing and clicking of insects and beetles alongside the subtle sounds of larger animals moving through the underbrush. A warm, almost ethereal glow emits from the thick mistwood trees that surround the small clearing, leaving their leaves and branches gently glistening in the golden-hued beams of light.

You murmur, “Hey, this clearing is incredible. I’m gonna perch here and take some photos.” Your colleague smiles warmly at you and hums, “For sure, go for it. I’ll walk on up ahead, the map says we only have a few more metres to go till we find elf territory.” You nod, “Careful. Don’t go further than the clearing here, illusions start appearing beyond a certain point.” He smiles at you, “Nah, I got this. It’s you I’m worried about. You look like a lost puppy.”

You scoff waving him off, “I’m just admiring this stunning flora and fauna, man.” He chuckles, “Yeah, stay here. I’ll be back in a few. I’ve got to start marking up the area.” You nod as you grab your camera out of your bag as he walks off. You may not be as experienced as him but you were beginning to get annoyed at how infantile he treated you.

With that, you begin taking pictures of the stunning scenery. Capturing every moment with the camera, you release a sigh. You wish you could stay here forever and forget about all the responsibilities of the world. Perhaps, that was asking for too much.

Your ear perk up hearing the eerily haunting cry of a Phoenix. You let out a gasp as you see the fiery bird soar through the trees and you can’t help but follow it with your camera zooming in as best as you can to spot the details of the incredibly stunning bird. You’d never seen one in real life before!

Your feet begin moving on their own as you step slowly towards the tree where the majestic bird perches itself in its flaming glory. You ever so desperately wanted to get a stunning shot of this sight! As you step forward, you suddenly feel yourself toppling over as your boot gets caught on a tree root.

With that, you stumble clumsily forward and yelp chaotically as you land on the ground onto the leaf litter and end up rolling quite a bit through the bushes. You hadn’t exactly anticipated that the land beyond the clearing would be a slope.

You groan sitting up all cut up and bruised at the bottom of the slope. Releasing a hiss as your injuries begin to burn, you steady yourself and peer around. The forest looked all the same around you. You had been so disoriented through your fall you didn’t realise which direction you’d fallen in. All you knew was that you had to go back up the slope, but with all that thorny foliage and steepness, you doubt you could get back up just as easily as you had tumbled down.

Sighing shakily, you brush yourself off and groan, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your heart pounds against your chest. You were feeling an amalgamation of both fear and anxiety. How were you going to get back to your spot, no less, your base camp? What about your colleague? You knew you were absolutely in for it, if you’d got back!

Though you’d take getting yelled at for being stuck in the woods and starving to death any day! Not to mention, you had left your map up there with the rest of your backpack. You were wholly screwed.

You didn’t even know how far you were from the clearing. Everything around you seemed to look the same. It felt disorienting and panic begins to sink into your senses. Shaky breathes tumble out of your lips as your scratched up hands tremble.

Your eyes glance over seeing your pathetic excuse of a camera (which unfortunately cost you a lot) now partially in pieces. You whine crouching down picking up the pieces of your camera in your hands, “I’m so fucking stupid. Oh fuck me, I can’t believe this.”

Sighing, you grab the memory card and place it into one of your pockets. You peer at the slop and decide to try your chances whilst also yelling for help at the same time. You knew this forest was a being within itself, you didn’t know whether you’d be able to even reach your colleague. Only the supernatural could traverse through the forest with ease. Humans all too often got lost here and it looked like you were now going to be added to the list.

“Help! Help? Can anyone hear me?” You call out for the fourth time as you push past the numerous fines and push harshly through the bushes. Your feet crunch through the leaf litter. You let out a frustrated grunt as your feet keep slipping as you try to make your way up the slope. This wasn’t going to work any time soon and your injuries were bound to get infected.

A startled yelp escapes your lips as a pure voice alerts you through the shrubbery on your left side. “Oh goodness, aren’t you all bruised up? You’re rather far from your little camp, no?”

You stiffen as you study the being standing amongst the glowing shrubbery. Holy fuck, that man was beautiful. Well, man is more of a generalisation, in fact you should say elf. That elf was beautiful. His ever so slightly delicate, pointed ears gave him away immediately.

Ethereal, couldn’t even begin to describe him. Your heart races seeing his face. His features were sharp; his nose in particular. He had thin rosy lips and a sharp jawline that could slice through the thickest of vines. His brown hair glimmers under the streaks of sunlight peering through the canopy. His skin itself had a shimmering glow to it as if he had bathed in fairy dust.

“I’m more accustomed to humans screaming when they lay eyes on me, this is rather new. Or is this a new human response I’m not aware of?” The pointy-eared gentleman tilts his head curiously. You couldn’t even fathom any words to reply. Even his voice was lovely to the ears; it was light in tone and had a mischievous sound to it. His eyes sparkle as they meet yours taking you in your entirety.

“Hello?”, he waves in front of his face. “Are you conscious?” You blink rapidly trying to ground yourself. There was an actual elf in front of you. Elves you had studied throughout your degree. The very species now in front of you talking to you.

You murmur tentatively, “Yes, yes I am. Sorry I’m just in a little bit of shock.” He gives you a breathtakingly warm smile before chuckling, “Oh I see, I was beginning to get worried that you’d hit your head a little too hard on the fall down here.”You gawk are him in horror, “You saw me, fall?”The tall elf lets out a mischievous giggle, “Ah; about that. Yes, I did. It was quite a nasty fall. Your poor gadget there is also in pieces.” You groan peering over at the grave site of your camera, “Don’t remind me…”

He hums still remaining fixed in his place a few metres away from you. “Are all humans this clumsy? The ones I’ve met previously aren’t as…careless as you are? Are you new here?”

You peer away in sheer embarrassment. His laugh resounds through the woods; it sounds delightful like a musical melody. “You are? Aren’t you? I knew most humans aren’t like this. This is so endearing! You’re like a baby elf!”

You grunt deciding that it was best to stop talking and let him have his fun. You knew elves get bored easily. Hopefully this new nuisance would leave you alone instead of humiliating you further with your lack of experience and sheer stupidity.

“I’m sorry human, I’ve not seen such a ridiculous situation in a long time. Usually I’m the one having to be on the run from humans or hiding out of their sight. Though it appears you’re not a threat like the others are.” He teases. You glare at him as you sit down on the leaf litter unimpressed.

The young man steps out from the foliage revealing the rest of himself. You have to keep your jaw from falling to the floor at how tall he truly is and the intricacy of his outfit. The various jewellery that hangs off him and the shades of brown and green compliment his honey skin tone perfectly.

“Oh my, human, I thought it was impolite to stare in your world.” You stammer peering away, “Sorry, just. I never expected to see an elf.” He smiles at you warmly walking over to you and you stiffen keeping your eyes glued to him; you weren’t completely sure if you could still let your guard down after all.

“I’ve never really seen a human up close. You don’t mind do you?” He tentatively crouches down beside you and your heart races. His umber eyes trail across your face making your cheeks heat up incredibly. There was a mystical aura about him making the very hairs on your body rise and goosebumps litter your sweaty and dirt-ridden skin. You kind of wish you were in a more pleasant state for him to look at.

“You have such delicate features. I’ve noticed most humans look just like us. Though, they do not have any magical aura. It’s fascinating, no?” He ponders. You don’t know how to respond as you feel breathless. “Human? You’ve gone so quiet.”

“Said human, has a name you know?” You quirk peering into his alluring eyes. His lips curl into a playful smile, “Is that so? Allow me to ask you then, what’s your name pretty human?”

If you could faint, you would have. Actually; you don’t even know how you’re still coherently talking to him without blabbering. He chuckles, “Don’t worry, I’m not like the fae. Your name has no value to me.” Murmuring you respond, “I know. It’s Y/n.” He nods before humming, “My name is Huening kai, though most call me Kai. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

This was still so surreal for you. Huening kai outstretches his hand waiting for you to shake it. You take his hand and feel how incredibly soft it is as you shake it. You couldn’t believe it! Even his hand shimmers under the sunlight. “Beautiful…” you murmur.

“Hm?” He questions and you hurriedly shake your head, “Nothing.” Huening Kai lips form a coy smile, “Oh I heard you, thank you.” You scoff, “At least I know the research about elves being pests was right.”

His eyes widen, “What? It says that in your little books?” You groan, “Not exactly. They used a more technical phrase for that, but whatever.” You notice his eyes still scanning your face, “What is it?”

He gives you a playful grin; boyish almost. “You’re cute, all covered in dirt, hair all messy. It’s endearing.” You mutter, “I think the term you mean is pathetic.”

He bursts out laughing, “You’re a funny one. All the other humans that have stumbled here, they were either too frightened of me, or they tried hunting me down. Or they were just far too boring.” You sigh, “Glad I am entertaining enough for you, Kai.”

You stiffen, you didn’t mean to just let his name slip out so casually. “Oh my, I like that. Say it again.” You mutter annoyed, “I have to get back to my camp.”

“Say it again, and I’ll consider helping you.” Rolling your eyes you mumble, “Please help me get back to my base camp, Kai.” The elf lets out a cackle before sitting beside you.

His tone softens and he hums, “How about we take care of those injuries first huh?” Huening Kai peers at your forearm before asking, “May I?” Your lips part saying, “Yes,” before your mind can even register it. Fuck, why’d he have to be so attractive?

A smirk laces lips as he takes your wrist into his lap resting your forearm against his thigh. “Bear with me, okay?” You wordlessly nod as his fingers brush against the scrape as he brushes off the dirt.

You murmur, “I did have disinfectant on me, but it’s in my back pack.” He chuckles, “That is indeed a shame, but I think we’ll be alright without it. You know us elves don’t have that chemical liquid stuff?” You hum, “Ah yes, you guys have self-healing properties. You also make use of the medicinal herbs and plants here right? Some species can even manipulate the terrain right?”

He nods with a bright grin, “How knowledgeable. Indeed we can. Though did you know about this?” You let out a small gasp, skin tingling as his fingers press on the injury. “What are you-!”

As he lifts his fingers, the injury is healing with your skin tingling a little. You think you were going to pass out. No way. No fucking way! They could heal others too!? This was unheard of and it would be a remarkable discovery in the current understanding and knowledge of elves. Stammering you ask, “You don’t just self-heal? You can heal other beings too?”

He winks, “Didn’t know that? Thought you humans knew everything.” You murmur, “This is remarkable!” Huening Kai laughs seeing your genuine reaction of awe and sheer surprise. “Here, let’s get done through the rest of your injuries, hm?” You nod in utter shock. His fingers effortlessly glide across your skin as he works his way across the various injuries.

You could feel it; the ever so slight tingle, buzz from his gaze and touch. Though now you didn’t know whether it was from his healing capabilities or the sheer attraction between you two. You’d always made fun of people who got infatuated immediately or had some sort of love at first sight experience but yet here you were. Oh the irony of it all!

“There we go, all healed.” He hums standing up with a happy bounce in his step. Huening Kai peers down at you and outstretches his hand for you to take, “Well? Come on, don’t you want to get back to your camp?”

You smile warmly at him, “Thanks-thank you for taking care of my injuries.” You knew most elves were reclusive when it came to humans so this was a large sign of trust from his end. You grasp his hand as he pulls you to a stand. Your eyes widen as he suddenly pulls you ever so close to him. Your hand lands on his shoulder to balance yourself from the sudden tug.

“Kai?” You stammer as your heart palpitates rapidly. He murmurs, “Your welcome. I couldn’t leave a pretty thing like you to die of infection now could I?” You roll your eyes, “How chivalrous of you.”

His breath fans your face as he playfully leans in closer, “What can I say? I’m a very kind elf. If my other friends and family had stumbled upon you as I did, they’d have left you here to die.” You stiffen slightly, “Oh.”

He chuckles leaning back, “What? Are you scared? It’s not intentional, okay perhaps it is. Us elves don’t really like to interact much with humans. My specific group, are very cautious around humans. We’ve lost a lot of elves through the actions of humans, you know? That’s why I was a little hesitant to help you at first. I had to assess whether you were a threat or not.”

You deadpan, “Am I sufficiently unthreatening enough for you?” He chuckles, “You look like you couldn’t even hurt a fly, forget an elf.”

You realise how he’s not let your hand go. Could he also feel this mystically magical spark between the two of you? You murmur, “Why are you still here? Why are you agreeing to help me so easily? Do you wish for something in return?”

Huening Kai chuckles pleasantly, “These are the right questions to ask, pretty scholar.” Your cheeks warm up and you clear your throat awkwardly.

“I do not seek anything from you. I was just curious. I’ve always wanted to speak with a human like I’m doing now. I find you all fascinating. Though you happen to intrigue me the more I speak and look at you.” He hums with a serene expression. “Really?,” you ask, “Why haven’t you helped other humans before, then?”

He chuckles rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand across your knuckles soothingly. “Who said I haven’t? That’s just your assumption, y/n.” Your name never sounded so lovely. Wait…focus!

“Well, you’re partially right. I’ve not helped them this directly. But I’ve spooked enough humans in the right direction without revealing myself. This is the first time I’ve revealed myself to a human.” He explains. “Follow me, we have to get you back to your camp before it gets dark.”

You joke around, “What? You think I’m scared of the dark? I’ve done plenty of trips in the dark.”

His tone becomes serious, “Oh no, it’s not that. You should be scared of what’s in these woods, not the dark.” You gulp as a pit of nervousness opens within your heart. Noted.

“Dangerous creatures?” You enquire. He nods, “Very. The Fae are particularly active in the evenings, not to mention the vast variety of mystical wildlife. I would think they’d love to get a taste of you.” You glare as you traverse with him, “Very funny, Kai.”

“So how do you plan to get me up back that slope?” You ask. Huening Kai looks at you for a moment before bursting into laughter. “What?,” you ask seriously. “Slope? Ah yes, I forgot to mention, that slope you fell from was a mere illusion.”

“You’re fucking joking.” You yelp.

“Fu-?” He questions. You stiffen slicing in, “Ah- don’t take note of that. Moving on, moving on!” You stammer frantically shaking your hands. You were not going to be the one to expand an elf’s profanity.

He points back to where the slope was and you gasp seeing that the land has morphed. You groan, “This damn forest, is such a nuisance despite how pretty it looks.” Huening Kai grins mischievously, “Yeah, a nuisance for humans, not for me and my kin.”

You sigh; he was right. “Let’s get going then, don’t let go of my hand. I don’t want you tripping and scraping yourself again.” Scoffing you reply, “Thanks, I’ll try not to.”

As you both traverse through the trees you notice how skilfully he’s manoeuvring. Whilst all the surroundings look the same to you, it appears he had a completely different view of the forest than you did. How interesting…

You murmur, “I’m assuming you have a completely different vision of the forest, if you’re guiding me through this easily.” The elf smirks at you, “Very clever. I indeed do. The forest looks very different to us creatures. If this place is gorgeous to you already, if you saw it through my eyes you’d be fainting.” You chuckle, “Wow, that’s fascinating.”

“You seem to like nature, I saw you taking pictures before you tumbled down.” He snickers making you roll your eyes. You step over a log as he continues to hold your hand. “Mhm, I really do. I think it’s beautiful, it makes me feel at ease. The breeze, the birds chirping, the greenery. Just something about it all, is so mesmerising in my eyes,” you murmur in awe of your environment.

Huening Kai looks at you profoundly. You raise a brow, “Hm?” He smiles pleased with your answer, “Your heart is just as pretty as your face, miss researcher.”

You bashfully look away, “No need to flatter me, really.” Squeezing your hand, he responds playfully, “Oh no, no, it’s not mere flattery. The moment I saw you, I thought you were rather attractive. I usually see older more grumpy people visiting here. So I was delighted to see someone so fresh-faced and adorable.”

You scoff, “Ah, so if I was an old grumpy man, you’d have not helped me?” Huening Kai giggles, “Ah, perhaps I’d have been a little more hesitant.” You gasp, “Oh my, how cruel.” You both chuckle.“You seem to be much more interesting than the elven folk, so more alive, not so reliant on their magical capabilities, not so driven by traditions and customs.”

You murmur, “Ah I don’t think your folk are anywhere near as bad as humanity that’s for sure. We still have a lot to learn, and a lot of us are still bound by hateful and discriminatory customs.”

His eyes widen, “Huh? It seems we have rather similar societal problems.” A smirk laces your lips, “Are elves always this philosophical?”

He mirrors your smirk, “Not particularly. We’re a free kind in regards to thought. But restricted in other areas. For example, it being a taboo to talk too much with humans, especially human researchers.”

You peer at him wide-eyed, “Oh? If any of your family or friends see you with me, won’t it cause an issue?” Huening Kai warmly smiles at you his eyes forming crescents, “Don’t you want to get back to your camp?”

You go quiet. Indeed you did. “Yes, I do.” He hums, “Then, that’s where we’re going. Don’t worry about the other elves, I’ll handle them. Unlike them, I’m rather interested in humans. You could say I’m somewhat of a scholar myself. Humans and human civilisation intrigue me incredibly so.” You murmur processing the information, “Don’t you ever want to leave the forest?”

It appears the question hits a nerve as he stops walking momentarily. A bitter chuckle escapes his lips. This was the first time since you’d met him earlier today that he wasn’t smiling. You quickly go to change the subject, “Never mind, let’s-“

He forces a smile onto his lips, “It’s alright. Thank you for your consideration. Honestly speaking, yes, I have always wanted to see beyond the forest. Make friends with the humans. I don’t know, make the most of my life, I suppose.”

You frown, “I suppose it’s not just easy enough to leave.” He shakes his head and gives you a pitiful smile, “I’m bound here, my pretty friend.” Your heart pangs. “Bound?” Nodding he responds, “My particular species of elf are very rare. We are native to this forest unlike the other species of elves.” That explains his undeniably different features. Something you’d never studied before.

“We’re barely seen. Barely heard. If we are captured and taken out of this forest…then we cease to exist. It is the magic of this forest that sustains us.” You stop walking staring into his swirling eyes. A concoction of emotions whirl in his maroon irises. “I’m sorry,” you utter.

Shaking his head he laughs, “For what? No need to pity me. It’s plenty of fun living here. My friends, family are here. There’s plenty of wildlife and critters around to keep me company too. The occasional human I can observe.”

You both begin to walk together again. You feel awfully sad; his bright smile held a bitter sadness, as most smiles in this world do. Sometimes even your own.  “I’m glad,” you pause, “I’m glad you found me, Kai,” you find yourself spouting out the words. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, “No need to comfort me.” You smile, you squeezing his hand this time, “No I mean it. You put yourself at risk to help me. Thanks.”

You both peer into each others eyes for a moment of silence. The air around you feels as though it’s buzzing with anticipation. An electrifying attraction simmers between you both. His sharp eyes never leave your own almost making you feel breathless. What was this feeling?

“Has anyone told you how expressive your eyes are?” He murmurs lowly. Peering into his eyes you hum, “I should be saying that to you.” Huening Kai takes a tentative step forward, “Is that so? Why don’t you take a closer look then?” A coy smile forms on your lips, “Mm.. I can see perfectly fine from here.”

His fingers suddenly brush against your arm as he steps forward. “In that case, I think I need to get a better a look at your eyes.” He steps forward as you coyly step backwards before your back hits the bark of a tree. You feel utterly breathless.

“What a pretty human I’ve stumbled upon. Simply endearing in every aspect, from your looks to your mannerisms. You’re so different from the rest.” He hums leaning into your ear. His other arm encases you between him and the tree.

“I have been seeing the way you look at me. My, my and what a gaze it is. It looked like you wanted to swallow me whole.” You mumble slightly embarrassed, “Well, you’re rather good looking, too good looking in fact.” A lopsided smirk forms, “Oh is that right?”

A wave of heat floods through your body with the way his eyes gaze seductively at your face. He’s definitely well aware of what he’s doing. You seem to be at a loss for words as you hold his gaze unable to look away. Whether it was the humidity of the forest or simply him, you didn’t know, but either way you felt flushed, bashful even. 

“Why is it so that you have gone so quiet? Will you punish me so for not letting me hear your voice?” He murmurs inching in even closer. Your mind is barely able to register the proximity between you two. Breathlessly you hum, “Your way with words certainly needs to be studied.” A small laugh releases from his lips, “Mm...why study the way I speak when you can study me in all my entirety?”

A shudder runs down your spine and your eyes follow the way his other hand brushes up against your arm, “You don’t mind do you? I noticed how soft your skin was whilst healing you earlier. Since then, all I’ve wanted to do was touch it.” You have to refrain from releasing a squeak from how nonchalantly he says this. 

Huening Kai inches even closer; his breath fans your face and you can his shimmering skin in a whole new level of detail. His skin glitters and twinkles like distant stars in the night sky. His brown eyes peer into yours with such fervour. Further still, he leans in. “Why not grant me the sweet gift of your lips against mine, pretty scholar? Pretty please..” His voice is just above a whisper making your knees ready to buckle at any given second. 

“Won’t you?” His lips brush against yours ever so delicately. You find yourself murmuring, “Yes.” With that, the handsome elf pushes his lips softly against yours. His lips move in tandem with yours as your fingers slide up to his shoulders to grip and steady yourself. His sharp nose brushes against your cheek and soft groan escapes your lips as he kisses you softly yet passionately. The building tension of your mutual attraction was being undone as though pulling a tied ribbon of a gift box. 

Breathlessly, he parts from you allowing you to get a second to breathe. The both of you stare at each other, pupils dilated and breathing ever so slightly heavy. Your lips tingle ever so slighty, perhaps the side effect of kissing a magical being such as himself. Damn, it was fantastic. You wanted more; you wanted more of him, all of him. His lips, his gaze seemed like an aphrodisiac making your senses go haywire. 

A smirk laces his lips, “So awe-struck that you’re at a loss for words? How endearing. Surely it couldn’t have been all that different from your human experiences, no?” Shaking your head, you respond, “Oh you have no idea...” A chuckle escapes his lips; his face painted with amusement. He peers at the sky, small tints of pink and orange hues begin to appear. 

“Ah, I wished to get you to your camp before it got dark.” His dark eyes peer at you deeply, “It seems I let my attraction get the better of me.” Murmuring, you say, “I’m not exactly complaining.” He laughs once more whilst running his thumb over the back of your hand, “Cute, so you’d be content to be stranded here as long as you’re in my arms, hm?” You hum mischeviously, “Well...”

Sighing, you continue, “...as magical an experience this was. I..I need to get back. I have family and friends waiting for me.” You find yourself frowning. His lips hum, “Indeed you do. It would be tragic for you to go missing. I’d not want you to experience such pain.” You smile sadly at him, What on earth was this sense of not wanting to leave? Why were you so drawn to him? You had only just met yet he had such an influence on you. His alluring gaze, his way with words, the sweet nothings that dripped from his lips and his tingling touches. 

He leans back still not letting go of your hand, “Let’s get going, hm? There’s many creatures in these woods that would love to mess with you or even keep a pretty thing like you all to themselves, you know?” You awkwardly chuckle, “Right, right. Best to keep moving.” 

Once more, you both begin walking hand in hand. You notice the plants begin to illuminate and glow as the sky grows dimmer. It’s incredible. You peer at Huening Kai who guides you with ease, a smile rests on his face. You were lucky to find a kind elf and not some other supernatural creature, such as the Fae. A sense of melancholy fills your heart, you knew after reaching your base camp, it was not likely you’d ever see him again. You wanted more of him, to hear more of his tempting words and his stimulating touch. You didn’t want to be away from him. 

The walk resumes in a unexpectedly tense silence. You find yourself having a difficult time keeping track of direction and time. All you could focus on was Huening Kai. He was your anchor in this sea of forest. He hums, “We’re almost there. Do you see the smoke rising through the canopy?” You peer up as see in the near distance, rising smoke. It must be your camp, by now you knew they’d be preparing for dinner. As you continue walking, your heart aches and you feel your legs becoming sluggish. You don’t remember your camp being this far away, despite this, you knew not to question the magical and illusory properties of Deep Grove Forest. 

“Kai..” You speak before your mind can even register. He turns to look over shoulder at you. Once again you murmur, “...Kai..” Your eyelids feel incredibly heavy. His lips still smile pleasantly at you, “Oh my, y/n, are you tired?” You grunt trying to pry your eyes open. You feel hazy, almost fuzzy inside. His fingers intertwined between yours now feel electrifying. 

He softly cooes, “We’re almost back at your base camp. Just around a few more minutes away. Don’t you want to get back?” You struggle to form a coherent sentence resorting to shaking your head. 

Huening Kai’s eyes become sly with the same ethereal smile plastered on his face. He steps closer as he realises your balance was faltering. He places a tentative arm around your waist steadying you. “Shaking your head? You don’t want to get back? You were so determined to get back earlier, no?”

“Mm...don’t...wanna..,” you mumble dazed. His brows raise and he pleasantly hums, “Hm?” His tone had become sugary sweet. You continue as you lean your head into his chest, “...leave..” His lips form a sinful smile, “What was that? You don’t want to leave? Oh you precious human, what about your family? Your friends?” 

You shake your head not wishing to acknowlege anything. You were fading in and out of consciousness as your body buzzes with an unknown feeling as he wrapped his arms around you. A mischievious tone laces his voice, “Poor thing, all this trekking must have made you so tired, hm?” You nod. You nuzzle into his neck taking in his earthy scent; it was almost floral in a sense. He smelt divine. 

His fingers trace along your jaw and he cups your cheek, “Surely you don’t wish to simply stay with me here, forever, hm? That would be ridiculous. We’ve only just met, hm?” You shake your head as your eyes shut embracing his addictive body heat. A chuckle not so airy and bright as before escapes his lips. “How endearing, you humans are.” 

You remain quiet as drowsiness morphs into unconsciousness. He holds you as if you were fragile glass. A delighted smile graces his pretty lips. The same lips that spew the most magically tempting words, sweet nothings that can make anyone and anything melt. His touch that can send any species into a frenzy. 

Oh, how much he loved this game. 

He peers at your base camp in the near distance, perhaps if your psyche had put up more of a fight, you’d have made it back to your camp. It was a mere few steps away, after all. He was not going to be one to stop you going back home. He would merely call it misfortune, if you did. Huening Kai wasn’t much of a fan of violence or force unlike the other supernatural creatures here. 

How darling of you to succumb of your own will. It made things easier for him, such a pretty human for him to study to his heart’s content. It was his most successful venture yet. He could expand his knowlege and understanding of the workings of humans. Perhaps he could study the way they are suited to the outside world beyond this forest?

Your poor colleague must be frantically searching, though Huening Kai must be sure if he didn’t find his way back to his camp in time, then something else would find him.

Huening Kai peers down at your sleeping face; how serene it is. He murmurs smiling, “You pretty thing, don’t you know how to be cautious? I did say there’s many dangerous creatures in the forest who would just...love to have you.”

If only you had listened to your colleague and stayed put, perhaps you’d not have fallen down that imaginary slope and into the world of the elves.

Perhaps you’d now be sitting by the camp fire going through the photos on your camera wondering what was beyond the clearing blissfully.

[moutainrusing]

western

535 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

It was Friday, time for Sirius and James to rest for three nights in a new town before carrying on their journey across the western plains of America.

With their horses in tow, they sauntered into the stables of the town’s inn, and requested the stable master.

But when the stable master came out, Sirius froze. Because this man was incredibly hot. A thick, pink scar slashed through his slightly crooked nose, splitting his warm brown face in two, and he just exuded warmth. Pink and brown and all those warm colours blending together to make a masterpiece of a human. His face was slightly shadowed with his tipped Stetson, casting defining lines over his prominent cheekbones, and Sirius wished he had a camera, because the lighting was perfect. Or maybe the man was just perfect in any lighting.

As Sirius’s gaze trailed down, he noticed the man was wearing incredibly low-waisted jeans which were barely hanging off his hip bones. He swallowed and averted his eyes back to the man’s face, which was now smirking at him.

“Need a place for your horses?” He addressed both of them, but solely looked at Sirius.

Sirius could not breathe. Luckily, James spoke up for him, “Yea, how much would it be for three nights?”

The man looked at James then, because Sirius was clearly too disappointing for him. “One-five-oh dollars each. Three hundred total.”

“We’ll take it. Cheers.”

The man looked at him. “You from the UK?”

James shrugged, “Yeah. We’re just… exploring.”

“Hmm,” the man nodded, turning to stroke the horses. “What’re their names?”

And that was Sirius’s cue. James nudged him to get a grip and talk. “Well, mine’s called Friday,” and he pointed to his chestnut horse which was taller than James’s because Friday was superior.

The man snorted. “Now why the heck would you call a lovely horse that?”

“‘Cause of the joke,” Sirius grinned, getting excited. Jokes were more important than hot men, after all. “A cowboy rode into town on Friday, stayed three nights, then rode out on Friday. And how did he do that?”

The stable master shook his head and smiled wryly. “Horse was called Friday. But you ain’t a proper cowboy, sweetheart.”

“I—”

“And mine is called Regulus!” James interrupted, saving Sirius from descending into stuttering madness.

“That’s worse than Friday,” the stable master quipped. Sirius felt proud of his naming skills, at that moment. He also elbowed James out of disappointment, because it was tradition at this point. James was such a simp. For Sirius’s brother.

Point proven when James began explaining, “He’s named after the love of my life. Regulus, my star—”

As James waxed poetic about Sirius’s brother, Sirius and the man shared a look, and Sirius realised he should probably give the man a name. “What’s your name?”

“Remus. You?”

“Remus isn’t very cowboy-like either, you know.”

“Never said I was one.”

Sirius smiled. “I’m Sirius.”

“So, Sirius. You arrived on Friday, and you’re staying three nights at the inn while keeping your horses at my stable, before you ride out on Friday. To carry on your ‘exploring’. Real dedicated to the joke, are we?”

Sirius nodded proudly. “Definitely. You should come with.”

[anonymousbardd]

🤍 | Him & His Secretary

Samuel Seo x FemReader

────── 〔✿〕──────

"Mr. Seo, there's someone who wishes to see you," a young girl said, "Who are they?" The former President of the fourth Affiliate, Samuel Seo asked.

"They claim to know you, he goes by the name Jake Kim," (F/n) replied.

Samuel's ears perked up and he glanced at the young woman in front of him, "What does he want?" He asked, still looking down at his computer.

"I want to talk to you," a dark haired man entered.

"You're interrupting my work, you know?" Samuel said, he then glanced at the young woman, in which (F/n) replied with a nod.

"It seems like Mister Seo is busy at he moment, it would be appreciated if you leave."

"No can do sweetie," Jake replied, (F/n) sighed and pushed her glasses up, "You seem to have misunderstood, Mister Kim, that wasn't a request."

"You looking for a fight?" Jake asked, looking down at the woman, "Fight me if you dare, there are cameras here."

"If shown to the authorities, who do you think will be more favoured?"

Jake clicked his tongue and looked at Samuel and frowned, "I'll come back," he said.

Samuel hummed and shooed him away, a noticeable annoyance crept on his face.

Jake then left, (F/n) was also about to leave the office and Samuel stopped her, "Stay, (L/n)," he said.

"Is there anything you need help with?" (F/n) asked, shifting her attention to his, "Close the door," Samuel smiled.

The room suddenly felt tense, the way Samuel sat and looked at (F/n) to an almost intimidating degree.

"I didn't think you'd be capable with such bluff," Samuel grinned, (F/n) smiled and held her clipboard up to her chest, "I'm just doing what I'm needed to do."

Samuel chuckled and stood up from his chair, "Come closer, (F/n)," he said, the young woman obeyed and walked towards the muscular man.

Samuel leaned closer, he held (F/n)'s face by the chin, his eyes looked at hers.

Samuel grinned as he looked at the young woman's eyes, the way she looked at him completely change, her pupils were filled with lust.

"You're very interesting, Miss (L/n)," he said.

As the muscular man was about to close his eyes, Jake busted in with Jerry and some others.

They were all taken it back when they saw the sight of the two of them so close to each other.

(F/n) hurriedly pulled away and faced the door, while Samuel cleared his throat and fixed his hair, "What makes you think you can barge in like that in my office?" Samuel asked, the tension in the air was somewhat awkward.

"I told you, I'll be back," Jake replied.

"I didn't think you'd be back this quick, did you miss me that much already?" Samuel asked, raising a brow.

"Guess you could say that, come back to big deal."

Samuel let out an amuse laugh and walked away from his desk, "Give me a reason to," Samuel said.

"You and your lover could live freely," Jake replied.

(F/n)'s face flushed red when she heard the word lover as a way to describe her relationship with Samuel.

"She's not my lover, she is my secretary," Samuel stated, his cheeks were slightly tinted with pink.

"My secretary and I are more than capable to live freely, in our own separate ways, thank you," Samuel added.

"You're bold for going back here," Jake let out a huff and crosses his arms, "The way miss secretary delivered the bluff could have fooled me, but fortunately for us, we've already got this place scanned out."

"Mister Seo has important things he must tend to..." (F/n) said, putting her hair up in a ponytail.

Jake had a sly grin and cracked his neck, "Sure, but I'm not leaving here until we have a proper conversation."

Samuel sighed and smirked, "If that's what you want, then..." His eyes widened, Samuel's gaze looked at Jake's, "Entertain me."

══════════════════ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

┆➽───── TimeSkip ────────❥

"Sir, are you alright?" (F/n) asked as she held Samuel's shoulder, "I'm fine, don't get in my way," he growled.

(F/n) sighed, the office had turn into a mess, the other members of Big Deal were too frightened to come in-between the two fighting men.

Surprisingly, no one has yet come to dispose of the intruders, half an hour had passed.

(F/n) sighed and looked at the two men who were breathing heavily, "You both are tired, you should stop."

"Don't worry about us, sweetheart, this will be over in no time," Jake said in such a way that triggered Samuel.

(F/n) frowned and got in between the two of them, "How about I propose you a deal," she said, Jake paused for a moment and looked at the woman, "Continue."

"Leave the office and help pay for the damages, and I'll schedule you an appointment for a meeting with Mister Seo," she said.

"The hell are you doing?" Samuel spat, he glared at the woman in front of him, "Mister Samuel, we both know that you aren't in the condition to fight for a little more longer."

"After all, you still haven't fully recovered from the kidnapping incident," she added.

(F/n) looked back at the tired man with a cold gaze, "As your secretary, I can't have you getting more injuries."

Jake let out a huff and stood straight, "The deal isn't too shabby, how do I know you're not lying to me," he asked.

(F/n) pushed up her glasses and smiled, "Mister Kim, I never go back on my word."

Jake nodded and turned his back away from the two, "Alright then, how long am I going to wait?"

"Approximately a week, specifically, Tuesday 3:30pm," (F/n) said.

"Alright then, I'll see ya later, Samuel."

After all of them left, Samuel grabbed (F/n) by the collar, "Why the fuck did you do that?!" He asked, his eyes were enraged.

(F/n) sighed and placed a hand on Samuel's cheek, "You're breaking yourself, you need rest."

She then glanced at his lips and back to his eyes, "Didn't Mister Goo himself told you that you need to take it easy?" (F/n) asked, her voice was soft and gentle.

Samuel clicked his tongue and looked away, "Fine."

After a long night, Samuel and (F/n) headed back to Samuel's apartment.

"Would you like a warm bath?" (F/n) asked, Samuel sighed and nodded, (F/n) helped the young man take off his coat, he had serval cuts and bruises.

"I'll heat up the water for you," (F/n) said, she headed to the bathroom and opened the water, she then poured in some soap, causing the water to foam up with bubbles.

The young woman got distracted and she started playing with the foamy water, as she did, Samuel walked in wearing a bathrobe.

He caught sight of his usual cold and serious secretary being gentle and calm.

Samuel cleared his throat causing (F/n) to let out a quiet squeek, "Ah—.., Sir I didn't hear you come in," she awkwardly chuckled.

"A bubble bath?" Samuel asked, raising a brow, he gave the young girl a look that said, "Do I look like a child to you?"

(F/n) giggled, a sweet sound coming of her lips made Samuel feel a tug in his stomach.

"It'll help you relax, sir."

Samuel sighed and took off his bathrobe with no shame whatsoever.

He slowly got in the warm bath, as he soaked his body, he let out a deep breath and relaxed.

Samuel closed his eyes and rested he arms on both sides of the tub.

(F/n) then fetched a cloth that was wet and soapy to help clean Samuel.

She gently rubbed the cloth on his body, starting with his right arm, her soft touch made Samuel ease up.

The way (F/n) softly cleaned him like he's a delicate antique vase, that with any wrong move it'll shatter.

"What would you like for dinner tonight, sir?" The young woman asked, Samuel grabbed the young girl's wrist and looked at her eyes.

"Stop it..." He muttered, (F/n) looked at him with a concerned look, "You... You can't keep doing this to me, (F/n)."

"What are you—..," Samuel cut her off by looking at her, his eyes were filled an emotion (F/n) never saw in him before.

His cheeks were flushed with red and his breathing raced.

"How long have you been working for me?" He asked, "Almost two years now..."

Samuel chuckled and held (F/n)'s hand to his cheek, "Two hears, huh..." He said.

"That's how long I've been wanting you."

(F/n)'s eyes widen from his words, "What do you mean...?" She asked.

"Don't play dumb with me, (F/n), I see it in your eyes, your voice, the way you move."

(F/n) sighed and slightly frowned, "Come on now... Don't tell me you're falling in love too..." Her voice cracked as she looked at Samuel's eyes, her own were starting to get filled by tears.

Samuel chuckled and held (F/n)'s chin, "Why're you crying?" He asked, "We both know how shitty this will end up."

The muscular man sighed and smiled, he then pecked (F/n) on the lips and looked at her eyes, "I do... And I don't care, in the end, I get what I want."

(F/n) sighed and splashed Samuel with water, catching him off gaurd, "H-hey! What was that for?!" He asked, letting out a playful laugh.

"You're and idiot," (F/n) muttered, hiding her flustered face, "Yeah? Well I'll be your idiot, forever."

[aconflagrationofmyown]

|| Honeymoon ||

-THE 60’s- A Sky High Lovin fic

Authors Note: Here at last is the long promised second installment of my Elvis Mile High Club fics, :) As this series is an anthology and not chronological, there are multiple references to the persona and style of 60’s Elvis where the other was of Big Daddy

Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu

Warnings: 18+ (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🥂 I’m a sucker for Elvis acting like an animal while talking like a true southern gentleman, so here we all are. Proceed at your own discretion

Copious thanks and credit for numerous lines and suggestions to my incredible coauthor @eliseinmemphis

There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.

He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.

He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.

The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.

Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.

You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”

He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”

Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.

He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.

He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.

“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.

It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.

“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.

He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.

“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.

You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.

If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.

“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.

“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”

“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”

You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.

It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.

“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.

“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”

That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?

He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.

Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.

And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.

He earned your trust.

“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.

“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.

“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.

“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”

You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.

His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.

His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.

“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?

“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,

“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”

The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-

“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.

You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.

You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”

He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.

You flush red hot at the sight of him

lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.

He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.

“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.

“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”

He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.

“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.

He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.

You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.

“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”

You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.

You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.

“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.

He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.

“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.

The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.

His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”

You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow

“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.

It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.

Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”

You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.

“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”

Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.

“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”

The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.

“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”

“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”

You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.

“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”

“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.

He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”

You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.

“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.

“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.

“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.

“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.

“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”

“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.

He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.

“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”

With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.

You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.

You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.

You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.

He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.

The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:

“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”

It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.

Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.

“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”

It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.

“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”

His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.

“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.

“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.

Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.

Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”

You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.

“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.

“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.

You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.

Married life, he could get used to this.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels

“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.

This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.

Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.

[deathblacksmoke]

Dramamine—Part 10

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Nick Ruffilo

Series Summary: Cynical, brooding bartender Nick meets too-earnest, pretty boy singer Noah when The Rabbit's Foot starts hosting an open mic night.

CW: light angst, brief crying, self-doubt, mostly just fluffy cute boy things, oral sex (m receiving)

*Content warnings are updated by chapter*

Word Count: 2.5K

Author's Note: final part before the epilogue <3 huge thank you to everyone who's read and enjoyed this little series and massive thank you to my friends for their support, brainstorming, handholding, etc.

dividers by @cafekitsune 💐

He feels a little silly being so nervous about this. The hard part should be over — he’s already gotten Noah back — but tonight feels daunting. As he stands outside Noah’s door with a bag full of groceries, he feels shaky on his feet and afraid to knock.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he reaches for it, happy to kill time and put this off. It has a bit of the opposite effect, though, when he sees it’s from Autumn.

He had to beg her to let them have the apartment to themselves for the evening. He’ll owe her for ages, and he’s reminded that Noah’s probably behind the door sulking about being left alone on a Friday night.

I can see you on the doorbell camera. Don’t be weird.

When the door swings open before he’s even done knocking and Noah’s on the other side of it, everything settles. Nick doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way Noah’s gaze can ease his nerves so simply.

“What are you doing here?” Noah asks, stepping aside to let Nick in without a second thought. He doesn’t seem at all unhappy about Nick’s arrival, and a gentle hand on Nick’s arm stops him from moving far past the entryway. He sighs into it when Noah brings their lips together, feeling his lips curl up into a smile against his own.

“I was going to make us a nice dinner,” Nick responds. He can’t stop himself from leaning back in for another kiss when Noah’s eyes light up. “Treat you to a proper first date.”

His nerves kick up again as he lets Noah lead him into the kitchen. He’s not used to this, and he’s so out of practice. He’s certainly no chef, but Noah fixes him with the sweetest look when he hops up onto the counter, pleased to be in Nick’s way the entire time. There’s nothing in him that wants to be annoyed, or feel inconvenienced. Instead he feels an unbearable warmth in his chest as he starts unloading the bags, avoiding eye contact for the fear his face is beet red with the adoration he holds for this boy.

“So, what are you making me?” Noah asks, legs swinging like a child.

“Here, taste this,” Nick says, offering the spoon to Noah, who accepts it gratefully. He makes a pleased little sound and Nick feels his stomach swoop. “It’s good?”

It’s not a complicated sauce, just a basic marinara he found online, but he loves making Noah happy. He loves how easy he is to please, although he wishes he had to try a little harder.

“Really good, Nicky,” Noah responds, scooting closer on the counter as if he doesn’t mind being in the middle of everything. He’s very much in the way but Nick can’t find it in himself to mind, not when he gets to have Noah this close.

Satisfied that their dinner is mostly done, he starts unloading the other bag — mint, lime, sugar, club soda, white rum, and his shaker. 

When he looks over at Noah, there’s a confused expression painted on his face.

“What’s all this for?” Noah asks.

“Thought I’d make mojitos,” Nick responds, suddenly feeling shy, a little unsure. Maybe the moment hadn’t made as much of an impression on Noah as it had on Nick. “Can you grab me some ice?”

Noah’s face shifts from confusion to self-satisfaction. Nick wants to roll his eyes, but he can’t. He’s too pleased that he made Noah happy.

“I’m not making you a mojito, pretty boy,” Noah mocks — Nick does roll his eyes then.

“Well, that was before,” he reasons. He leans over for a kiss on the cheek. He just can’t help it. “Ice, please?”

The plates lay forgotten on the coffee table. Noah seems happy, sated, resting himself on Nick with his half-finished second mojito in hand. Nick feels an all-consuming calm, like he wouldn’t mind staying here with him, on his sofa, for as long as Noah wants him.

“Oh, I got you something,” Noah says, eyes suddenly wide and sparkling as he lifts his head from Nick’s shoulder. “Well, I found something I think you might like. Do you want it?” 

He can’t imagine saying no to him, not when he’s this excited and fidgety. He finds himself nodding, giving a small smile before Noah is up and disappearing into his bedroom. 

Noah’s nerves are evident when he comes back out, holding something small in his hand. Nick feels himself getting nervous, too, but he puts on a brave face for Noah. Noah seems to settle, at least a little bit, when he meets Nick’s eyes. 

Without sitting back down, he holds his hand out, presenting it to Nick. 

“For your Jasmine box,” Noah says, shifting back and forth on his feet. There’s a long moment that Nick just stares at Noah’s hands, and when he looks up at him, his eyes are wide with something less like excitement and more like terror. Nick places a soothing hand on Noah’s thigh, telling him it’s okay, before taking the item from his hand.

It’s a photograph he hasn’t seen before, but he remembers the moment so vividly. It was Autumn’s 30th birthday, when she had come up to them with her disposable camera, drunk and stumbling, and told the two of them to pose. It was so shortly before it all went bad, but everything was still so good then. Jazz hadn’t hesitated before grabbing his face and planting a kiss on his cheek for the camera. He’d felt warm everywhere. If he tries, he can still feel her lips on his skin.

“Noah,” he breathes, feeling tears prick at his eyes but not wanting to scare him off. He doesn’t know what to do, whether to break down in front of him or just hug him and say thank you. He doesn’t know where to find the words for how grateful he feels.

“Aut found it in her room when she was cleaning up. I asked her if I could give it to you,” Noah tells him, somehow more shy than before as he sinks to the floor in front of Nick, placing a shaky hand on Nick’s knee. There’s a look in his eyes more hopeful than he’s ever seen, and all Nick knows to do is reach out for him. “Is it okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” Nick responds, taking Noah’s hand in his and intertwining their fingers. “Can you come up here for me, please?”

There's bravery in Noah when he rises from the floor. Though unsteady on his feet, he still lowers himself into Nick’s lap. Instinctually, Nick places a hand on his lower back, drawing him closer.

“Jasmine was really important to Autumn while I was gone. I’m really grateful she had someone,” Noah says, voice quivering. Nick doesn’t stop himself this time from reaching out, wiping the few fallen tears from Noah’s cheeks. “I wish I could have known her better.”

There’s something in his eyes when Nick brushes away the few strands of hair that have fallen in Noah’s face. He can spot a distant sadness in his expression, a downturn at the edges of his mouth. He presses his fingers into Noah’s sides, needing to see that smile and delighting in it when he gets it.

“You’re really something, aren’t you?” Nick asks, a little amazed when he allows himself to think about it. He never imagined he’d find himself in this position again — another chance, deserving of something so wonderful, someone so wonderful. Noah buries his face in his neck and it warms Nick from the inside out. “How did I get so lucky, huh?”

Noah squirms a little in his lap and it jostles something awake in him. Kisses are pressed to his neck and he swoons, sinks back into the couch as he pulls Noah as close as possible.

His mind takes him back to the last time he was on his couch, the way that Noah had treated him so nice, the way Nick had abandoned him because of it. He’s done his best to fix this, but there’s still that one piece that’s so wholly unrepaired. He doesn’t know that he’d be able to stand it, if the scenario had been reversed. He hates to put so much weight on what had happened, yet there’s a stomach-turning guilt when he envisions the weeks that Noah sat on this couch with the memory of what Nick had done.

He slips his hand beneath Noah’s t-shirt, grazes his knuckles along the expanse of his skin. When the scarred skin of Nick’s knuckles meets the ultra-soft skin of Noah’s middle, it’s not quite as scary as it had been, letting Noah see all of him. He finds he wants himself to be seen, to be known. There’s a nagging, vibrating something beneath his skin, but he lets himself push it away this time.

Noah’s hand cupping his cheek brings him back into the moment. Noah’s lips on his set a fire beneath his skin. He needs to fix this — he needs to repair this one final thing.

“Noah,” Nick breathes, dragging his palms down over Noah’s thighs, fingertips dancing toward the waistband of his sweats. His eyes sparkle, and God, Nick would do anything to keep those eyes clear and bright and on him. “Baby— baby, can I?”

The nerves evident on Noah’s face do little to calm the ones bubbled up in Nick, but the small, barely-there nod he’s given before Noah leans in for another kiss gives him the answer he needs. 

His hands are shaky as they inch under Noah’s waistband, as he finally gets his hands on the soft skin there, like he’s been dreaming of all this time.

He loses himself to it, time slowing as they kiss. He could stay happy like this, hands wandering over every inch of skin he can find, roasting hot everywhere Noah touches him. Noah’s pretty little gasp as Nick’s fingers drag across his cock bring him back to reality.

He vibrates with nervous energy as he pulls Noah’s face away from his own, hand cupping Noah’s cheek and entranced by how glassy his eyes already are.

“Can I do something for you?” Nick asks, to which he receives a shaky nod in return. “You wanna hop up for me, love?”

Noah’s quick to do as he’s asked and it sets a fire alight in him, a need to make this good for him. He gets on his knees between Noah’s legs and his nerves kick up. He’s so out of practice, but he’s sure in his actions when he slides Noah’s sweats down over his hips. He looks up at him, not sure what he’s looking for in his gaze, but gaining confidence when Noah gives him a nod, threading his fingers through his hair.

His head empties — everything he’s ever known about being with someone is gone, because this isn’t just someone, this is Noah. He loses himself in the expanse of bare skin he’s presented with, all so new to him. He can’t help it as he lets his hands wander, fingertips grazing Noah’s tummy, his thighs, laser-focused on the way he tenses and relaxes beneath Nick’s touch. He has to do something, but finds himself so transfixed with everything he never thought he’d get to have.

He carries his mind back to the last time he was here, when he was on this couch and Noah was so polite and pretty on his knees between Nick’s spread legs. He tries to replicate it — his hand wraps loosely around Noah and the whimper he receives makes his vision blur.

He can’t keep his eyes off Noah as he sinks his mouth onto him. Maybe he wants to keep himself grounded in this moment, or maybe he wants to memorize every little shift in Noah’s expression. As much as he wants to let himself get lost in it, he can’t look away.

Where Nick’s hand rests on Noah’s thigh, Noah’s hand rests centimeters away, twitching fingers as if he’s itching to close that gap. Nick’s gaze shifts between Noah’s face, the anxiety in his expression, and his trembling hand. He knows Noah is nervous, scared to close that gap — Nick can’t blame him, not after last time.

He closes the gap himself, slides his fingers under Noah’s and feels as everything in Noah relaxes. His rhythm falters, only for a moment, as he considers how he wants this to continue.

He wants to be here, on his knees, a small consolation for what he did the last time Noah did the same for him. But as he allows himself to look at Noah, at his glassy eyes and his pretty open mouth, he needs to be closer. They’re touching, but not nearly enough. He needs to kiss him, to blanket him, to taste his gasp as he finishes over his tummy and Nick’s fingers.

As if able to read Nick’s mind, Noah gives his hand a gentle tug. When Nick meets his eyes, there’s a glint that Nick reads a little like desperation. He’s sure it’s the same desperation he feels.

He doesn’t take his hand off of Noah as he stands, scrambling into Noah’s lap and regaining his rhythm. Noah presses their mouths together and Nick is quick to lick into his mouth, slapping his hand away when Noah goes for the button on his pants.

“No, just—” Nick starts, taking a deep breath and resetting when it’s clear his actions are about to be misread. He cups his hand over Noah’s face, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, a smile into his cheek. “Just let me do this for you, yeah? I just want this to be for you.”

Noah nods, losing himself in their kiss again, bucking his hips gently into Nick’s grasp. He can feel it, in the way he tenses, in the way his thrusts go a little sloppy and uncoordinated.

He catches the pretty gasp on his tongue when Noah rushes to lift his shirt up as his cum spills over Nick’s fingers and onto his belly.

As Noah catches his breath, Nick busies himself looking around for anything to clean him up with that wouldn’t require detaching himself. He lands only on the cloth napkins they used for dinner, and he knows Autumn would make him buy an entire new set.

“We should go get you cleaned up,” he says instead, though the idea of getting up and having any space between them sounds dreadful.

“In a second,” Noah responds, his hand curling around the back of Nick’s neck to draw him in for a kiss, stopping just short to mutter against his lips. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Nick can’t think of anything he wants more, nodding as he lets Noah pull him the rest of the way in.

tagging: @concretenoah @circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @ladyveronikawrites @agravemisstake

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