#pink scarf universe
Text
A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving 💗🧣🦃
A very happy Thanksgiving weekend to those who celebrate! ❤️
This blurb came out of nowhere, in a fit of Thanksgiving inspiration (and a special thanks to Norah for inadvertently nudging me towards a Thanksgiving prompt)! Because of this, it is not overly edited or revised. I will say, I'm not sure yet just how canon I want this to be in terms of the PS Universe, but I figure it came out of me for a reason, so I decided to go with it for now.
I think my current moody headspace influenced the vibe for this--for us fans, it's a slightly indulgent "what could have been" scenario. But that's PS in a nutshell, isn't it? 🥹
Anyhoo, I hope this hits you in the feels! And I hope you know just how much you matter to me, even though I've been a bit MIA recently.
Much love xoxoxox, Madi 💗
TW: It's 1977, so...medical issues/trauma/strife. Panic attack. Thanksgiving stress. A little hint of sexy at the end bc I couldn't leave you on a melancholy note! 💋
A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving 1977
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. P, but the oven is out. Lamar took a peek, but the thing is as cold as ice and don’t look like it’s gonna be warm any time soon,” Mary says, looking as distraught as you feel. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner.”
The naked, trussed, and cold turkey on the counter mocks you.
“No, no, it’s not your fault, Mary. We’ll…figure something out,” you try and reassure her, but it feels like a weight has just been placed on your chest. You pinch the bridge of your nose to stave off the massive headache that began early this morning when Nicky barged into your room at the crack of dawn sobbing because he’d had a nightmare that Mr. Gobble Gobble, a monster turkey, had eaten Daddy instead of the other way around.
This was one of many nightmares that your poor little boy had suffered since August, but certainly the first starring a murderous Thanksgiving turkey. He’d barely been consolable and neither of you had gotten back to sleep.
You take a deep breath, holding back the tears that threaten your vision.
Today needs to be perfect. It was supposed to be perfect.
But you should have known. After all, this year has been far from perfect.
You force yourself away from the wave of despair trying to overcome you. No, we’ve been lucky, you think. It could be so much worse.
Unfortunately, your nerves are shot, which makes sense considering the last few months you’ve had. You’ve kept it together so well. You’ve had to. For Nicky. For Elvis. But that tried resolve begins to crumble with the pressure of it all, as though everything that has happened is hitting you all at once.
Now you have a house full of hungry people, Elvis will be home any minute, and your usual quick-footed problem-solving skills have flown out the window. Your hands begin to tremble.
The panic swells as the kitchen swarms with people looking to you for direction, and in that moment, Nicky runs through the adults, chased by one of the other kids. It happens so fast—you barely have time to register the commotion before disaster strikes.
You watch in horror as the kids fly into the sideboard, knocking the precious side dishes and desserts onto the floor with a resounding crash.
The collective gasp of the adults in the room sends your panic into overdrive.
Thanksgiving is officially ruined.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you shout. The entire room goes silent. It’s not everyday Elvis Presley’s calm and collected wife loses her shit. No, that is something usually reserved for the man himself.
“Well, that’s not quite the welcome home I was expecting,” a familiar baritone chuckles from behind you.
You whip around, your bottom lip quivering. “Elvis?” you whisper.
He’s standing right here—standing! On his own!—leaning on his cane for support, a twinkle in his eye that you haven’t seen in ages. One you weren’t sure you’d ever see again. And the sight of him finally being home again after so many months in the hospital is more than you can bear. After standing tall and strong for him for so long, you crumble into a thousand pieces. An uncontrollable sob chokes out of you, your tears overflowing.
“Aw, honey,” he says quietly, slowly making his way to you, waving everyone else out of the room with the commanding flick of his hand. They exit in a flash with their concerned and pitied looks. Not that you care, because the second you can, you are falling into your husband’s open arms.
“I’m so sorry…your homecoming…it’s all ruined,” you sob into his chest, being mindful of the long scar down the center. Feeling the warmth of him engulfing you is overwhelming. His scent, untainted by antiseptic and hospital smells for the first time in a long time, swirls around you, caressing your senses.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. Let it all out, Satnin,” he coos, stroking your hair with his free hand. “Hers has been so strong for hims, but hims is home now.”
The tenderness of his baby talk in your ear sends a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, staining the silk of his blue dress shirt. He’s dressed up, you think absently, knowing this is a huge thing. Even before that fateful August morning, he’d been mostly wearing his tracksuits when he wasn’t performing. He’d been so uncomfortable and in pain, you’d understood why.
You bury your head into his neck, pent up emotions violently shuddering through your body as you let your tears fall freely for the first time in months. You can barely breathe with how you wedge yourself into him, with how he holds you tight. He’s so much slimmer now that the edema is gone and his colon has been tended to, you realize, but he’s still soft in all the right places. You still fit against him perfectly, and his grip on you makes you realize he understands just how raw you are.
You cry more, thinking about how the last time he was here was when you’d found him unresponsive on the bathroom floor. How you’d never been so scared in your entire life, not even when you yourself had brushes with death.
It's a miracle he’s here at all. None of you, doctors included, were sure if he’d ever step through the doors of Graceland again. Not after the heart attack, or the coma, or the complications from his various surgeries. It had been one blow after another, for weeks, months. But somehow, in true stubborn Elvis fashion, he’d pulled through.
He’d gritted his way through healing, through physical therapy, through weaning off so many of the meds he’d been on before and during his hospital stay, and he hated every second of it. He’d been livid about the colostomy, but you’d had no care for his vanity when you’d had to make the decision to save his life. You didn’t care if he hated you because at least he’d be alive to tell you so. He’d gotten past it, mostly, especially once he was feeling better.
The entire ordeal had terrified him. Something had changed in him in those weeks he’d lingered between life and death, something he wasn’t ready to talk about just yet, but even with all the setbacks, his determination to come home was intensely motivating.
Which is why you’d wanted it to be special, and why it being Thanksgiving had so much meaning. Elvis was finally coming home. Then everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.
“I wanted everything to be perfect for you. You deserve it,” you say quietly, sniffling, holding him as tight as you dare without wanting to hurt him.
“Darlin’, just bein’ back home with you and Nicky is more than I ever dreamed of. I don’t need no big fancy dinner or welcome home committee. I jus’ need you.”
You pull back then, your heart about ready to burst, and look at him. He looks downright debonair with his silvery hair (which you’d convinced him not to dye back after it had grown out during his illness), freshly cut and shorter than it had been in years, fluffy but brushed back off his face in a style reminiscent to when he was younger. His apple cheeks are full and have more color than they’ve had in months.
“What?” he asks looking down at you, almost bashful under your gaze.
You reach up and cup his freshly shaven cheek, smooth and soft under your palm. Those deep ocean blue eyes of his threaten to swallow you whole. Staring into their depths, you don’t want to imagine a world without him in it anymore.
“I just love you,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out without choking up again. “So much.”
Eyes shining, Elvis pulls you up and into him. His lips are as sweet and as soft as you remember when they press into yours. The kiss is full of yearning, of love, and of everything you two have been through the past twenty years. It’s truly like coming home.
The kiss turns hungry then, more so than you expect. It’s been so very long since you’ve had each other in this way and it surprises you how readily your body remembers, despite all the pain and trauma you both have experienced. You open for him, and he moans when his tongue brushes against yours. A fiery wave of heat blisters through you then, hastily banishing away your tears.
Despite all the challenges you’ve faced over the years, you’ve always felt the pull of him in your soul. You’ve always wanted him, neededhim, even when you convinced yourself to forget because you thought you couldn’t have him. And now, after almost losing him for good, you can think of nothing else but him. The warmth of his body pressed against yours causes you to melt. The way his lips and hands roam over the curves of your body sends you soaring.
You thought you’d never have this again. It had almost broken you.
“I’m here, baby. I’m home, I promise,” he mutters into your skin, as if reading your mind.
You kiss him deeply, yanking him into you by his pretty shirt, taking his breath away.
He pulls away and presses his forehead to yours, and you can feel him sway on his feet, a little unbalanced.
“Good news—looks like Little Elvis is back in working order,” he says breathlessly, pressing his thickening erection into your belly. He seems pleasantly surprised.
Honestly, with everything dire that happened, it hadn’t even crossed your mind as a concern, but it makes sense that it could be an issue. You grin up at him with the knowledge that it isn’t, then roll your hips against him.
He groans. “Bad news—not sure I have the energy to do all the things I wanna to ya, and we got a house full of people.” Doesn’t stop him from grabbing a handful of your bottom, however.
“Oh, that’s never stopped us before, now has it?” you muse, walking your fingers gently down his chest and over his belly to palm his length.
“Lord have mercy, woman,” he moans, his eyes fluttering closed. You notice him lean more heavily on his cane and instantly ease up. One blue eye opens with a quirked brow. “Hey now, I din’t say stop.”
You laugh. “Well, it seems dinner is ruined anyhow,” you say, surveying the disaster of broken dishes and scattered food all over the floor, and the cold, raw turkey on the counter. “Maybe we better get you upstairs to rest.”
Rest is, of course, the furthest thing from your mind now, which you let him know with a little squeeze to his butt.
“Mmhmm, yes, I definitely need to lie down,” he mumbles as he peppers you with kisses. Suddenly, he freezes against you. “But, honey, I-I-I’m not sure how much I can do,” he whispers, a wave of uncertainty washing over him.
“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll take it slow. Real slow. One step at a time, like fumbling teenagers,” you say lightly, cupping his face and looking up into his eyes. “Or we can just kiss and hold each other. I’m just happy you’re here, baby.”
He nods, seemingly reassured by this. “I know I don’t say it as much as I should, but I thank God every day for you and for what we have together, Satnin,” he says quietly, brushing your hair behind your ear, kissing you gently. “I love you.”
Your heart and body ache for him. “We better get you upstairs to “rest”before I start crying again,” you snuffle, laughing, slowly walking with him toward the stairs.
“Well, tears aren’t entirely off the table…I can think of a couple good ways I can make you cry,” he teases, nibbling at your ear.
“Elvis Aaron, you did not just…” you gasp.
“What??” he says innocently. “Am I wrong?”
A shiver runs down your spine and settles in the heat of your belly.
You’ve missed him. Terribly.
But you do have so much to be thankful for this year, namely for the infuriatingly talented, generous, and stubborn man you married and are gingerly leading up the stairs for the first time in months.
In fact, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.
*
Taglist Pt 1
@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood
@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23
@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992
@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley
@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love
@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog
@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley
#a pink scarf thanksgiving#pink scarf universe#elvis presley#elvis#elvis presley x reader#elvis x reader#elvis 1977#if you’re looking for trouble#you came to the right place#elvis fic#elvis x you#elvis presley fanfiction#elvis presley fic#elvis imagine#big daddy elvis#elvis smut#elvis fanfic#elvis fanfiction
118 notes
·
View notes
Text
Made it home and have slept! Dallas Fan Expo 2023 was so much fun! I couldn't get Instagram to download at the hotel, but now that I reminded myself about it, I'mma download it now....
So many amazing costumes, half the fun was sitting and people watching. Missed the LoZ meet-up, but caught the end of the Nintendo Meetup. And remembered to get the full view shot of Legend!
Looking forward to doing more photos and tweaking the outfit. 💜🖤💜🖤
And another, because if anyone would throw the horns up, I'd expect it to be Legend, and maybe Four.
#lu legend cosplay#lu legend#linked universe#link cosplay#the pink highlights are such a soft baby breath pink that they blend in#contacts are purple I promise lol#dallas fan expo#I am so close to convencing our resident Blue Link to be Warriors#He said he wants to expand his cosplay closet#and is a huge Hyrule Warriors fan#...and maybe possibly already incorporated a scarf into his Link cosplay....#...How did Wars take over my tags?#I need more sleep
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
I have long wanted to write a headcanon where high demons have lesser forms, so take a walk with me on this:
Imagine that the brothers are fighting with each other and one of them takes a serious hit, like, somebody's left hook got them right in the jaw and it was brutal. They fall to the ground, stone cold, and... just. Poof into a tiny little critter. Like a verison of their familiar. And they can't retake human form until they've rested and healed their wounds.
I'm doing that.
Lucifer becomes this fat-ass, little peacock. He's like one of those rotund Chocobo from the Final Fantasy universe, you just want to pick him up and squeeze him but he's slightly too heavy for that. His feathers are black, save for the tail which have black, red, blue, and green markings. If something makes him "Poof!" then he'll hide away in the Castle because he refuses to let his brothers ever see him in that state. MC can visit him, though, and he'll coo and get all fluffy whenever they pet his tummy.
Mammon turns into a three-eyed raven, but not fat like Luci. He basically becomes a bigger verison of one of his familiars, he's about the size of an eagle. For being the second strongest he gets "Poof!-ed" rather often because he gets caught up in so many fights. Most of the time, he's just a bystander then some stray shot hits him and suddenly he's squawking everybody's ear off! Hilariously, he's arguably smarter in this form so when he's stuck as a bird, his grades actually improve (if anyone can read his actual chicken scratch penmanship).
Levi becomes a snake. Duh. He has similar markings along his back to the colorful scales on his neck in his demon form. He isn't even the length of your average scarf, so MC can drape him behind their neck easily and he doesn't get in the way. He's absolutely MISERABLE like this, though, because he has no hands to play games with. He can get extra clingy to people if he's feeling cold, but MC has to invite him to share their body heat because he's too shy to signal what he wants.
As much as Satan would love to be a cat, he becomes a little unicorn (Sorry, I didn't make the lore). He's about the size of one of those miniature horses, but don't be fooled. He will snap your kneecaps and he's at perfect height to rear-kick his brothers right in the crotch. His coat is black but his tail, mane, and the underside of his horn are all his signature green. If he every gets "Poof!-ed!" he's big mad, so he'll spend the entire time trying to kick and spear his brothers so they have to suffer along with him. He's the cause of a lot of chain "Poof!-ings."
Asmo becomes the smallest, cutest scorpion you ever did see. Well, as cute as scorpions can be. His whole body becomes hot pink and he has the biggest widdle eyes (think those jumping spiders who wear raindrops on their heads type energy). He's also venomous as all hell, so his brothers HAVE to make sure that they continously call him "small, cute, and adorable" lest they suffer a week's worth of paralytic toxin. He can fit the palm of a hand and makes MC tie a little bow around his tail so he doesn't feel too bad about being under-dressed.
Beel, unfortunately, becomes a fly. A big fly (by fly standards), but a fly nonetheless. You wouldn't even know that it's him if he weren't traffic cone orange. Literally everyone panics when he gets "Poof!-ed" because it would only take some bozo with a swatter to put an end to the sweetest brother... Belphie never lets Beel out of his sight and even has a tiny leash so he can keep track of him if they have to go out. He's a lot easier to feed like this, but everyone has to resist that automatic urge to smack him away from their dinner plates.
Belphie ironically has the largest lesser form out of his brothers. He's a cow, more specifically a bull, but there's nothing special about him aside from the navy fur. He is a full grown bull and he loves to lord it over the others if they all get "Poof-ed!" at once. Also, good luck getting him to do ANYTHING in this form. He is a bull. If he does not want to move, he will not be moving. Not even Beel can carry him like this. He's the only brother who doesn't mind getting "Poof-ed!" all that much because of it.
#couldn't think of a better verb than Poof#stuck with it#obey me#obey me shall we date#shall-we-date-obey-me#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#obey me headcanons#obey me crack#obey me shitpost
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Being perverted strikes naturally within Gojo, so when the idea of being a step brother comes to mind during sex he can’t help but act upon the roleplay. You think he’s gross for it, but his questionable passion for it keeps you engaged (oddly enough).
☆word count: 6.3k+
★tags/tw(18+): dark content + stepc*st roleplay + foot f*tish + toe sucking (f!recieving) + dubcon (because reader is unsure at first) + reader is college-aged/gojo is 28 + squirting + age gap + vanilla sex + pubic hairs + scent kink + implied ass eating + hesitancy + reader is afab using she/her pronouns + mentioned latex kink + use of 'satoru-nii' + established relationship + gojo is a lil' mean + and sassy + lots of kissing + nipple play + creampie + getting caught having s*x + exploring kinks + praise kink + pet names + skull fucking + gag reflex + snot + we're talkin' 'big beefy whore with black compression shirt' gojo here + reader is a bit inexperienced + questions of certain kinks.
☆a/n: hey alexa, play 'poundtown by sexyy red' ayyye come suck a bitch's toooes. enjoy y'all, this shit nasty af.
You’re not a kink shamer.
You understand the sexual thrills of getting off to something that turns one on to the point of fulfilled ecstasy–weighted breaths and skin coated with a sheen of sweat from the unorthodox fantasies that provoke the human mind and manipulate the human body, keeping them bound to the shackles of pleasure as their perversion engulfs them whole. It feels beautiful–ethereal, dare you say, and you get that. Who wouldn’t want to feel blissfully satisfied just by mere thought alone?
Now, exclusive of the deranged fetishes involving children, scat, or whatever fucked up shit out there that's befitting for a lowlife, you would say that you're a pretty open-minded individual. Always tolerating the naughty anecdotes told by your friends’ concerning their past hookups, distinctively remembering the giggles you all shared when reciting one of the stories from a particular friend that had them clad in a latex suit, lips decorated with ruby red, and three-inched heels coming into contact with the cheek of their previous partner as they squirmed in shameless arousal.
‘It was pathetic to see, but I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t get me going…’ And that mutuality between both parties is what makes it even more fun. They both get a kick out of something they enjoyed, so what’s to hate about it?
You’re not a kink shamer–not at all.
You and your boyfriend of a year and four months, Satoru Gojo, always carried the qualities of a couple depicted in unrealistic romance movies: the nuzzle of the nose that tickled your cheek before delving in for a peck, the surprise hugs he’d startle you with as you prepared an early morning breakfast, as well as the intertwined fingers while you both make your way to his favorite bakery (his kisses are even more sugared after scarfing down the kikufuku he’d order no more than a minute ago).
You always felt like the princess to his prince, stumbling over your gown to keep up with his hurried footsteps as you both venture through the gracious evergreen of a mythical forest. You have no time to remove the pastel violet and pink petals slotting themselves in your locks since your hand remains occupied with Satoru’s, moving exquisitely to the melodic song of the nightingales. It was a dream from a childhood storybook.
Moreover, what was revealed in public was, undoubtedly, the same in the comfort of your bedroom, living at your university’s on-campus apartment that you shared with two indifferent roommates. He would frequently stop by after work to spoil you with his affection. Always asking how your day was and whether or not you finished your assignments.
He was a tad bit older than you–twenty-eight and going, but you didn’t mind the age gap, it gives you all the more reason to tease him for his ‘old’ age, to which he responds with a pout and furrowed eyebrows, ‘Oh, how mean! Who would’ve ever thought that my darling angel could be such a devil…?!’ He’d say with faux anguish. He knows you’re only playing around–such the jokester.
Though, he couldn’t say the same for you in bed. Protected by the warmth of your sheets, you relished at how accustomed your body and soul were to his heartfelt transactions, vanilla-flavored sex, so sweet and tasteful on your tongue as he kissed you with want. Tongues twirling a sensual dance as your lips combine in rhythmic harmony. You also loved it when he coos in your ear, reminding you of how you’re so good to him before wrapping his lips around puffy areolas in a way that makes you writhe.
He’s so gentle with you. Handling a fine china cabinet with the utmost care, he makes sure he touches you in ways that wouldn’t break your fragile body. And when your nude skin presses against his as a result of his thrusts to your core, he reminds himself to get you moaning in his ear and get your hands gripping against the muscular curvature of his back.
It feels good. It always feels good. So, why does a part of you feel…bored?
The love is there, you won’t question that. When you come, you feel as though you’re one with the stars. And above all, he praises you. It’s nothing new, but in this context, you like to be his ‘pretty girl’ whenever the tip of his nose pushes against your wet clit. So, why do you feel like something is missing? You don’t know.
You haven’t been in many relationships. The last one you remember was in high school, dating a boy who only loved you out of teenage fever, and you shamefully admit that you reciprocated his confession. You were both young and unknowing of what the aspects of ‘love’ really meant. You never went past the boundary of hand-holding and cheek-kissing, so it remained stagnant until the moment you both broke up.
None of it was mutual, however. You can recall how distraught you were as you bawled in your mother’s arms, asking her what you did wrong while she soothed you with maternal pets to the crown of your head. That being said, it’s safe to say that you really don’t know what’s missing from you and your boyfriend’s intercourse–like, really.
But, thankfully, Satoru makes up for what you lack, telling you not to fret since he knows a lot and letting you know how much he’s been wanting to get to this point of intimacy with you–wanting to whisk his girlfriend away from the comfort zone that you’ve grown so attached to.
Satoru is without exception, enthusiastic to portray more during times of intercourse, yearning to teach you more than just the fluffy, domestic sex you both indulge in. It’s lovely and all, bleh bleh, whatever, Satoru gets it, but, man, what he wouldn’t do to see you on your knees, between his sinewy thighs parted for your form as he hovers above you, your head tilted upwards to take in his thick shaft through wet lips.
He’d make sure his red, throbbing tip hits the back of your throat so he can hear that sickening gag scurry out your mouth paired with the sloppy froth of your saliva slapping against his heavy balls with each quick thrust. He’d be too occupied to find the snot dribbling from your nose revolting because you’d be taking him in so deep.
That’s forever been his little fantasy–that amongst the vast amount of others. And to try each and every one of them with you would be a delight.
After you confessed to Satoru, you couldn’t help but notice how peculiar his ministrations started to get. It was gradual–starting with spanks on your ass to eating said ass. You’ll even bring up the time he used your feet to get off. It caught you off guard, you’d admit.
That day he had you pliable–on your knees with the left apple of your cheek flushed in the pillow beneath you and arms resting idly on your sides as you allowed your enthralled boyfriend to take the lead.
You assumed he was just gonna spit on your already-soaked pussy before massaging your puffy clit in the teasing, clockwise motions he likes to test you with, cock oozing with leakage before languidly gliding upwards to push in-between your cunt lips, but what you didn’t assume he’d do was trace his slimy precum against the soft skin of your toes to then rub his tip across your soles.
You tried to retract your feet away from him (toes wiggling in the process which had them accidentally graze across his balls. You could’ve sworn you heard him hiss) and protest his weird behavior but Satoru was already three steps ahead, firmly gripping both feet and nearly squishing them together if it wasn’t for the thick base of his cock preventing them from touching.
Each thrust he made ached with raw fervor and fuck him from being incapable of suppressing his passion because he couldn’t help but look down and see your cute pussy pucker and asshole twitch. What a sight for sore, cerulean eyes. Just as sore as your ass after he slapped it with an ever-so-firm hand, silently thanking his calluses for the rough impact.
He found it adorable how your shimmering entrance craved for insertion, winking rhythmically at him as though it’s saying, ‘Please fill me up, ‘toru! ‘M so lonely without you…’ (he chuckles to himself at the personification when done in a high-pitched tone).
But your pussy always gets his attention. You have another hole too, ya’ know–one that sits right above it, unused and virginal. Just imagine his excitement as he leans forward, cock still buried at the innermost part of your feet, to take a closer look. He’d smile at your coyness when you felt his hot breath blow on your skin, unsure of his next move.
In this new position, he can trace the faint smell of sweat emerging from you, and God, does that turn him on. More than it already does. So of course he had to steal a taste, trailing a fat strip of saliva against the rim, you squeal at the warm and wet feel of his tongue touching a place it had never been before,
“S-Satoru…what the fuck!” You jolted before moving from your position, migrating to any spot as long as it's far from your lover. You’ll never forget the sleazy look on Satoru’s face as both corners of his rosy lips tilt upwards for a cocky grin–yuck.
It grossed you the fuck out.
Not in a way that antagonizes your boyfriend, you love him too dearly to feel as such, but in a way that questions his morals. Why on earth would someone like Satoru want to be minimized to using the bottom of your soles for pleasure or savor the briny taste of sweat that builds up around the tight ring of your ass? I-I mean, you excrete from there, for God’s sake! That’s gross, especially in a place where the sun doesn’t shine.
You understand that he likes doing it, but why? How could something so perverse and dirty get him hard so quickly? Where’s his shame? His humiliation? His guilt? Were they not present whenever he sneaks a lick at your toes?
Perhaps you are trying to understand–who wouldn’t want to indulge in their lover’s feet, to caress the tough surface of their heels, and lead up their toes, to draw soft lines against them with plush lips as their medium before dipping them inside the wet cavern of their mouth and sucking the small digits before swirling their tongue and–ugh!–no! No, no, no, that’s sick! How can one do such a thing with ease? You can’t possibly imagine that.
But you’re not a kink shamer…right?
Your question remains unanswered, though, as you’re interrupted by Satoru’s moistened kisses trailing down the curve of your neck. You must’ve been in your daze for quite some time considering that the camisole top and loose shorts you lounge in took their positions on your bedroom floor.
“Come back to me, baby.” You hear your boyfriend murmur and you deliberately oblige by running your digits through the white sea of his mane, wild and free as your fingers feather against his roots. He hums with love before leaving a kiss that's sloppier than the previous one. It starts with your usual routine, with soft and tenderhearted sex.
He pecks at your clavicle and you whimper in return as silvery lashes tickle the most sensitive areas of your skin. The passionate atmosphere continues to flow within the four walls of your room–containing your moans and your kisses and your touches, reverberating them in your heated figures while filling you both with distinct pleasure. It was good so far.
“Have any ideas in mind for tonight, sweetheart?” His voice is muffled as he joyfully sucks at the skin between the valley of your breasts, teeth clasping over the hot flesh to induce a mark darker than what your skin tone provides. You hold onto the fabric of his black shirt, soundlessly wondering why he is still garbed in unbreathable polyester while you remain bare save from your panties.
Lolling your head to the side in thought, you dwell on his question. Should you have something in mind? This isn’t the same as getting asked where to eat for dinner, per se. And owning to your inexperience with sex and fetishes, you’re incapable of bringing anything to the table in this sense.
You open your jaw, mouth filled with saliva due to the raunchy actions performed by your boyfriend onto your supple body, ready to speak your retort as you lick your chapped lips in preparation, but, Satoru knows you better than you know yourself.
“Yeah, I know you don’t,” It’s like he was born to study you. Your eyes travel to his person again, orbs resting upon Satoru’s scalp as you wait for him to finish. “Nothing in that gorgeous head of yours. It’s okay, though. I don’t blame you. I know an amateur like you wouldn’t have anything planned.”
As might be expected, your brow raises at his comments slightly glazed with a patronizing drip, it’s gotten your attention, all right, as you turn your head to glare down at him. He’s sucking on your nipples this time and you forge a jerk but don’t falter, perked up by this newfound attitude from your loving partner.
“Oh?” You start and it carries the same uppity weight as his tone. “And I suppose you have it all figured out?”
He nods right after gazing up at you with arctic globes saturated with a heavy rush of sincerity and you can already feel the dreamy sigh materializing in your throat but never emerging. Satoru immediately sniffed out the indignance behind your words like a trained bloodhound. He rises from his spot upon your heaving chest to travel his way to the swoll of your chin, apologizing with a quaint kiss.
“I do,” His smile is affectionate. “You know I always do, sunshine.” You gasp once something hard nudges against your squishy thighs before poking the outermost part of your panties.
“-Always think of something for that little cunt.” It isn’t long before it's cast to the side for clear access to your glimmering slit, doused in slick because your boyfriend had a remarkable way of handling you. He didn’t miss the embarrassed mewl of his name when he used filthy words.
He also didn’t miss the pull of air you took in as his thick finger swept up your bodily remnants, coating the fingertips of his middle and ring finger. You voluntarily buck your feeble hips in desire for him to push through your entrance but you know he wasn’t going to give it to you that easily. “You know, it gets me going when we do stuff like this when others aren’t around–when we do something so forbidden.”
What–?
“Forbidden…?” Each syllable muddles your tongue as you ponder on its meaning: something that typically isn’t allowed or accepted–you’re not unaware, it’s a simple word, but is that the word he meant to say? “Why would it be forbidden? You’re my boyfriend, are you not?” Unless there’s something you’re unknowing of.
Perhaps he has a wife that he kept hidden in the shadows of his past. What if one wife turned into several wives? Maybe he’s a bloodthirsty murderer, ready to indulge in his next killing after getting you to trust his charming blue eyes and pink-liped smile. You don’t exactly know what the forbidden aspect of it all that he’s keeping from telling you-
You hear him ‘tsk’ and you assume it was meant to be taken seriously but it seems covered in mockery.
“Hah, Boyfriend? Have you no shame?” And he chuckles deep and grimy. “Don’t act like don’t know, dear.” You honestly don’t. “What would our parents think if they saw you, my sweet, little sister, grinding her greedy pussy against her older brother’s fingers?”
Oh.
Oh God.
Gritting your teeth for an evident cringe, you hurriedly toss your head to the side to break eye contact (how did he even manage to hold it for that long despite what he just said?!). There’s no way he’s doing this. Out of all kinks…
“For the love- Satoru. Stop, that’s fucking-” A sharp whine halts your sentence, stressed to the point of exaggeration. You don’t bother looking back up at him, already imagining his brows creasing with complaint at your disgusted remark.
“Ehh, what happened to ‘Satoru-nii’?” You almost would’ve forgotten the fingers sketching light circles on your sensitive button, going in for a pinch before tapping it aimlessly due to its slippery surface.
You clench your thighs together but Satoru’s heaping form prevents you from doing so. He’s a big mass of muscle reminiscent of a bull–broad shoulders along with thickened veins peeking through tough skin in the forms of streams, carrying the pulsing blood flow of adrenaline and transporting through each significant section of the body to energize his raging carnality.
“Are my fingers dwindling your vocabulary already? I just started using this pussy, sugar plum.”
A part of you wanted to believe he was joking–trolling like he usually does on literally every occasion. He knows how acquiescent you were in situations like these. So easily obedient to follow his golden rule when clinging to his hip, taking full advantage of your attributes to get you to do the perverted shit that spoiled his brain to corruption.
Of course, there’d be times when you’d retaliate, shouting out a brief ‘no’ before leaving the conversation unfinished, but it’s okay because he can butter you up to your good side. Use his words and his hands to do the convincing. Satoru has attributes of his own too.
But gazing into his eyes and seeing how aquatic blue dissolves into crimson red, only driven by lust, tells you he’s serious.
You look off to the side once more because staring at your nightstand is more soothing than staring at your deviant boyfriend. Out of all kinks, why this one?
“I don’t,” You close your eyes in an attempt to rid yourself free from his piercing glare. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You weren’t about to do this. You weren’t about to play into his wicked fantasies of being a relative of any sort. That doesn’t sound appealing at all.
“Don’t be like that, babe.” He mutters softly as if other people were in the room, prying with open ears to catch whatever dialogue is being transmitted between the two of you. A fingertip taunts at your sloppy entrance, just barely shoving past its tight grip. Sexual anticipation surged through your core at his ministration (his giggles at your hopelessness didn’t help you any). “You won’t know unless you try. Come on, do it for me?”
He’s too cute to refuse when your peripherals pick up his bottom lip raising upwards for a pout and feather-like lashes fluttering over glossy, blue orbs. Practically, begging you to follow through with this look alone–if only he wasn’t so handsome and used his charm against you in every way possible. God damn it-
“You’re sick, you know that?”
“Then you’re my antidote.”
You exhale in defeat since you unfortunately realize there’s no way out of this. Satoru’s too adamant to get you to play along with him, it’s insane. Turning your head to fully face him, which feels like the one-millionth time you’ve done so, you look him in the eye before aiming at the button of his nose, upturned and perky. Mentally getting ready to produce the God-forsaken words you are about to utter.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” You start and the way Satoru’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas irks you.
You still feel mortification swirl in your skull like second nature. Your cheeks feel hot and it hurts–were you really about to do this?
Satoru was still teasing you to no end. Teasing that doubtlessly wet pussy with expertise. He was killing you by not giving you what you craved, only remaining on the surface as he waited for your verdict. Just one more push, one more shove and you’ll get there.
“And why is that?” He inquires.
Your bottom lip quivers with hesitation before an erotic groan escapes you. He’s so close to putting them inside. “Because you’re-” You pause to wait for a sliver of courage to finish your sentence. You’re not sure if you can-
“...I’m?” He continues.
You both catch on to the shaky breaths you’re letting out, two separate bodies feeling two separate emotions, one agitated and the other electrified.
“You’re my,” You tense but Satoru loosens. “-my b-brother.” He’s the Cheshire cat as of now. You wail once two fingers invade your thirsty hole, entering with a mushy squelch.
“And what is it that we’re doing, huh? What is it that we’re doing that would be so revolting to the public eye, hm? Tell me.” Can he stop pushing you already, for crying out loud?
“You fingering my, my,”
“You got it, keep going.”
“...fingering my p-pussy.”
Satoru cherishes your hesitance and rewards you, his obedient puppy.
Digits curl upwards in search of that sensitive g-spot resting amongst your gushy insides. If applied enough pleasure, he’d be able to see how your back arches off your cotton sheets. Your mouth opens for a silent scream as the force of his fingers supports the buildup of liquid passion, pounding the area in addition to his palm rubbing your stiff clit the deeper he goes.
“There you go, my sweet girl, my gorgeous, little sister.” He fingers you harder and sucks at your erect nipples–when did they get so hard? As a matter of fact, when did your body feel so hot and needy? As though you’re deprived of something.
Your boyfriend sucks at your tit before biting the small nub, grazing his teeth along sensitive skin for a chomp, causing your hands to fly to his head and grip the fur of his undercut, all while wincing in pain. He retracts his head with your nipple still in his mouth, giving it a stern tug like an elastic rubber band. You would have cursed him out if it wasn’t for the fingers still beating at your nether regions.
“Ah, S-Satoru!” He bites harder and you remember his request from earlier. “Satoru-nii.”
As if you hear a winner's buzzer, he hums in approval and releases before gorging his lips around the other one, gently guzzling it this time, skillfully whirling his wet appendage around the nub in combination with hungry sucks. He unloosens with an obnoxious, wet pop!
“M’so glad your mom married my dad. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be able to take care of my little sister’s pussy like how I’m doing now. Wouldn’t that be so sad?!” He inquires gleefully. “I’d be so miserable–jerking myself off to meaningless porn when I could be stuffing my big dick deep inside your aching cunt. Hearing you moan out how much you love your older brother for making you squirt your sticky juices all over me. You even got your hairs trimmed in the way you know I love.”
The sound of fabric grinding against fabric fills your ears as he maneuvers his head to reach down to your pelvis, stuffing his nose on top of the shortened pubes, his mouth hangs dangerously over your clitoris.
He takes in a deep breath like he’s smelling the fresh air of healthy trees and freshly cut grass, basking in your heady scent while feeling his cock go rigid in the plush of your mattress.
Too aroused to feel embarrassed, you buck your hips so you can finally get his mouth on your itching button and he finally compels, switching between sucking in your clitoral hood and tonguing your labia. Satoru moves his fingers faster in hopes of provoking your climax. He knows your proximity by noting the way your thighs tremble and toes spread across your sheets.
You finally get to the stage you’ve been craving since the beginning of this session. Releasing your fluids onto your awaiting boyfriend, the grip at the nape of his neck more powerful than before, you squeal a brief ‘Satoru-nii!’ as he proceeds to lap at your overstimulated pussy. He’s now sparkling with your juices. Satoru sits up on his knees after wrapping his buff arm around the width of your shoulders to hoist you up and get you closer to his thighs, your figure remains seated as you process what he wants you to do–he wants you to suck him off.
So you lean your sweat-stained face over his clothed member and unwrap it like a Christmas present you’d save for last because it's so big. His cock springs up rudely and smacks at his now naked abdomen (when did he take off his shirt?) with a loud clap. His abs are so detailed and his pecks puff out in pride while he looks down on you, like his little servant.
He controls the length of his cock with a stern hand and traces ivory white lipstick over the plump of your mouth, a hazy web of precum connecting to your upper lip.
“Wrap those beautiful lips over my cock, darling angel. You know it makes me happy to see you stuffed full with my dick, no matter the hole.” He cheeses when he hears a quick scoff come out of you.
You listen anyhow, swallowing the tip of your big brother’s rod, hallowing your cheeks like a skeleton to circling your tongue around its rosy circumference. You feel your remaining cum dribble onto your bed when you hear him make a guttural moan from above. Clenching his ass cheeks as fingers place themselves on top of your head like an armrest, laying idly as of now.
“Oh shit, baby, yeah, just like that. Keep sucking me off juuust like that.” He bucks his hips impatiently once you decide to devour him up to the mid-base, continuing the actions of sucking in your cheeks to tighten around his cock. “Fuck!” He mewls before chuckling humorlessly.
He stares down and you look up. Your eyelids roll back til they’re just below your brow ridge to catch sight of azure undertones. You were just about to wonder why he was tittering until pressure made its way to both sides of your head. When his pearly white smirk twinkled under dim lighting, that's when you knew-
“Hmphh,” The noise was pitiful when subdued by the heavy weight of Satoru’s cock.
“Hold still, pretty girl.” He coos before pushing his hips back and applying the same manner to your head as he controlled you effortlessly and then thrusting forward and forcing your head to do the same. His balls slap on impact with your chin when he buries himself deep into the hot cavern of your throat, you have your nostrils planted on the silvery wisps of his pubes, reeking of potent masculinity. He leaves you in that position, powerless as he ignores the smacks to his meaty thighs.
“Hold it,” He warns. His voice is pitched below the Earth’s surface. “Gotta teach you how to please big bro properly.” You fight hard as his tip keeps irritating the thing that hangs at the back of your throat, trying to oppose your body from naturally activating your gag reflex but it ends up being fruitless. Your throat convulses as it bulges with his cock print and you cough out an ugly sound. Your vision blurs once you feel your eyes start to water up. You want him to move back already!
“Good.” It’s like he heard your thoughts because he finally retracts from his perfect spot lodged in your gullet. His swollen tip tickles the surface of your lips as you gasp several breaths of air. Just what was he thinking? You could’ve puked!
“What the hell was- mmph!” Halted by another intrusion of his cock burying itself in the pits of your throat, you muffle out a sound of surprise. You couldn’t believe it.
Satoru starts, “Less talking from you, sunshine. I wanna hear you slobber on my dick. Think you can do that for me?” He quickens up the pace of his thrust, going at the speed of someone walking. You gag disgustingly at each thrust and you can feel snot starting to leisurely slip from your nose (just what he wanted to see).
“That’s a messy girl, my messy sister. Got you, hah, so worked up you even got snot dripping from your nose and your spit running down my balls. Oh, you don’t know how much I longed for this.” He resumes his praises and tips back his head for a howl, feeling himself approaching his end as he hears you glurg, glurg, glurg on his veiny member.
“Oh shit, shiiit…!” Suddenly, you’re abruptly pushed off of him, freeing your esophagus from the restraint. Your back lands on the bed with a thud, your landing protected by your doughy comforter. Satoru stands motionless as he recovers from edging himself to oblivion. Biting his lip, his cock twitches up and down before it gradually remains unmoving.
You don’t even remember it happening, but you’re already restricted underneath Satoru’s panting body, thighs folded backward for a mating press, squeezing your squishy tits together, and feet perched on top of his shoulders. He takes his infamous spot between your legs, his overworked hands, decorated in calluses and scars, cuff around the underside of your knees.
He gifts you a heated kiss on your lips. “‘Toru-nii-” You say while struggling to keep up with his tongue. He breaks away from you and the string of saliva snaps into two.
“I hear you, baby, want me inside you already, I know, hear you loud ‘n’ clear.” His tip finds your entrance and it's sopping wet tenfold. He’s never seen you so needy in his life. He pushes in slowly and smoothly. Relishing your moans as he delves within you inch by inch, his thick cock stretching you out deliciously. You squirm in lascivious desire each time he enters you.
“I know, sugar, I know…” He soothes you upon hearing your sobs go up an octave. His head rests at the empty spot next to your neck and his hair tickles the crevice. “Almost there.”
As soon as he sinks deep in your warm cunt, he pecks your cheek with a softness that resembles duck feathers in a pillow before plummeting into you. A pornographic squelch resounds through your room.
“Hnn, T-Toru-nii is, so deep, ah, in my pussy!” You yelp. He’s so glad you’re still following his gross footsteps. So dazed by his cock hitting every ridge nestled within you.
“Yes, that’s right, little sis. And you’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me, right?”
You give a nod, “Yes, I will. I always will. Just f-for you.”
“Mmm, that’s right. That’s what I like to hear.”
He inclines his torso backward, finding his attention on the feet placed at each side of his shoulders, more specifically, the one to his left as he grabs your ankle with ease, stroking the bone and putting your pedicured toe between wanting lips, your french tips hitting the roof of his mouth while lapping at your salty skin.
His pelvis hammers into you at a steady rate in combination with the gushes emerging from both sexes, it's so damn loud, you’re quite sure your Resident Assistant will come banging at your door frantically, telling you to lower it down because of the noise complaints that lead to your room.
You giggle, not just at the thought but at how much it tickles to feel Satoru’s tongue swirl around each toe.
“Satoru, that tickles.” You quip and the aforementioned man stares at you with knowing lids, purposely tasting your soles which have you trying to take your foot away, but the position you’re in makes it impossible.
You feel as though hours go by as your older brother pushes on with fucking you silly and having a makeout session with your foot. His v-line collides with your poor pussy on every steady beat and you can’t help but let your earlier accusations fall from your mind like slippery soap.
The revulsion, the distaste, the discomfort–all of which were confined in a silk-woven case, trapped and compacted hitherto its evolution of approval. Although tentativeness plagues its cycle, the result remains beauteous as a cherry red butterfly protrudes through the rotten surface of the cocoon. The successful escapee finally swarms the sky with a setting sun.
It feels good. You feel good. Your pussy feels good as your step brother pounds it with intent–with purpose. You wiggle like a fearful worm ready to be eaten once the need to release creeps up slowly.
“My little sister always manages to feel so good. This pussy is just gripping me so fucking tightly and-” He stops abruptly and so do your moans as you hear your front door creak open.
The sound of jiggling keys and the chaotic trembling of plastic bags alert both your ears as you hear the door slam shut accompanied by a relieved sigh. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand–‘10:35 PM’. One of your roommates is back from work. Coming home to rest easy from their enervating shift, she wants nothing more than to take a scalding hot shower, laze in her bed, and listen to nothing but silence as she drifts off to sleep.
But before those temptations come into play, she first wants to check up on you to see if you’re still in your room. Walking up sluggishly to your door, she raises a hand to prepare a few knocks while you and Satoru both stare wide-eyed at the shadow that occupies the crevice beneath your bedroom door–still like Michelangelo's statues.
“Hey, (Name), you in there?” The pause is long as you look up to Satoru and see his gaping mouth transform into a smirk before turning your attention to the door.
“Uh, yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” You ask, slightly hoping that your answer will satisfy her queries on your safety before retreating to her room.
“After work, I took a quick trip to the store for some wings and frozen pizza if you’d like some. Even got honey-barbeque-” You smile at her gentle antics. She remembered your favorite flavor.
“Oh, thanks, I really appreciate th-oh!” You’re stopped once Satoru resumes pounding your sloppy pussy. You cover your mouth in an attempt to conceal your yap but a strong hand grabs both wrists to cuff them above your head.
“Keep talkin', sis. Can’t leave mom pondering, now can we?” He whispered with precaution. That devious little-
“H-Hey? Are you okay?” The squishy slaps of both Satoru’s precum and your wet fluids compose a cacophonic symphony. Shit, if he keeps going, you’ll-
“Yeah, m-mhm. I-I’m, fuuuck, fine.” Satoru grins maniacally above you his hot breath pasts your cheek and into your ear. The tip of his cock abuses your cervix as he compacts you tightly under giant muscle, arms littered with bulging purple and blue veins as he keeps you steady. His pubes tickle your clit whenever his hips kissed yours. Both breaths were getting heavy.
“Are you sure, you sound…sick.” Her words were laced with worry as she stood there, unmoving. “Do you need for me to come in?”
Satoru finds her naivety hilarious but decides it's time to break the barrier. He does so by raising his hips to an exaggerated extent before hammering back into you, the sound much louder than before as clapping fills the atmosphere. He guarantees your roommate will pick it up. Which she does.
“Wait, are you-” She gasps when she hears your sobbing moans echo in her ears. “Oh my God.” You’re too fucked stupid to give a reply when she blurts out an embarrassed ‘sorry!’ before taking hurried footsteps away from your door.
“Guess we scared her off, huh?” Knowing damn well he was the one who only made the effort to let your roommate know you were being pounded to oblivion. “Think she’s gonna tell everyone about this? Tell everyone how her son and daughter ruin the family name because we were caught fucking each other in your room?” He’s quick to pick up in your roleplay.
“Hnngh, I don’t know, ‘Toru.”
“I’m quite sure she will. What do you say, sweet girl, how about we both give a real reason to soil the family name and let me come in this pussy?” His thrusts start to stutter with each filthy word–cream drips from your cunt and down to the tight rim of your ass. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you groan quietly.
“Answer me now, sweetheart, or Satoru-nii is gonna-”
“Yes, Satoru, fuck. Please come inside me, please, ‘don’t care about anyone in this family but you! Come inside me, Satoru-nii!”
With that being said, he fulfills your wish by giving you one, big thrust and stilling his cock deep in his little sister’s pussy to pump his hot seed in increments. Whimpering loudly as he does so. His face contorts in the cutest grimace that you wish you could smooch. You heavily breathe in unison until he pulls out of you (fingering his remaining cum back into your fluttering hole).
He kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and lastly your lips before saying, “You did so well for me.”
And it’s after this session that have you thinking–‘perhaps you do get it’.
#gojo satoru x reader#satoru x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader#satoru smut#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x you#satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru#jjk smut#jjk x reader#tw:stepcest#tw:foot/fetish#tw:dubcon
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Care
Summary: Joel gets sick and has a hard time letting himself be taken care of.
This can be read on it's own but it is in the same universe as Grays in which, Joel likes to be read to and held and have his hair stroked.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader
Word count: ~3.2k
Warnings: sick fic, Joel being bad at being looked after, descriptions of illness, Joel’s bad attitude, reader is implied to be from the south/Appalachia (and has an accent), food as a love language, food mentions and eating, minor internal angst
A/N: I’m out here living in the comforting Joel Miller universe, how are you guys? Seriously, though, thank you all for always being so patient with me while I take a million years to write something new. I love you and I hope you like this. I actually have two more things partially written in this 'verse so let me know if that's something you'd like to see too. I don't want this fic to wear its welcome out, especially since the reader is so specific 💕
A half melted trail of snow and ice winds it’s way from the front door to the living room. The stamp of familiar boot treads pressed into each watery puddle, the hills and valleys of the dirty slush left behind.
“Joel?” You call, unwinding your ice flecked scarf from around your neck before you toss your keys down on the little side table and let your backpack fall to the floor.
For a moment, the only answer you receive is the creak of the house in the brutal wind, panes of window glass rattling in their frames. You hang your scarf on one of the hooks by the door, and brush melting ice away from your soaked winter coat.
You open your mouth to call out again, when he answers you, voice graveled and strained. “In here, darlin’.”
The knot of worry that has been tangled in your chest all day eases just a little.
Joel’s been fighting off some kind of sickness for the better part of a week, reticent to admitting that he was feeling bad and even more adverse to letting anyone help him through—refusing to rest or let his shifts slide to someone else.
That morning he’d woken in a particularly bad state but insisted on going on patrol anyway, and in a veritable snowstorm that has yet to let up.
The storm had rolled in early that morning and the sheets of snow that had been falling all day have, even now, yet to taper off.
The visibility had been so poor, you’d half expected Joel to walk back through the door minutes after he said goodbye, without a kiss as was usual because he knows he’s sick even if he won’t admit it.
You hang up your coat and kick off your boots, carefully tiptoeing around the melted ice scattered all over the entryway.
That, more than anything else, tells you how bad he’s feeling.
Joel is good about taking his shoes off and hanging his coat up in the hall closet and keeping the ice and mud tracked into the house to a minimum. He’s particular and precise; mostly neat about things, aside from plates occasionally left out on the table, clothes left on the floor overnight, bed unmade for days.
When you round your way into the living room, you find him splayed out on the couch, booted feet on the floor to preserve the furniture at least, eyes closed, and still covered in a thin layer of mostly melted snow. His hair is damp from the elements, skin pale and flushed an uncomfortable shade of pink, an arm slung over his eyes as he breathes heavily.
“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter and cross the room to take a seat at his hip. “You look like death warmed over, sweetheart.”
He gives a weak chuckle and then swallows painfully, a cough catching wetly in his chest. “Mm.” He moves his arm and peels his eyes open, blinking lethargically at you. The circles beneath his eyes are a grayish purple, the skin puffy and dry with exhaustion. You make a sympathetic noise. “Go on,” he says, voice grating. “You can say I told ya so.”
“Now why would I go and do somethin’ like that when I can do somethin’ much worse?” You fidget with his coat sleeve and then rake your fingers through his hair, the strands soft and gray and damp at the ends from the snow and the fever he clearly has. “You’re just gonna have to let me take care of ya.”
He grunts and starts to sit up. “No,” he says, finality in his voice. “I’ll just get you sick—”
“Joel, if I was gonna get sick I’d be sick already, you’ve been fightin’ this thing for a week,” you push a hand against his shoulder to keep him in place. “And I don’t think you heard me right. I ain’t exactly askin’ here.”
He shakes his head. “‘M fine. Been through worse.”
“I know. We all been through worse. I’m still not askin’.” You roll your eyes, unimpressed with him. “Now quit fussin’.”
“I don’t fuss,” he grumbles.
“You sure don’t,” you coo, and reach for the zipper on his coat. “Sleepin’ on the couch in wet clothes ain’t gonna help anything, I can assure you a’ that.”
And he doesn’t fuss for once, maybe just slightly in defiance of your accusation, as you help him out of his coat and scarf and collect his gloves from the floor.
His breathing is labored when he sinks back into the couch again, eyes closed, lips parted because he clearly can’t breathe through his nose anymore.
“You need rest at the very least, Joel,” you murmur. “Please at least do that for me. I worry. I’ve been worried.”
He blinks at you again, eyes slowly coming open, and you have to wonder at how close to sleep he’d been again so quickly.
Maybe the key to getting him to ease into someone else taking care of him, is making it sound like it’s something to do with you, because he only nods.
Warm hazel irises disappear again, eyes flickering closed.
You touch his forehead and then turn to unlace his boots. “Sorry about the mess,” he says.
You work one boot off and then the other, massaging his ankle and then the back of his calf, the hinge of his knee. The hem of his jeans are wet. “A little water never hurt much,” you dismiss, hooking your fingers into the backs of his boots, the burden of his coat, scarf, and worn leather gloves on your other arm, and stand.
He catches at your wrist before you can turn away, thumb rubbing slowly over the inside of your wrist. “You really don’t gotta do anything for me.”
“I know it, Joel. I want to.”
“Mm.”
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and go on upstairs? You need help?”
He rolls his eyes and sits up slowly. “I ain’t that bad off.”
You’d like to disagree with him, since collapsing in a heap on the couch with his coat and shoes still on was a direct contradiction to that sentiment. It’s just like Joel to ignore the clear signals his body was sending him, and keep going until he couldn’t anymore, refusing help along the way.
You’re probably lucky he didn’t get lost in the damn storm; or pass out, fall off his horse, and break his neck.
“All right,” you pat his knee gently. “Get goin’ then. Be up in a minute.”
He groans when he stands and moves towards the steps, mindful of the puddles still dotting the path from the door to the living room.
The stairs creak as he goes up and you listen for all the squeaks you know the places in the floor will make as he moves toward the bedroom, hanging his coat and lying out the scarf and gloves to dry, boots left in their usual place by the door.
When you find him in the bedroom, he’s still in his clothes, breathing deep and even, on top of the comforter.
He startles awake when you push your knee against his thigh, holding yourself above him on caged arms. “When’d you eat last?”
“This mornin’.”
“You need to eat. If I run you a bath, will you be okay while I cook somethin’?”
He circles an arm around your back and pulls you down onto his chest. “Just lay here a minute.”
“All right,” you murmur and pull to the side, so you can cradle his head in your hands, press your lips to his forehead and sweep back his hair, smoothing the damp ends behind his ears. “If you just listened to me you wouldn’t be this bad off.”
“I know it.”
He smells like ice and snow, leather and pine; skin and sweat. You’re hard pressed not to just bury yourself in him, let both of you fall asleep like that.
Joel’s breath is hot, overly warm where it presses against your skin in shallow swell, breathing raspy and pained.
It makes you ache with guilt. You should have put your foot down about him resting days ago.
His face is slack when you pull back to look him over, asleep again, though his arm stays tight around you, thick muscle bound across your back in a comforting band, the flat of his palm cupped against your side.
You shift until you can press your cheek to his shoulder and rub one hand over his chest, listening to the strained rattle of his breath in his lungs. Worry picks at your heart, the heat of his skin so potent you feel hot, though he keeps shivering as he sleeps.
Still, you lie there with him for a long time, curled next to his sleeping body watching the snow whip past the window, evening encroaching and then blanketing the world in black, crystalized snowflakes still snaking through the air. His heart beats as steady and strong as it ever has, familiar and comforting against your ear.
Eventually, you lift your head. “Joel,” you say softly, hand on his cheek. He jerks awake, looks up at you, eyes hazy and disoriented. “Bath? Then you can sleep a while longer and I’ll get ya somethin’ to eat.”
Your mind is running through every home remedy you know, anything to ease the discomfort.
There’s little to do but wait out the sickness, in this world. How easy you used to have it. Some part of you still feels the urge to get up and grab your car keys, venture out to your local pharmacy for cold medicine, a bottle of sprite, and vapor rub.
You’ll have to settle for forcing water and tea made from local herbs on him, homemade chicken noodle soup with half the ingredients substituted for something else at the start of Wyoming’s long winter, warm bath water and your own hand rubbing his chest.
“All right,” he agrees.
He follows you to the bathroom and waits patiently while you fuss over the temperature of the water, and then over him, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders.
It’s hard not to look at him, the shape of strong shoulders barred naked to you, the twist of tendon that leads into his collarbone from his throat, the muscle in the back of his neck.
But there are the circles under his eyes, too, the exhaustion in his gaze. You don’t look away from him, and he doesn’t shy away from you as you undress him, something unspoken between you as he lets you manhandle him, fingers brushing his chest and belly and the curve of muscle in his bicep.
Something burns in your chest, reaches desperate fingers out to him, though you can’t say what.
“The steam will help,” you say when he’s in the tub, groaning as he sinks into the water, gritting his teeth against the temperature.
“That’s an old wives tale,” he grumbles.
“It is not and all you gotta do is sit there either way,” you tug on a lock of his hair. “Holler if you need somethin’, and try not to fall asleep and drown.”
He huffs out a laugh that turns into a tired, phlegmy cough. “Yes ma’am. I’ll do my best.”
“Y’always do,” you say and close the door behind you.
Joel wakes with the memory of your lips pressed to his forehead fresh in his mind, and the promise of soup after a nap. He feels a little better with the sleep, though every joint in his body joins together to form a dull ache that extends from the top of his head to his toes. A heavy pressure rests behind his eyes, though his chest feels a little clearer if still sticky with sickness.
Christ, the way he aches.
This cold or flu or whatever is worse than he remembers it being. He could have shaken this, kept going and gotten over it, a couple years ago.
Feeling his age maybe, becoming that old man he sees in the mirror.
He’s shivering again and wishes he was back in that too hot bath water, sweating out a fever.
You’d curled up with a blanket on the floor next to the tub and read from the book you normally only read to him aloud in the evenings, making sure he drank that cup of horrible tasting tea you’d bought him, watching him from the corner of your eye and fidgeting with your sweater sleeves until a thread came loose.
He’d have to do better the next time.
You might not ever admit it to him or yourself, but he’s given you cause to fret the last week or so, and really worry the last couple hours. It grates, but if it keeps you from worrying a hole through your favorite sweater, he’d just have to find some way to swallow the ache of embarrassment and trip of guilt that came with someone looking out for him.
This winter he’s come to realize that taking care of people is important to you too. You do it in a different way than he does. Feeding folks mostly but it’s also—wrapping a scarf around his neck, mending Ellie’s jacket with needle and thread, making sure he and Ellie have eaten and rested, cooking things from your memories of home for him and his and no one else, sharing that very secret part of home and of yourself—so he’d better learn how to get on with it or risk running you off.
Even if it makes him feel useless and guilty, it’s important to you.
He gets to his feet and makes the trip downstairs where he can hear you singing lowly, the sound of some long forgotten song—sounds of mountains and coal mines and cooking and a particular kind of life that you’d never get to have.
The kitchen is smeared with heat, fog stained and dripping; windows heavy with the dark of nighttime, wind and snow still howling past in a gray-white blur. He leans against the doorway, arms over his chest, and just listens for a minute, the pounding in his chest and head dying down.
“Hey,” you stop singing as soon as you sense him behind you, smiling at him over your shoulder instead. “Sit down, baby.”
And since he’s trying to be better about this and he likes it when you call him that, he does as you say and sits at the table. You push a bowl of hot soup in front of him and hand him a spoon. He can only faintly smell the salt of the chicken broth.
You lean against him and wait for him to try it like you always do when you make him something good, nose pressed to his hair. “Go on,” you encourage. “You need somethin’ in you.”
He takes the spoon you offer him, reaching back with the other hand to cover your fingers on his shoulder, squeezing tight as he takes a taste, hoping you hear what he always wants to tell you.
“Y’know I’d tell you it’s good, but I can’t really taste anythin’, darlin’.”
A kiss to his temple, hand on the back of his neck, brushing through hair that’s more silver than brown lately. It feels better than he’ll ever admit, like sunshine, something essential he’ll never know how to live without again.
You laugh, “Well, that’s real good to hear because I want you to drink somethin’ gross.”
He pauses. “What?”
“Keep eatin’.” Your hand feathers affectionately through his hair again, then presses to the back of his neck and forehead. “Fever went down, I think.”
“You’re gonna get yourself sick,” he says and tips his head gently away from your hand.
You sit down and pull your chair close to his anyway. “Little late for that, I reckon,” you say and push a cup in front of him. “Drink up, cranky,” you direct, and then lay your head on his shoulder, heavy and warm and soft.
“Gonna tell me what it is?”
“Poison. Puttin’ you outta your misery.” He can feel the movement of your jaw in his chest, like you’re one and not two.
“Cute.”
You hum and scrub your cheek against his shoulder. “My mom always gave it to me when I got sick. Honey and lemon.”
He pauses.
For all your cooking from your childhood, you never talk about home and he’s never pried about it.
“Lemon, huh?” He asks instead. “Well, color me impressed.”
“Saved some of the juice from this summer,” you explain with just a touch of pride. “Anyway, she’d get that in me, and some kind of pop, and then, soup and crackers. I tried makin’ it how I remember but we ain’t got any of the right stuff,” you chatter and then abruptly stop, voice thick.
“Anyway,” you clear your throat, though he wouldn’t complain if you went on. He’d like to know all that stuff about you, what your mother made when you were sick and what you were like as a kid and what exactly you think of when you think about home. “It’s supposed to open up your sinuses. Then maybe you’ll be able to taste the soup.”
He drinks it and it is gross, but he swears he can taste the soup better after. You smile, just a little triumphantly. He presses his knee to yours beneath the table. “My mama always did the same,” he offers after a minute. “Chicken noodle soup, no matter how hot it was outside and it’s always hot in Texas.”
You meet his eyes, gaze fond and full of something he can’t quite decipher. “Yeah?”
“Mm, and I guess I did the same with Sarah, too. From a damn can though, and burned it somehow half the time.”
When the dishes are stacked in the sink and the lights are flicked off, the whole house dark, you urge him back upstairs and into bed.
Rest, you say. He needs to rest.
He’s never been good at that, but he’ll try for you.
There’s a shiver climbing up the back of his spine again, the crush of a cough in his throat, but you burrow close like there’s nothing to worry about, and that eases something inside him.
There are worse sicknesses to be worried about. And if he gets you sick, he’ll just take care of you through it. He’d even try to make you soup.
You settle against him, and the pressure and warmth of your body against his chases away some of the ache lodged around his ribs.
Joel kisses your forehead when your breathing finally slows and peters out into something even and deep, hand fisted in his shirt.
He doesn’t sleep any, watches the night and the snow fall down and wishes nyquil were something that still existed. Still, twisted between your fingers ain’t a bad second.
💕 Thank you for reading! I would love to hear any thoughts you might have! 💕
774 notes
·
View notes
Note
i love the scarf too, it looks very deliberate. why does she have that? did Rose dress her in it or did she choose it for her form, or what?
I'm a bit confused about how Rose could 'dress her in it'...? Gems choose their own forms. Pearl chose that specific outfit, Rose had no say in it whatsoever.
Pearl usually has a much more obtuse Rose insignia on her than the other gems in general. Her first regeneration, it was on her coat tails.
This time Pearl chose to put it near her throat. The Watsonian (in universe) explanation for this is that she simply likes having it visible, and to her it rests close to her chest. It's a centerpiece of her outfit which is otherwise not very detailed.
The Doylist (meta) explanation is that I, of course, wanted that metaphor. The huge pink ribbon spilling out from behind the Rose symbol, over Pearl's heart, is also a part of that.
376 notes
·
View notes
Text
warmth in winter
Tara Carpenter x Reader
Summary: You meet with Tara on a cold day. She keeps you warm.
A/N: A very random drabble to distract my mind from the bigger projects a little. <3
Masterlist
New York was covered in a white blanket. Temperatures were frigid outside, the horizon with a soft white fog that didn't allow you to see much far.
It was one of those mornings where getting out of bed feels like a punishment and no matter how many layers of clothing you put on, it still feels like you were standing outside only in your pajamas as your bare feet disappear between the snow.
To put it simpler; it was cold, and it was snowing. And you had to go to class.
Truthfully though, it wasn't your chance at a better future that made you brave the unkind weather. It was the fact that, in that same university, you would see her.
Love does weird things to people; it makes taking a fifteen-minute walk holding your jacket close to your body as snowflakes kiss your cheeks feel like no trouble at all. Because inside, you're as warm as ever. That's how Tara made you feel; warm. Even in the coldest weather.
As you walked the stone path on campus, blowing hot breath into your gloved hands, your eyes roamed around in search of her. And you found her sitting on a bench, the one that stood under a huge tree — otherwise adorning vivid green leaves, now was all naked branches and fresh snow — she was sitting there, cross-legged and wearing a fluffy coat with an even fluffier scarf around her neck as her hair fell in waves over it.
You were smiling before you knew it.
Tara perked up as soon as she laid eyes on you, her cheeks and nose a deep red from the cold made the dimples on her smile stand out all the more, eyes twinkling at the sight of you. She got up and opened her arms for you in a silent invitation.
Your feet might be freezing, but your heart melted. You enveloped her in a hug that was arguably cozier than your bed; squeezing her into you and burying your nose in the fabric of her scarf.
Tara sneaked her hands under your jacket — she'd always been like this, wanting, needing to be as physically close as possible as if she had to remind herself daily that you were actually real. You could feel the coldness of her fingers through your shirt, it raised goosebumps all over your skin and made you squirm in her hold.
"Coldest hands ever," you mumbled against her.
Tara chuckled and you were able to feel the heavenly sound all over your body, feel the shape of her smile.
"I don't have gloves," she told you, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes.
It was something out of your favorite fairy tale; her dark messy hair contrasting with the white background, her pink cheeks, and her eyes crinkling on the sides because you made her smile.
Sometimes it was painful. It hurt just how much you loved her, but it was that kind of pain one can't have enough of. Especially when you could see that same love right in those gentle eyes of hers.
You reached for her hands until you could hold them in your own, the fabric of your gloves closing around her palms. You leaned down to place a kiss on her knuckles, feeling the cold skin there on your lips.
Tara took the opportunity then to cup your cheeks and pull you closer. She pecked your lips with her own, leaving traces of strawberry chapstick on the corner of your mouth. "Let's go inside before we catch a cold," she spoke before stealing another kiss.
You hummed, taking off your gloves, "give me your hands."
"It's okay, you don't have to," Tara shook her head softly, but extended her hands to you anyway.
Taking hold of her hands, you gently put your gloves on her, "I want to, I'm warm enough."
Tara's cheeks became rosier, if that was even possible; she had an endearing grin on her lips, her nose scrunching adorably because of it. She sheepishly looked down, flexing her fingers to feel the new fabric around them.
She took your hand in hers with a strong grip as you started walking towards the university. Her heart overflowing with a familiar warmth.
Needless to say, you didn't get your gloves back. Even if it was a bit harder to write with them, Tara didn't take them off during class, or when you went to grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria. And you were gifted with the adorable sight of Tara holding a coffee cup with both hands so it wouldn't slip her grasp as she tentatively took a sip of the hot beverage.
It was certainly worthy of a picture, so you took one, and every time you turned on your phone you felt that same burst of happiness. Love does weird things to people, but mainly, it teaches them to see the beauty in small moments that would otherwise go unappreciated.
You were snapped back to reality when a coffee cup was placed in front of you on the table.
Tara was smiling when she pulled her chair closer to yours to huddle for warmth, "got your favorite," she told you, her shoulder bumping yours.
Yes, that's what love was all about; her pink cheeks and dark eyes shining under the dim yellow lights of the cafeteria, your gloves on her hands when she intertwined her fingers with yours.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3
Tara’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us @alexkolax
#tara carpenter x reader#tara carpenter imagine#tara carpenter#scream#tara carpenter x you#tara carpenter x fem reader#taracarpenteredit#imagine#fanfic#fluff#angst#tara carpenter fanfic#jenna ortega#jenna ortega x reader#my story
933 notes
·
View notes
Text
Introducing my designs for Blue and Axe/Horror in the little AU i've been brainstorming!
I wanted to add a few details that would make them distinct enough for the AU, and at the same time keep enough design elements to still make them recognizable.
Here's some more of my ideas for the AU!
The stars all wear a gold star-shaped pin somewhere on their clothes (Blue on his scarf, Ink on his bandolier, and Dream swapped out the pink brooch thing holding his cape). Ink made it for them.
Similarly, the bad sanses wear a brooch that's shaped like a sharpened bone over a crescent moon, given to them by Nightmare.
Upon first arriving in the classic universe, Blue and Axe actually don't recognize each other because they usually hide their pin/brooch when in their own universes (for safety and secrecy reasons). Without those, they're pretty much unrecognizable from other Swaps and Horrors.
In fact, one early arc that I have planned will be focused on Blue and Axe thinking that they're the only one in the stuck-in-the-classic-verse group that's fully aware of the multiverse. It isn't until a bit later that they recognize each other.
#undertale#utmv#undertale multiverse#swap sans#underswap sans#swap!sans#horror sans#horrortale sans#horror!sans#undertale au#au sans#fanart#myart#coming up: designs and hcs for the rest of the stars and bad sanses hopefully!#this is just my excuse to finally draw the bad sanses tbh#the brainrot continues#keuwi talks#parallel synthesis
291 notes
·
View notes
Text
Linear Lines (Part 2 of Clerestory Rendezvous)
Yoo Jimin x Reader
GENRE: fluff, angst
TYPE: Two Shot, Request
You can find the first part, Clerestory Rendezvous here
You, adorned with a white scarf delicately wrapped over your shoulders, swiftly pulled into the parking lot of the familiar cathedral.
The soft sunlight cast a subtle warmth before yielding to the November breeze's chill, prompting a shiver as you stepped out of the car.
Cursing inwardly at your tardiness, a soft jingle emanated from the blue bracelet on your wrist. You hastily brushed through your wavy hair before ascending the stony stairs that seemed to lead directly to the cause of your heart nearly leaping out of your chest.
Standing before the towering wooden doors, you took a sharp breath before gradually walking in, the echoing of your footsteps resonating abnormally loud within the hushed limestone walls. It had been a while since your last visit, and the thought of Jimin standing under the clerestory windows clouded your mind whenever you returned.
Ethereal glitters from the sunlight scattered through the clerestory windows, painting the marble floors with colorful hues. It was just as beautiful as you remembered, but the reason for your breathlessness was not the cathedral; it was the girl standing in front of the candlelight, a breathtaking smile gracing her lips as she stared at you.
Your heart lurched at the sight of Jimin, momentarily stunned by her presence. Snug in a woolen grey sweater, her hair now back to a raven black, with perfect bangs framing her face, she looked even more enchanting than through your screen. Despite countless FaceTime calls and watching all of her comeback videos, seeing her physically in front of you caused your brain to short-circuit.
"Are you just going to stare at me all day?" Jimin laughed, her nose scrunching adorably at your frozen state.
Your eyes scanned her face, your heart tingling at the sound of her heavenly voice, yet you remained rooted in place.
With another adorable giggle, Jimin took a few steps forward and reached down to tug at your hands.
"Y/N-nie." She gently pulled you closer, hoping to break you out of your trance.
Her long arms wrapped around your waist as she put her chin on your shoulder, burying her face into your neck.
She deeply inhaled your floral scent, tinged with the familiar faint trace of pastels. Her eyes closed in contentment to finally have you close in her arms after months of longing. The past year had been tough on the idol, with continuous comebacks and endless traveling for performances. AESPA's popularity had soared, and her company insisted on maintaining the momentum. She had barely enough time to sleep, let alone visit you.
The feeling of her hot breath on your neck finally broke you out of your trance. Your arms automatically reached up to pull her closer, eliminating any distance between you two.
"I missed you," you muttered, your voice slightly muffled by her hair.
Jimin pulled back, grinning at you with soft eyes twinkling. She cupped your face with warm hands, gently caressing your cheeks, leaving a soft tingle in their wake.
"I missed you more, jagi."
Unable to contain yourself, you looked into her eyes, feeling like you held the galaxies in her universe. Your eyes shifted from her soft honey hues to her full pink lips. Before you could initiate a kiss, she placed her forefinger on your lips, halting you.
"Let's not blind God with our kisses," Jimin giggled at your pout, pulling you along as she walked out the doors.
Leading her to your car, hands intertwined and swinging between you, she was confused to see you stop in front of a sleek black vehicle.
"New car?" She asked.
"Yeah, thought you might've been tired of sitting in my beat-up truck. Last time, you got paint all over your expensive dress," you laughed, turning to look at her.
"I like the truck. It had its own charm," Jimin said, reaching up to play with the hairs at the nape of your neck.
With soft sunlight cascading on her pale skin, making her light freckles barely visible, you couldn't help but bring your faces closer, brushing her nose with the tips of yours.
"It had charm because you were there," you said, kissing her eyelids.
You heard her take a sharp intake of breath, shivering slightly.
Jimin couldn't resist any longer and closed the gap between your lips. She pulled your face down, and your soft lips met hers. Sighing into the kiss, she felt your lips curve up in a smile. You allowed her tongue access without any resistance, shivering as it met yours. Gently pushing her, her back leaned on the car, ensuring there was no space between your bodies.
When air became a problem, you were the first to pull away. Jimin let out a whine in protest, her lips trailing behind yours. You laughed at her adorableness, looking at her once more. Her eyes were still closed, long lashes fluttering, and her lips were swollen, with her lipstick smudged. This messy version of Jimin was your favorite, and your heart warmed at the thought that you were the only one to see it.
“C’mon, pabo. We have places to be.” You messed up her hair a bit more, laughing at her as she cleared her throat and glared at you, trying to conceal how much the make-out session affected her.
You unlocked the sleek black car, and she slid into the passenger seat with a satisfied grin. As you settled into the driver's seat, Jimin couldn't help but run her fingers along the dashboard, appreciating the unfamiliar but luxurious surroundings.
"Alright, where are we off to?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
A playful smile tugged at your lips as you started the engine. "It's a surprise," you teased, winking at her before pulling out of the cathedral's parking lot.
.
.
.
.
As you drove, Jimin filled you in on all the things you missed for the past year. The drive was long, so you had stopped at the bakery she was obsessed with the last time she was there, for a few of her favorite Fougasse.
It felt right, with your hands intertwined and resting on her legs, as she fed you bits of her Fougasse (more like all of the olives because she hated the taste). It felt like home, and it seemed like she never left. You wondered if you were soulmates in your past life, as she appeared to understand everything about you.
“Are you plotting to murder me in a deserted place?” Jimin teased, a playful glint in her eyes, as you maneuvered down another empty country road.
Acres of land and grass stretched endlessly, devoid of any other cars in sight.
"Hush," you laughed, bringing her hand to your lips for a kiss as your attention stayed fixed on the road.
Her heart fluttered at the gesture; she wished for nothing more than for you to pull over and resume the previous make-out session in the backseat.
“I’m taking you to meet my grandma.”
Silence hung in the air as Jimin's mind raced with concerns. She felt immense happiness at the thought of meeting your family but couldn't shake the fear of potential disapproval from your grandma.
"You mentioned last time that you wanted to go somewhere in the countryside, so I thought it would be nice if we could stay at my grandma's for a couple of days. But we can go back to my place if you're uncomfortable. I'm sorry I didn't ask you first." Mistaking her silence for anger, you slowly pulled over to the side of the road, turning around to look at her with your full attention.
Jimin quickly shook her head.
"Don't be sorry. I'm just scared that she won't like me. I can't speak French."
"I already told her about you. The fact that you speak Korean definitely won her approval." You laughed, finding her worries endearing. "She always chastised me for my broken Korean."
Still uncertain, Jimin nodded slightly. Sighing, you cupped her face gently with warm hands, attempting to soothe her. You left a small kiss on her forehead, and she leaned in immediately for more.
"How can I make you feel better?"
"A kiss," she said without hesitation.
You grinned before pressing another soft kiss on her nose. "Better?"
Shaking her head, she pointed to her lips, a playful pout on her face.
Amused, you gave her a peck on her cheek. "How about now?"
She glared at you in feigned annoyance.
“I need a couple more.” Jimin said, grinning at you mischievously before locking her lips with yours.
Before you knew it, you were putty in Jimin’s arms, with her graceful maneuvering herself onto your lap, hands in your hair, and her teeth gently nibbling on your lower lips.
.
.
.
.
The drive to your grandma’s house took a bit longer than expected, the sun having dipped below the horizon by the time you pulled onto the pebbled road leading to the cottage.
Jimin stepped out of the car in awe, savoring the crisp, clean scent of the air and the picturesque surroundings. Your grandma's quaint two-story cottage, constructed from butter-colored bricks, stood proudly amidst a charming garden. Ivy adorned the exterior walls, lending an air of age and mystery. Jimin felt more at peace than she had ever been, far removed from the city lights and urban chaos. She was here, surrounded by the tranquility of nature, with you.
Gently holding her hand, you led her through the garden.
A thunderous bark echoed from the door, which swung open to reveal a large brown Chow Chow dog bounding towards you.
"Bear!" You laughed with excitement before getting playfully tackled to the grass as the dog showered you with affection.
"He’s been waiting for you for hours. What took you so long?" A raspy voice came from the door.
A frail old lady, with wisps of grey hair in a puff, leaned on the door sill with a cane in her hand. Her face bore the marks of time, yet her eyes gleamed with brightness. She exuded kindness and a keen elegance that you also possessed.
“Ah, that’s why.” Your grandma looked at Jimin, and then at the faint hickies covering the idol’s neck, a smile playing on her lips.
“She’s a showstopper. I don’t blame you.”
The raven-haired beauty blushed in embarrassment, her face turning a shade of red as she stumbled forward to shake your grandma’s hand.
To her surprise, your grandma pulled her into a warm hug. “You make Y/N happy, and this is all that matters to me.”
You observed the scene with adoration as Bear continued to slobber all over your face. The two most important people in your life were now together with you. There was nothing more you could ask for.
It turned out that Jimin's worries were unfounded, as she gained your grandma’s approval right from the start. Another point in her favor was when Jimin successfully brewed a traditional kimchi jjigae she had learned from her mom. Your grandma nodded in approval, giving you a wink and whispering, “You better marry her.” They conversed in Korean, at times too rapid for you to comprehend, but you didn’t mind.
Seeing Jimin so happy, her face flushed from the soju, and your grandma patting her arms in adoration, this was all you needed. The night passed quickly, filled with your grandma sharing embarrassing stories of your childhood and showing off your awkward baby pictures to the idol. It was well past midnight before your grandma retreated to her room.
“I love your grandma,” Jimin said, laying on your childhood bed, dressed in an adorable fluffy pink pajama set.
"And she loves you," you grinned at her before turning off the lights and settling in bed with her.
She immediately snuggled up to you, her nose stuck to your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. You shivered as her cool breath blew across your neck, goosebumps popping out at her close proximity.
You hesitated before saying the thing that had been on your mind for a while. You never really brought up the courage to tell the idol.
“But not as much as I love you.”
You felt Jimin still, not taking a single breath. Panic set in, worried that you scared her off. You weren’t together physically for much time, but you couldn’t help falling deeper in love with the idol.
The silence felt so long, but before you could open your mouth to change the topic, Jimin let out a small sigh of relief.
“I love you, too,” she said, giddy and her heart feeling like it was about to burst. “I wanted to say this for so long.”
You pressed your lips to hers, finding solace with her in your arms. The room was hushed as soft whispers of affection and the gentle rustle of clothes falling to the floor filled the space.
Neither of you got much sleep that night.
.
.
.
.
The two of you fell into an easy routine, as if you had been living together for half of your lives. You would wake up early, leave lingering kisses on her bare back as she snuggled deeper into your pillow, and start your day with your grandma’s hearty breakfast. Retreating to the study room or the backyard when the weather was nice, you'd begin your work.
After graduation, you had immediately joined one of the biggest event companies in Europe as their event illustrator, working on significant projects, particularly for the entertainment industry. As the Paris Fashion Show approached, your manager requested you to work remotely. The upside was that Jimin was scheduled to attend the show this year, allowing you to see her in all her glory, posing in front of your designs.
As you worked during the morning, Jimin would stir awake to the gentle knocks of your grandma on the bedroom door. Her frail voice followed, calling out “gang-aji” affectionately. Jimin would then indulge in a delightful breakfast and accompany your grandma for a stroll, often driving her to the early market for groceries and errands.
The afternoons were yours to share. You would then take Jimin on hikes with Bear, or take her to the lake nearby for a picnic and charm her with all of your random survival hacks you learned from Girl Scouts. The days passed filled with love, laughter, and soft kisses. The initially planned two-day stay was extended to another two weeks, and soon, you were to return to the real world.
You noticed Jimin becoming less affectionate as the day of your departure neared. Despite trying not to think too much about it, you couldn’t help but overthink that this might be your last trip together.
“I don’t want to leave,” Jimin sighed, seeking solace by lying on your lap, her hand idly caressing Bear's large head.
“Hmm?” You answered, concentrating on sketching the idol in your lap, biting your pencil as you stared at your art in your sketchbook.
Jimin waited patiently for you to complete that final stroke, a gentle smile gracing her lips. The days with you had only deepened her affection, and she wondered if she could return to the months of separation. She had started to intentionally distance herself, preparing herself for the impending drawbacks of leaving France, and of leaving you. Tomorrow, you were scheduled to head to Paris for final checks on the fashion show site, while she had meetings lined up with her agency and manager to prepare for the fashion show.
Setting aside your sketchbook, you gazed down at her, brushing soft strands of hair from her face. Jimin looked healthier, dark circles erased, and a few healthy pounds gained, giving radiance to her face.
“Do we have to go tomorrow?” Jimin pouted, her face contorted into a grimace.
“Unfortunately, yes. But we can always come back whenever you want, baby.”
The idol’s eyes lit up at your comment, but immediately dampened as she thought about the upcoming schedule. Another comeback was scheduled, which meant less time to see you.
"When are you leaving France?" you finally asked, carefully inspecting your girlfriend's expression.
This had become a touchy subject, always leading to small fights whenever you brought up her schedule, so you started to avoid talking about it.
Jimin avoided your eyes and continued to stare at the sky, “Right after the event.”
You nodded in understanding, trying to push back the lump in your throat at the thought of saying goodbye.
“Do you know when your next break is? I could go visit you.”
Jimin simply sat up and harshly said, “No idea,” her eyes burning with frustration.
The conversation immediately changed moods. Jimin didn’t mean to lash out, but this has been bothering her for quite a while. She hated the idea of having to go on days without seeing your face again, she loathed the fact that she could possibly never step out of the spotlights, and most of all, she abhorred herself for thinking that you are just a dream too good to be true and something she would never be able to fully be with you.
Slightly taken aback at her reaction, you nodded, trying not to show your hurt.
“It’s okay, we can figure it out.”
You were met with silence.
.
.
.
.
After a tearful goodbye with your grandmother, Jimin and you got into the car in the early hours of dawn. The drive to Paris was a quiet one, with only the soft hum of the car engine accompanying the two of you as you navigated the familiar roads. The atmosphere inside the car was heavy with unspoken emotions, the looming thought of reality dampening Jimin’s emotions. It seemed that the closer you got to the event, the more closed off your girlfriend became.
Jimin stared out of the window, lost in her thoughts. The country roads slowly changed to the highway, and the trees and sunshine were replaced by the bustling city skyscrapers. She couldn't shake the feeling that her dreams and yours were diverging as you navigated towards reality. It seemed like the past weeks with you were just a dream after all, something Jimin could never have. She wondered if she would ever be able to see your grandma again.
As you parked the car in front of your hotel—shabby but clean, all you could afford—the silence lingered. You exchanged glances, both hesitant to address the unspoken tension that hung in the air. Jimin's eyes, once filled with love, now held a mixture of longing and apprehension.
Once inside the room, you turned to Jimin, searching for words that could hopefully bridge the growing gap between you. She met your gaze, her eyes a stormy black, exposing the internal struggle she was facing.
"I'm sorry," Jimin whispered, her voice barely audible.
You approached her, gently cupping her face in your hands. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Jimin. We'll figure this out, together."
“I just…I just don’t think I can handle being away from you for that long again.” The idol muttered, eyes slightly tearing up.
“Don’t think about it.” You leaned over to kiss her tears away. “We’ll be together in no time.”
“Will we?” Jimin’s voice raised an octave higher in frustration, “I have another two comebacks scheduled, and you’re here working. Is the next time I get to see you another year later?”
You stepped back, rubbing your forehead, trying to calm down your temper. You knew Jimin was not lashing out at you; she was just insecure about how things were.
“What do you want me to do, Jimin?” You asked, knowing full well what her answer was going to be.
She hesitated, wringing her hands in nervousness and desperation. She knew that the moment she voiced her thoughts, things will never be the same.
“You could leave with me. Go back to Korea with me.”
You raised your voice, furious at how selfish her request was. “I can’t just leave my job. I can’t just follow you around like a lost puppy.”
“Well, I can’t just quit being an idol.” Jimin's voice cracked, her body swaying as she tried to comfort herself.
She looked so small, so defeated, consumed by her thoughts and the overwhelming sadness.
As her tears fell, a sharp ache rippled through your chest. Seeing her cry like this, witnessing her pain over you, tore at your heart. You couldn't bear it. You pulled her back into your arms, but this time, the embrace felt heavy with the weight of uncertainty.
“Shh…I’m sorry, baby.” You stroked her hair, trying to stifle her sobs.
“It will take us some time to figure things out, but I promise I will find the time to visit you as much as possible, don’t worry.”
“You’re still here, and somehow I already miss you.” Jimin cries into your chest, shaking uncontrollably.
“The past weeks with you made me want nothing more than to be with you every second of the day, but I keep feeling that our lives are so different, like we’re just two parallel linear lines.”
Your heart crumpled at her confession; you could feel it break into a million pieces at the thought of her doubting that your lives are never meant to be intertwined. Perhaps she was right; perhaps you and her were too different, but you were adamant about making this work.
You loved her too much to give up.
“We’ll make it work.” You whispered, but even the promise sounded hollow to you.
As you dropped Jimin off at the luxurious hotel booked by her company, her words of linear lines, of being parallel, kept echoing in your ears. Jimin was a child of stardom; lights followed wherever she went, and you felt that she deserved nothing but the best. and the stark contrast between her grandeur and your shabby hotel, along with your grandma’s run-down cottage, struck you with a painful realization. The nagging thought at the back of your mind of never being enough now loomed large, wavering your confidence.
It was ridiculous how you actually believed you and Jimin were meant to be together. Your life has been parallel since the start.
“I’ll see you soon.” You said, as Jimin slowly unbuckled her seatbelt.
She nodded, trying her best not to cry. This felt more like a goodbye than a see you later, but she wasn’t ready for either.
Jimin leaned over and pressed her lips on yours, trying to convey her love to you. She hoped you understood. She hoped that this wasn't the last.
“I love you.” You muttered against her lips, tasting the salt of her tears.
“I miss you.”
As Jimin walked away, disappearing into her towering hotel, you were left sitting alone in your car. The echoes of shared laughter and whispered confessions lingered, an unforgettable imprint of a love that tried to fight against boundaries.
You didn't fail to notice how her bracelet was situated neatly on the dashboard in front of the passenger seat.
.
.
.
.
“Karina! Karina!”
“Look here, Karina!”
“Turn for us!”
Shouts could be heard from the crowd of flashing lights as Karina walked down the red carpet. She moved towards her band members with grace and confidence, poised with precision, dazzling everyone with her beauty.
A faint smile could be seen on her face as she looped her arms with Winter and posed for picture after picture. But you knew her well enough to notice her hand shake slightly in nervousness and the way her eyes tightened when her ex-lover wrapped her arms around her waist for another picture for the scandalous tabloids.
Your heart throbbed in pain, wanting nothing more than to cross the sea of people, breach the barriers, and pull your Jimin into a comforting embrace. But she was no longer your Jimin; she was Karina.
Just as you predicted, she seamlessly blended with the tone and manner of the event decorations, as you had based everything on the thought of her. Karina appeared angelic in her white gown, fitting perfectly with the theme. The soft, colorful glitters of the chandeliers, meticulously designed to replicate the clerestory windows where you first met, cascaded onto her silhouette. She looked unbelievably celestial, almost too perfect to be real. A year ago, you thought she belonged in the Musée du Louvre, and tonight she confirmed that.
As she gracefully moved towards the event, you stood quietly by the walls, dressed in black attire, attempting to blend in as an event worker, avoiding notice from the crowd. Hundreds of people separated you from her, all eager to catch a glimpse of the captivating ethereal being you had come to know so intimately, yet remained a mystery.
And then it struck you.
Karina was the art, and you were just another person in the crowd, admiring her from a distance.
You were hers, but she could never be just yours.
You were linear lines, just never meant to intersect.
Well...this ended differently than what I had planned 😬
For all you fluff lovers, I'm sorry 🥲 I couldn't stop myself
#karina x reader#yoo jimin x reader#aespa x reader#gxg#kpop fanfic#kpop imagines#wlw#kpop#angst#fluff oneshot#request#wherethefireliliesgrow#angst fic#fluff#kpop fic#karina#aespa#one shot#fem reader#yoo jimin#yu jimin#girl group#kpop x reader
162 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cold, coffee and Persian food
Last week, I had a medical appointment in my old university area, and had to take the train and metro to get there. While waiting for my appointment, I ordered cappuccino at Caravane Café, and later, met with my sister for lunch at Resto Café Safran+ for Persian food and tea.
Outfit rundown
Coat: second-hand Mary Magdalene
Dress: second-hand Métamorphose temps de fille
Scarf: second-hand Pink House
Hat: vintage
Bag: second-hand Métamorphose temps de fille
Shoes: thrifted
Tights: Heattech by Uniqlo
#fashion#egl#egl fashion#classiclolita#lolitafashion#jfashion#vintage#vintage style#vintage fashion#retro fashion#retro style#metamorphose temps de fille#mary magdalene#alternative fashion#second-hand fashion#sustainable fashion#fannyrosie#fanny rosie
358 notes
·
View notes
Text
Got a Lotta Lovin' to Do (A Scarf Universe Story) ❤️🔥
Okay, sooooo...this just came to me in a strange fit of inspiration this week. It's naughty but also a little sweet in concept. It may not be for everyone, so let's say it's currently canon adjacent for the Pink Scarf Universe...
This takes place a few months post A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving, in February of 1978. Yes, I know, we make it to '78 and there is something both heart wrenching but also wonderful in that, isn't there?
I wanted something that felt real but also a bit indulgent, and also wanted to bring our spitfire Sandy back into play. In fact, I made it from Sandy's perspective, which was a bit challenging considering the use of second person, but hopefully it makes sense!!
Premise is that Reader is in a fix, desperate to coax a very nervous Elvis back into her bed, and enlists her best friend Sandy to help in an unorthodox way.
Anyway, I'm a bit nervous about this one 😬 and am just sort of testing the waters as a preview, so let me know if you like it and want me to continue it! (Also, the turnaround was fast, so please excuse the semi-rough edit/revision! 🙏🏼)
xoxoxox, Madi 💗
(listen, I know this pic is much earlier than '78, but the vibe is right and the hint of silver at his roots seems applicable and has me in a chokehold, so bear with me here...)
TW: sexy smutty stuff, heading towards a threesome (mff/fmf), mention of medical issues/trauma, sassy Sandy, silver fox Elvis!!🦊
Got a Lotta Lovin’ to Do
February 1978
“Darlin’, you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?” he asks you. Elvis’ eyebrow is halfway to his hairline and he sounds more incredulous than hopeful, but Sandy can see the twinkle in his eyes when they slide over to her. It’s more than a cursory glance, one filled with questions and a latent heat. She wrestles with the urge to fidget under his gaze, clenching and unclenching her fists instead of looking away from his scrutiny.
She’s certainly never been one to back down from a fight, not even with the enigma that is Elvis Presley.
Especially not with him, she thinks.
But Elvis has never looked at her like this before and even knowing him as long as she has, she isn’t unaffected. Despite everything he’s been through this past year, he still has the ability to level a woman with a look, she’ll give him that.
His eyes slide back over to you, and Sandy can breathe again. It’s gonna be a long night, she thinks, if a mere glance has her feeling so exposed.
You nod, biting your lip, and she knows how nervous you are, how desperate you are for this to work. She grabs your hand in solidarity and you squeeze it in return.
If it were anyone but you, she wouldn’t have agreed to this. It is much too messy, but extraordinary people and circumstances call for extraordinary measures, and being in Elvis’ world has always meant living in shades of gray.
Sandy knows she’s the only one you’ll trust with this. For as much shit as she gives Elvis, she loves and cares about you both deeply, more than she might voice in mixed company. And you know she understands why this is so important.
Now the two of you just need to convince Elvis of it, too. Though by the increasing level of tension in the room and the way he adjusts himself in his seat, Sandy doesn’t think it’ll take much persuading.
He cuts quite the figure, sitting there in the plush, golden, velvet chair with his bejeweled fingers tapping a slow and steady rhythm out on the arms. After what happened last summer, he’d finally let his hair grow out to its natural color, the salt-and-pepper combined with glinting silvery streaks. It’s incredibly striking, giving him an even more handsome and regal air than before, if that’s possible. With his new post-recovery regime, he is looking good and, according to you, feeling healthier than he had in years. The result is attractive, to say the least.
But while that side of things improved, the sexual piece apparently has not.
Sandy and you perch on the edge of the bed, sitting so close you are pressed against each other, facing him, waiting for his verdict. Elvis takes in the two of you closely before sliding his eyes back over to her.
“And you, Sandra? You agreed to this?” His voice is laden with curiosity and surprise. She doesn’t blame him.
“Yes, with conditions,” she says, willing her voice to stay steady and calm when she’s feeling anything but.
He chuckles darkly. “Of course. I’d expect nothin’ less from you, honey.”
The endearment, one he’s used with her a million times over the years, now comes out laden and warm, sliding through her veins like liquid heat. She’s not sure how she feels about it, to be honest, but it’s a little late to turn back now.
Sandy looks at you for permission to continue. You nod.
“Okay, first, this is a one-time deal,” she begins, forcing herself to look him straight in those endlessly blue eyes.
His lips curve up with the beginning of a smirk and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s thinking. She thinks it’s funny how he’s posturing, considering the whole reason she is here is to help bolster his confidence, but she supposes over twenty years of adoration from females makes his response a habit.
Honestly, it’s the stipulation she’s the least worried about, it being there more for your sake than hers, and it gives you all an out if this goes south. But boundaries are good for Elvis. So she quirks a brow back at him until he nods.
“Second, no one hears about this. It’s a nonstarter. No bragging to the guys, ever. No one outside this room can ever know…especially not Jerry.”
This is the one she is most worried about. While her marriage to Jerry ended over half a decade ago, on relatively decent terms considering the circumstances, she knows this would cut Jer to the core, and that is not why she’s here. Jerry isn’t in Elvis’ employ anymore, but they are still good friends, brothers even, and she doesn’t want to ruin their relationship.
A cloud of seriousness falls over Elvis’ face, banishing his earlier mirth, and that lets her know they are on the same page with this one, despite his terrible track record of secret keeping. “Done,” he says with finality.
“Good. Third, I reserve the right to bow out at any time,” she adds.
“Honey, I’d never force you to do somethin’ you din’t want to do. Ain’t never been like that and ain’t startin’ now,” he says with surprising gentleness.
She nods, expecting as much. Taking a deep breath, she pauses before the last request, mainly because she can’t believe she’s actually saying it out loud. Might as well just get it done.
“Finally, your dick stays out of my pussy.”
He chuckles at your frankness while you choke, coughing wildly—she hadn’t warned you about this one. It’s more the principle of the thing, really. She is along for the ride, sure, but in the end, she’s mostly here for your wellbeing. And by the way he looks at Sandy with something akin to respect and nods as she rubs his wife’s back, she knows he understands.
You eventually recover from Sandy’s bluntness, turning your attention back to your husband with a hopeful look in your eyes. “So, is this…I mean…do you want to do this, baby?”
For the first time, you see his trepidation, his overwhelm of the situation only barely covered by his mask of humor. This is what you’d been talking about, this reluctance and lack of self-assurance. When you’d come to her about the fact that Elvis hadn’t been intimate with you since the medical crisis that nearly killed him, it made perfect sense. Not only had he gone through something terrifying, but his surgeries also changed his body in ways that must have been uncomfortable. Coupled with extensive recovery and weaning off old medications and starting new ones, it was a recipe for disaster in the bedroom.
Sandy knew you had to be desperate for you to ask her for this kind of help. You knew it wasn’t because Elvis found you unattractive or didn’t love you anymore—he was afraid he couldn’t perform, afraid he couldn’t satisfy you, and you were afraid you’d hurt him somehow. It was obvious your sex life had been amazing in the past, though according to you, it had dwindled the sicker and more in denial about things he’d gotten. But for you to invite her into the bedroom to put the spark back in their marriage wasn’t something Sandy had expected.
Apparently, Elvis loved some girl-on-girl threesome action and had indulged in such things back before you and he had finally gotten together. You were never entirely comfortable with the idea when Elvis brought it up in the past—the idea of sharing him didn’t sit well and knowing Elvis, he’d make some poor woman fall in love with him or someone would talk and you’d be in a fix, so the idea had been nixed before it could take root.
But now you were frantic and willing to try almost anything, which apparently included asking your best friend to fool around with you and your husband.
It’s a matter of trust, you’d said, twiddling your fingers uncomfortably in Sandy’s kitchen, tears pooled in your eyes. You knew she’d never talk, knew she’d never betray you, and most importantly, knew she could separate sex from emotion and would never fall in love with your husband.
It was all true. How could she say no to you when you needed her help so badly? So, here she was, apprehensive but intrigued, waiting for Elvis to decide all of your fates.
“You can just watch, baby, if you want to, or whatever, it’s fine,” you encourage him when he seems frozen and unable to respond. Sandy can see you both floundering in indecision and fear and can’t stand it anymore. She’s never been one for patience or inaction, after all, so without further ado, she silences your pleas for your husband’s attention with her lips.
“Oh!” you exclaim in quiet surprise against her mouth, your hands flailing a bit in resistance.
Talking about something like this and doing it are two different things, Sandy knows, but she persists, kissing you gently, hands cupping your cheeks, until you relax enough to kiss her back. She can’t help but feel a little gratification when you sigh softly and yield to her, your hands flitting to the curve of her hips.
It would be stupid to say she didn’t find both you and Elvis attractive, but never in her wildest dreams had it been in the cards to have either of you, so she’d never dwelled much on it. But now, feeling the weight of his gaze as she laps her tongue between your lips, testing your willingness to do this, her body lights on fire.
She pushes through the foreign feeling of being watched so intimately, knowing this is just as much about putting on a good show than anything else, but she didn’t expect it to be quite so tantalizing. Something about being the one to take charge sends a thrill down her spine. Dragging her lips down your neck to your collarbone, she knows she’s not imagining the rapid fluttering of your pulse under her lips or the way you lean back to give her more access.
You’ve never been with a woman, but she knows it’s been a long time since you’ve had attention of this sort from your man, either so when Sandy trails her fingers down over your breast, she feels the jolt go through you. Her moves are deliberate but slow, allowing you to acclimate, allowing Elvis to take in every movement.
She can’t help the warmth pooling in her belly when she palms the heaviness of your breast, pinching your clothed nipple and you gasp, arching into her with genuine willingness.
“Lord have mercy,” Elvis huffs quietly, and you both know you have him.
It’s much too easy, then, to unbutton your blouse, exposing the white lace bra underneath before pulling hers up over her head to reveal her own. You’d been clear about the white—apparently he gets all kinds of excited about little white underthings—and far be it for her to ignore such a titillating detail.
Sandy takes it upon herself to continue the play, pressing her lips to the soft skin of your décolletage, following the soft rise of your breasts before nuzzling and nipping at the dusky areola peek-a-booing through the lace. Mewling and pawing at her head, you are strung so tight Sandy thinks you’re not acting in the least.
It’s a little strange, this softness of your curves against her own, but pleasant. Moreover is the deep satisfaction in her belly at drawing little whimpers out of you as she kisses and reveals more of your skin. Even more surprising is the gratification of bringing something out of both you and your husband that has been out of reach for much too long.
Your fingers cart through her hair, manicured nails tickling her scalp in a way that makes her vibrate. She arches at the contact and looks up at you with a coy smile, sliding a hand up your smooth leg and under the hem of your skirt.
Elvis clears his throat, interrupting them. “Be good lil’ girls f’me and s-strip down to your panties,” he says in a gravelly voice Sandy has never been privy to hearing. A shiver runs down her spine, melting and churning with all the new feelings the evening is bringing. His tone is halfway between a need and a command and neither of you need to be asked twice.
Her inhibitions fall to the floor in a heap along with pants and skirts and bras. Never once in her life did she expect to feel Elvis’ heavy, heated gaze turned on her nearly naked form but now that it’s happening, she can’t help but squirm a little. She has nothing to prove and is usually confident in her skin, but she’s certainly not a young woman anymore, her body soft and curvy with the changes age brings. Her only consolation is at least the three of you are in relatively the same boat in that regard.
Sneaking a glance at Elvis, she is bit relieved to find his examination admiring rather than turned off. Though, considering he has two naked women ready to do his bidding, it seems the natural response.
“Don’t be shy, Satnin. I’m sure Sandra won’t bite toohard if you touch her,” he muses, those bedroom eyes of his flickering with lust. You giggle nervously and then look to Sandy for permission, which she gives with a nod and a reassuring smile.
Your caress is timid at first, then more exploratory of her body than she expects. Maybe it’s the resounding hum of encouragement from your husband giving you more confidence or just pure sexual energy and curiosity, but whatever it is has Sandy feeling delightful. A tweak of a nipple here. A soft tongue there. Hands and mouths finding a rhythm of pleasure.
Sandy palms your bottom, running her fingertips down along the seam of your white underwear, when Elvis cuts in, his voice thick with desire:
“Play with her an’ make her feel good, Sandra.”
Tingles erupt over her skin. She follows orders, sliding her hand down into your panties and through your soft curls until she reaches your hooded clit. She rubs gently, like she would do to herself, and you gasp in her mouth, body bowing to get more friction.
After a few moments, the unmistakable sound of a zipper clicks through the air. Her body suddenly burns with the scandalous nature of it all, and her excitement surprises her.
“Is she wet?” he asks Sandy.
Sliding her fingers down, she can feel the slick of your arousal on her fingertips.
“Yes,” she says unabashedly.
A pause.
“Are you?” His voice is low and dripping with honey.
A pulse of heat starts throbbing in her core, and for the first time tonight, she stumbles over her words, suddenly breathless. “I…I think so?”
“Honey, see if you’re makin’ Sandra excited,” he commands you, then with humor adds, “She apparently doesn’t know.”
Sandy throws a glare Elvis’ way but then your fingers are cold against the blazing heat of her muff, a sensation which makes her jump as you glide your fingers over sensitive, slick skin.
“She’s soaked,” you relay demurely, and all at once Sandy feels like the tables have turned in this little tableau.
“Show me. Both of you.”
His demand makes her stomach drop, like she’s on a roller coaster.
She feels disappointed when you pull your hand away, and the sentiment feels mutual. Both of you display your shining fingers in the dim light.
Elvis crooks his finger and beckons you both closer.
There’s no helping the curious way her eyes drift down and land on his dusky pink cock, the head peeking out from his foreskin, dripping and standing at full attention now he’s been released from the confines of his black pants. Sandy’s mouth goes dry when she realizes just how much nature has blessed him in ways other than his talent.
Is it wrong that she wants to touch it, to feel the heavy heat of him in her palm? To make him shudder underneath her touch? Perhaps so. The itch to torture him with her body just a little for every cunning remark and every dumbass selfish move he’s made in the last 15 years is strong and it makes her tingle just to think of.
He must read the look on her face because his eyes go a bit wide with something unreadable before narrowing with laser focus.
Her heart starts thudding against her ribcage, all the blood rushing out of her head when he wraps his large hand around her wrist, dwarfing it, and pulls her between his spread muscular thighs. Then he draws those glistening fingers of hers right into his mouth.
She gasps. Every nerve in her body is set alight with fireworks as he sucks her fingers clean of his wife’s arousal, his tongue warm and soft and oh-so thorough.
It’s her whimpering now as he pins her with his flaming eyes. Her breath catches. His mouth pops off her digits.
“Mmm…sweet as a sundae. You’ll see, Sandra Dee.” A slow, sly grin spreads across his handsome face as he releases her wrist.
Being on the other end of that devastating smile, especially in a situation like this, has her trembling. It pisses her off a little, actually, that he’s having this effect, and by the glint in his eye, he knows it.
Like he’s saying, Game on.
Then, he looks to you, pulling you close. His mischievousness softens slightly. Sandy is glad to see under the red flush of pleasure on your cheeks there is also a look of relief on your face, as if you are thinking, “Oh, thank heavens, it’s working.”
Sandy steps back, happy to give the couple space, but Elvis’ hand shoots out, latching onto her arm.
“Nuh uh, now where d’ya think you’re goin’?” It’s husky and playful but also fraught with an undercurrent of tension, as though he’s not quite ready and maybe a little nervous about being alone with his wife. He keeps his hand on her arm but turns his attention to you.
“Haven’t sampled another pussy in a loooong time, lil’ mama,” he drawls up at you, “Ya sure you wanna give daddy a taste?” His brow quirks, asking for permission, making sure you’re still comfortable with this arrangement you’ve surprised him with. The words are confident, but Sandy can hear the gravity behind them.
You nod encouragingly. “Yes.”
“Mm’kay then,” and then he sucks your fingers right into his mouth.
Sandy can’t help but blush wildly as she watches him savor her off his wife’s hand. And it’s positively obscene the way he opens his eyes and stares into hers brazenly as he does it.
Never has she felt quite so exposed. Arousal swirls in her core, betraying all her sensibilities.
Elvis runs his tongue under his upper lip after he’s done, where he lets it peek out at the corner of his mouth with a smirk. “Now ain’t that jus’ the cherry on top,” he purrs, eyes sparkling.
Sandy hates how she goes a bit weak in the knees at that. God, this man infuriates her, always has in that loving way of his, but this is a whole different level of understanding and intimacy she’s not accustomed to with him.
But whether she likes it or not, her body is absolutely buzzing with anticipation for the both of you, as evidenced by the way she clenches her thighs and the way her panties get just a little bit more ruined.
The motion doesn’t go unnoticed by Elvis, and his gaze darkens.
Oh, it’s gonna be a long night, alright.
A long night, indeed.
*
As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance!
Taglist Pt 1
@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood
@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23
@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992
@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley
@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love
@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog
@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley
#got a lotta lovin' to do#a scarf universe story#pink scarf#pink scarf universe#elvis presley#elvis#if you’re looking for trouble#you came to the right place#elvis presley x reader#elvis x reader#elvis smut#elvis fanfiction#elvis presley fanfic#elvis presely smut
73 notes
·
View notes
Note
LITA MAY LITA MAY LITA MAY
Ok ok so I have like a bunch of questions feel free to ignore BUT
I) she has a tail. Is that a Kraang feature or do all the turtles in your universe have tails and hers is just extended?
II) Uh pink? Pink like Kraang? Did she choose her life colors, or???
III) Is. Is she. Is she autistic too
IV) Draxum-Hamato sooooo what does she call them? Did they argue about nicknames? Also was it Donnie’s choice to include Draxum’s name as well
V) Lita in the comics???
VI) Is there a reason her shell isn’t smooth like Donnie’s?
VII) What does she call Renet?
VIII) Ninpo question mark?
IX) Pupils! I love the way you draw her pupils. Is there a reason or is it just fun
X) Does she have a certain resistance to Kraang mind digging? Like that thing they did to interrogate Raph in the movie? To read his memories?
XI) So the cloak/scarf thing is Leo, the purple accents and stripes are Donnie, and the kneepads are Mikey. Any Raph references in her clothes?
Apologies if you’ve answered these before and I just didn’t see them! Have a good day and give Lita one too for goodness sakes girl’s had it rough already
1. It’s more of a Krang feature. I do love when the turtles are drawn with tails, but I didn’t do it from the beginning, and so for consistency sake in the EW universe I’ve held off. Maybe one day I’ll just say “fuck it” and give into the urge to give them all cute little tails. But even if I did, Lita’s would be much longer than any of the family’s (except Raph’s hypothetical tail lol).
2. Lita being albino and pink in the IDW comics pretty much made that Krang connection for me lol. I didn’t have to reach too hard with her design. She leans into it.
3. I have her personality very close to Leo’s canon personality, so she’s more on the ADHD side. She does have some sensory issues with sound, which a lot of ppl with adhd have (👋🏻). But being raised around the quiet and solemn Time Masters Sanctum it’s like really noticeable. When she visits the family, it can be very overwhelming, but rather than shutting down, she gets insanely riled up and can’t contain herself. It works though—everyone is more than happy to let her ramble on.
4. She never met either of them but Splinter of course would’ve been Jiji and Draxum would’ve been just Grandfather. Nothing too out of this world lol. And yes, Donnie chooses to embrace Draxum’s name.
5. Sorry idk what exactly this is asking. Like yes? Lita May is based off IDW Lita, from the comics 😅 sorry if I’m missing the question.
6. She is a spiny soft shell like Donnie, but yes, her spines are significantly more pronounced, thanks to, you guessed it!
7. Master Renet, or Aunty Ren in a more causal setting.
8. 🤫 we’ll see (I’m still trying to think of something cool and not too OP lol)
9. Her eyes are just for design fun, and to link her to Donnie some more!
10. That’s gonna be another big 🤫, but less because I haven’t decided and more just for the big spoilers! 😜
11. She’s kinda got two outfits atm and I think I might end up merging the two. Her simpler outfit of just her wraps and mask are very Raph coded, so I wanna figure out some sort of middle ground with the two.
#rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#rottmnt doomed future#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#baby mayday#rottmnt separated au#separated au#Sep!au infodump#sep!au doomed future#ask slushie#rise Lita
124 notes
·
View notes
Text
some thoughts on dave lalonde
so note this isn’t a kidswap au, just a strilonde guardian swap au; a plausible au wherein dave’s meteor(s) are set to land in upstate new york and rose’s in houston tx where they are discovered by mom lalonde and bro strider respectively. so it’s not even really an “alternative universe” so much as “alternative circumstance” because that’s literally all that changes
their interests aren’t swapped; their interests are a natural result of a mix of what they were always predisposed towards (we can look at their post-scratch versions for constants) combined with their living environment. rose strider is still gothy and writes, knits, and has an interest in the zoologically dubious. perhaps rose might handcraft some delirious puppets for her brother-slash-ectofather’s enterprise as a ���gift” in one-upmanship. probably has good rapport with the crows that fly into her ironic knockoff disney-princess themed bedroom (see the post i linked above) and get them to fuck with bro passively in exchange for peanuts. she also keeps all the things the crows gift her, pickpocketed shiny things and whatnot
dave lalonde is still the knight of time, still makes sbahj, likes photography, still loves cooking up unbelievably ill jams, still into post-ironic expression, however he’s not irony-poisoned by bro so he’s more comfortable being genuine. his interest in dead things and paleontology comes more to a forefront because of mom’s predilection towards science and genuine encouragement from her. after all she’s made many a mutant kitten herself
i feel like since dave fell to earth with maplehoof, crushing the pony instantly on impact, instead of using its hide to make a bib like a fucking weirdo, mom would paradox clone maplehoof. so dave has a pet pony with a ribbon and little pink heart on it. a knight needs a loyal steed. and hes been attached to maplehoof since his literal first few minutes of existing. so maplehoof wouldnt be bought anywhere, it would originate from itself
i mean he’s seen with the pony at his side in the post-scratch universe so…..
would make sense if the pony mom gifted to rose in canon was more of an involved thing with dave in this circumstance
the only issue is maplehoof cant become his sprite, otherwise that would break the timeloop (they need to come unaltered to earth with dave on the meteor in the first place during the reckoning). also [S] Ride with dave and the scarf would absolutely be a thing at some point
i was thinking maybe instead of a crow, since they aren’t as “everywhere” in upstate new york as they are in that high rise in texas, dave has something more prehistoric put into a sprite. like a parave theropod. can you imagine parave davesprite. maybe an archaeopteryx or something
i guess mom would indulge in a living museum/zoo for “domesticated” ancient organisms all jurassic parked like a weird ongoing experiment but the ectobiology wouldnt be perfect especially because the dna wouldnt be able to be fully read from fossils and specimens. i feel like jurassic park should be dave lalonde’s sort of in-universe media reference the way con air was with john and putting the bunny back in the box. like his friends would just rip on him for living out jurassic park in an imperfect domestic way
and he accidentally kills it through some fetch modus shenanigans. dave still has the bladekind strife specibus but not because he does rooftop battles but because swords are unironically cool, and flings it out the window by accident and it strikes one of the parave theropods in the enclosed zoo below outside his window and dave feels kinda bad
when jade sees it as his server player shes like “oh nooooo :(“ and dave is like “oh god no dont put that in the seizure kernel while i take a piss in one of the many fancy bathrooms this household has”
#homestuck#strilonde guardian swap#dave lalonde#rose strider#hs#homestuck meta#however i dont know what dave(sprite) would have prototyped his sprite with before going back#because lil cal isnt there#but also john and jade would be dead so hed have to go back anyway#so i guess it doesnt really matter what doomed dave prototypes
229 notes
·
View notes
Text
Obedient bunny 3
Chapters 1, and 2 here are the links
Coriolanus Snow x Reader
Word count: 1.8k
A/N: This is the last one of the bunny trilogy!
After the events in the movie
Once Coriolanus had grown custom to his new living arrangements in the Capitol he soon started plotting how he would build his empire with the help of Dr. Volumnia.
He successfully poisoned Dean Highbottem an obstacle that passed and he was using anyone even the president and his wife believing how strong of friends he was with their son Sejanus foolish just like his son in the end believing what he wanted them to believe in the palm of his hands.
But something did linger in his mind, not Lucy Gray but a bunny he left behind a long time ago who he felt he needed to revisit, as he went to event gatherings among the elite he'd heard much about Y/n she didn't leave the publics eyes not once.
Y/n had been desired among all of her family titles, her beauty and wealth making people fight for her affection and attention left and right but from what's been rumored that she had locked up her heart from one fatal man, no one knew who.
But Coriolanus knew why and who that man was, it was him since that night he had made this bunny scared of finding another to love the way she had done with him once in her life.
The thought of his actions impacting her so well like an obedient bunny waiting for their master to return he had to see her all he had was the image of her in a nice dress and gorgeous face like a wild dream he knew when he'd see her again it feel like a fresh breath.
Sad girl
As Y/n went to gatherings and gatherings she soon became bored with it all altogether She made an appearance shining among others and was bothered by man after man to undo the curse that she had cast herself.
Since that night it felt like nobody could compare it to Coriolanuss's looks, his eyes his guard always up but when it came down to the two of them he let himself be vulnerable he was here there from Fiancd, friends, something more, back to strangers.
But it's as if she never expected it but also knew he wasn't here like she was always competing for something to win his eyes his attention she knew him she knew the way he'd stare at the Academy food acting like he wasn't hungry when he'd been starving for days and how'd she make sure to always pack a lunch for him he'd share them with grandmama and Tigris.
Was it all pretend did he put up all these acts to delude herself? She wondered to herself each night before bed at the center of the crime scene in her heart she believed that he'd open that door again and he'd be there his smile his curly blond mop locks.
But she knew it was hopeless and continued the role she had to play longing for the memory as she had built walls around her heart keeping her sweet attitude and never letting anyone she'd a tear.
Today was no different She had walked around the university in her pink winter coat with white stockings and her dress and warm boots hair straightened she made sure to keep in touch with his family, especially Tigris but when they had stopped sending letters in ended their.
Y/n entered the warm library her cheeks and ears were rosy she took out the books she needed sat down at a table began to study with some cookies always been one for sweets, shortly after the time flu by and she had lost the fight with her sleep slumbering peacefully on the table.
Coriolanus had needed to borrow a book from the university library he had huffed as when he entered the library he made sure to wrap his mother's scarf around him for the extra measure since it was freezing he soon found the book he was looking for but when he turned his head it felt Like destiny.
There she was his once-fiance the girl who was once his the one he took for granted sleeping softly hiding from the cold outside seeking slumber in the warm library he couldn't help but let a smile creep on his face as he made saddle moments as he took out a chair and sits down next down to his eyes strung upon her.
She soon made a huff in her sleep causing him to hold her chuckle scared to wake her up as she made noise in discomfort cold Corionalus took off his red coat and placed it over her hearing a noise of comfort soon her eyes began to wide open blinking yawning.
As she looked around her surroundings she saw blond moppy hair she recognized and when she looked him in the eyes her heart began to break again she swore she'd be ready for this moment but now that it was happening she wanted to run away.
“Why the face bunny I thought you be happy to see me,” he spoke with a smirk “I-I what are you doing here, your hair!” everything in her mind was disorganized even if her emotions were running around she couldn't help but smile placing her delicate hands on his face he responded with a smile
“Do you like it I mean it's not like my old look but I mean I don't have to fake my class” he responds I don't bat an eye away from his look his hair was different but he looked more like a gentleman I give a kiss of his cheek “so you do?” he answers being cocky “calm down you just look so handsome it suits you in glad to see you again?” I say.
“Really from what I've heard you've locked any romantic emotion toward someone surpisnlkg since that night I last saw you,” he says changing my mood he notices and quickly tries to fix his mistake “Hey, I didn't mean that I'm sorry I missed you too Im glad to see you again,” he says the sincerity in his voice.
I look back to give a small smile “Well are you gonna explain why in seeing you again you disappeared for a while now” I say as he sighs and begins to tell me everything (not the murdering parts lol) “I'm so sorry Coryo I can believe she just left you all alone in that cabin” I respond as I hold him close to me
“Well since I've been back I was able to improve our living conditions and get to go to university under Dr. Volmnia,” he says with a small smile making me frown as I hold his face with my hands “I'm glad to hear your life played out nicely at least the last part,” I say giving a lovely smile.
“Well, one part I want to achieve but I'm having. A hard time to make it more than a dream” he says chasing me to give a confused look and his smile just grows “I'm ready Y/n after everything I've been threw I want to have a life with you I want to be your husband” he says with confidence sending shocks my way as he gets up and on his knee pulling out a red leather box and opening it showing a diamond ring made to look like a rose my eye light up to it.
“Coryo how could you-” I say trying to figure out how much it costs I can't let him spend this much on me but he interrupts me “Y/n Will you be my wife?” he says looking at me with that stare of stare I cannot refuse I nod and kiss him as he places the ring on m finger sliding it on.
As they share this intimate moment his hands are on her hips and as she breaks the long kiss for a breath of air she looks at the window beside them “Croyo look snow falling!” She says with a sweet smile her voice like honey enlightening to the sigh as he watches her this was his destiny he’d make her his wife they’d have a family as he’d provide a life for her no man would be able to.
THE END OF THE BUNNY SEIRS!!!
#coriolanus snow x reader#reader#coriolanus snow#fanfic#tom blyth x resder#hunger games#peeta mellark x reader#finnick odair x reader#the hunger games#the hunger games x reader#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#tom blyth#fanfiction#fem reader#y/n
203 notes
·
View notes
Note
Christmassy idea idk if I’m too late with this but I just thought of it- Arthur dresses up like Santa to surprise Aspen and the new baby🥹🥹
* ˚ ✦ Starlight * ˚ ✦
pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader
word count: 900
a/n: Merry Christmas!! Thank you for this prompt, im glad you enjoy the little christmas universe.
cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: CHRISTMAS DAY!
christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist
“Aspen? Honey, I think someone's at the door.” You nod towards the threshold, a smile tugging at your lips as she peeks up from her seat at the table, abandoning her gingerbread men to look towards the door.
“Who momma? Is daddy home?” She asks, a little spark in her eyes at the thought of her father. You pull the curtain back gently. Starlight trickles in as you fight a smile.
“I don't know, baby. Why don't you bundle up and we'll go see.”
She nods, and you help her zip up her coat, pull the boots over her feet. You add a scarf and gloves too, always erring on the side of caution. Aspen is so sweet and patient, waiting excitedly to check outside. She waits until you scoop Iris from her bassinet, and bundle the two of you up.
The baby yawns, big blue eyes peering around, looking for her daddy no doubt.You smirk, holding her swaddled form close to your chest, leading Aspen towards the door. Your dog Bear rushes out first, barking loud, playing in the snow.
“Go on.” You smile warmly when she looks up to you, and then she pulls the door handle, revealing her surprise.
Snow falls in beautiful intricate flakes, coating everything in white, falling upon fence rails and the big red wagon that is stopped in your front yard. Sugar and Jasper, yours and Arthur's steeds, stand proud at the front, decorated with red bridles and harnesses.
The two horses bump their noses together, whinnying and entertaining each other as your husband– no, as Santa Claus himself steps down from the red wagon.
Arthur had been gifted the outfit from an old friend, a designer from Saint Denis; his name was… Wasp, something or other. The rest had been Arthur's idea. The beard, the wagon, he'd planned it all. You had let him go along with it, seeing how much joy he gets out of spoiling them, making Christmas magical.
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa calls– with a particularly southern drawl, you note– as Aspen runs across the yard, a fit of giggles erupting from her chest.
“MOMMA!” Aspen turns back to you, screaming. Her little cheeks are pink, a smile stretches ear to ear, “It's the real Santa Claus!”
You rock Iris in your arms, watching the scene play out. Wishing you could live in it forever.
Arthur helps Aspen climb into the wagon as she marvels at all the bells and whistles. She tells him how good she's been, how much she loves her family. She also tells Santa that her baby sister should be on the naughty list for crying too loud sometimes. Santa has no qualms with that one.
Iris is far too little to stay out in the cold for very long, so after her nose begins to turn pink, you nod to Arthur, signaling that you'll be stepping back in the house.
From your seat in the living room, rocking your daughter, you can see the pure joy in Aspen’s eyes. She sits on top of the wagon with Arthur, and he takes her for a ride around the property, talking to her all about Christmas.
Iris stirs when the door flies open, your little girl running through.
“Santa took me on a ride!” She hollers, pinks tinged pink from the cold. She pulls her scarf and boots off, dropping them by the front door, “He said ‘Goddamn!’”
Your eyes pop open wide, flickering up to your eldest, “He said what?”
“Yep! He tripped and he yelled Goddamn!”
“Baby–” You snort, covering your face with your hand, “Please don't say that word, okay?” You try not to laugh, knowing it will spur her to keep saying it. She nods, pure joy lingering in her eyes. Magic.
“Good, thank you.” You smile at her sweetness, “Go ahead and get in bed, honey. It's way past bedtime, and we have to get to sleep so Santa can sneak our presents under the tree before he leaves. I'll be in shortly to read you a story, alright?”
— — —
Bear’s head raises from its comfortable position as Aspen slides out of her bed. She knows it's way past her bedtime, knows that she should have stayed put, waited for you, but she can't help it.
She has Arthur's curiosity. She has your knack for mischief. The door doesn't creak as she pushes it open, little feet padding across the chilly wooden floor, down the hallway.
Ponderous eyes peek around the corner into the living room, going wide as dinner plates. There is a small pile of foil-wrapped presents under the Christmas tree, but more of her attention is locked onto the scene in front of the Christmas tree.
She gasps, her little hand covering her mouth, suppressing giggles. She runs back to her room, and this time, her little padding feet reach your ears. She jumps back into bed, pulling the blankets up, giggling.
“Bear!” She whispers, gripping onto his big face, “Momma was just kissing Santa Claus!!”
taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola @calcarius445
#divider by cafekitsune#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#red dead redemption two#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan x you#arthur morgan x female reader#bea's christmas countdown#cowboydisaster's christmas countdown#rdr2 fanfic#arthur morgan fluff
114 notes
·
View notes
Text
TRADITIONS
A/N: it was definitely time to bring our fav duo back and they are making a comeback with a very emotional little scene! special thanks to @harrysblackcoat for always brainstorming with me when it comes to this universe!
WORD COUNT: 1.6k
SUMMARY: Your family is expanding, but Harry fears Nan won't approve it.
MORE FROM THE NAN&HARRY UNIVERSE
“H? Harry? Babe?” you call out to Harry several times before he gives sign of even hearing you.
“Huh?” he hums, eyes glued to the road ahead of him.
“Your fingers will fall off,” you say with a soft smile.
“What?” His eyebrows knit together as he glances down at his hands and realize what you were talking about. His knuckles are turning white from how tight he is gripping the stirring wheel. He loosens his hold, but you can tell he is spiraling in his head. “Sorry, what were you saying?” he clears his throat.
“Babe, why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” you chuckle, placing a gentle hand to his thigh and his hand instantly moves to grab yours and lace your fingers together.
“I’m just… nervous.”
“For what exactly?”
“I’m scared what she’ll think. I don’t… I don’t want to disappoint her with our decision, you know?” He glances at you shortly and you catch the doubt in his eyes and you wish you could just take it all away so he could finally relax.
“You should know by now you could never disappoint her, she loves you like you’re her grandson.”
“That doesn’t matter, you can still disappoint a family member.”
“Why do you think she’ll get mad?”
“Because we are messing up the order of things.”
“There’s no order.”
He gives you a look that says ‘Stop gaslighting me, it’s not the right time’ and you give up with a sigh.
“To our generation there might be no right order, but what if she’s a lot more old-fashioned?”
“It’s gonna be fine, I promise,” is all you can say. You know whatever you’d bring up he would have a hard time believing you so he won’t relax until he hears it from Nan.
He pulls up to her house and when you get out of the car he grabs your hand and holds it tight as you walk up to the front door, ringing the bell. You didn’t tell Nan you’d drop by, you wanted it to be a total surprise, though the bomb you’re about to drop on her is a lot bigger than your unannounced visit.
The front door opens and there she is, in her flowery apron, her grey hair hidden under a colorful scarf. She looks like a real life fairy godmother straight out of a fairytale.
“Oh my God! Hi!” she beams when she realizes who’s on her front steps, holding the door open for the two of you.
“Hey Nan, sorry for the surprise, hope you’re not in the middle of something important,” you chuckle as you greet her with a hug, then Harry does the same.
“No! I was just about to make banana bread, but that can wait. Come on in! You want some tea?”
It’s an oddly warm day so you settle in the garden, Nan whips out her cute little teapot with the matching cups. Her beautiful cherry tree is already blooming, pink petals shower you every time a breeze runs through the branches. The garden looks just as fabulous as always, you’ve told her many times she should take photographs and put it online, people would love them.
“Our impromptu visit has a reason Nan,” you start, Harry’s hand gripping yours tight in your lap, his nerves are on the verge of snapping, you can tell.
“Oh, I’m listening!” she smiles and you turn to Harry, silently asking if you should say it or he wants to do the talking. He nods, clears his throat and takes a deep breath as he looks at Nan.
“Um, we have decided not to have the wedding this year,” he announces and his voice lacks his usual confidence.
“Really?” Nan blinks in surprise. “Why? Is there something wrong?”
“No,” you shake your head with a genuine smile. “There is nothing wrong.”
“It’s just that… We want to have it later, because we want another person to attend.”
You chuckle softly at Harry’s shady wording, because you know Nan won’t understand it, so either way, he’ll have to say it out loud.
“Is it a friend of yours, Harry? Someone famous? When are they going to be free?” she asks, so pure and innocent.
“No, it’s not a friend. This guest we want to be there is… our… baby.”
You can tell he is holding his breath staring at Nan, waiting for her reaction as his words sink in for her, complete shock taking over her face seconds later as she clasps her hands over her mouth with a shriek.
“Oh my Lord!” she gasps and Harry is still gripping your hand, because he can’t tell if it’s a positive reaction or not. Then she jumps to her feet, her hands falling from her mouth and the widest smile spreads across her face. “A baby! You’re having a baby!” she throws her arms into the air, like an excited little child as she rounds the table to hug you and you hear Harry finally letting out the breath he’s been holding.
“Yes!” you laugh, locking her in your arms.
“Thank God! What a blessing!” she laughs with you before letting go of you and turning to Harry, who is standing there, like a lost little kid, but the moment she hugs him as well, you see him melt into her embrace. It might be the hormones or just your usual emotional self, but you need to wipe a few tears away seeing the two of them. Harry has been so stressed about sharing the news with Nan, afraid what she might think about breaking up with the traditions and having a baby before getting married. He didn’t believe she would be thrilled anyway, but now he knows he has nothing to fear when it comes to Nan.
When Nan sits back you realize all three of you have teary eyes and you can’t help but chuckle when Harry circles his arm around your shoulders and kisses the crown of your head as you lean against him.
“How far along you, Darling?” she asks, wiping her eyes behind her glasses.
“Eleven weeks. So don’t tell anyone else yet, only the closest family knows.”
“Ah how exciting!” she claps.
“So you’re not upset? About the wedding?” Harry asks, just to be sure.
“Upset? Why would I be upset?”
“It’s not quite traditional to have a baby first and then get married.”
“Traditions serve the bonding between generations. You know what’s the greatest bond to happen in a family? A new member. A baby is always a blessing and all they need is love. We have lots of love around here and that’s all that matters.”
“Nan, don’t do this to me,” you chuckle through tears, because you did not expect this answer from her.
“Get married whenever you want, Darlings. Or never. It doesn’t matter as long as you love each other. I just want to see you happy.”
“We’re happy,” Harry smiles down at you and you nod, reassuring that the feeling is mutual.
You sit there talking until the tea runs cold and the Sun starts to set over the horizon. You tell Nan about how at first you wanted to have the wedding anyway when you found out you were pregnant, but then you had a dream where you held your baby in your arms in your wedding dress and you both took it as a sign that you should wait until your family expands. Having your baby there with you would make the moment even more special. She claims she knew something changed about you when she saw you, but you know she had no clue, but you don’t go against her.
You muse about names and Nan tells you what other names she had in mind when she was having your mom, some of them catch your attention and you add to your list too.
“Nan, we have a very important task for you,” you tell her before you’re about to leave.
“Oh! Do tell me!”
“We want a gender reveal party, do you know what that is?”
“Is it a party when you tell the gender of the baby?”
“Almost,” you chuckle.
“It’s where we find out. There are some fun ways, but the most common is when they order a cake that’s neutral on the outside and the filling is either pink or blue so when they cut into it they see the color and that’s gonna be the ender of the baby,” Harry explains to her.
“That is very clever!”
“Yeah, and we want you to make our cake,” you tell her. “That means you’ll be the first person to find out the gender.”
“Oh my God! Really?” she gasps.
“Yes,” you smile at her as she pulls you into another hug.
“Only if you take this very important role,” Harry adds.
“Of course I will! You can have the party here! I’ll set everything up!”
It was the original plan too, to gather at Nan’s, a cute, intimate party with your loved ones to celebrate the new addition to your growing family.
Harry promises Nan to drop by later in the week to talk more about how gender reveal parties work and help her start the planning and then you’re on your way home. The mood in the car is noticeably lighter, Harry’s body is relaxed, he keeps one hand on your thigh, gently squeezing it every so often. You don’t talk, but the silence and the stolen looks speak for you, Nan’s words hanging there between the two of you. You can’t help but cup a hand to your stomach that’s barely showing, thinking about how loved this baby already is.
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
#harry#styles#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles oneshot#harry styles one shot#harry styles fluff#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x reader#harry styles blurb#nan and harry#the nan and harry universe
737 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
askthesnappedcanada-blog
Prepare Yourself.
whobie
Untitled
sweetest-devotion
me & my muses
gyuzgrl
mingoo mango
godthinksabel
blue moon, you saw me standing alone 🌈