#and discord has been really nice about her!

[youareunbearable]

sometimes i just look at my followers and see a bunch of Silm fandom popular blogs that im technically mutuals with and like never interact with besides looking at them with heart eyes and then i remember that one Anon that asked if I was a Silm influencer and i just have to sit here and Think... like ik im not a Silm Fandom blog cause no one ever interacts with me for the content but like how would I know???? Ik my silm posts get notes in the 100s on average which im assuming is good in my little corner of the internet and my silm ficlet collection on a03 does well cause I've seen ppl just like use my ideas for their own fics without credit/letting me know like 70% of the time but like??? what is an indicator that im a "fandom popular" blog? when i get asks about silm stuff?? when ppl add onto my posts with their own stuff? when my works get fan responses?? When ppl see my little yellow Zenyatta icon and go "oh christ here we go some sad shit incoming" like i really do wanna know.

#amber rambles #ik i was big in some TF circles cause my fics and lost light edits and i was in some fandom popular discords #but I still just see myself as someone in her own little corner with my Silm stuff who doesn't really have anyone to talk about it with #so i just post my ideas here on tumblr or on a03 and hope someone interacts with me but no one really does #like ppl like my stuff and reblog it but no one really leaves comments or asks me questions about it besides a This Is Nice or Ouch #so i honestly dont know and that one anon ask has been haunting me like am i a recognizable person in the Silm fandom?? #probably not and im probs just over thinking this by a mile #maybe ill never know what with me sinking back into the TF fandom

[ohdeerfully]

K hear me out, a wife! Reader x Alastor and Charlie finds out they had a kid when they were alive. (I don’t mind what the kids name is but make them young and passed due to Spanish flu, dark I know)

omg this has been sitting in my drafts so long, i love requests like this </3 im sorry if it seems rushed, i really wanted to finish it!

Mourning Dove

Alastor x Reader (angst, slight comfort at end) TW: CHILD DEATH, child sickness, reader referred to as a woman but doesnt effect story too much join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You sat yourself unceremoniously at the bar in the hotel lobby, shoulders slouched and cheek squished against the cold countertop. You weren’t one for alcohol, but you didn’t mind the company of Husk. He didn’t say much unless prompted, but that didn’t bother you. It was nice, honestly, after a day of dealing with the others.

“Somethin’ the matter?” Okay. Nevermind about him not saying much.

“Hmm?” You responded, barely peeking up from your finger that dragged patterns in the surface you laid against. “I’m good.”

“You don’t look it,” Husk observed, and you knew he was referring to the discoloration of your eyes and the residual dampness of your cheeks from crying. Your hair was a mess, too. Yeah, you looked like shit. “Tough day?”

“I guess, yeah,” You sighed, pushing yourself up and leaning back in a stretch while your fingers gripped the countertop to steady yourself. “Just thinking about… Y’know.”

He didn’t pry, and you were thankful for that. Husk did know a little, actually, and knew better than to push for more details. After being stuck with Alastor for so long, with the guy owning his soul and all, he inevitably learned some deep shit about him and, by extension, you. He just grunted in response and went back to spot cleaning his bottles of booze.

“(Y/N)!” A chipper voice called your name, and you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. You thought you were done with all of this for the day, and you were so ready to just go to sleep. “I wanted everybody to join me for dinner today! We have a few new residents, so I want everybody to meet each other.”

You squeezed your lips to prevent a harsh word from responding to Charlie’s invitation. You were so tired. You feigned a weak smile and looked at her. You wanted to say no, to say you needed to sleep, but those huge, pleading eyes of hers caught the rejection in your throat. You tried to reason with yourself that Charlie doesn’t host stuff like this very often. It would just be one night. You’ll survive.

“Okay.” 

She clasped her hands together and jumped on the balls of her feet, thanked you, and took off to find the next resident to invite. You held your head against your hand and you sighed dramatically. Husk looked at you from the corner of his eye, but opted to remain silent. You stood up after a few more minutes of quiet sulking, deciding you should fix yourself up for dinner.

In your room, you gently fixed your hair and threw on a casual outfit. Nothing super nice, just in case food started flying–knowing the antics of some of the hotel residents, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

You slowly made your way to the banquet room, which Charlie had installed for events like today. You could already hear the low murmur of small talk, and you were surprised to see a few new faces. Not a whole lot, just about five, alongside the familiar faces of your friends. Charlie’s hotel was, slowly but surely, becoming more successful.

You spotted Alastor quickly–he was hard to miss due to his height. You settled yourself in a chair next to him at a long table that Charlie had dragged into the room for everybody to sit at. You felt your skin prickle with the familiar sensation of static, which increased slightly as his attention turned towards you. He gave you a grin before focusing his eyes on the racket that was already picking up. You watched his smile curl, a bit sinister, as the sound of shouting caught your attention.

“-my fuckin’ business!” You picked up the tail end of Angel Dust fuming at Vaggie, one pair of arms crossed under his chest. He had a third hand on his hip, with his fourth hand jabbing an accusatory point at the woman in front of him.

“Guys, please!” Charlie pleaded, pressing her shoulder against Vaggie’s in an attempt to move her away from Angel. “I don’t want to scare my new guests away!”

“Tell this bitch to keep her nose outta my shit! I can’t have my fuckin’ life on the line because she doesn’t like my job!” Angel spat. There was a dangerous, maybe even frantic, look in his eyes. Before Charlie could say anything, Angel had spun around and stormed to the table. He ripped the chair out and slammed his body down. All four of his arms were crossed now as he glowered at the wooden tabletop.

You sighed, and felt a headache already forming. 

Angel’s spirits quickly changed when Husk sulked into the room. He had his paws stuffed in his pockets, and glared at the air in front of him. He sat down at the other end of the table, but Angel was quick to stand up and saunter his way over to sit next to the cat. You couldn’t quite catch the flirtatious remarks that made Husk roll his eyes. 

You observed them for a while, watching as Husk slowly grew more comfortable in the small talk he and Angel shared. He would never admit it, but you knew Husk didn’t hate Angel’s company. Husk seemingly said something about you to Angel that made him whip his head up to look at you. You quickly averted your gaze.

Charlie had been standing by her own chair, and a cough from her throat made the chatter die down. You didn’t really listen to the overly sappy speech she had started to give, your mind drifting away in absent thought. You picked your nails into the edge of the table, fidgeting with the light cloth.

Alastor caught your attention by lightly nudging his leg against yours. You trailed your eyes up to his, meeting his red gaze. There was a hint of worry in his eyes, and his grin twitched at the edges as he looked at your exhausted face. He tilted his head in a silent question.

You merely shook your head in response, and mouthed a quick “it’s nothing” and hoped that he wouldn’t press. He didn’t, but you knew he’d ask again in a private room.

Charlie sat down again, and Vaggie rubbed her shoulder, murmuring a silent praise. You dragged your eyes across the table, making note of the handful of new faces. None of them seemed to take Charlie very seriously, but that didn’t come as a surprise. They probably just liked free food.

The food in question seemingly materialized out of nowhere, and you chalked it up to her “princess of hell” type powers that she didn’t use very often. You smiled gratefully and, though you didn’t have much of an appetite, you started slowly picking at the plate in front of you.

The room once again began to rumble with small talk, but at some point the multiple conversations began to melt together until the whole table was talking to each other in one. Charlie was doing most of the heavy lifting with keeping the conversation going.

“-the deal with the Radio Demon and that gal next to him?” You perked your ears when you heard this reference to yourself. One of the new guests, some sort of lizard demon, had a finger pointed at the two of you. He had a slight country drawl in his voice. You saw Alastor’s smile widen when the attention of the table turned towards himself.

“My darling wife,” Alastor stated simply, briefly placing a hand on your shoulder. His eyes were closed as he smiled proudly. You silently nodded with a light, polite smiling. “We knew each other in life. It’s only natural for us to remain together. It would have been a shame for death to do us part.”

“Didn’t think you was the type…” The lizard said slowly, eyeing the two of you carefully. You didn’t blame him; what kind of nut job would marry the Radio Demon? Though, as Alastor said, you were married before Hell, and he wasn’t so… infamous back then. He was actually rather sweet, besides the whole serial killer thing–which, in your defense, you weren’t even aware of till he was shot to death.

“Didn’t think ya were the type to have a kid, either,” Angel piped up absently, one arm thrown lazily over the back of his chair. You watched as Husk tried desperately to shut him up as he continued to speak, but you barely heard the words over the sound of your heart picking up pace, and the increased radio frequency of Alastor’s. His body had stiffened and his eyes had shot open, quickly narrowing as his smile strained and curled dangerously, his gums visible in a snarl. His eyes were not on Angel, but on Husk, whose ears were flattened against his head and a nervous look in his wide eyes.

You weren’t really paying attention though, but you felt the intense tension and rapid prickling on your skin. Your breathing became more labored and you pointed your face to the table to try to hide the building tears in your eyes. You had tried so hard, all day, to push back the memories that kept threatening to resurface. What are the chances that on the same day, the topic was brought up, destroying the wall you had built to contain the anxiety, regret, grief…

You were kneeling by the wrinkled, messy sheets of the twin bed your son had been in for the past couple days. Your heart was tight, and you could barely breathe as you looked at him. He gazed blearily at the ceiling, following the path of the rocking fan. Every breath he took scratched at his throat, as if there were pebbles blocking the path. He barely had the strength to cough. His lips were dry and cracked, and his graying skin still had a flush of fever. You used a damp rag to clean the dried snot under his nose.

You had tried everything. Every recommended antibiotic, every treatment, therapy, exercise; nothing had worked. Nobody knew how to treat the illness. You had even tried to work with witch doctors that Alastor knew. You had spent so much of what little money you had trying to save your little boy.

Alastor was often gone during this time, being the one to go out and find something new to try. You never left the room, even when your husband tried to push you to go outside to stretch your legs or take a shower. He promised to watch over your son. But you just couldn’t, not with David laying on these dirty sheets, looking so frail, weak, and small. You had often called him little dove, and it made you sick to think that your nickname was now like a cruel adjective to describe his current state. A sick, frail baby bird. He had barely eaten in the past eight days, and you didn’t want to admit to yourself that any scratchy breath he took could be that last one.

You stiffened when his head rolled over towards you, and his eyes struggled to focus on you. His cracked lips grimaced for a moment, followed by a sharp, grating cough that made your heart drop and your eyes sting. You reached a shaky hand forward to smooth down his knotted hair.

“Am I going to be okay,” David said weakly. His voice caught on the tightness in his throat multiple times. “I feel really bad.”

“I know baby, but you’re okay,” You said tenderly, continuing to stroke his hair. “Your dad is getting you some new medicine. You’ll be okay.”

You were lying to him, and to yourself. But you couldn’t help but cling on to a morsel of hope–it was all you could do, really. David just looked towards you, his eyes flicking around slightly, unable to truly focus on anything.

“I’m tired.” He said. His breathing was labored.

“I know.”

Your emotions threatened to spill from your eyes as you watched him turn his head back towards the ceiling, eyes shutting. You didn’t want to cry; you couldn’t, not in front of him. You needed to stay strong for him.

You pressed the back of your hand to his burning forehead, and then trailed your hand to his chest, lightly pressing against him to feel his heartbeat. It was slow, and slowing. Your own heart picked up in response. 

You heard the door in another room open, shut, and footsteps quickly pace towards the room. The door cracked lightly, and the tall, thin frame of your husband peeked in. He held a brown back tightly in his fist. With one look into your eyes, he knew something was wrong. Or, well, more wrong than usual. 

You clenched your jaw to prevent any sob from escaping your lips as he sat the bag down on an end table and kneeled next to you, gripping your waist tightly as he looked at David. The boy’s breath had gotten dangerously quiet.

You watched as his eyes opened again.

“I’m tired.” He repeated, weaker this time.

Both you and Alastor leaned towards the bed, his hand on David’s leg as you gingerly lifted the boy’s head into your arms, pulling his light body towards yourself. You shifted yourself up into the bed with him, trying to wrap as much of yourself around your son as possible. You could feel his heartbeat getting slower with every weak breath he took.

“Sleep, then,” your voice trembled. You felt Alastor grip your shoulder, his other hand softly rubbing David’s arm. You couldn’t describe the expression on his face. “I’ll see you in the morning, little dove.” You lied.

“In heaven?” He responded. Your breath hitched at his words. He knew, somehow, that he was dying. How sick it was, for such a young boy to be aware of his impending death. How cruel God was.

“Yeah, I promise,” Was all you could muster. You worried that any more would destroy the dam that held back your tears.

It broke, though, when you felt David’s heart finally stop. You choked on a sob once, twice, before finally you started wailing. Screaming. You held a vice-like grip on the boy, both your arms and legs secured around him. Alastor was still quiet, but he had sat across from you on the bed and pulled you towards him, securing you and David’s still-warm body in an equally tight grip. You could feel his strained breathing and tight jaw against your head. He said something, but you didn’t hear him.

Your mind rushed back to the present when you felt a hand on your back. Your head whipped towards Alastor, who was looking at you. The table was dead silent, and there was still a look of rage in his eyes, but his smile held a softness that was only ever given to you. Your heart still beat strongly, and you struggled to breathe, but you were at least glad that your mind was still back in the present.

Evidently, barely any time had passed. Angel had a nervous look in his expression, which he tried and failed to mask as Husk cursed at him. Charlie was looking at you in worry.

“(Y/N),” She said softly. “...How come you never-”

“Truly, there is no point in speaking of life before death,” Alastor interrupted her, the usual cheer in his voice lilted by a masked emotion. You knew he felt the same grief as you, but he was a million times better at acting naturally. “What a waste of time and emotion.”

Alastor stood quickly, his hand trailing against your shoulders as he walked past you and towards Angel and Husk. Husk’s ears flattened to his skull again as Alastor loomed over them, hands behind his back as a smile twisted his features.

“Husker, my friend,” He said, the cat demon visibly flinching at the mention of his name. “Let’s take a walk.”

Husk didn’t move, and the room grew heavy with tension with every second as the sound of radio frequency got louder and somehow sharper. Alastor bent at the waist, his snarling smile inches away from the panicked expression on Husk’s face. 

“Is the tomcat getting too old to hear?” You barely picked up Alastor’s words, but you definitely heard the threatening tone in his voice.

The cat swallowed hard before standing up. He shot one last infuriated look at Angel, before whipping his head back to attention when Alastor tapped his cane against the ground impatiently. The two of them left the room, and the tension in the air immediately lifted when the door shut.

Charlie startled you when she placed a delicate hand on your upper arm, and she guided you to your feet and out another set of doors. A weak smile touched her expression.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked as you both went up the stairs towards your hotel room. You shook your head silently at her offer. She only nodded back, and said nothing more. She opened the door to your room for you, and waited till you settled down in your bed before saying a string of comforting words that you didn’t really pay attention to. The door clicked softly, and you once again began to sob.

Only a few minutes passed before you felt your skin prickle with a static-like feeling. You had grown to find comfort in the odd sensation, and felt incredibly relieved when you knew Alastor was sitting next to you. You didn’t even hear him enter the room.

He pulled you wordlessly against his chest, lying the two of you down. You twisted yourself in his grip till your ear rested against him, listening to the odd drum of what you assumed was a heart.

“Has David been troubling you all day?” He asked you when your sobs slowed and you caught your breath. You nodded. Alastor rubbed a soothing hand on your shoulder blade. You recognized the tone of grief in his voice as he spoke. “What a pesky boy, even all these years later.”

You wrapped your arms tightly around Alastor’s neck as tears began flowing again.

Though you would never tell him, you often hoped Charlie’s idea of redemption would work. Your husband himself would likely never follow that path; you knew he saw no point and enjoyed the power he held in Hell. But, you wished every day to see your son again. To see your little dove.

You had promised him.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #angst #TW: child death #child death #ohdeerfully

[prettyboykatsuki]

I can just imagine fujo neet reader practicing different sex position with rin to make sure she gets the proportions right.

✮ tags ; fem!reader, sexual tension, rin's pov, RIN IS KIND OF MEAN TO HER BUT HE WANTS HER SO BAD FDKJJS, reader is a fujoshi and bl mangaka, pre-relationship, they work together, part of a ficverse i haven't written yet Sorry, ONE JOKE ABOUT RIN WANTING TO OFF HIMSELF, SUPER SUGGESTIVE LOL 18+

✮ wc ; 3.5k (WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!)

✮ a/n ; i had to do this for my sanity. i promise i will write them a proper fic with them i promise.

You never text Rin.

Not really. Not first at least. It's a new... friendship. Kind of. Sort of. Most of your communication thus far has been through meetings and random in-person chance encounters. Outside of that, Rin will call you since it's faster. If you do "text", it's mostly through twitter DM's.

There's a discord server your fans run, and you pop in there often enough. He's had the invitation extended but declined unilaterally, since he'd rather not see himself fucking Isagi anymore than he already has in his short, miserable career.

It surprised him this morning, seeing your message flash across the top of his screen. Asking, specifically, for him to come over and help you with something related to the new manga you were writing. He had it in his right mind to decline, but after learning it wasn't a doujin for him, he semi-reluctantly agreed.

Rin doesn't know when exactly your relationship to him grew this...comfortable. Inviting him over to your house, begging him for favors, not wincing every time he talks to you. Rin isn't an extrovert but compared to you he's a social butterfly. And your aversion to people in general, Rin thought, would prevent you from doing anything more than squeak at him forever just like you did when he met you.

(Though nothing in his life has been normal since your arrival in it. He's not sure why you would remain unchanged when he certainly hasn't.)

He doesn't know what to feel when you ask him for a favor, and he doesn't know what force of nature compels him to go. If it's morbid curiosity or annoyance or something else even worse.

It was compelling enough to take the train all the way out to Machida - an hour long trip from his own place. His manager hounded him to take you something, so he has a bag of ginseng energy drinks and snacks with him as a gift. He took the bus with his mask on, and then walked all the way to your building.

Your apartment is tucked somewhere classically suburban - attached at the far end of a residential street and behind concrete support beams for a highway just overhead. Cherry blossom trees and other shades of white flowers grow around it in thick patches, making the entrance hard to find. Rin would've had trouble if you didn’t give him details on exactly where to go.

It's an older building, stone walls worn and grass-stained from age. At the gate are groups of old people talking amongst each other as they sort through recycling and trash. All visor hats and sunspots, they fawn over Rin for a long while before he goes in and interrogates him with questions. None of them know him, which is relieving. It quickly graduates to them asking who he's there to visit, if he has a girlfriend or not.

All of them ooh and aah when he mentions your name, say something about being relieved she's found a man so handsome and that Rin should marry you because even though you're a little strange you're a good girl. Rin does not have the time nor energy to correct them - only nods and bows his head and leaves.

On the elevator ride up to your floor, he can't help but think repeatedly that this isn't the kind of place he'd expect you to live. He thought it'd be out in the middle of nowhere, maybe in a damp and broken building.

But this is a nice place with nice people, vibrant and colorful. Totally opposite from what he considers your personality.

Suitable or not, Rin manages to make it to your floor without a hitch.

He finds you, then, as he'd expect. Down a long hall, behind an unassuming white door. When you open it, you're a mess. Your hair completely unkempt, face greasy, a wild look in your eyes and complete surprise in your expression as if you didn't invite him over. You do, however, manage to invite him in without stuttering or stumbling over your words foolishly like you did the first time you spoke to him.

Another surprise is how... clean your living room is. It's lived in but he was expecting more mess in there. Your bedroom is in a similar state, undoubtedly messy but not terrible. Your NEET tendencies finally end up showing when you drag Rin into your office where you draw your manga.

It's not dirty but it's cluttered. There's a pull out sofa on one wall, with a blanket and pillow littered about and pages upon pages of paper sheets with scrapped panels about the floor. One wall has a bunch of post-its with several notes in both English and Japanese, and another has tacked up pieces of art. Both yours and other peoples. He chooses to ignore the ones of him and Isagi, The walls themselves are cream colored and uninteresting and the wood floors are slippery. At the far end of the room is a spread of desks, a PC set-up and a professional looking tablet among various art supplies in stacked boxes.

It's this room you bring Rin into without explaining yourself at all, mumbling and muttering as you give him a place to sit and go back to your work for fifteen silent minutes.

When you're finally finished doing whatever the fuck you were doing, you turn yourself back towards Rin. Bluelight glasses fall down the bridge of your nose as you swivel around in your chair - your sweatpants half pulled up your leg with the other pulled down. You're wearing fuzzy socks with Naruto characters on them.

You stare at him, pulling your glasses off and rubbing your eyes - dark circles under them.

"Uhm," Your voice is clipped and thick with exhaustion. "You came."

Rin deadpans. "You asked me to come."

"I thought you'd say no."

He did too. He doesn't respond back. You chew your lips, already anxious and Rin resists the urge to say something about it.

"Okay. Uhm. Please don't get mad," You start with and then explain, looking away. Your hands pull your sleeves over your palms. "So. Like. For my new series, I'm finally getting to the sex scene but I've never drawn characters with an intense height difference like this. And I need... new reference photos.... and uhm," You rub your feet together on your chair where you sit "Well our height differences and size is the exact one my characters have. So."

Rin stares at you. "So?"

"SoIwaswonderingifyou'dtakereferenceimagesforsexpositionswithme,"

Rin feels his jaw lock. "Slower."

You frown and look away, tucking your chin with embarrassment. "I was uhm, like, wondering if you'd take... take the uhm, sex position reference photos with me, please."

"What?"

You clasp your hands together, immediately prostrating yourself by throwing yourself down the ground. He flinches back, wondering if you're gonna hold onto his leg next.

"Please, please help me. You're the exact height of my seme and you uhm have similar builds and he's doing the most of the legwork. The poses are a little bit hard but I want them to look good or Minami-san will eat me and I'm scared of her, please help me."

"Who is Minami-san?"

You sniffle, on the verge of tears just thinking about it. "My editor. She used to be my fan. She's scary. Please, Rin-kun, please."

"What the hell did you do before?"

You frown at him, big wet puppy-dog eyes.

"It was hard. Sometimes I'd pose with my big stuffed animals and make up the proportions. Oh and usually watched porn and stuff. Sometimes I'd get lucky with stockphotos. But I don’t get the angle exactly right unless I have good references."

Rin wonders if anything you have ever said has processed in your mind before saying it. He doubts it for some reason.

"So," Rin pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes the image of you humping your stuffed animals out of his head. "You're asking me to.. pose with you?"

You nod and chew your lip. "Please, I promise I'd never ask you for this if I wasn't s-scared of Minami-san! Please?"

"I should make you pay me for this," He sneers. You flinch back and close your eyes.

"I'm sorry." You whine wetly, but then open your eyes again anyway. "Please help me."

Rin doesn't know why he helps you. Maybe you're just too pathetic for him to ignore. Maybe he's a masochist. Maybe inhaling the same air as Bachira last week turned him stupid.

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fine."

__

If Rin didn't believe you before when you told him you make your own references, he'd definitely believe you after you take him to your bedroom.

Your bed is in the center of your room, instead of being pushed against a wall. Large stuffed animals laid in one corner. On both sides of the room, are makeshift digital camera stands and remote-controlled lighting among another remote for said cameras. There's about 4-6 angles from what you explained to Rin, and a few adjustable lights. It's an elaborate set-up and takes the kind of dedication Rin can only imagine a hardcore fujoshi freak like yourself thinking up.

All of this to mostly draw porn of him and his rival. He tries not to think about it too hard because he thinks it's going to give him an aneurysm. Rin sits at the edge of your bed as you adjust each of the cameras individually.

"What do you do if it's not on a bed?"

You flinch like you aren't expecting him to talk. "Uhm. I either simulate as best I can o-or move my things and bed around. It's why I moved my desk to my office."

Rin stares at you. "You take it seriously."

You nod meekly. "Producing high-quality doujin is what made me money, so I have to work hard. Being poor is tough."

If Rin didn't find you so unbearable he might find that awe-inspiring in his own fucked up way.

"Okay. Everything is set-up. Now for the poses," You say, suddenly sparking back to life. Rin sits and watches. "They're having sex on a public beach so the bed and the way the seme sort of sinks into the sand will be good... I think the bridge one is the one we'll do first."

"The bridge?"

You nod, talking in short sentences. But Rin can tell this is where you're comfortable, doing things for this... hobby. Your usual constant embarrassment and shame seem to disappear when it comes to it. It's fascinating like a car crash. "Uhm. You have to stand on your knees and then, I'll lay on my back and arch my back up to meet your... y'know. It'll emphasize the height difference."

Rin stares at you agape. You take the remote control for your cameras in your hands and look at him expectantly.

Rin doesn't know whats wrong with him. Why the hell did he agree to this?

"Do you want me to take my jacket off?"

You nod, surprised. He shrugs the thing off of his shoulders and tosses it onto the floor.

Rin, per your instruction, gets into the position in the middle of the bed. He stands on his knees waiting for you. You join him a minute after, squinting at your phone screen beforehand. He isn't sure what he's expecting as a result of your ask, but he sure is shocked when he finds you placing your feet flat on the bed next to his knees and pushing yourself up for your crotch to meet his.

He knows that’s what you said but your shamelessness proves to be… shocking.

He tries not to let it show. His jaw ticks. His face feels warm but his expression remains neutral all the same. You shift and adjust and don't seem concerned at all - like it doesn't occur to you that this is in any way socially unacceptable. Or it's unfathomable Rin would take advantage of this. That this is weird, or could be interpreted in less than innocent ways. Rin knows you're so out of touch that it probably isn't. That this is, to you, just considered a favor which is partially why he even agrees.

But you're mid-brushing up against his bulge. The angle of your back forms a triangle, your arms laid flat at your sides as you squirm and push. And your expression shifts, deep in thought.

"Uhm, like, would you mind p-putting your hands on my hips? Kind of squeezing tight like it's," You flush this time, but Rin harbors doubt it's about him. "Like it feels good I guess? Like hard, and stuff so you can see the indent."

He's so astonished, he does it on autopilot. Neutral and even. He lets his hands grab your hips and holds tight just as you ask. Your long, loose sweatshirt falls down revealing the soft skin of your tummy. He can see the tops of your underwear, the thin cotton kind that come in 6-packs with a single bow in the middle in a grey color.

You don't seem to care about it. Rin shouldn't either, but his body does seem to care. His brain does. Something is happening in his gut. Anger maybe. Some cheap, frustrated desire to make fun of you.

Instead the words he's been wanting to ask since you proposed this tumble out of his mouth. He stares at you.

"Is this the first time someone's done this with you?"

You jump with a start, but remain in position. You take the pictures first, six clicks in a row before answering.

"H-huh? Why-why are you asking that?"

He doesn't know. Really. And he knows how it sounds. Rin doesn't say anything and you fold under the immense pressure of his gaze.

"S-stop staring," You say, and take a few more pictures, lowering your back just a little but still staying up right. "And no. No one tall enough or with the right physique."

There is another gnawing question, another burning curiosity. He makes his voice as even and unaffected and apathetic as he can. As mean as possible.

"Have you ever even had sex?"

Your eyes blow wide, but you seem to fall for the persona of apathy, curious boredom and cruelty. Worse, you seem a little used to it. You squirm this time and Rin holds you firmly in place. Your voice is small.

"Uhm, like, once I guess. I-it was with a guy, I didn't really date him but he seemed interested in me and I didn't think I'd ever have the opportunity again s-so I did it and I didn't uhm, it wasn't very good or anything." You reply, and he can feel your toes curl in your socks next to him and his brain feels like it'll melt from out of his ears. "Sorry, I don't-don't think you care about that, just uhm, felt like I should explain."

"Yeah," Rin feels dizzy. "Do you need another pose?"

You blink and then nod. "Yeah! Another one kind of like this, but with the legs like uhm, on your chest and my feet closer to your head. With you leaned back a little. Does that make sense? The butterfly position, I think."

Rin swallows something at the back of throat.

He nods, pulling you into position so easily he can heard you gasp. Your legs straighten against his clothed chest, and your sweatshirt falls far enough to let him see your bra. A fabric sports kind, a little worn - just the logo visible. He doesn't say anything about it, your feet resting near his neck. You make a little soft noise.

"This feels a little difficult to be in. Poor uke. Sorry if this one is kind of weird, but can you put your hands, I dunno, on my ass, I guess? I know that's probably too much but I think it'll be a good detail, so please? I'll pay you"

Rin stares at you, teeth gritting so hard he feels the back of his skull throb. "Fine."

Rin, per your request, puts his hands on your ass. It's easy enough, and he doesn't hold too tight. But it's too intimate, too stupidly fucking intimate, and he can feel you. You're hardly paying attention, caught up in your own head with whatever else. Rin is paying too much attention. Like how your sweatpants aren't thick enough to cover the outline of your frumpy cotton panties and how your soft all over. He's going to kill someone. Maybe himself.

Six more clicks and a little noise of satisfaction.

"Okay!!! I think these will turn out so great, and I can use them later too. Just one more. I have a lot of refs for this position, but uhm - I want to see if I can get the proportions correct, so if you'd please lay down," You tell him with such genuine excitement he can't find it in himself to say anything horribly cruel. "I'll be doing most of the work this time. I just-just need to see how uke will compare..."

You mutter something to yourself as Rin lets you down and lays himself down on your bed. You sit next to him for a long while, squinting at your phone. Rin stares at you as you. Wonders if he's gone completely insane, and tries to ignore the doom of the impending hard-on cozying itself in his pants.

Unceremoniously, you find yourself perching over Rin's lap. Not bothering to give him any pretense, it's the one thing about today that's really getting him.

"Oh, I need my hands for this," You give him the remote and stare down at him wide-eyed, over his lap. This has to be hell. "Could you take the photos this time?"

He closes his eyes and counts to ten and wonders if a concussion has made him insane. "Hm."

You brighten and Rin feels his chest go tight. "Thanks!"

Rin just nods, his mouth drying as you start to move and pose. A picture with your hands next to his head, and anothe r where you're sat up - your hands at your sides. Rin obediently takes pictures when you ask, his entire body tensing every single time you move.

"Okay, last one," You say. This time, you put your hands on his chest. Just the one. You must have something specific in your head that you're wanting to recreate. You bend down close, looking down at him as you do - your other hand clenched.

Rin looks up at you. He should not be thinking about you in any way. He's looking at the way your lips curve and plump and at your bare skin and your dark circles and your stupid licensed anime hoodie. He just gapes at you in confusion and mystique. He's around so many weirdos. It's not like there's anything special about you. You’re just another freak who makes porn of him. Plenty of people do that.

A loser and an idiot with no sense of self-preservation. There's nothing special about this, but Rin hasn’t been able to convince himself of that.

You stare down at him.

"Take a picture?"

Rin looks at you. Studies your expression. You seem like you're thinking. It's the only oppurtunity he has to pry.

"Did you want to ask something?" He says first. “You’re not hard to read.”

You startle, then nod. Your hand is on his chest. It's warm, and smaller than his.

"Oh, I-I guess I was wondering about what you asked me earlier. And uhm, like, I don't know. If you ever did anything. Your relationships aren't in the media and fans speculate but," You fall flat on your words. "I guess I was just curious."

Rin hates this question. It's why he never answers it. Why he hates being called a hearthrob, always too shallow and too personal for his taste.

"Nothing long term or serious. It was most for physical relief." Rin says, almost on autopilot. “Not that’d you know what that’s like.”

Your eyes widen. Rin feels his hands twitch, watching your expression finally grown conscious of him. Lust spreads through you like honey and Rin can see it in how you look. You squirm in his lap. He's not usually so aggressive, not usually one to care about sex in any important way. Not one to brag about something so unbelievably inane and trivial.

But it's bothering him, just how much he's fighting the urge to pin you down and fuck you. You of all people. It's not like him. Rough sex is whatever, but it's bothering him how little any of it seems to register in your head anymore like it once did. You could barely breathe the first time you met.

He doesn't know why he cares that you don’t anymore. He doesn’t give a shit about anything related to you

But the thought nothing seems to bother you anymore bothers him.

"Oh... I see. That's uhm, interesting. I b-bet you have a lot more experience than me. Maybe it'd be a good thing to keep you around for that kind of refernce too," You joke.

Rin lets his hand slip up to your hips without asking, not bothering to hide it anymore. His head feels with nothing but stupid useless thoughts. Thoughts of fucking you in your old, worn clothes and stained shirts and comfortable cotton underwear. Thoughts of your hands clutching at his shoulder all weepy with desire and need and stupidity - your big wide eyes bleary and sensitive. It's cruel how relentlessly he thinks about taking advantage of all your differences. Of how unathletic and awkward and unused to everything you are.

It's horrible just how much he's staving off his own arousal about it. Maybe you're strange habits are infecting him, making him strange too strange. All Rin can think about uselessly is how easily he could put you in your place. Fix you in some strange way. You’d be his to fix and you’d cry and weep and want to run away. Rin wouldn’t let you, keep you pinned and caged like an animal.

His throat feels tight. What is fucking wrong with him today?

Is he that pent up? He stares at you, and gets some passing feeling that there is more to it than that. He closes his eyes.

"Whatever," He says, letting go. You don't seem to notice it again, how thick his voice is getting "Are you almost done?"

You nod and smile. "Yes. Thank you."

Rin feels his heart tug and seethes. “You're welcome."

#return to sender #writing tag #fujoverse #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #bllk x reader #bluelock x reader #THIS IS KIND OF COOKING ME TO DEATRH IM?

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 23] Apologies

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“What do you need, Satoru?” You’re more than annoyed when you’re called into his office. You cross your arms, raising your brow as you look at him. The man looks a little too comfortable in his chair, and you’ve seem to stop caring about how he behaves. If you looked closer, you’d see him fidgeting with his fingers, something he rarely does.

“I was wondering…” He begins, and you feel yourself get more and more irritated by the second. He’s wasting your time. “Do you have any plans on Friday?”

“Work, and maybe take Ren to the movie theater to watch a new kids’ movie.” You answer, and at first you don’t understand why he asks. But then it clicks, and you find yourself even more irritated than before… He’s not planning on asking you out, is he? He’s not crazy enough to do that, at least you hope he isn’t. Satoru has changed a lot, you never know just how crazy he’s gotten.

“Can we go out?” He blurts out, tripping over his words and it almost makes you laugh because he’s so nervous. But then you realize that he’s actually asking you out, and you furrow your brows. 

“Ren is coming along, right?” You question before deciding to berate him. Maybe you’re reading things wrong, and you don’t want to argue with him for no reason, so you allow him to make himself clear. But he shakes his head, and you try to take a deep breath to gather your thoughts, “What do you want, Satoru?”

“I feel like we have to properly talk about everything, and sadly, we can’t do that when Ren is around.” Satoru says, and he isn’t wrong, but you don’t really want to fix anything if it means that you have to be alone with him for an extended period of time. You’re not sure what you’d do if you were alone with him, the moment you get your hands on him you might strangle him. 

“I don’t feel like it’s time yet, Satoru.” You tell him, and he bites his tongue. He thinks of how to argue with you, make a point that going with him is a smart decision. It’ll improve your relationship so you can be better parents to Ren.

“Ren notices there’s something wrong with us and he wonders why.” Satoru points out which isn’t a lie. When Ren was staying over he asked why you were so mean to him or something like that, and Satoru didn’t know how to explain himself. But he knows well that it isn’t the reason why he’s asking you to dinner. 

“Why don’t you tell him that it’s because his dad is a little–” You begin but you cut yourself off. You’re mad at him, you can’t deny that, but it seems that he just wants to make sure your relationship is better so you can parent Ren cordially. You have been rather mean with him lately, so you’ll control your tongue. “I just don’t see the point of going out alone, our relationship can get better with Ren there..”

“Don’t you want to talk about heavier topics? You’ll have to tell me what’s on your mind, and you know that having Ren there isn’t the best idea.” Satoru argues, and you hate the fact that he’s actually making a good point. “It’s a nice place.”

“Fine, just text me the address and the dress code. Don’t take me anywhere too fancy, I usually don’t like the food there.” You answer, and Satoru nods in response. He has very different plans. Ones that probably aren’t crossing your mind. 

Ren is fairly surprised when you tell him that you’re going out with his daddy– And you aren’t taking him along. He’s unsure what you could possibly do, but when he hears that he’s staying with your mom, he stops caring quickly. Ren loves spending time with his grandmother, so he doesn’t have an issue being with her all night. 

“Where are we going?” You ask Satoru when you get into his car, and he tells you that it’s a surprise. You’re not exactly excited nor do you wonder what the surprise is. The car ride is quiet, Satoru tries to make conversation that you don’t care to engage in even though you know you should. This is to talk about the issues that you have, but you don’t really want to talk.

He turns right, and you’re met with a gate which makes you furrow your brows. Where the hell did he take you? The gate opens and he drives into the place. The house is beautiful, you can’t deny it, but you have no idea why you’re here. 

“Why are we here?” You ask him when he parks the car. Are you here for business? The lights are on so you assume someone lives in the place. He’s fighting back a smile, getting out of his car and running to your side to open the door for you.

“We’re meeting someone here.” He tells you, and you almost roll your eyes. You should’ve known dinner couldn’t have gone so smoothly. “I promise it’ll be fun, nothing weird.”

“I have no option to trust you, do I?” You respond, following behind him after getting out of the car. You look at the house, one that you could only afford in your dreams. Well actually, it isn’t impossible now. Regardless, it’d take so many years of your own effort to buy it. 

You get confused when he opens the door with his own key, and you sigh, knowing that he’s just going to show off his new place. You step inside, and the place is bare, which is to be expected since it seems new. You clear your throat before speaking up, “Who exactly are we meeting?”

He grabs your hand, and you roll your eyes again but you don’t yank your hand out of his grasp. He takes you to the huge kitchen, and he points to the person you’re meeting. Satoru says, “This is our chef for the night. He’ll make whatever you want to eat.”

“Oh.” You’re fairly shocked, but you aren’t too mad. “Okay…”

“I hope it’s better than a restaurant.” Satoru laughs, trying to play it off as a thoughtful act. It is creative, and you can’t exactly complain. But you know that part of the reason he does this is because he doesn’t really remember what you like. “C’mon let’s take a seat. I’ll tell him what we want when you decide.”

“Well… What can I order?” You ask curiously, wondering what the chef has on hand. Sometimes you forget that Satoru is filthy rich and can buy out an entire grocery store without an issue. 

“He’ll make anything you want.” Satoru answers with a smile as he leads you to the dining room. It has a huge table, one that reminds you of his mother’s house. It’s huge, it can fit many people, but most of the time it’ll be empty. He waits for you to take a seat, knowing that if he takes a seat first, you’ll go as far away as possible. “When you decide I’ll tell him.”

“I really don’t know. You can pick.” You respond, pulling a chair and taking a seat. He takes a seat right beside you, and you tense up. You can’t help but point out, “You have so many other chairs.”

“We’re here to talk, are we not?” He tells you, and you roll your eyes. He isn’t wrong, but he doesn’t have to sit so close when there are so many other chairs. You don’t want him so close. He clears his throat before saying, “Dinner is for you, you can pick.”

“I guess…” You try to come up with something but you don’t. Satoru taps his finger on the table, growing impatient. “Can’t you just pick? I’ve already been forced to be here tonight.”

“Fine.” Satoru ends up sighing. He stands up and walks to the kitchen to put in his request, leaving you alone to stare at your surroundings. It’s a beautiful home, but you would change the little decorations that you’ve seen. It’s not up to you anyway.

You hear your phone ring, grabbing it from your purse. You notice that Suguru calls, and you debate on rejecting the phone call– You’ve been ignoring him for so long, but it’s about time you answer his call. Satoru is in another room so you can make it quickly. You end up picking up the phone, bringing it to your ear, “Hi Suguru.”

“Hi…” He answers, sounding shocked that you actually picked up the phone. “Can we talk?”

“Um…” You don’t know how to answer. You just know you have to do it before Satoru gets back because you’re not sure that Suguru hearing Satoru’s voice is a good idea. You don’t know your way around the house, but you stand up from your chair and walk out of the living room, just in case Satoru gets back and makes himself known. “Actually, I’m out to dinner with someone so I can’t right now… Do you want to meet up soon?”

“Yeah, we can do that.” He agrees. “So, what do you want to do?”

“How about we meet at a café?” You ask, and you hear Satoru call out your name, telling you that you have to hang up the phone. “I’ll text you the details, I have to go now. Bye.”

You hang up the phone, and turn around to find Satoru, who finally spots you. He raises his brows, asking, “Who were you talking to?”

“Does it concern you?” You reply which makes Satoru chuckle. He guesses it doesn’t. You two walk back to the dining room, sitting back in the same spots. You start off with a simple appetizer, and some drinks, food that you know Satoru loves. You eat in silence, and you’re forced to speak up, “You insisted that we have to talk, so talk, Satoru.”

“I want to… Apologize.” He begins and when he doesn’t get any more specific, you reply with,

“For?” 

“For…” It’s hard to get the words out even though he knows exactly what he should apologize for. He bites down his lip as he gathers his words. How can he say it without sounding like a total jerk. He blurts out, and you barely understand what he says, “For leaving you when you needed me without an explanation.”

“And?” You respond because he’s still missing a bit. You feel yourself getting more annoyed by his silence, and you have to take a deep breath to compose yourself. “I mean, you left me for money, is that the best you can do?”

“I just don’t know how to properly apologize, you should know I’m not used to apologies.” He claims, and you roll your eyes. Of course he says that instead of thinking of a way to apologize better. He watches you cross your arms, a look of clear anger on your face. “I shouldn’t have done that, I know.”

“You know? But you changed your number and completely cut me out of your life– And not for love, because as much as it hurts, I would’ve preferred you leaving me because you fell in love with someone else… Maybe I would’ve understood it better.” You begin, and you feel your heart break again. You thought you had gotten used to the fact that Satoru left you for his own financial benefit. “I don’t even get why you cut me off completely… Maybe if you had explained everything to me then maybe I could have stuck around but you decided that you wanted me out of your life completely.”

“I just thought you deserved to move on and forget about me.” Satoru argues, and your hands ball up into fists. He’s trying to save his own ass, and it bugs you. The benevolent Satoru. “I just didn’t know you were pregnant with Ren.”

“You know, Satoru, it hurts to know that you were fine with leaving me like nothing– And honestly I’m glad that you cut me off when I was about to tell you that I thought I was pregnant.” You feel tears well up in your eyes but you hold them back. It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re over it. You are. “Have I never been worth anything to you?”

“Of course you do, you are–” You cut him off before he can finish his sentence.

“Not just as Ren’s mother, because before that I was your friend and your girlfriend for so many years.” You try not to let it show that you’re deeply hurt, but it shows. It’s hard not to because the man that you swore you would spend the rest of your life with quickly disregarded your relationship… And the only reason he seems to regret everything is because of his son. “Was your love just a lie?”

“It’s not like that. You know that I love you so much.” He says and his words sting. How dare he say that he loves you? How does he have the audacity to say that? “I just…”

“Just what?” You don’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence. “Don’t you ever say that you love me again, Satoru.”

“You know my mom would’ve made your life miserable if I hadn’t gone with Sayo, in the end, I did what was best for the two of us.” Satoru argues, and you stand up from your chair. You can’t stand to be in the same place as him anymore. He watches you begin to walk away and he has to stand up as well, “Wait, let’s finish this, please. For Ren.”

“No, I have to go. I can’t stand to be in this place with you any longer. You’re so… Why can’t you just admit that you’re fucking selfish? Not only that, just admit that you haven’t cared about me, Satoru. I have always come second to you, and suddenly you’re acting like you aren’t at fault for this, that your mother forced you to make the choice when we both know that you made that choice all on your own.” It genuinely hurts you that Satoru ended up being a completely different person– Or maybe Satoru was this same person all along, you just hadn’t noticed it before.

“You’re right. I did. I made the decision all on my own and I can’t blame anyone else.” He finally admits, which should give you some satisfaction but it doesn’t. You’re taking deep breaths to stop yourself from crying but the tears are coming down your face. Satoru’s heart breaks as he finally watches you break down, and he steps toward you to comfort you. He pulls you into a hug, “I’m so sorry, please don’t cry.”

It’s so tempting to hug him back, but you can’t. You push him away, you don’t want to be met by his warm embrace; you don’t need his comfort. You wipe away your tears, “I’ll forgive you for Ren, but don’t you ever try anything with me.”

“Okay…” He responds, but knowing Satoru, the last part went in one ear and out the other. “C’mon, let’s sit down, our main course is almost ready.”

“I want to go back home to my baby boy.” You tell him, and Satoru sighs. He can’t argue and say anything that’ll make you want to stay a little longer, so he won’t keep you here.

“I also had a surprise for you.” Satoru mentions, but you aren’t really interested. “I’ll tell you when it’s more ready though, and when you’re less mad at me.”

“Let’s just go.” You respond, really not caring to ask. He doesn’t spark curiosity in you. Just as you begin to walk out of the dining room, your chef comes out with the main course. He sets it down on the table, and your eyes spark. You look back at Satoru a little shocked but you proceed to tell him, “I changed my mind.”

“Really?” He has to fight a smirk off his face. You really thought you had him read like a book, but perhaps you are wrong in some aspects. He jokingly asks, “Why is that?”

It’s your favorite meal.

#[changes] #gojo saturo #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x you #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #gojo angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo fanfic

[palskippah]

Hi! There are role swap AUs of them already and I love them so much, so I tried making my own too! You should know that this is entirely self-indulgent like anything else I draw askdaslds

There is Mareach and Bowuigi bc yes alskdklasd and a tiny bit of one-sided Luaisy that leads to nothing because Luigi's a married man 😔

I had other drawings of them, but they're not colored yet and I wanted to share the idea already sjsjs

Here's some ideas for this AU!

-Mario's the Mushroom Kingdom Princess and his parents are the King and Queen. Luigi used to be the other princess, green princess or green princess Mario (as in, his bro Mario, not his last name Mario 😔), but he married Bowser and became the Queen of the Darklands :y Everyone in there respects and remembers his name, he's built a really good reputation for himself by simply being himself, in this house we believe in the 'Luigi is the Darklands' hero' hc too. Their aunt and uncles (and cousin) rule Sarasaland.

-(King boo's a Darklands ally but still hates Queen Luigi from that one time he wiped clean his mansion when the king kidnapped Mario. Luigi's scared of ghosts still too, but Junior always reassures him he's gonna beat them up if they try scaring his mama (I drew it actually, I'm gonna color it too!))

-When the bros were 20 Bowser at first tried kidnapping Princess Mario, and Mario was ready to beat his ass but they ended up talking about ally-making and ruling a kingdom as Bowser just got crowned king. Mario advised him to listen to his advisor and other stuff and by the time Luigi caught the koopa ship, ready to bonk Bowser in the head with his comically large hammer, the princess and king made plans of starting a treaty.

>Anyways, they met often after that when Bowser went to plan the treat with the Mario King and Queen. Luigi fell for Bowser and Bowser fell harder and Mario regretted talking to Bowser and should have instead just beat him up. He's happy for his bro though. When they married and had Junior and adopted the koopalings he decided that he was very happy that he talked to Bowser. He loves how happy Luigi is.

-Princess Mario accomplishes many things and excels at almost anything he tries, and all the toads treat him as a hero as well as a princess and all, so his dad doesn't think he's a failure, but still bothers him by urging him to get married ever since he turned thirty. He often compares him to Luigi, who got married at 23 and in the present had eight kids with his husband. Mario doesn't give a shit about marrying soon, but wished his dad would stop being annoying. His mamma is a sweetheart as always and often tells her husband to leave him alone. King Mario is stubborn as hell though (his two boys got that from him), so he doesn't.

-Peach and Daisy are cousins and they were trying to start a business together, though they weren't still sure about what (you know as Princess Peach and Daisy have many businesses together in canon aksdla), but before they could settle anything they somehow fell in the pipe and Peach landed in the Mushroom Kingdom and Daisy in the Darklands.

-Bowser still steals the Super Star, but in hopes of giving Luigi the coolest anniversary gift ever, as it's their seventh and all that. He very often gives him all sort of things, like great statues, many many dresses and all the stuff that he knows Luigi loves. Being the himbo he is, he's genuinely concerned that Luigi wouldn't like something unless it is completely new and has never been gifted to him at all. Of course, Luigi would love anything he'd give him, because Bowser's gifts are always made with love. By the end of the things, Luigi tells Bowser so and calls him an idiot affectionally, and also makes him return the Super Star. (movie-like, you know, since this is somehow a retelling alksdlasd)

-Based on what I read at discord, if you're who wrote it, pls know that i love your ideas jsjs- Bowser has set up many statues of Luigi that are of a nice stone color and has gems in its eyes to glow under the lava and the sun when it's out. Imagine that one Luigi render where he's got an arm raised and the other nicely by his side and he's smiling, that's the main statue of Queen Luigi sjjds. They contrast greatly against Bowser's, that were made to make his fierceness stand out, unlike Luigi's that highlight his kindness.

-In the piano scene, Bowser is playing and singing and Luigi's laying on his stomach over the piano's surface (no idea if that's possible but humor me alkdalsd) and listens with the most besotted expression ever, resting his face on his palms. When Kamek interrupts them Luigi's not mad or anything, but Bowser really glares at the magikoopa.

-Junior finds Daisy and brings her to the castle, in hopes that his mama and papa will help her, because they're the greatest people in the whole world and they can do anything.

-Daisy and Luigi quickly become friends, making Bowser jealous of the other human, especially because Daisy from time to time looks at Luigi as if she like-liked him. Not that he thought Luigi had eyes for anyone else beside him, but it was still annoying. And Diasy, for all she annoyed him, seemed to fully respect that Luigi was happily married.

-Daisy teases Bowser mercilessly too, at first clueless that she's supposed to be terrified and respect this guy like everyone else does (maybe Junior takes her to him first, and completely forgetting Junior's initial rambling about his family, she doesn't realize Bowser's the king, but when she meets Luigi, she sees his crown and fancy clothes and immediately knows she gotta be respectful to this guy. She doesn't know how royals are in this lava world, after all), but she keeps doing it, knowing the koopa king may look terrifying but he's mostly bark and no bite.

-DK and Mario are friends and they often meet up to beat the shit out of the other, or sparring as it's called, I think. The first time they did it, Mario got the cat power up and destroyed DK in front of the kong king and other kongs, and since then Cranky doesn't dislike Mario so much, and the others respect him greatly too.

-Mareach,,, they look at eachother and sparkles are in there too. Peach doesn't brutally throw Mario to the ground or anything, but he loses his breath anyways because of her beauty. Also, Mario's type is beautiful tall women (and tall idiot men, maybe his dad suggests DK as a husband and Mario's like ew dad, we're just friends. Or maybe... Donkareach... I like the fics that has them, but idk for this).

-Toad as a wingman, he doesn't care how obvious he is, he's gonna make Princess Mario and his new friend Peach be together, because they clearly like-like the other.

That's all I got for now askdalsd thanks if you read my ramblings, sorry if there's mistakes in writing.

I'm gonna color the stuff I got left and maybe draw more, but knowing myself I dunno if I will anytime soon 😔 Also I go back to college the next week sadly sjsjd

Got any thoughts on the AU? Tell cuz I'd love to know c:< but only if it's nice thoughts, I'm sensitive akdalsd

#super mario bros #my art #mario mario #princess peach #princess daisy #luigi #bowser #bowser jr #bowuigi #mareach #AU #roleswap au #also the Mareach preg post is gonna take me longer than expected bc I really wanna color it all alsdkasd #sorry pipol #princess Mario is the first ever he/him princess #princess Luigi was the second #princess mario and peach marry and they become queen mario and king peach idc

[royalarchivist]

Ironmouse: Part of the reason why I love this server so much is because everybody's so nice. Everyone! Like, every single person is super nice! And it's like- it's like, genuine nice, it's not like fake niceness. [...] I've literally talked to almost everybody at least once like outside of the QSMP. We've talked on Discord, people regularly check in on me, we get in group chats and we play games like outside of the server... You don't really find that sort of connection all the time with people.

Ironmouse recently talked about her experience on QSMP, and how kind all the members are. I'm posting the entire conversation instead of cutting it up like I usually would because I really enjoyed hearing her thoughts on the server.

[ Subtitle Transcript ]

-

Ironmouse: Honestly, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I did. He's so nice, he's so- he's always been super nice to me. He's been so nice, I– part of the reason why I- I love this server so much is because everybody's so nice. Everyone! Like, every single person is super nice! And it's like- it's like, genuine nice, it's not like fake niceness. You know how sometimes like– you always hear like, "Oh yeah, you know–" when–

Ironmouse: Whenever you like, join like a new thing, right? Whenever you like join like a new thing, you always worry, 'cuz you always think: "Oh, are the people gonna like me? Are they gonna be nice to me? What if- What if- you know, what if this, what if that?" But everybody like genuinely was nice when I first came by, and everybody has been so nice to me– not just in the game, but outside of the game, and–

Ironmouse: Something special about the QSMP is like... People wanna be your friend like outside of the game? Like, I've literally talked to ev– almost– almost everybody at least once like outside of the QSMP, like... We've talked on Discord, people like regularly check in on me, and like we get in group chats and like we- we play games like outside of the server, and it's just like... You don't really find that sort of connection all the time with people? You know what I mean? It's very– it's very not common when you go on like, a content creator-like server or stuff like that, you know? You'll get like one or two people that you get close to and stuff, but like... Everybody is SO nice, and everybody's been so nice to me, and I can't tell you how many people like, wished me– not just like wished me happy birthday, or like wished- said, "Oh, you know, hap- Merry Christmas!" dadadada, it's like genuinely like... Asked how I'm doing, and like talk to me, and like... Just like– I dunno, it's just like so- so- it's so wonderful. Ironmouse: Like, I get that with VShojo a lot, like– we're all like besties, and we all like talk all the time, but I feel like it's different, 'cuz like VShojo– we're VShojo, we're like– we're our own group, but this is like... You know... You don't expect this sorta thing when you get invited to like be on some- be a part of something, you know? And it's- and it's been so– it's been so wonderful and everybody's been so GENUINELY nice to me, and I- I appreciate everybody on the server so much, and they're just some of the nicest people that I've ever met ever, and it's just–

Ironmouse: It just warms my heart, and I'm just really– really like, thankful to be a part of something so great, and something so positive! Because like, everybody's so supportive! Like– the time when like, I didn't like– I- I- I had a moment where it's like I– do you guys remember in December when I- I was not around a lot? And like, I had to take breaks and all this stuff and it turns out it was like the concert stuff? They all like would message me regularly, like, we would all keep up with each other, and we would all talk. And I remember telling them about like, how much stress I was under, and like all the- all the pressures of the concert and stuff, and– and they were cheering, and- and- and they were just so... so kind to me, it was just so– so sweet, and- and you know, I was in a group chat with a- with a few people, and they were all just so excited and- and- just super nice, and- and very- very sweet, and it's just– and it's just very– I'm sorry if I'm rambling! It's just...

Ironmouse: I dunno! I- I- I just enjoy being here, and I enjoy hanging out with everybody, and... it's just nice to meet really good people. You don't really find that. You don't find that sort of thing all the time. Don't get me wrong– it's not like I haven't met a lot of good people, like– I just feel like this whole like, my whole like– Ever, like– My streaming journey, I've just been nothing but surprised at the goodness of people? Don't get me wrong– I've met assholes and sht like that, and I've met- I've encountered some people that are NOT so nice. I'll never like, talk about it or whatever because that's their thing, and I'm just gonna do my thing and I don't wanna like, you know, spread any type of stupid drama or whatever the fck, but like... I'm just always surprised about how– how incredibly nice people are, and how genuine a lot of people are, and it's... It- it's just nice, especially since like– You're used to coming from like, a certain background and a certain like, environment where it's like, you've met a lot of like fcked up mean people in your life, and you've just been around a lot of like fckery, you know? So when- when you're around stuff that's NOT fcked, it's just like, "Woah, this is crazy! Is this- is this how life is supposed to be?!" And it's just- it's just really... it's really- it's really nice. It's very nice.

Ironmouse: Yeah, it's very refreshing, that's why I- I enjoy hanging out on here, everybody's just so nice to me. And it's not just like being nice just to be on-stream, it's nice off-stream, on-stream, friendship on-stream, off-stream, it's- it's just- it's just so- it's- it's- it's wonderful. It's wonderful. And I just have to say like... man, I'm just really thankful that like... it's crazy that like I got invited to be on here and I'm just really thankful that, you know... Quackity like, reached out to me and he's- he's just been nothing but nice, everybody- everybody's just so kind. Everybody's so nice. This is something truly special.

#QSMP #Ironmouse #February 11 2024 #Subtitles #*clenches fist* You don't want to know how long it took me to transcribe and subtitle this thing #anyways I saw people sharing a Twitter thread where Mouse talked about this #and I was like ''hey that thread cut some bits out'' #so. here I am. posting the entire thing. and subtitling + transcribing it for some reason #anyways I'm shocked Tumblr let me upload this #I did lower the video quality a little bit (reluctantly) because the length + quality made the file size a smidge too big for Tumblr #but it's still pretty good quality imo. yeah? #I'm 100% applying to be a video editor the next time Quackity Studios is looking to hire folks again. #give me money so I can justify the time and effort I put into these things #Edit: Yeah I might make a shorter version of this too #just so I can direct people to this longer version as well #EDIT: LMAO I FORGOT TO POST THIS #Edited

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for purposely using the wrong pronouns for my “friend”?

I (24f) am a bit of a gamer, I’ve been gaming online since I was 15 and I’m in a discord server with the people I play with. The server is decently sized, there’s about 25 people in it, it’s mostly a chill place, we’re all nice to each other and nobody really cared about anyone’s sexuality. We’ve a few trans people in the server and everyone uses their correct pronouns.

A few months ago one of the guys (24m) stopped taking drugs. At first we were delighted because honestly we thought he was gonna OD one of these days and we were all kinda worried about him. However he got really into like andy tate and the manosphere. It makes everyone kinda uncomfortable when he says stuff like “real men aren’t emotional” (and then proceeds to have a hissy fit when he loses a game) but nobody really calls him out because we’ve known him for ten years and nobody wants to start shit.

Anyway he and I were close for a long time and about two weeks ago we were the only ones in the server, when he starts this absolutely insane and unhinged rant about how much he hates pronouns. I asked him why he cares so much when they’re just words and everyone has them, including him. He told me he doesn’t care at all actually and thinks people who do care are pussies. So I asked if he’d care if I used she/her for him instead of he/him. He said he wouldn’t.

I’ve been exclusively using she/her to refer to him for the past two weeks (other than this post as I think it would get confusing) and he gets so annoyed when I do it. Last night he asked me to stop and when I asked if he finally understood how hurtful and uncomfortable it is to be misgendered he said “no I don’t care at all, you’re just being a stubborn bitch and im sick of your attitude so just stop”

I just left the call and since then he’s been blowing up my dms calling me all sorts of names. I asked some of our friends about it, most of them agree he’s just turned from our chill friend to a total dickbag, but some of them think I should just stop since it’s still misgendering and he did ask me to stop doing it.

I’m a bit torn, usually I’ve no issue with using someone’s pronouns, but his idgaf attitude paired with the fact that he clearly does care and just won’t admit to being wrong is really pissing me off, and I feel like he deserved a taste of his own medicine. (He also regularly misgenderes our trans friends but only when they aren’t on the server)

So AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[iamskyereads]

Salty Caramel

AGENT WHISKEY X FEM READER

summary: You hate him, you really do. During a mission Agent Whiskey eats a candy laced with a dangerous poison, and you're the only one who can save him.

warnings: 18+ MDNI This is Explicit as Fuck. This is a sex-candy fic. Dub/con trigger warnings apply. The Candy Made ‘Em Do It. Explicit sexual content (oral m & f receiving, p in v), lots of bodily fluids (cumeating, squirting), overstimulation, hate sex, mild somno, switch!Jack and switch!Reader, a soft ending with FEEELINNNGSS, and coarse language. Part crack, part unhinged fever dream. Reader is described as having curves.

7.8k of absolute filth and would have been yeeted unbeta’d into the universe except for @wheresarizona and her endless generosity. Thank you for the beta! 

Of course shoutout to the Discord Besties who thirsted over and approved of these shenanigans.

Apologies for the misuse of metaphors and overwrought references to candy. I have no explanation for this.

AO3 //// Masterlist

Agent Whiskey was the oil to your water. Swaggering and proud. Brash and obnoxious.

Your very first mission together saw the two of you playing fake husband and wife to dupe a rising Oil Tycoon into giving up the details of his unhinged plot to hold the world oil supply hostage in order to tank the markets. Confident and elated to be given your first field job, you went all in with Whiskey.

Back then, you and Whiskey got along, famously so, playing up the charm act on the Oil Tycoon. Flirting and physically affectionate with each other, you two acted the hell outta the doting, recently-married, extremely wealthy couple in order to schmooze your way into the Oil Tycoon’s good graces and then when the time was right, foil his plot.

Just as the two of you were seconds from uncovering the nefarious plans, and about to take down the Oil Tycoon himself, Whiskey swept you into his arms.

“We don’t have to keep pretending,” you hissed at him. No one was there to witness your little charade.

“Forgive me for this, sugar.” He cradled your face, bringing his lips to yours in a swift and passionate kiss.

It was your own foible—charmed by his nature, you had let the man get under your skin, even naively, entertained a few loose thoughts that it was nice to actually have his attention; let yourself believe that you were the man’s wife with all the real affection he was doting on you, even if it was for show.

But even this kiss, steamy as it was, was part of his wicked plan. Too late, you heard the clicking of a locking mechanism and breaking his kiss, you looked down to see he had handcuffed you to the radiator in the Oil Baron’s office.

“Whiskey! What the fuck?”

He left you behind that day and went to stop the Tycoon and his crazy plan on his own.

Afterwards, with the global oil supply safe, and no impending world collapse, you exploded at him and Champ when you returned to the Statesman HQ, threatening to quit. “It was our mission and he left me behind,” you spewed angrily.

It didn’t help that Whiskey stood there while you let Champ have it. All smug, with his hip cocked to one side, his hands resting on his belt loops to perfectly frame the flask clipped on his belt. The condescending ass. Fuming, rant over, you marched past him, and he tipped a two-fingered salute at you, brushing the brim of his Stetson.

“Pleasure, sugs.”

It turned you hot with fury. Since then, you swore you hated him with every fiber of your being.

Statesman Intel has you placed at a lab running a mystery drug about to hit the markets. It is destined to wind up in the bathroom stall of every club and every hooker’s G-string between here and the Golden Gate Bridge. 

People’s lives are at stake.

This mission is a simple recon job. Your first sweep of the drug lab, abandoned, for now, takes place after dark. It’s deserted save a few patrolling night guards that you knock down in record time. In the control room, after neutralizing the guards, you and Whiskey check the cons and the cameras.

The place is a ghost town, which makes your skin shiver in all the wrong places. Whatever intel Statesman had is poor, clearly outdated—there hadn’t been drug production, hell, not anything, in weeks given the state of the entirely empty warehouse.

“Why the security for an abandoned lab?” you ask your wily partner.

Whiskey’s got his eyes on something under the security console. He bends to investigate, and holds up what appears to be a piece of candy between his index finger and thumb. A caramel sweet wrapped in a clear plastic foil.

You scowl at his treasure. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to eat that.”

As if in direct challenge to you, he unwraps it.

“C'mon, really?” You snap at him. “We’re on a mission. Ginger said no fucking around.”

The bastard rolls it on his tongue with a smug shrug.

Leaving the control room, you and Whiskey, guns raised, head down to the main level. A strange sickly-sweet smell wafts over the premises too, one you cannot place. 

You can’t stop watching Whiskey’s jaw lock over the sweet, nursing it like a lozenge, with great smacks of his lips, locking and clacking, getting stuck on his teeth. You can hear him sucking back drool, and the succulently heavy melting caramel sticking on his tongue. He moans around it and says see something you like, sugs to rile you up when he sees you glaring.

The sickly smell worsens in the main part of the deserted lab, lingering on the empty conveyor belts, seeping in from the white-blasted walls, and the metal mixing vats among other large-scale machinery.

“Ginge,” you tap your Statesman glasses over your nose.

The line crackles with interference, but your tech expert back at HQ chirps back in the earpiece. “Here.”

“Sending you visuals of the lab.”

“Coming through. Standby.”

Whiskey’s analyzing one of the machines by a loading dock. They sit empty, these hulking structures, like outdated ghosts. He’s trailing one large finger over the edge of the tarpaulin thrown over the now unused machinery. “What you think, sugs? We call it in? Mission ended. Nothing here worth looking at.”

Your eyes glaze over as you take in the production line. Melting pots, boilers and burners, mixers for blending—it all felt misplaced. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it is more a high-end kitchen than a scientific lab peddling a party drug. More Willy Wonka than Cartel.

And that scent, it hits you finally. It’s confectionery.

Your earpiece crackles in the same moment—twin pings in both your ear and Whiskey’s—followed by Ginger’s pert voice. “They’re for—”

But you already know what she’s going to say. Rounding roughly on your partner on the other end of the room. “Whiskey, you idiot!”

“Candy production!! The models of these machines are for making candy!” Ginger’s saying, but the rest is swallowed by your haphazard shouting to Whiskey about the caramel sweet he swallowed being laced with the drug.

Usually, Whiskey would be mouthing off at you for going so hard on him—pun obviously fucking intended—and sticking to the rules, instead, his fear and confusion has muzzled him into silence, and he stares at you, frozen solid.

Whiskey is never silent. He’s a man of such inopportune verbosity you pray to prevent yourself from slapping him every time he opens his damn mouth to unload.

“Jack?” You ask calmly, because there’s a twitch on his left temple, a vein popping to near-bursting levels. 

A shadow has overtaken him—not a shadow, a glaze. It’s frosted over his features. Two fists clench and unclench at his sides. It’s his tongue you’re watching; it peeks out, a little triangle of pink to part his lips, scrape under the edge of his top teeth, razor sharp and glinting in a snarl.

“Fuckin’ told you,” you seethe at him, coming closer to investigate. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The second your hand touches upon the elbow patch of his wool blazer, he flinches like you’ve burned him. His eyes fall shut in a pinch, and he’s—pained?

It is barely more than a feathered touch, but he’s acting like you’ve knifed him. “Sugs, don’t,” he warns.

“Jack.” You repeat his real name, twinged with apprehension. “We gotta go.”

It’s incredibly difficult to get him out. He fights you every step of the way, the drug is working quickly, an intoxication setting in so deep he’s entirely reliant on you pulling him with all your strength.

Ginger’s yelling in your ear. “His heart rate, Lemonade, I’m seeing his vital signs go crazy.”

“I’m aware, Ginge.” You clench down on your jaw, gripping Whiskey’s coat sleeve as he wilts away from your grasp.

“Dose him with a sedative. There should be one in the medkit in the van,” she directs.

The Statesman vehicle is located outside the security gates that run the perimeter of the lab. Ginger guides you via a quicker route, one that barges a straight shot across the parking lot. It’s wide-open, leaving the two of you vulnerable, but there’s no time to bother with sneaking out, not when Whiskey’s condition is quickly deteriorating.

“I’ll need samples of what he took to get an antidote going.”

“Negative, Ginger. He swallowed the whole thing.” You’ve got him draped over your entire side, the two of you in a lock-step march across the parking lot. Keeping all your training focused on moving quickly, and eyes in the back of your head.

“Few more steps, Jack.” His arm is heavy around the width of your shoulders. 

The van is in sight and breathing a prayer, you haul Whiskey into the back of it, shutting and locking it down.

Your fellow agent is in poor condition—he’s sweating, going cross-eyed, movements jerky and uncontrolled. You hit him with a dose of sedative. It should work immediately, instead, it does nothing.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you yell in the narrow space. He’s sprawled across the floor, his precious hat fallen to the wayside, and he’s tugging at his jacket. “Ginge!” you snarl. “He’s trying to get naked!”

Your eardrum’s about to burst with how fast she’s talking. Going on about heart rates, and blood-toxicity levels. What you’re hearing is that Whiskey’s heart is pumping so wildly, his own body is fighting the toxins and now the sedative.

“Hot—s’too hot.” His speech is unrecognizable, panting, and scratchy. Guttural and low, it starts an ache within you.

“Temp is spiking,” Ginger reports in your ear.

“I’m aware.” Frantic and pissed off at the redundancies, you toss your earpiece across the space, not seeing where it lands.

There are ice packs for emergency use, you remember, as you dig around in the medkit. You have to squeeze them to break the inner seal, the packaging popping as you do so it’s almost like the blast of a gunshot. The seal breaks, you feel the liquid chemical spilling out into the shell, and you do the same to two more packages, turning to Whiskey and holding them up.

“Hey, hey.” You opt for a consoling, gentle tone. “We have to get your heart rate and temperature down.”

He’s already ripped his blazer and shirt, tearing the buttons down, so they go flying around the confines of the recon van, zinging off the walls.

His skin is all smooth and tanned, the color of salted caramel. Same texture too. Nearly hairless, the man’s torso is broad, but far from chiseled, for he is far softer than you thought. His jeans are so tight on him, he must mold himself into liquid, poured molten hot, the way he fits so snugly into them.

“Sugs,” he croons, helpless. It makes dryness soar in your mouth.

A thin layer of sweat has already burst out over his skin, his hair mussed, where it’s become disheveled with his writhing. He folds over, pressing his cheek into the cool sheet metal flooring on the bottom of the van. You tuck an ice pack onto the back of his neck, and under the pit of each arm.

“Dru–uh-gged,” he chokes out, torso quivering with every inhale and exhale. “Hurts.”

Wincing, you nod along. “You’re such a bastard,” and you laugh dryly, can’t help yourself at the shit he’s gotten himself into. “It’s gonna be okay. I need a blood sample. Ginger’s gonna get you an antidote.”

Another cylindrical drum and a vial from the medkit, a stab onto his arm. He grunts as the needle pierces him subcutaneously.

You have to tear your eyes away because—Jesus—he’s grinding his hips, rubbing the very ample bulge in his jeans upon the inanimate floor. It’s positively sinful. A moan reverberates, making your ears ring with the richness of the sound, the way it sends a shiver up the length of your spine.

At the computer console and monitors grafted to the walls of the van, you conduct an initial analysis of his blood sample. You don’t have all the proper equipment for a full diagnosis, but you have enough to preserve what you’ve collected, and can send along the rest to Ginger and the lab at HQ. The computer hums as it works, while Jack—you cut a glance down to him—

Fuck fuck fuck. He’s getting worse.

“Talk to me.” You hunker down to his level and he winces, groaning when you try to touch him. His body temperature seems to be flattening out, but it’s still worrisomely higher than you’d like it to be. The ice is helping somewhat.

His hips grinding upon the floor, however, are not helping you.

“Need.” You hear him say—

“Need? Need what?”

The next thing you hear is the pop of his belt buckle. “Oh no—no, hey, wait a second. Easy, easy.”

It’s too late. His hand is descending between the open leaves of his jeans, he’s jacking himself off dry, holy shit. He grunts like an animal as he works his hand over his cock. You only see the fervent movement of his forearm, the muscles in his back shaking as he brings himself to release, his hips humping

The drug elevates libido, that much is evident. Makes the taker so horny they have to have sex. But it’s also killing him. Literally. You gulp, reading his biometrics—he will die if he doesn’t …release himself.

“Not enough,” Jack’s hissing from the floor. “S’not…e-enough.” It falls off into a pained groan, anguished as he cums. You can hear the wet squelch of his release falling over his fist as he wrings himself dry, pumping his cock even as he finishes.

Not a single change in his condition.

“Jack,” your voice is too soft to be heard above the din of skin-on-skin, the wet sounds of his fist jerking himself off, and his wanton moans.

Last mission, when you played husband and wife, the two of you sat down and outlined what lines exactly were allowed to be crossed and when—where to touch, to kiss, to grope as dictated by the rules of intimacy and consent so you two could be convincing enough for the mission. It was pretty much an open book, the abrupt jump to physical intimacy when the two of you were basically newly minted acquaintances. The easy thing about Jack was he made it easy. He had no lines, not when it came to the decorum of affection.

It’s different here and now.

Frustration and anguish paints his features into an abundance of harsh lines, gritted teeth, and tense muscles. That vein on his forehead threatens to burst. He’s frantically jerking himself again, rolled onto his back. His cock juts proudly, engorged, and enraged as if he hadn’t spent the previous moments getting himself off. As if nothing had happened. White smears of his cum coat his hand and runs down his wrist.

“I can help,” you say, coming to your decision at the crossroads of fear and downright stupidity. “I can help, partner. Will you let me?”

“Yeah, sugs, yeah please,” he’s saying, moistening his lips as fast as he can, for they go dry instantly.

You arrange your hair out of the way, remove a top layer, so you’re down to your bra, things will get messy, and knee over to him, slapping his hands off his cock so you can have free reign.

You make quick work of the rest of his clothes, tugging off his belt and shucking off his pants. He groans, giddy, at the way you handle him roughly with no forethought.

“Please.” He’s reduced to begging, thighs shaking as he spreads himself.

Braced over him and mumbling a prayer—“for my country”—under your breath, you suck down his cock. He bucks as wild and untamed as a loose colt, grunting and moaning like he’s testing out his lungs for the first time.

Musk and salty precum explode on your tongue, taffy, and licorice; faint bristles of his pubic hair when you sink all the way down, tickle your nose, and you bob up and down. He smells nice, at least, not an offensive stench on him.

Odes tumble forth from his lips. He speaks in pure poetry, none of it makes sense, too sugar-laced, too sweet to be anything genuine. More Splenda than the real stuff, the real brown sugar, you spoon into your coffee every morning.

“Kitten,” Jack wheezes out a new nickname for you.

“Shut the fuck up, no talking,” you toss, incensed at him and mortified at the state of things. When your mouth pops off him, silky threads connect your mouth to the wet head of his cock, viscous as poured caramel. You hollow out your cheeks and take him in.

Jack won’t stop running his mouth—hot and juicy, crushed berries exploding on his tongue. He’s working overtime to shower you in praises, attagirl, you’re so good, and honey, you feel nice, keep going, kitten, I want to fuck your pretty tasty mouth that’s it, spooling forth equally.

“Let me taste you, kitten.” He chews on his lip, the sheen around his eyes has a glassy effect, opaque as obsidian. “Bet you’re so sweet, kitten. Bet it’s the sweetest pussy.”

He probably couldn’t eat pussy unless he had Ginger in his ear giving him instructions.

“Shut up,” you seethe at him, pulling his cock between your fist, and he grunts at the different sensation of your dry palm.

His loud laugh startles you. It swells in the vicinity of his chest, making the muscles of his belly quake. It ends in a roughened wheeze when you squeeze your palm around the base of his cock, making his eyes nearly bug out. You stroke him slower, more measured.

“That tongue a’yours, it’s all prickly, ain’t it?” For a man covered in his sweat and reduced to near drooling, he’s got quite the whiplash attitude. “Methinks the kitten doth—”

“Don’t call me that!” you snap.

“—protest too much, eh?” He grunts and heaves, tilts his neck backward as he sits back on his elbows, and closes his eyes. The bobbing of his throat is mesmerizing. Unfairly so.

You still have a job to do. He’s in no better shape since you started.

“I get you to cum, and we’re done, yeah, Whiskey?” The sharp edge to it chafes on your tongue, the same shock as a swallow of that liquor he shares his callsign; it gets his attention.

“I said, yeah, Whiskey?” Because goddamn all to pieces and hell and back and everything in between, you need his verbal confirmation.

“Yeah, ma’am,” he croons, and moans immediately. A surge of arousal ricochets through him, ending in drips of more precum leaking from the purple-red head of his cock. 

“Good.” You lick off the precum and cum, milky whipped cream.

You bring him to an earth-shattering orgasm almost immediately, he bursts into your open mouth, fucking upwards on your tongue, and you relax your jaw around his girth, which is impressive in itself.

There’s no place for his cum to go but down your throat, and you swallow it all, breathing through your nose and sucking around his cock, which does not soften in the slightest. 

Jesus, you could be here all night.

Jack lies upon the floor, limbs akimbo, naked and shiny with sweat. Cum and saliva drip from your chin, and you wipe it messily across the back of your hand.

He’s breathing faster than a racehorse. “Kitten, c’mere.”

“Don’t call me that!” Then yield—“How you doing, Jack? Hurting?”

The obsidian effect on his eyes has not lessened, nor has the red flush on his body. Half-lidded eyes, heavy with want, as you check him over.

“C’mere,” he croaks. The quality of his voice has not changed, raspy and roughened with the lust brought on by the drug.

You hover over him. Jack jumps when your hands check his temperature. His nose follows your arm around, inhaling your scent as if he’s trying to memorize it. With a jerky motion, he takes your messy fingers and pops them one-by-one into his mouth, filthily licking his spend off of you.

Fuck, it should not feel this good. His tongue is playing a wicked game, and he moans around your fingers. A hunger morphs his features, already handsome, he appears more so, the aquiline slope of his nose, the strong cut of his jaw, the pearly pink of his lips around your fingers, the indent of his dimple. A fire is starting in your belly.

The moan you release is positively depraved. “J-a-aack,” you stutter, because you’re feeling strange. Impossibly hot. Hot-flash-hot.

There’s a beeping on the monitor somewhere in the vicinity behind you. A slow swivel of your head, but your limbs feel strange, like little licks of electricity are coursing through you.

The computer monitor is flashing your vital signs—you have to blink a few times to comprehend them and the way Jack is licking the palm of your hand, moaning as he starts to pump himself again. It’s a serious distraction, and it physically pains you to tear your eyes away from the flushed head of his cock going into his fist, disappearing then reappearing, to read the monitors displaying that now your core body heat is rising, and so is your heart rate.

“Huh?” 

“Gonna let old Jack eat your pretty pussy?” Jack’s hungering into your ear. He’s loosening the straps of your bra, attaching his mouth to the skin of your clavicle.

Heat soars inside you and you cry out, relieved, at the brush of his hands, the swipe of his hot tongue. It’s too damned hot and it—it…feels so good when he touches you.

“Shit,” you slur, “I’ve been”—Jack’s nibbling at your earlobe—“I’m infected.”

Fuck. How? You smack your lips because while you hadn’t even eaten the candy, you’d only—

The brash hardness of his cock trapped under your thigh awakens you to realization. The musky taste of Jack’s cum inside your mouth was sweeter than saltwater taffy when you swallowed him down. 

It’s in you now.

Diluted, though, for you still possess some of your faculties. That must be how the poison spreads, infecting all those who imbibe it via secondary transmission.

And it’s killing you too.

Your pussy throbs and you whimper. Shit, you have to get out of here, but Jack won’t stop petting you in his lap, making you grind downwards on him as he unclasps your bra. There’s already dampness edging outward from your core, soaking the lining of your panties and spotting your blue jeans—which are stifling. But the more you try to ignore it, the more it hurts.

Jack explores your breasts, freed from their cups. How could he not, he’s ravenous at every part of you.

“Look at me.” You tug the backside of his untamed hair so his eyes land on yours. It’s full puppy-dog effect—they’re wide and worried, nearly black in the dim light of the van, under the mellow overhead lights.

“Still in there?” you question him, holding his face so you can peer into the depths of his drugged-out state, searching for the man underneath the fog. Your throat is so dry it clamps up at any attempt to speak further.

You can see him fighting the euphoric state, the flash of fear and uncertainty, the confused pink blep of his tongue between his lips. Your hand travels over the sweaty untamed fringe that’s fallen over his forehead, smoothing it back off his face, and he purrs. It drops straight to your core, making you squirm in his hold, trying to lessen the agony of desire blooming deep inside you.

A push on his strong shoulders sends him prone upon the floor. You are quick to undress yourself, bra, jeans, underwear—every article of clothing dropped makes you want to cry in sweet relief, yes yes yes your body seems to say, moving faster than your mind. Slick leaks from your center, your aroused state making you sensitive, every lick of cool air upon your heated center sends you shivering, goosebumps drawing up on the surface of your skin, tightening the nubs of your nipples. The thud thud thud of your heart echoes in your ears, loud as a passing airplane directly overhead.

Jack’s reduced to whines. His twitching cock is trapped beneath you. As much as it is torture for you, it’s ten times more intense for him—as a thousand knives into every pore the more you fight it.

Climbing back atop Jack, you attach your mouth to one of his dark nipples, he howls, clinging to you as a savior. His thick cock bobs on his belly, smearing more precum in droplets on his navel. You’d be more intimidated at how much he’s going to stretch you, except you ache with emptiness.

You glide your pussy on the underside of his cock, coating him. At the first touch, the heat within you begins to abate, the roar of desire turns to a low whisper it’s perfect it’s just what you want. It's not enough, it’s perfect, it’s so close, it’s not enough. It all screams inside you, rising as a tidal wave, more more more.

A lift onto your knees, a grasp around his base to align you, and you’re about to notch him at your entrance and the smooth round head of his cock is about to sink inside your sweet warmth, about to soothe the tempest of madness—

“Lemonade.”

You whip your head to stare, mouth agape at him. Breathing a full-on wheeze.

“Whiskey.” There’s lucidity, temporarily so, in the way he’s gazing at you right now.

His broad palm soothes down the side of your face. It’s so tender, the animal inside you brought on by the drugs purrs at it.

“It’s okay, s’okay,” he whispers, tortured and boyishly innocent all at once. His throat is so parched, lips cracked and ruined with dehydration, and he can barely breathe.

“It hurts,” you gasp. “Make it stop.”

His eyes slip closed, catching one mangled breath after another. The apple of his throat bobs, the muscles in his neck flexing and straining under pressure. You zero in on it, count the many freckles dotting the surface of his skin, and smack your lips at the beads of sweat on his pretty neck. Nostrils flared, he fights to open his eyes again, and groans when he sees you poised over him, perched on your knees, ready to take him.

“I know, sugs. I know.” He lays his hands on your torso, rides your curves—built like a back country road, he always used to tease you—down to the plush meat of your ass and squeezes. It hitches you forward, so the head of his cock kisses the inner lips of your pussy.

A ragged intake of air and you hold it, then ever so slowly you sink down on his cock.

You ride him until your thighs ache. Until every muscle in you screams and screams. The low-hungering growl you hear, you’re surprised to learn, is your own scream shearing through your vocal chords. An orgasm, the first of many, makes you hunch over as if punched, as you rub furiously at your clit, teasing out its length, drawing out every spasm, and you clench around Jack’s cock, wringing him dry.

Woozy, you hide your face in his damp neck, folded over him and he holds the underside of your thighs to keep you bouncing on his cock. Your mouth opens, tasting the slickness of his beautiful skin stretched over the muscles and bones of his collar, and you find a spot, and gnaw your teeth along it, scraping and biting until he hollers aloud.

Jack loses control of his hips. Ramming them as he spills inside you. When you think you’re done, your orgasm having claimed every muscle and fiber in your body, a timid roar inside you calls out, yet unsatisfied.

Jack manages to sit up, keeping you in his lap. The slick gliding of his cock becomes more of a grind, slow and easy. His breath ghosts over your collar, brushes and cools the sweat pooling on your neck, between the valley of your breasts. 

You can adjust your sore legs so they sweep behind his hips, seated upright, one arm resting on his shoulders, the other running up and down the smooth planes of his torso. Jack melts as your nails abrade down his flanks, in surrender to you, a rippling and roiling ocean waves. You two rock and sway together.

A two-headed, eight-limbed monster at war with itself.

It takes you a moment, but he’s speaking. Soft as a breeze brushing petals upon your sweat-soaked skin. The undulating mash of your moving bodies never ceases, nor do the frenzied whispers of his praise, spoken by his tongue and hands.

There’s the width of his hands exploring your body, your breasts. There’s the head of his cock nudging so deeply, you swear you feel him in the back of your throat. There’s the rough drawl of his accent, wheezing when he calls to you you’re so pretty never wanted you so much, kitten feel so good, made for me, made to take me like this prettiest girl never could tell you—

There’s the low coil of arousal deep in your spine, pushing against to the forefront. A caress starts on the wet swollen, puffy lips of your pussy—Jack’s thumb, stolen and slipped between your rutting bodies, has moved to your clit. He coaxes the beast outwards, makes it purr and keen with honeyed cries. You, honest to God, groan throatily, snapping your head back in a broad appeal to the heavens.

“Jack, please,” you are whining. “Please make it stop.”

“I got you, kitten.” He lifts his face from your sweaty neck.

“Shut—up.” You’re drooling, eyes rolling into the deep recesses of your head as you climb higher and are soon released as if suspended over a cliff and dropped. He follows in short succession until his cock twitches inside you. His seed spills, easing the glide but he is relentlessly hard.

Desire is the victor on his features. Hooded dark eyes are stained with tears, and his jaw slacks with submission. His wilted hair sits messily upon the crown of his hair. He’s positively sinful—golden skin, opaque glass for eyes, lips spit-soaked and raw as he hisses and jerks with overstimulation.

In a frugal motion, you are turned onto your belly. Knees sent scraping along the metal flooring, making you gasp at the sensation of coolness on your heated body. A yank of your hips upwards as you place your cheek on that cool, merciful iciness. You whine at the loss, but soon Jack is fitting his cock into place inside you, making you moan and gasp and beat the floor with its goodness.

He hammers into you, precisely into your G-spot. Your body is limp, tired, and sore, but still, the monster claws at your throat, stirs the emptiness in your belly. It rises as the sun, bringing heat and warmth, and yes, Jack just like that, his brash fingers working overtime on your clit, until he’s got you seizing up all over again. Wetness running down your already damp thighs.

“I hate you,” you grate out at the surprising speed of your continuous orgasms. “I really hate you.”

Jack’s body blankets yours, the softness of his belly melding smoothly to the base of your spine. “Show me how much you hate me,” he all but coos.

The muscled angle of his arm is in your periphery and you nuzzle into him, latching your mouth around the thick fingers. He grunts somewhere in the vicinity of your ear, pain or pleasure you know both are honest.

“I swear to fucking god I hate you so much.”

“Show me.”

“I can’t,” you croak, when you feel his other fingers edging around your opening, seeking your swollen, abused nub. Too sore and overstimulated to want to be touched anymore, but you can’t help it.

“Yes, you can,” he urges. “One more, one more. I got you. You let old Jack in now.”

How much more ‘in’ can he get? He’s already barricaded through every barrier, crossed every border, knocked at the doors of your defenses and tore right through them. Vulnerable and raw, tears leak from your eyes. If he leaves you now, you swear you’ll die.

“I can’t,” you pant around his fingers in your mouth. You are skirting the edges of your fatigue. “I can’t.”

Your vision has become blurry. Jack is no more than a see-sawing outline of black hair and a messy mustache out of the corner of your eye. Sweaty and damp across the landscape of your back, his strong thighs cage yours and the broad strokes of his cock hit in and out with intensity. Hitting the very deepest, sorest parts of you.

“Yes, you can, sugar, let me give you one more,” Jack’s pleading.

He circles at your clit, and you scream at the sensitivity of it. Overwhelmed. The pressure is too much. You feel like bursting. You do. A hot liquid comes out of you, more squelch than a squirt, and he rides it out, meets you thrust for thrust.

“Good girl! You see that! You soaked me,” he’s exclaiming behind you like you’ve won yourself a medal in the rodeo for your effort. Good Lord, it’s still pouring by the cupful, and you hear the audible wetness of your pussy sucking him inside you.

You don’t know how long it takes before he finishes, before he pulses and paints himself inside you, because you black out, your mouth open in a soundless scream.

The world comes back to you in fits and starts. Small kisses are being placed around your breasts.

“I’m glad it was you, kitten,” you hear him say. 

Dazed, all the world a crusty background haze, you blink open your eyes, and focus on the shining light directly above your head. The van. You’re still in the fucking van. The computer terminal is in sleep mode, but a sole light flashing on the console means there’s a message, or maybe a couple hundred. Definitely Ginger.

“Don’t call me that,” you grouse, belatedly. Your voice grates like coarse salt.

“Oh, but your pussycat likes it,” Jack disagrees gently, smacking his lips downwards upon your tummy, which flutters under his exploring tongue. He’s rutting into you softly, the half-hard head of his cock slipping on your thighs.

“My what?!” You have no energy to put any real fire behind it; it languishes in cooler waters, as do you. Lifting your neck just enough allows you to see him ridiculously smirking as he makes it all the way down to your exposed pussy.

“Gosh, I made a mighty mess of you,” he hums and bends to taste you. You hiss at the oversensitive throb, trying to jerk away, but he’s holding your hips down firmly.

“I am glad it was you here,” he says, honestly, in between soft kitten licks. “Been wanting you, gorgeous.”

How many licks to the center of a tootsie pop? For Jack—he’s willing to truly find out.

“Are you fucking lucid?” You ask him, because the glassy sheen is gone from his eyes. In fact, he appears so, despite the resident flush that nestles prettily upon his neck and chest and the halfsy he’s sporting, which for once he’s not concerned about. He’s more relaxed than you’ve seen him in hours.

Hell, maybe even—idly you consider this—since you’ve known the man.

The poison must be mostly gone. He’s his old self again, but not his old-old self. There’s something different about him here.

Jack hums into your pussy, and your thighs tremble below his ears, unable to hold your legs open any further, they fall outwards of their accord, staging you obscenely open and ready. But there’s no performance to the attention he’s doting on your pleasure.

There’s no brash attitude and cocksure wisecracks. He’s softer, a little blunter at the edges, and his smile doesn’t have an arrogant whiplash cut to it.

He’s not Whiskey. Just Jack.

Raw. Unrefined.

You reach your arm to the medkit somewhere in the vicinity of your left. It’s fallen over, the items messily discarded when things kicked up a notch.

“Wait,” you say, turning the gears of your head. “Don’t swallow. It’s in the…”

He’s not lazy about earning his spot cleaning you off. He’s fascinated. Lost in the sauce. Cunt-drunk. Peppering kisses to your sore lips, the hood of your clit.

Blindly you feel for the syringe and vial you had prepped before everything fell to madness. “Hafta sedate you.”

Your fingers close around the cylindrical drum, and it nearly spills from your grasp before your instinct kicks in—handy those reflexes, thanks, Champ—and you catch it before it clatters and rolls out of your reach.

The low hum of heat stirring in your belly is making you dizzy. Jack’s tongue, and his lips, and oh god, dare you say even the tickling of his mustache upon your sensitive, puffy pussy is turning you to Jell-O, gelatinous and rubbery. His wide fingers hold you open. You can feel the wafts of his breath as he feasts, painting en plein air with his whole mouth.

Your thumb finds the locking mechanism of the vial, a flick, and it sets into place, and with a slow movement, not wanting to startle him, you climb your arm to the side of his neck.

“M’sorry,” you whisper, and you kinda mean it. You jab the blunt edge of the instrument onto the wide plane of his neck, press, and release on the button, which opens the capsule of microneedles that will inject the sedative directly into his bloodstream. “For your own good.”

It fucking works this time. With a hissed grunt, Jack is out. His limbs flop, a marionette being cut, and he slumps messily. His nose smushes right into your mound, nearly smothering himself upon your pussy, but his even-tempered breathing is the only thing giving you a clue to his life signs.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” you blurt to the ceiling of the van. Because it’s all over.

You sit cross-armed and cross-legged, the very picture of dissatisfaction in Ginger’s lab.

It’s been two days. Two unsettling days.

Jack—Agent Whiskey—is still under medical leave. Having more direct contact with the candy has him in quarantine longer than you. The diluted version you swallowed in his cum passes quicker through your system, and you are released a day early.

The doctors are watching for any lingering effects of the poison. The traces in both your combined bloodstreams are able to be cross-referenced with data and distribution centers around the globe, leading to a break in the case and the shipments of murderous candies to be found, and their toxic allocations are halted and destroyed. The masterminds behind the chaotic sex-candy plan are either dead or behind bars.

Agents Whiskey and Lemonade save the world once again. Champ is planning a ceremony in which you and Whiskey would be lauded for your hard work, but until then, you are on desk-duty.

“Lemme guess, he’s told you everything,” you gripe bitterly to Ginger, tapping away at her keyboard as she does her final round of check-ups on you.

“Actually,” a perky Ginger responds, “he swears he remembers nothing. His reports are remarkably undetailed.”

You snort in disbelief. “Yeah, right. Any chance for that menace to blab to the whole office that he got a piece of this pussycat—”

“Blabbed what now ‘bout a pussycat?”

You balk, turn icy-cold at the figure of Jack—fucking Agent Whiskey in all his healthy glory, tight dark jeans, and popping-white crewneck tee-shirt, flattering his wide shoulders and muscled biceps—standing in the doorway. He’s a little pinkish, glowing clearly from a fresh shower. He’s not the flavor of arrogance you're used to, almost appearing gun-shy to your analytical eye.

“Nothing,” you practically spit. Your thighs involuntarily clench at the sight of a purple bruise on the lower quadrant of his neck, right above the collar of his shirt.

You try not to think about the heady rounds of mind-blowing sex the two of you had in that van it’s likely he was so doped up on that dose of poison-laced candy he doesn’t even remember. But you do, and where and when precisely, your mouth fitted over the junction of his collarbone and bit your good work into his skin.

It is all enough to burn to the back of your eyelids as caramelized butter to the bottom of the pan. Ain’t enough elbow grease in the world to rub it clean.

“If you don’t mind, Ginger, I’d, uh, ahem, like the room, please.”

Now, this is an Agent Whiskey you’ve never seen before. Stumbling over his words like that.

Ginger acquiesces, but not before a quick fortifying nod in your direction and a lowly muttered good luck, although you’ll be damned if you know what for.

He doesn’t speak, not even in the drawn-out seconds after the door clicks shut behind Ginger, and the two of you are alone, unsupervised, in her lab. The sterile white walls offer no comfort.

“I owe the little lady an apology,” Jack finally says, whilst staring at his cowboy-booted toes.

“I think, actually,” you cut him off sharply. “I’m the one that owes you an apology—you were dying, I thought I could—”

“Nothing happened that you have to apologize for,” Jack intercedes. “I gave you my ‘yeah, ma'am.’”

“But—wait, Ginger said you don’t remember anything!”

“Oh, I remember,” Jack replies. His gaze lifts to you, steady as a heartbeat. “Remember everything. Believe me, sugar, that was never how I imagined our first time happening.”

First time?

Something’s wrong with him. Ginger should look into long-term effects of this sex-candy drug. There must be some superficial chemical imbalance in his brain lingering that’s making him act this way, you’ve got a whole proposal on the unbreakability of complex sugar molecules already forming in your head when he drops into Ginger’s chair and rolls it over to be at your eye level.

“You’re a good Agent, Lemonade, maybe even better than me.”

“I think that candy’s messed with you,” you say to him.

“But you’ve got a lot of anger in your system, most of which is, judiciously, addressed to me,” he says with equanimity, bypassing your commentary. Angrily, you are about to spew your rebuke, but he holds up a pacifying hand to cease you from speaking further.

“I knew it from the moment of our first mission, sugs. We got close then, didn’t we?”

A warmth creeps up your neck. Denial stings bitterly on your tongue, ready to strike. It nearly brings you to tears—hot and cutting as a razor—thinking of those times. You choke it all down, swallow it roughly like a horse pill.

“Maybe even too close. Aw, hell, sometimes the fantasy played out like a reality. I liked how well we worked together, and I thought I could treat you right by keeping a distance, sugar, but God's honest truth is that I had feelings for you from the first moment I saw you in action, and that frightened me silly.”

His shampoo smells of peaches, mint, and juniper, and the brash white of the shirt contrasts with the darkness of his hair; there is honeyed sincerity in his dark, dark brown eyes, and the clean cut of the fresh trim on his mustache tells you he thought twice about his appearance here and now.

“Enough to handcuff me to a radiator and go on to save the day without your partner?” You can’t keep the bitterness out of the reference to the incident that started your hatred of him.

“Especially when I handcuffed you to that radiator.” His posture is loose, bent over on his forearms, in openness, bleeding vulnerability. “Let me explain myself over dinner.”

A chord has gotten stuck in your throat. A vibrating hum of a tune you think your body and memory has forgotten the words to, but it sings inside you, and you fear opening your mouth to release it.

“You and me, honeybun. No sugar-coating,” he emphasizes. “But,” and here he chuckles lightly, “you’ll forgive if I drop a few sweet names for ya. Try ‘em on for size. Since we’re doing everything back-asswards ‘round here.”

“Ass-Backwards,” you correct under your breath, if only to extend your competitiveness with him a little more. His sincerity does not relent, despite you checking and rechecking it for flaws.

“Okay,” you finally say, upon finding none. Your arms, formerly crossed over your chest as a defense posturing, have begun to loosen. “But not kitten.”

“I’ll be sure to remember.” He smiles. It’s kind of beautiful in its simplicity. The moment escapes when he slaps his hands on his thighs cartoonishly.

“Whoa! All of this has worked up my appetite! What do you think, Agent Lemonade? Something savory this time, I reckon.” He rubs idly at his belly.

You attempt to beat back the urge to roll your eyes. The two of you are about to exit the lab when something makes Jack pause. He turns to consider you, edging forward with slow, calculated steps. There’s mischief afoot.

“You know something, sugs, I don’t recall a single proper kiss.”

You warm profusely, for you certainly had put your mouths on each other. Part of the messed up sequence of things—sex before the date and all, the proverbial cart before the proverbial ass.

He’s smirking on one side of his face—that’s the Whiskey of old you think—but when he extends his hand, you find yourself taking it, and the warm cup of his other palm greeting your cheek is a starburst sunset, spilling oranges and pinks, reds and yellows.

“You’re kind of a salty caramel yourself, ain’t you? Hm, emphasis on the salty. You’re bound to get stuck in my teeth,” he damn near purrs. There’s affection in his eyes as his broad arms envelop you. The only thing really is to melt in the encasement of his arms, you allow yourself to return the embrace.

“Lemme have a chat with Champ,” he continues, all lip-smacking honeyed, “they should change your callsign. Lemonade—citrusy and sweet as it is, it don’t quite do you justice.”

“Yeah, and you’re Agent Buffoon, more like,” you say straight-faced. His damn grin is plastered permanently. “You gonna kiss me or what, you buffoon?

“Patience, my salty little caramel…” as his lips descend on yours.

tagging some folks: @ezrasbirdie @lowlights @leslie-lyman @prolix-yuy @amywritesthings @chaoticgeminate @daddydindjarin @mandoblowmybackout @coastielaceispunk @wordsnwhiskey @haylzcyon @musings-of-a-rose @starlightmornings @pagannightwitch @holobandit @pedrito-friskito @fuckyeahdindjarin @pedropascalsx @shirks-all-responsibilities @loversandantiheroes @kirsteng42 @nicolethered @alwaysbethewest @pennyserenade @kteague @fuckyeahdindjarin @magpie-to-the-morning​ @thestreamergirl @in-for-a-pennyx @littlemisspascal @steeevienicks @astradjarin @adancedivasmom @bbyanarchist

dividers by firefly-graphics

#my writing #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x female reader #kingsman golden circle fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

04/15/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Taika; Samson Kayo; Kay Buchanan; Nathan Foad; Watch parties; GLAAD LAST DAYS; Fan Spotlight; Love Notes; Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika.

== David Jenkins ==

Okay so I apologize all-- somehow I missed that all the David Jenkins pics going around were NEW. I don't know why but I thought they were from a while back. My taxes brain really has me messed up. So these are from the past 2-4 days. Now it makes a lot of sense too as to why everyone's been honking louder! You can see him there at WB Studios, and yes that is him with OFMD fan-stickers on his laptop.

Source: Kinga Malisz' IG

== Taika Waititi ==

A small glimpse of Taika and his ginormous doe eyes on the set of Klara and The Sun. Src: Vas J Morgan's IG

== Samson Kayo ==

Samson was out in Abu Dhabi U.A.E sporting his Prada Sun Glasses! Chaos Dad and Samba happened to pop into his comments as well! Thanks @ashes-skye for pointing out these great photos! SRC: Samson's Instagram

== Kay Buchanan ==

Our lovely leatherworker Kay Buchanan posted lots of cool things today on her instagram! Stede's Dagger Sheath

Next up was the Gunpowder Pouches for OFMD

== Nathan Foad ==

Some first shots of Nathan in his role in #LovesLabourLost! Src: Royal Shakespeare Company IG

== Watch Party Reminders! ==

== Flight Of the Conchords ==

Season 1 is done! Season 2 starts tomorrow with Episodes 1 and 2! Join Save OFMD Crew, and @/ iamadequate1 this week for Flight of the Conchords watch parties! You can watch each day at 4pm PT, 7 pm ET, 11pm BST! If you don't have access, feel free to join us on the #RhysDarbyFaction Discord server, you can hit me up for an invite.

Hashtags:

#FlagOfTheConchords

#OurFlagMeansDeath

== LAST CHANCE FOR GLAAD ==

Voting closes in two days, get your votes in while you can! Remember: you can vote more than once. 😉🏴‍☠️

IMG Src: @saveofmdcrewmates

== Fan Spotlight ==

One of our crewmates @/RabinaryCode on youtube has put together this cute Queen Parody for Rhys! Give it a listen if you have some time :) Vocals: @ferventrabbitao3

Lyrics: @tanteclem

== Cast Cards ==

To quote @melvisik "Tonight is Ian Alda (yup, related to Alan Alda) playing the clerk... reads notes Clark Clerkwell... person who told Stede he's dead "

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies. I hope you all are having a fresh start to your week. I've heard good news and rough news, so I truly hope if you have good news, it stays that way and if you have bad news, it looks up for you!

I really am so glad to see people clowning though. I know no one wants to get their hopes up, but it's nice to see that kind of energy flowing through the fandom again. We deserve a little treat of hope once in a while and it warms my heart how much people are running with it.

Hope is the dream lovelies. All things spring from hope. Don't give up on it. Even when things feel the worst, hope is what keeps us going. I have so much love for you friends. I know we have our bad days, but I hope you know that no matter what happens me and the crew will send you love. We love sharing this space with you. Rest well lovelies. Some quotes about hope tonight:

"The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience." - Emily Dickinson

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." - Eleanor Roosevelt

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

Sorry, tonight's theme is just... this interview because every time I see it it makes me smile so horrendously huge. I love them so much and certainly together like this. The goofy bastards. Gif Courtesy of @captain-flint

#daily ofmd recap #daily ofmd recaps #ofmd daily recaps #ofmd daily recap #our flag means death #ofmd #rhys darby #taika waititi #david jenkins #chaos dad #samson kayo #ofmd bts #kay buchanan #nathan foad #watch parties

[inkabelledesigns]

Belladonna Nightshade - Halloween Dark Fairy

Base Doll: G3 Twyla from Monster High Clothing Pattern: Dollightful's Asymmetrical Dress (read to the end, I have notes about this)

Happy Halloween everyone! Since becoming a doll customizer, my Halloween dolls are usually related to my favorite indie horror game, Bendy and the Ink Machine. However, seeing as I've completed two Bendy dolls already this year, I felt it was time to give myself a break and try something a bit different. My friends over in DollyAnna's Discord server wanted to do a collaboration, so we decided to all make some Dark Fairies for Halloween!

Belladonna Nightshade is a mischievous fae that loves to play tricks and tempt mortals. That said, she's easily bribed with a sweet treat or two, and will usually let you be if you have a little candy or pastry to give her. I haven't decided what I want to do with her yet in terms of a story, but there is a part of me that would love to have her in my Equinox story.

When you consider the fact that most of my other Halloween dolls are black and yellow, it's no surprise she ended up super colorful. XD Would you believe this is my first doll with rainbow hair? Yeah neither did I, but she is! Part of my style is having really colorful and vibrant dolls, it surprises a lot of people that I've never done a rainbow before, but honestly? I'm glad to have finally tackled one! I'm also glad to have worked with another G3. Twyla is very near and dear to my heart, and I was so psyched to work with her mold! You can't see it in any of these photos, but I used glow in the dark varnish on her eyes and neon markings, so that her eyes still glow like the original. I will say, this doll has a lot more acrylic paint than my others, just by the nature of I don't have any pencils in neon colors. It was nice to get the practice in, I feel more confident than I did before in my brush skills. It was also nice to have a doll with dark scleras for a change! I haven't done that since I made Dreamer, it's surprisingly fun to draw on!

I was inspired by a LOT of different things with this one, and I went back and forth on my concepts a lot. Black light skeleton make-up, butterflies, fairies with non-traditional wings, candy, jesters, these were all sources of inspiration, and I think most obviously of all, Dollightful herself. This wasn't intentional, but I ended up using a doll of one of her favorite characters, with a lot of saturated colors which we know she loves, and even her dress pattern! I've been wanting to make this garment for ages, and finally I had a reason to try it!

So those of you who know how this pattern works are probably asking "Kat, how did you make this fit a G3? This dress is supposed to fit a G1 Monster High doll!" Believe it or not, Requiem Arts has a method for easily adjusting G1 patterns to fit G3 bodies. It's as simple as scaling a pattern up to 104% and printing it that way. It's meant for her garments, but I don't see any reason why it wouldn't work for other doll patterns. So I tried it with Katherine's dress, and I'm happy to say it worked out just fine! I think I probably should have adjusted a bit more on the skirt though. This outfit is essentially two pieces, and the skirt with all the ruffles is a little tight around the booty, it could have used a little more sizing up. So if you own this pattern and want to try this yourself, do keep that in mind!

Do let me know what you think! I had so much fun working on Belladonna, she's so vibrant and fun, I wanna try more fairies like her someday. I also need to try using props more. I got these pumpkins and hay bales on sale, and it was fun using them to craft a little temporary set for photos.

#dollblr #doll customization #doll repaint #ooak doll #halloween doll #doll custom #custom doll #monster high g3 #monster high g3 twyla #monster high custom #monster high g3 custom #monster high repaint #doll photos #doll photoshoot #doll photography #ooak #monster high ooak #longpost

[mozukumi]

PSA: Takaia (Art Fight founder who stole donation money) is still going to be involved in ArtFight going forward, has not at all apologized

If you aren't aware of what Takaia did, here are some good resources (1) (2) but TL;DR: the founder of the website Art Fight was revealed to have been grossly mismanaging the site, most pertinently taking thousands of dollars in what was supposed to be donation money and using them for personal expenses.

Takaia resigned as the owner this July, and for a while, it seemed like everything was going to be great! Finally, there'd be competent leadership on the site, right?

Well... there was a newspost on Art Fight today.

[ID: a screenshot from the Art Fight newspost that reads:

As stated at the start, Takaia will be stepping back from her role as owner and will take on a support role for the site behind the scenes. We will all continue to work together to support Art Fight and let it grow to its fullest potential. "And will take on a support role for the site behind the scenes" is highlighted.

End ID.]

Takaia also provided this complete non-apology at the end.

[ID: a screenshot from the Art Fight newspost that reads:

I wanted to take a quick moment to apologize for communication deteriorating within the team towards the end of my time as owner of Art Fight. I never intended to let it break down like that, but good intentions don’t really excuse the fact that I let the team down. I also wanted to sincerely thank the staff who stayed behind to hold down the fort while things were sorted out at the end of the 2023 fight. You kept Art Fight alive, and I’m very grateful for that. I am, however, deeply sorry I put you in that position because I know how hard it was and I wish I hadn't put you through that. As I’m stepping back and passing the helm to Rainy, Axel, and Turtle, I’m glad to be here to support them as they carry Art Fight into the future. I am endlessly grateful to ALL of the staff and users who supported myself and Art Fight through my time here. Thank you, everyone, for going on this adventure with me these past 9 years!

End ID].

And maybe this is just me being cynical, but I have to wonder if the reason they released all of this information so late is because they hoped to bury the news in the off-season. So if you can spread the word - reblog this post, message your friends on Discord, make a tweet about it, whatever works for you - I think that'd be nice. Because this is a really big thing to just sweep under the rug.

#art fight #artfight #art fight 2023 #artfight 2023 #takaia

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Even Educated Fleas Do It

A Sarge & lil Mama episode (wedding night)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now it’s all hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dodger was saying—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Birds do it, bees do it

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

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

-Even educated fleas do it,

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

-So let’s do it, let’s fall in love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That so?” she asks, utterly sarcastic.

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

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

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

“Elaine?” he begs her to look at him, his warm hand gently grabbing her chin and turning her face to his like an ornery mule by its bridal. “Elaine, what’s in that pretty head? Talk to me please,” he puts his face all up in her own’s business, hands cradling her face and noses brushing, she can feel the brush of his lips when he speaks again softly, “Ya don’t think God would tell folks to be fruitful then make it awful for ‘em, do ya?”

It’s as if he’s read her mind, her own rationalization on the subject and she gives a slow nod of dissent, “no,” she agrees, and realizes due to her watery voice that she must’ve started crying somewhere along the way. It rankles her, being so skittish, being so troublesome for her groom when she’s not even been married a full day.

Lord, instead of being angry, he’s nuzzling her tear tracks across her face and swearing never ending tenderness to her. Her heart does another flip as his lips trail down her neck, and she warms again, her ache returns and it reminds her of his own. She tilts her head so he can better suck at the soft skin of her neck and casts her eyes down to his lap, finding him still eager. His key looks so desperate and needy, and despite her grievance against its size, her hand darts out instinctively to swipe at the leaking mushroom head like she would anyone’s tears from beneath their eyes.

It has a rather startling effect on her young husband.

Elvis lets out a choked cry and crushes her arms where he holds them, his kiss bitten cry turns into a chomp on her shoulder as the shock of his reaction makes her squeeze his member harder, eliciting a yet greater amount of pleasurable anguish from him. The way the previously dribbling precum gushes over her knuckles is entirely the most heady thing she’s ever managed to feel in her life. That molten warmth in her belly ignites again, and she kisses his own neck in delight at the responses he gives her, even as she drags the flat of her palm up and down his key, taking notes on the way he bucks against it.

“Elaine—” he garbles into her throat and she kneads his neck comfortingly even as she continues to watch the way this new friend throbs and gushes under her tiniest attentions. Like a personable pet or a responsive baby, it’s a joy to have something react to her with such inordinate eagerness.

“Alright, I believe ya,” she whispers soothingly as she thumbs at his leaking slit and strokes down his foreskin, noticing a definite ridge and then a puffy head differentiating the head from the rest of the shaft, “Just the tip has to go in, right?” she surveys the bulbous little head and calms herself. It’s not that big, just awfully wide. She can manage it, for the babies.

“N-no baby.” he stutters into her throat, miserable and worried sick about repeatedly having to be contrary, “S’all gotta go in.”

“But, but you can just spray up once it’s in!” she cries out, laughingly incredulous and a single sentence away from reverting back to suspecting him of playing a trick, “Why’s the whole thing gotta go in when it shoots the stuff a foot or more?”

That’s- that’s a worrisomely valid point, he thinks, but he can only deal with the logic of her hand fondling his cock right now and so he insists, “No baby, it’s gotta go deep, way up in your belly so it don’t get lost with all the cake ya ate.”

“That ain’t gonna get very deep.” she’s rather unimpressed with his length and it brings him right back down to earth with an Elaine shaped thump, “It’s the girth that’s unnecessarily…plentiful.”

“Ya sayin’ God didn’t know what he was doin when he made me?“ Elvis feigns outrage and pulls away to grin at her, to confirm she’s grinning, too.

She rolls her eyes, then that famillair, sweet smile overtakes her face as she flits her eyes all across the lean yet soft, pale yet golden, masculine yet boyish whole of him, -she finds him very good. “I reckon he knew what he was doin’,” she murmurs wryly, her stare dragging up his form, “I just object to the practicality of so few brains and so much—”

“Elaine!” he growls, gripping the back of her neck, “Kiss me, woman.”

She kisses him with the same gusto he’s previously seen her reserve only for football matches on the lawn. She catapults forward and it knocks the wind outta him, lands her solidly in his lap, a smooching, hair tugging goddess of a mad woman, and he scrambles to keep up, to assist the gearshift that just occurred. Zero to sixty it seems. Elaine can’t seem to hold still when she kisses, always leveraging up and wiggling around and it makes for two of them writhing, to the immense satisfaction of his cock that gets wedged between his belly and hers during this heavy make out.

Eventually she seems to notice -Elvis wonders what gave lil Elvis’ position away: the incessant twitching or the gallons of precum dribbling down the front of her gown.

She pulls away from the kiss and looks down, suddenly reaching and straightening his cock against her belly and through the haze of ball tingling appreciation for her touch he realizes she’s measuring the depth against her belly. That thought makes him spurt so violently he’s not sure if he’s cummin’ a lil or just, just gushin’ like he’s never seen himself gush before. Thank God this sweet little girl seems to like the fact he’s a messy, sensitive, uncut hick of a boy.

“We’ve just gotta try our best, hmm?” he stifles his anticipatory giggle at the size comparison to her abdomen and thumbs at her throat coaxingly, “I’ll try’n get it real deep, and you’ll be good and lemme, right?“

She will, for the babies, he already knows that. Knew it the minute she agreed to marry him. It’s why he wants her.

“Right.” she agrees and tries to not make it sound like she’s being condemned to torture, “I’ll be good for ya.” Be good and let him do what he needs to.

“And I’ll make it nice,” he swears adamantly and she nearly believes him, “It won’t hurt much, not at all after the first time, I’ll make sure you enjoy it, baby. Have ya begging for it in a few hours, you’ll see. It’s gonna be nice, remember?”

“Yeah.” Her tone is unsure but she waggles her eyebrows conspiratorially.

Then, before another promise can be made, she bends away from his lap and flops on her back, legs spread, baby blue silk riding up to show her wet curls, hands serenely crossed across her chest, face expectant. “Well, c’mon, gimme those babies.” she eggs him on, somehow keeping the wobble out of her thin voice.

“Elaine, honey, you’re shakin’,” he worries, noticing the visible battle in her body between desire and fear.

“I am a little chilly.” she replies very decorously, and with a liar liar pants on fire smile of assurance.

“Bullshit, you’re terrified,” he murmurs, petting her spread legs that are still partly in his lap, sliding his warm palms up her inner thighs and noting with satisfaction the way it makes her nipples pebble helplessly beneath the silk. She even rocks her hips towards his soothing attentions and that’s perfect, that’s how he’s gonna handle this, just soothe her into it, her entirely absent prudery a great aid. Although this next little detail he’s gonna teach her may push her to the limit.

“Now, ‘fore I go in, there’s a great deal of prep’s gotta happen or else I’d not be a husband, just a mean bastard, you understand?” And he watches closely as Elaine’s chest heaves in relief that she’s got a little more time before the main event. Come to think of it, he should buy her more time, maybe a bath to get her all loosened up and pliant. “How bout we take a bath first, ya wanna take a bath, baby?” he suggests and knows that it was entirely too random a segue the minute it leaves his mouth.

“Not–not right now.” she whispers honestly, her hands still crossed across her breasts and she makes a motion that hikes the neckline a little higher, telling him all he needs to know about her shyness. He’ll let her leave the slip on for now, the fact her cunt is considered husbandly property but her breasts are sacred maidenly assets makes him feral with want. “I’d like to just get this over w- to, experience it,” she does a decent job at damage control of her initial sentiment but he figures it’s understandable to want it over and done with, like a procedure, like a tooth being pulled. “Honestly Elvis, I’m too nervous to enjoy anything till we do it,” she admits, no pretty turn of phrase, just that precious honesty he appreciates so much about her.

Boy does he have a surprise for her, then. He grins and he nods understandingly, “I getcha, baby, we don’t gotta do nothin you don’t want,” he swears, “Just gotta prep ya then we’ll get on with it. Hey, stop shruggin’, ya just might like it.” He pinches her thigh and it makes her giggle, she gives him another unconvinced shrug that he takes as a gauntlet thrown to turn her into a whimpering cock slut.

“I-I’m gonna pull this up a lil,” he narrates gently, figuring it might put her at ease as he matches his words with the action of rolling her hemline up to her ribs. Her soft belly caves in with the breath she’s holding and he lays his searing palm on it, coaxing her to settle for him.

She can feel his calluses and the grounding weight of his broad hand on her womb, and the rightness of it turns her body pliant. That dreamy submission he first coaxed from her to make her sleep after her mother’s funeral -she can feel it coming over her again and settles glady. He’s never steered her wrong yet, and he’s let her keep her breasts modest, a sweet concession she is eager to thank him for with obedient compliance. She focuses on his large hand and the way it’s now petting, no, more like digging gently, with his fingertips into her lower belly, little digs and pulls upwards over and over again. She can feel each tug downstairs in her little house, like his fingertips are tugging at her little button’s string from the outside in. Her head truly sinks back into the gold tufted comforter and she absently palms a heaving breast. This part of being married is lovely.

The awed look overtaking Elvis’ cherubic features as he stares down at the freshly undressed slit between her legs is reward enough for her. Life is suddenly dreamy and hazy, like she’s viewing his rich coloring and decadent face through a stocking over a lens, like the girls do to minimize their pores in photographs. He looks like that naturally, too rich and pretty and lovely to be true, now muddled and smeared from the feelings his hands excite, he looks otherworldly and she lets slip a moan of appreciation.

“You’re so pretty.” she babbles again, unsure if any of it actually made it out of her head. It seems very pressing to tell him, maybe in lieux of the “I love you” he’s dying to hear but made her swear she wouldn’t say till she meant it.

For Elvis, the entire picture of Elaine, melted ivory skin with a halo of chocolate curls and a wisp of sea foam silk covering what he’s dying to see -she is like an erotic painting brought to life just for him to lick and squeeze and split open on a sea of gold. He shudders and keeps his finger tips massaging her giving belly, this ole trick of Johnny’s obviously not half bad, judging by the way she goes boneless and her long legs begin to spread of their own accord, knees bending out and her pink petals beginning to make an obvious flutter beneath the curls.

“You recall what Dodger said.” he asks her very softly, mumbling it into the soft skin of her inner knee as he gets her used to the feeling of his lips creeping closer to the place he’s about to devour, “remember her sayin I was to lick you?” he prods, knowing that bringing up his grandmother is not ideal seconds before slurping at his wife’s beaver, but he guesses rightly that he might benefit from some moral backup for what he’s about to propose.

“Y-yes, yes before a pecker o-“ Elaine’s already a little incoherent as he permits his hand to stray from her belly and scratch amongst their curls, digging and tugging at her outer lips from afar, making them glide against each other in a soft stimulation, like a foreskin getting rubbed over the glans.

“Pecker’s jus’another word for key.” he whispers into the butter soft skin of her twitching thigh and her hips jerk from the tickle of his voice.

“Oh is it?” she manages to laugh, even as it’s a far away little sound, “dear Dodger.” is all she adds.

“So like she said,” he carefully moves himself to a crouch, taking care not to jostle her out of her docile trance, crouching like those mountain cats between her legs, he carefully replaces his hand with his cheek as he rubs his face against her belly -entirely cat like, “like she said I gotta lick ya. See, cause….’‘fore ya use a-a key in a new lock ya gotta grease, it, right?”

Elaine Presley is so bewildered and terribly hungry for something, anything, Elvis could suggest just about any sort of fuckery right now and she’d agree. As is, she thinks she’s read in the Bible about a man kissing his woman down there, a vague reference to pomegranates that King Solomon might’ve thought real slick, but wasn’t subtle. There was certainly more of an illusion made to it in the good book than anything about chubby snakes going up inside a girl. She has no qualms against it, also very few brains at her disposal right now it seems, and she finds it’s nice having one’s mind wiped blank after such a hectic two weeks of planning and organizing.

“S-so I’m gonna lick ya down there, a k-kiss sorta a-“ Elvis is explaining, unnecessarily thorough in a pained, urgent, desperate whisper that he uses when he wants a thing bad but he wants you to think you want it badder and she-

-Later on in life, later on the next day even, Elaine could never quite tell or explain where the urge or the bravery or the biblical amounts of entitlement to his services she suddenly felt in that moment. All either of them had was the memory of her fresh as a daisy self, steering her groom by his hair till he was face planted between her legs, doing his duty. Licking her open, pink tongue wriggling and lapping.

Terrified shitless that somehow, somehow he’d mess up the one thing he was certain he was remarkably good at, Elvis’s skilled tongue had bolted into her wet heat like a colt through the starting gate with a lot to prove. And he maintained that ferocious pace and fervor for a undocumented and unrecalled amount of time. He was not sure how he managed to breathe down there for the hour or more he spent sucking and licking and jabbing his tongue into Elaine’s long dreamed of cunt, living off fumes from the sweetest pussy he’d ever tasted, hair tugs of gratitude his only payment and the sounds of shock and awe spilling out of his new wife at every bout of pleasure he tore from her.

The sounds she was making -they were the same as when the two of them went down to the flower festival in New Orleans, while he was on set, where she’d gasped and cried and exclaimed joyously over five street blocks worth of Lilies and Dahlias and the stringy flower bushes Elvis’ didn’t retain the name of.

“So, so nice, oh, oh right there”. This frantically happy compliance, this unabashed enjoyment by a virgin girl smashing his face into her snatch -it was more than Elvis’ wildest, most self indulgent fantasies could have hoped for.

He had noticed in Elaine a peculiar sort of common sense that most people didn’t have in common. If a thing was not harmful or explicitly forbidden, she had no objection to it, in fact, she considered it free game. And bucking her hips up to meet his tongue and utilize his nose against her button -was obviously one of those non prohibited joys of life. And he set about to make it so addictive that she would be collaring him for a lick every day of her life for the rest of their days. His hands slowly gravitated up her belly, squeezing and appreciating the firm give of her sides and up to her breasts that she still guarded with panting lassitude. He didn’t know if he had snuck his hands under hers to knead the firm mounds or if she’d allowed him under of her own accord, and placed her hands atop his in blessing. But either way, he stayed bent like that, hands groping at her tits and jaw near unhinged to swallow her down, his own hips rutting into the mattress, the seams of the bedspread chafing his cock pleasurably.

“Can I have another?” she would ask eagerly after having shook apart and dribbled over his tongue for the tenth time.

Who was he to deny her?

He worked his fingers in gently, but after the amount of spit and slick they had produced together, it was a mere pinch for her when he snuck in first one long finger, then another. Careful to keep her revving, he dallied for a while with just the two, scissoring them and spitting inside the tight little hole until her objectioning mewls turned to breathy sighs again. Working in the confines of her wet heat near drove him mad, feeling how tight she was around just a few digits had his cock aching and groans of his own came pouring out of his mouth, buzzing her clit and causing her to writhe.

He took to curling his fingers inside her, her walls giving under more readily after his patient coaxing and he rubbed the calloused pads of his fingers up and curled untill he found a soft, giving little spot unlike its surroundings, spongey in a way he’d only ever heard about. Her reaction to his touch there was also something that had before only been mere hearsay from the boys on the road. Her hips leveraged off the bed like she was possessed, and through the smash of her thighs about his ears he heard her scream, and perverse determination was entirely to blame for the way he forced his fingers to keep curling as her little house clamped down around them and suddenly his head was being crushed like a melon between her legs and a jet of sweet, Elaine flavored goodness was spewing at his grinning face.

“Sweet Jesus would ya look at tha-“ Elvis heaved in a dozen breaths the minute her legs fell apart again, propping up on his forearms and watching his stunned wife tremble violently, her belly and thighs shaking like they were motorized, her pussy still gushing feebly and her hands patting herself down as if to make sure she was still all there. He’d only ever heard of squirting, and here he was now, half blinded by her spray.

The sight of the teary eyed, mortified yet pleasure dumb confusion clouding her exquisitely clever face had given him no other option. He had to have her, had possess her, had to take, had to fuckin’ take his due. Now.

She was in no position to deny him, shaking in pleasurable shock and splayed out boneless and unsuspecting. Through a tunnel of starry spots she saw his glistening wet face come in to view, hovering over her own, and felt the warm weight of his body settling over hers, famillair and steadying. She tried to raise her floppy hand to pet his rosy cheek, to somehow convey how lovely he made her feel, but her hand wouldn’t respond beyond flopping around a few inches from the mattress like a beached fish. She began to giggle and could not stop, thinking she should stop so he could kiss her: ya can’t kiss a giggling woman as her lips aren’t available when she’s giggling and he’s gonna kiss her —

—he didn’t kiss her, instead he had gripped her cheek and it steadied her enough for the giggles to die out almost as effectively as the sobering feel of a blunt, slippery, heated thing pushing at her entrance.

“No, no, no” Elaine’s mind whimpered in betrayed protest, “no, no it had been so lovely, it had been so lovely, it had been nice acting married.”

Tears that had gathered and spilled from the nerve wracking ecstasy he had forced out of her, now spilled afresh down her splotchy cheeks. Her dark eyes glittered like dazzling pools of hurt, her head tilted to the side in disagreement with his plan.

Of course, of course, she thought, there’s always something more to be asked of a woman, a banquet can be enjoyed but there are always dishes afterwards, you get your pretty breasts but you have to bleed every month for them, you can have your house licked to madness but it’s only so that a hungry boy can more easily split you apart.

No, no, why? it had been so lovely…

Elvis had of course thought about fucking Elaine Phipps until she cried, he sometimes dreamed about her thrashing from too much pleasure her eyes streaming tears and her mouth twisted as she tried to let him finish, as he made her enjoy it more than she thought she had the capacity to. He’d thought of it, but it wasn’t the same as trying to push into a hole belonging to a girl mindlessly whimpering “No, no” beneath you.

Having an innocence kink, Elvis was discovering, was a lot sexier in theory, before stupid feelings emerged and pesky consciences nagged and the shuddering terror of your wife beneath you was abundantly tangible. That was a fantasy best kept between himself and his fist, and rock hard as he was, and nearly unhinged from waiting, he just couldn’t manage to do it this way. That old insecurity, that burning awareness that he had always wanted her more than she had wanted him came crowding into his mind, making his own eyes burn in rejection and fear.

“Shhh, shhh baby, it’s alright’ sweetheart, hey, hey it’s me, me c’mon, look at me.” he had begged her, hands engulfing both sides of her face, “I’m sorry, Elaine, I’m sorry.” it spills out in cry of his own because he doesn’t know how else to admit his long harbored expectations of her, the carnal weight of what he has wanted all this time, and all the wasted years he’d never told her he worshiped the soundboard her yittle fingers so cleverly levered , “I’ve loved you ever since I came back and found ya grown. I’m sorry, I’ve -I-I’ve wanted to have ya for years. You’re the most perfect thing alive. I-I-I just gotta have ya, I just gotta. I-I’ll d-d-die if ya don’t want me, too, honest I’ll die.”

When she looked at him then, looked and truly saw the soul of him stamped on his face -suddenly she saw everything she once doubted existed. He loved her. Elvis loved her and she was at peace.

It was Elvis. Dear ole Elvis, the boy at the studio who liked her sandwiches, the boy who she could most likely find sitting on the couch with his mother talking about his day, the boy who brushed her hair out for her the day they buried mama. It was Elvis, who was gonna give her babies, who’s gonna make sure she never wants for a thing, who is never going to let her be lonely or purposeless again. Elvis who was the most beautiful, exquisitely potent man she’d ever known, laying on top of her, shaking in desire to be inside her. He wanted to be inside her, so badly in fact, that all his power and his verve and his pride were shaking and shuddering above her.

“Oh my darling, you made me feel lovely.” she whispered to him, wanting that said before he split her open and took away her innocence. “Your love makes me happy, so happy. How could I not want that?“

“You want it?” he begged against her lips, he begged to hear it again while grabbing his tip and smudging against her clit, making her jerk and bow up in his arms. A reminder of what he can do to her, what he can give her, why she should be obedient.

“Yes, yes I want it.“ she repented of thinking anything unkind about her husband’s cock that’s gonna water her garden and grow her a family, that’s going to pry her open so children can pass through.

“Alright, ok.” he gathered his wits one last time, terrified to think of how he’s gonna lose all grip on himself once inside her after expending so patience beforehand, “Here's what we’re gon- we’re gonna let you control it.''

His brain pumped out fragmented explanations but he managed to sit up and bring her with him, landing her in his threatening lap, his arms cradling her little self, and he scooted higher in the bed until he was sitting upright, the padded black headboard at his back.

“There, here… we’ll, we’ll get it in like this.” he took to referring to his own body like it was a stranger, heaving in ragged breaths like a snorting racehorse. “At’cher own pace, baby. Ya-ya can…ya can sit on it.” He was no longer bothering to make sense, and thank God she seemed to realize that.

Being naive did not mean she was a fool. The novel concept now explained it was abundantly obvious in mechanics. Elaine grasped the slippery length of him firmly again, relishing the aliveness of it, holding it as she had when measuring him against her tummy.

She bit her lip with savage determination. Babies, he’s gonna give her babies.

Her husband’s face was all lash fanned anticipation, his pouty mouth grimacing in barely contained fervor and his eyes crinkled in a wince of pleasure from her grip. She saw a single tear escape his thicket of lashes and run down his prominent cheekbone, headed towards his hairline. She swiped at it tenderly with a thumb and had her hand grasped by him in response, tremblingly guided to his shoulder.

Leverage, she realized, he was giving her leverage and she raised up with her thighs like she would in the saddle, felt his hand meet her own down there to line him up, the size of his head against her giving her a thrill of horrored excitement.

Gently hovering and squatting, she gentled the puffy, leaking head of him in. The burning little sting of it only served to confirm that Elaine was about to be split apart when the rest followed. Now nestled far enough to need no guide, he grabbed at her other hand and put it in place on his shoulder, their noses touching, their legs bent atop the each other’s, arms encircled -suddenly this embrace made it feel completely essential to Elaine that they be connected in that remaining way. As if he could feel her submit around his first inch, his eyes flew open and a hungry azure gaze burned her up as her hair curtained around their faces and—

“You were made for this.” he reminded her as she whimpered at another little bit of length inserted, “You w-w-were fashioned u-up i-in heaven f-for this m-moment.” and the young man who couldn’t be made to stop wiggling in a Church pew tried to hold still as his drippingly tight wife cringingly lowered herself more, “In the doll factory u-up above, h-he m-m-made this lil house to t-the direct d-demensions t-t-to squeeze me d-dry —oh fuck, baby c’mon! That’s it, m-more come on, take me. Take more of me!” he groaned, his head bowed and watching where he began to disappear inside of Elaine, the culmination of all his madness.

“God Elvis it’s-its already awful.” she admits, staring at the stupid black headboard and registering every pulsing inch and vein and ridge of his rock hard, half jammed penis inside her tiny canal. “I dunno if i can-“

“Aww no ya don’t! No -don’t ya dare.” his snarled and gripped her hips as she began to raise up and dismount -it was only going to make it worse to try again and he was gonna make her finish this for her own sake, “Good wives don’t get off their husband’s cock till he says so. We’re ruinin’ ya for anyone else, babydoll, course it's gonna hurt something awful first time. Gotta see it though, don’t ya lose our progress.”

He saw a vicious emotion flash across her face -and he recognized it. It was the one from the mirror before a show, that wretched look of ambition that keeps him from fleeing from a crowd when all he wants to do is hide and puke his nerves away. He barely had time to brace his back before she was impaling herself on him again with teeth gritted ferocity, seething in his ear something about how she’d rather get kicked by Trojan -her gorgeous quarter horse. It made Elvis think of horses and her thighs working in the saddle and horses and stallions and stallions mounting mares and fuckin ‘em full and he-

“You’re gonna, you’re gonna take me.” he declared inexorably as she whimpered, “You’re gonna do what God made ya for, you’re gonna take my cock.”

“I can’t.” she wasn’t even whining, she could just feel him hitting a barrier and she couldn’t take more. “Please E, be nice, I-I ca- it’s not gonna fit, E!”

“It will, you’re my wife, ya will. You’ll take it all.” he kissed her check while reminding her steadily.

Then he snapped his hips up to meet hers in a powerful pump that tore her right through. She landed flush in his lap, a gush of virgin blood pooling between them, full to the brim with his thick cock nestled inside. Not even a cry let past her lips, just open mouthed shock, as if he’d punched the scream right out of her diaphragm.

Holy shit, his mind supplied, she was the tightest, most spectacularly tight -tightly wet pretty- tight woman. His whole body shook in delight at the wet, moldable grip of her walls, and he held her closer, blessing her for being so perfect, mumbling in between her still clothed breasts that he was gonna ruin her cunt for any other fella.

Elaine recalls just trying to breathe, even while clutching at his shoulders and listening to the filth pour out of his panting mouth, filth that confirmed his confession that he’d had designs on her body long ago. It made her shiver, which rubbed him inside of her and she doubled over into his chest, whimpering at the fullness and the burning sting of her stretched entrance. A thought flashed across her mind that he was mean to make her take all of him, the tip would have done just as well, and now she feels like she’s impaled on a pipe and his hips won’t stop squirming to force it that much deeper. He sounded like he was enjoying himself, maybe even having a vision of heaven buried inside her, and in that alone she took joy and made herself disentangle from him enough to glance down at the marvelous union they’d made.

It made her gasp in awe. She had swallowed him whole with her own body, taken him down to the root, his sack warm and full beneath her petals, absorbed him till there was no longer a he and she in the bed, but merely them. The Presley’s.

“Lord almighty, you’re tighter than hell.” Elvis moaned in appreciation of the absolute restructuring of her privates that he’d just done, gripping her back with his sweaty hands and letting his eyes roll into his skull in ecstasy.

“Tight yes -great balls of fire E, it hurts like hell.” she reiterated, a little petulant over his enjoyment of her wounded kitty, but he could tell even now she was recovering from the initial tearing open. “It’s not, it’s not supposed to -I can’t believe it fit.”

Curious despite herself, Elaine snuck a hand between them and gingerly felt the stretched ring of her hole and the thick base of him where they were flush, dark curls meeting together. He put his hand on top of her own and encouraged her exploration, making her pet herself and making her squeeze him despite the pained whimper she let out each time her pleasure made her please him.

“Jus’ ruinin ya for anyone else.” he repeated and she shivered in his arms, flicking her eyes up to meet his and sensing a beastial sort of claiming in them she had never seen before, “My wife,” he gloried in the title as his hips began to gently rock her in his lap, making her mewl, “my pretty wife, my good wife, look at you takin’ every damn bit of my cock, look at ya makin yourself useful, pleasin your man, ya like pleasin me dontcha? I know ya do, I’ve felt ya shiver when I praised ya before, I feel ya watchin me to make sure I like a thing you do. I know you, ya might not love me but ya love to please me, I know what you want. You wanna please me, always have since I first saw ya. Ya know what pleases me baby?” he tilted her face to his by her chin, her cheeks wet with tears and her mouth panting as he ground inside her deep and hard as granite, ignoring her whimpers -only her eyes showed the wild revelry she was feeling at being spoken to like this, “Know what makes me happiest?”

“No sir.” she gasped, respectful and suddenly aware of how helpless she was in his lap as his huge hands engulfed her plush hips and made her to swivel and grind on him, the motion tugging her lil house apart even more.

“Pleasin’ God by pleasin myself by filling you up. That’s what. That’s what makes me happy” he stated, the look of girlish shock she showed at his language shooting straight to his cock and making him jab up into her body until she clung to his shoulders and wailed, painfully aroused by the concept and terribly hurt by the process.

“Please, please.” she sobbed into his neck as he gripped her ass and leveraged her up and down on his thick shaft, his groans mounting joyously and her body trembling at being used so presumptuously. It’s too much, he’s too much of a man and her womb aches from his thrusts.

“Please use me?” he grinned into her neck wildly, “That wha’ you’re tryin to say, lil one? can’t get it out with a cock in ya, can ya? So yittle I bet I’m clean up through to your throat, ain’t I? My poor lil wifey.”

It was his glutted acknowledgement of the fact he knew she felt like he was spearing her beyond her capacity, yet he wouldn’t stop, loved her too much to stop driving himself into her, making himself fit in her. He wanted to be a part of her so bad he’d grab her wrists and bruise her hip with his grip and snap his pelvis against her own ruthlessly -just so he could be close to her. Just so she would be his.

It had her moan again, this time from something besides pain.

“Elvis.” she moaned out, trying to tell him, to somehow alert him to the fact she was willing and good and could feel her body had begun to give into its natural purpose, she was slumping into his chest, and her pussy still burned and ached but had surrendered to the veiny little conquerer plundering her depths. “Elvis I-I- yes, yes, use me.” she managed and was given a proud and searing kiss in return for her submission. “You’re so pretty.” she said it like it was some dazed explanation for her obedience.

With Elaine’s pussy giving and wet from blood and slick, he knew he could begin in earnest now. So, gently, he tipped her backwards out of his lap again, laying her on the golden sheets and falling deeper inside her as he got back on top, never pulling out through the whole maneuver. Her eyes rolled back as she felt him lay atop her, buried to the hilt, her legs pushed apart to bracket his waist and allow him deeper. She threw her arms around his neck and breathed in like she was about to be dropped on a rollercoaster, some imminent adventure obviously looming as he buried himself deep and got a thorough grip on her shoulders before kissing her ardently.

It was when she was kissing him back and thinking how wonderfully sweet he was that she first felt those famous hips pull back, then drive himself inside of her with shocking precision. It made her cry out, and before she could suck in breath to replace her cry he was pulling out and pumping in again, little gusts of shock mined out of her at each powerful and measured pump and her back began to rub against the bedspread, her whole body seemed to shake from the force of absorbing his vigor.

“Thank me.” he required, aiming to find that spot that had made her spray his face, determined to wipe that pained grimace off her face and replace it with pleasure.

“Thank -thank you?” her tone was dazed and he wasn’t sure if her confusion stemmed from what she was supposed to be grateful for, or if she disagreed. She gripped the comforter, hands above her head and out to the side, absorbing the ripple he drove into her flesh.

“I've made ya a woman.” he reminded, proud and smug as only a 23 year old boy can be when tumbling his pretty young bride in the sheets beneath him, “So thank me.”

She pensively watched him as he swayed above her, blocking out the gaudy chandelier, his hair flopping into his eyes and moving with the cadence of his body, his body was unforgiving and driving into hers with a steady, slow beat, but his face was still desperately insecure, searching for approval and a hint that he was doing well. She loosened one hand from the counterpane and brought it to his cheek. He melted, a huffed out whimper of his own, in sharp contrast to the rigid power of his desire.

“Sweet man.” she whispered, “So good to me, always so good to me.” she assured, and he gave her a wet kiss full of wanting, letting her pet down his neck, over his back, stroking the swell of his flank, remembering the reaction it had elicited in him and figuring she’d thank him once he managed something worthy of it. Which he was very close to doing, she sensed, if he could relax himself. “Elvis,” she nuzzled his nose with hers, propping herself up on her forearms, to look down the length of her belly at the place where he speared her, “gimme those babies, and I’ll thank ya.”

Her daring grin had the intended effect, his nostrils flared as he heaved in a breath and his pupils blew wide, he pried her other hand from the bedding and interlaced it in his much larger one, pressing the knuckles to the mattress,

“I love you.” he swore before gripping her hip and tilting her pelvis off the bed, to the angle of his satisfaction before he drove his hips in with the purpose of finding that place that made her wild, the one his fingers had discovered and got her to spray for him.

He knew he’d brushed it when her face went from sweet compliance with the discomfort and placid curiosity for the proceedings to eyelash fluttering shock.

“E!” she gusted out urgently and a little unsure, unsure that this horrid taking of him could really be morphing into the spine tingling thrill she was now feeling each time he drove in, the tug and ache of his size still apparent but almost serving to heighten the aliveness of her feelings down there. “Right -right there it’s, it’s oh, it’s-“ she hadn’t a word for it, as the feeling was growing in strength and any moment there might be some shift that turned it back to pain, his speed was picking up and it scared her as much as it excited her. Like when he started speeding on the winding roads of North Carolina just to hear her shriek, conflicted between excitement and fear.

“Yeah?” he huffed, shining with sweat and heat above her, his hair darkened and his eyes darkened and his lips darkened and he- he looked so flushed and dark and decadent and she moaned at the sight of so beautiful a creature possessing her, pleasuring himself with her body, like any animal or male would do with a mate. He could have just hunted her down on a forest floor, chosen her for her scent alone, pinned her fist to the ground and her hips up to his pelvis and -it was that primal. She loved it. Like all the energy and raw potency of life he had in him when performing was now being driven into her aching belly. “Yeah? Yeah that’s where ya like it? Tell me how ya like it, jus’ tell me and I’ll do anything. Anyhtin’ for ya, Elaine. I done told ya, told ya I’d make it nice.”

Nice was a pathetic word for what he was making her feel and she found herself wishing she had an extra hand to stifle the sounds that began to wail out of her throat at his unforgiving depth. His own moans and breaths were shuttering across her face and the intimacy of what they were doing filled her with a serene joy she’d only felt on crisp, tea drinking early dawns in autumn. It made her squeeze him closer and she could just feel the comfort he took in it, his whole body melding to hers. Elvis’ slow and long pumps had her adjusting well and the unerring accuracy he maintained when noticing something she liked soon had her clenching from pleasure rather than pain.

“You’re in me.” she stated the obvious with a little shock in her voice, turned silly beneath him as he shuddered and pumped in her, “Oh god you’re in me, and, and it’s, it’s -you’re so good at this…”

There was a kind God above after all, and she let out a giggle at the joy of it, at the joy of taking Elvis Presley to the hilt like she’d been born to do. The pride on his face came through the feral pleasure painting it, his hands beginning to map her own body, feeling the jiggle and give of her as he fucked her up the length of the bed, shock coming across his own features as he registered something new that first made a flash of panic burn through him.

He was in her, entirely bareback. And, well, he knew that of course but suddenly, the mind bending intensity of sensations around his cock made sense. It was the first time he’d been inside a woman without a barrier, no condom to distract from her silky grip, his precum gushing and spluttering, slicking up the way for his cock to drive in, turning their love making into a lewd cacophony of sounds that made the man in him exult. It’s my wife, he reminds himself both jubilantly but also to keep the reflexive panic of going in raw at bay, it’s my wife and I need to give her babies. To keep her I gotta fill her up.

“Look at that perfect face.” he groaned aloud to himself, and he meant Elaine’s “taking-cock” face, which he had imagined a million times, but her open mouthed, eye fluttering, hands in hair image below him was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in all his life, “Look at that perfect fuckin lil face.” he repeated as he forced himself in her all the way, bumping at her crevice and making her let out some form of sob.

“Y-you’re in deep enough?” she gasped out an inquiry, suddenly able to recall what this was all for, accepting of her purpose and close to feral in desire to accomplish it well.

“Ya can take more?” He asked, truly about to lose all grip on himself and wanting her blessing for it, “Gonna lemme get deep, baby? Make me a daddy, hmm? Gonna make me a daddy?”

He sped up with each sentence, her frantic nods and her “yes, yes Elvis, give me more, all of you!” spurring him on till he was driving into her and making those gorgeous breasts of her’s bounce wildly beneath her much abused silk nighty. “Get it deep, please, please get it deep.”

In theory he knew she wanted his swimmer's up past the cake she ate, his own perverted lesson suddenly coming back to bite him with a vengeance as her pleas sent him careening towards his own orgasm faster than he had any intention of blowing. But he was a man, and all his cock heard was “deeper.” And so he drove in deeper and harder.

“S’good.” she continued and her perfect diction was now slurred, her tongue heavy in her mouth and nothing but Elvis Elvis Elvis in her view and in her mind and in her body. “Gonna be good, it’s so good I-come on E, gimme those babies, please please, yes, you’re so good to me.” she was looking up at him in awe, her body spasming and shaking so hard he wasn’t sure if she was coming constantly or having one terribly intense build up. The sweet darling certainly had no clue, and that thought made him grip Elaine harder and he felt his mind grow hazy at her praise, “Elvis you’re, you’re so pretty like this!” she cried out, her neck strained as she clasped her hands around his face and stared deep into his eyes as he plowed her, those carmel colored eyes holding an intensity he’d never seen in a woman.

It shook him to the core and plunged him somewhere deep and subservient, the world felt like it was tilting and he was fading to a place where he was a pretty boy and a useful stud and he-

“Fuck! Elaine you-“ he wanted to tell her she couldn’t, she couldn’t say such things to him, it would turn him mindless, he knew the symptoms. He’d no longer be the strong husband she needed but her goddamn slave, a whimpering pathetic mess. He was going to come.

He pulled out abruptly, and as if his cock stuffing her pussy was filling the whole of her with strength, like a doll with batting. she deflated against the bed in confusion at the sudden halt and withdrawal.

“Baby?” she questioned him in a forlorn whimper, her entire consciousness begging for more as he patted her thighs soothingly and fought to grapple his sanity back in place. He couldn’t slip and turn ‘little’ tonight, he simply wasn’t able to do that to Elaine. He stared down at her freshly gaping little hole and swore he didn’t mean to be an ass, but he was just a man, and she was his wife to do with what he wanted. She wanted his babies, and she didn’t know better than to let him do whatever it took to give her that. And right now, he couldn’t handle the adoring looks and innocent dirty talk pouring out of the mouth of a virtuous girl he had long harbored such obscene intentions for. It turned him very desperate and perhaps a little mean.

“Forgive me, mama.” he muttered when leaning over Elaine and kissing her hard before he gripped his bride’s delicate waist and flipped her onto her knees. “It’s better for breeding this way.” he gritted out at her confused gasps, palming her ass where her slip had ridden up to expose her. He lined himself up with her pussy and watched with savage enjoyment as his girth slowly stretched her pretty pink rim beyond all seeming capacity and her following whimpers were music to his ears, her trill of confused enjoyment as he slid to the full, the cutest thing imaginable.

Immediately she missed the sweet intimacy of his embrace, the pleasurable sight of his face above her, also. And this angle, this method, it was deeper and tugged again at the petals of her house that had just gotten used to his usage. She thought to object, to tell him she didn’t like it this way -he had told her to tell him what she liked. She assumed, hoped, that stood for what she didn’t like, as well.

Elvis is a good boy, she heard her father say in her head, Elvis is a good boy -even as this good boy lined his inordinate organ up with her sore little place and thrust inside again. She was going to have to tell him she didn’t like it this way.

That is, until she lifted her head from the sheets he had tossed her in, belly first and face down, and noticed the mirror hanging opposite them. In it she saw a perfect view of her own face, a face she knew but hardly recognized, so…matured…was it in the gilt reflection. Her face was flushed and richly colored and her mouth gaping like one of those steamy movie posters where the woman has succumbed to the man’s embrace-and god knows whatever else it was the man was doing to her below the waist where the posters always seemed to cut off. The man was snapping his hips to push himself inside the woman, that’s what they were all doing. Now she knew, and she watched enthralled as Elvis mounted her from behind like a damn stallion, his broad hand gripping her shoulder and yanking her back against him as he snapped forward, the other fiddling under her hemline until he found her little button and began to play.

Nevermind, she thought, focusing on trying to breathe as he began to set a demanding pace again, pain and pleasure in this act equal parts for her as she propped up on her forearms and watched him watch what he was doing to her virgin hole, -nevermind he can keep at it, she decided.

His calloused fingers were petting and swirling and tugging so perfectly in her little nub in time with his strokes she began to happily anticipate the next thrust, rocking back on her own accord, feeling the bliss build again but this time stronger than what he had given her before with his mouth. In the mirror she could see how the strap of her slip had fallen off her shoulder and now lay partway down her arm, her gaping neckline now exposing a whole breast showing how it jiggled obscenely with each of his movements. It made her cheeks burn.

Elaine tried to right the strap but holding herself up with one arm made her nearly wobble face first into the sheets again and it made him lose his rhythm and suddenly it was entirely too good like that, face in the bed and hips propped up, and she needed that hand to stifle her shrieks of pleasure as he pounded into her without a hitch at the new position.

“Ya like it like that, hmm?“ he gritted out as she folded and screamed beneath him, speeding his fingers up on her clit as her thighs began to clamp shut. “God look at these hips, anythin’ but cradlin’ babies would be a goddamn waste of ‘em.” he squeezed at their plush width while yanking her back on him again and again.

“T-t-they’re gonna hear me.” she wailed once, and he realized she meant the guests downstairs, that once she realized that he wasn’t going to stop just because her pleasure had her in a place where she could no longer be in possession of herself, she had begun to fear for their reputation.

“Let ‘em.” he growled, taking his wet hand from between her thighs and running it up the length of her bowed spin, relishing the way she was drenching his thighs too, “They all know what I’m doin’ to ya. They knew what you were signin’ up for, even if you didn’t.” that thought made his balls tingle and he knew he close, that and the fact Elaine’s had her pretty little face barely propped up enough to watch them in mirror, watching as he plowed her from the back in tear stained, shocked, pleasured obedience to his wants, “Whole world’s gonna know what a good wifey you are, soon enough. They’re gonna see ya swellin and fillin out and they’re gonna know how good you are for me, how well ya take me, how much ya enjoy splittin’ yourself on my cock.”

“Oh God!” she screamed at the thought and at the thrill of his praise and buried her face into the golden bedding in abject submission and ecstasy, no longer able to compute the image of her dear, sweet Elvis mounting her body and snarling in pleasure in the mirror as he used her to chase his relief.

Elaine, to his lust clouded mind, had the prettiest ass on earth and it filled his hands perfectly, and her overstimulated shrieks and mewls and squeals sounded every damn bit like a Disney Princess. And somehow, that thought really did it for him.

Elvis hadn’t given it a lot of thought before, mind ya, hadnt spent time contemplating what it would be like to make Snow White touch her toes while getting skewered or how it would be to push Cinderella’s sweet face into the sheets. But he was pretty sure that if one of those doll-like little ladies had ever been made to take cock after true love's kiss, they’d sound rather like the squeaking little thing writhing beneath him right now.

He jabbed harder just for the fun of that, just for the enjoyment of the fact he was balls deep in a virgin cunt about to blow his load inside a woman for the first time ever. His jabs and swivels and fucks made she squeal more, clinging to the foot of the bed, no rich alto moan left in her with every inch he made her take.

She sounds like Tinkerbell, if Tinkerbell ever had the sweet misfortune to be loved on by Elvis Presley. He grins at the mirror, grins at the bowed figure of his little wife, gives a passing prayer of thanks for this perfect woman he is gonna spend the rest of his life loving in this way.

Take this, Tinkerbell, he thinks excitedly, ramming home once more and feeling himself drain inside her at last in long, pulsing, gushing spurts.

She knew that feeling, she realized in a daze. Yes she had felt it just this night when they were writhing against each other but -this hot gizer of warmth shooting inside her… the porch swing. He had wasted his seed in his pants on the porch swing. He wasted so much wanting her without telling her, it makes her heart ache for him. She spreads her trembling legs apart and tries to wiggle him in deeper, pushing back onto his key as he shudders to a halt, trying to be of help for him, to get it where it needs to go. No more waste. No more pining. It makes him sob and groan as she milks him, her sweet boy returning as he drapes over her back, a boneless weight before gently rolling onto his back and taking her with him, still impaled. A stopper of sorts, to keep it from leaking, from wasting.

There is not a single part of her body that does not tremble, nor of his either, they cling to each other, fully equal in post-coital vulnerability now and try to remember what world they belong in. His hands cradle her lower belly, pressing her close to him and swiping his thumbs along her spine, just as she pets over his arm and nuzzles into the hollow below his throat. She’s so touchy, caressing him and squeezing him like she needs the contact as badly as he does, and it’s exactly what he always wanted, hoped, didn’t dare ask heaven for but he’s got it. She’s here, she’s his.

“You’re my wife.” he marvels, and he is referring twofold to the act that just made her so and he means it wondrously by the way she lov- cares- for him so well. “You make me so happy.” he says against her lips.

“Thank you.” she whispers, cracking open her eyes to see him soft and gentle right there beside her, “For choosing me.”

“Didn’t have a choice.” he croaks, “Never has been a choice with you, I had to have ya, was more your choice than it ever was mine to lemme be yours.”

“You are mine now, aren’t ya.” she muses and he sees the way that thought sparks some life back into her heavy lidded eyes.

It’s good to belong to someone, he thinks, comforted as he brings his mouth down to hers. “Yeah, always, always gonna be yours.”

He kisses her long and slow and she returns it, her body sated beneath his caresses in a way his masculine, virulent one could never be when laying beside her, buried inside her still, newly laying claim. It is a gentle rocking when he begins again, quite helplessly, to move inside her, and she is so busy tugging at his cropped hair and nipping at his lips that she doesn’t seem to notice that they’re swaying vertically until he draws her leg over his hip and begins to drive up again in earnest, her moans a sweet melody she pours into his mouth. It’s quiet this second time and unrushed, and she has grown used to the ache, he thinks he should tell her soon to use the restroom, but he’ll have to take his fill again first.

He wonders when he’ll find the time to tell her to go between telling her he loves her. She asks him if they can do this often.

“Bout as often as we can manage.” Tumbled out of his lips happily.

“And how often’s that?” she urged him breathily, her eyes losing focus they were so close to his own.

“Enough times to lose count, Laney.” he promised, “Gotta fill ya up, best we can. Gotta be diligent.”

There was no soaring crescendo to this session, he merely clutched at her harder on one lazy upstroke, her fingernail had caught his nipple and zapped him straight to heaven like a thunderbolt to the frenulum. And then she felt him spilling inside again. Warm and hot and soothing the battering of her walls. His fingers took hers and pulled them down between her legs to pet the damage again, smearing him around like ointment on a wound. They had acted married twice now, she figured. They’d done marriage twice. The second she had liked even better than the first as he held her all the while, even though no searing height had happened to her.

“When you were with other girls,” she whispered into his chest later as they dozed between bouts of kissing and cuddling, “this isn’t -you didn’t…” she faltered for a moment before lifting her face to gaze down at him with warmth and gentle pleading, “-you didn’t do this with them, did you? You don’t act married with them, right?”

Perhaps most men would have chosen to lie. Elvis had no need despite his experience and his reputation. He had, a dozen or a hundred times, wrapped himself in latex and put it in a dozen or hundred women, some he cared for genuinely and some who were life preservers in a sea of lonely travels, but he’d never acted married. He’d never done this sort of intimacy before. He figured he was practically a virgin too, in that sorta way. In making love with the intention to bind himself, trap himself forever to one single soul. It ought to have been terrifying, that commitment, but feeling himself drip out of Elaine into the cradle of his hips he just felt right, like he was home. Like he’d just given himself to someone who actually wanted him. “No honey, I didn’t act married with any of ‘em. You’re the only one who gets my seed. I swear, really I do, now or ever.”

She could tell he meant that promise, and now he’d taught her how to express herself in this new language, she thanked him the only way she knew how, by gleefully rolling atop him again. It was a language she realized she was seeking most of her life, ever since anger and joy and want had flared in her and had been summarily instructed to be curtailed.

Propriety. Mildness. Rise above it all. She was good at the art of it all, and had been praised for it. Yet here was a man who coaxed vehemence out of her, taught her to inflict it on his body, who found pleasure in this grappling, wrestling, messy way that made such sense to her now she had found it.

I could love you, I’m going to love you, I’m very much in danger of loving you, was said with each swivel of her hips and lick of her tongue down his neck. “Oh Elvis.” sounded sweetly in his ear as he bounced her like a doll in his lap and made her fall apart.

Elvis had kissed her temple as he panted his breath back in again. Kept himself plugged in as long as possible till he shrank to nothing and slipped out. His destructive cock a now harmless, wet little thing that she cooed at in a most embarrassing way for him, but he was too happy with her laying on his chest to protest the curious fondling she gave his sensitive cock.

“This new house by Fort Hood, the one that agents of your’s got us,” he had murmured huskily while swigging from the chilled bottles of water retrieved from the mini fridge -with Elaine riding on his back to the closet and then the bed again, refusing to be apart, “it’s got a split layout, ya see. Top and bottom floor’s got a kitchenette, might not be the easiest for cookin’ but it’ll give us -space.” he assured, and she bit her lip imagining what he’d want the privacy for. “Wouldn’t ya rather a lil privacy ‘stead of a big ole countertop? I-I-if not I-I can-“

“Sounds perfect.” she sighed dreamily, thinking about making him meals and him coming home to eat them, gallant and lean in his pressed uniform. “You’re real handsome in your uniform, ya know that?” she figured it didn’t hurt to admit it, her man seemed to thrive off compliments from her, and he never did seem to get a big head from them. Except for the other little head that twitched and swelled at any compliment at all.

It was getting late, or early more like, and as she felt his interest grow yet again, Elaine played at denial. A silly, jokingly, little sort of thing where she wriggled away from his grabby hands and tried to make it out of the bed -headed to god knows where, the champagne bottle or the record player or downstairs, she didn’t know as she had no real intention of fleeing. But being seized from the back by her husband and playfully thrown back on his bed, made to sprawl out on the corner of the mattress , her legs hanging apart and her pathetic little slip still hanging onto her modesty for dear life, it was rather thrilling the way he had muttered,

“Oh no ya don’t, good lil wives don’t run.” and put himself back into her overused body, relishing her moan at his first thrust in and the fucked out compliance of the grinning girl beneath him. “I wanna see my pretty wife’s tits,” he asked as he watched them bouncing and jiggling with each absorbed fuck, “C’mon baby, be good and lemme see those pretty pillas of mine, you won’t deny me will ya? Come on, baby, so pretty, so round, gonna make ‘em blow up soon enough, whole world’ll notice ‘em. I wanna be the first to see ‘em before it. Up we go, lemme, come on yittle one, thas it, lift it up.”

He watched as this woman of his who was currently impaled on his cock blushed and smiled and bashfully pulled up her slip till her buttermilk soft mounds were bare, pink nipples pebbled and a scared, hopeful look on her face as her slip bunched at her clavicle.

“Goddamn, I’m a lucky man.” he had groaned and not missed her relieved smile. Then playfully flicked the slip up and over to hide her bright red face before folding himself enough to suck on a rosy little nipple while pistoning in and out. Soft, pliable flesh giving beneath the weight of his jaw and the nudge of his nose.

It was bizarre to Elaine, her sight obscured by the slip, her breathing hampered by the same, sound and feeling her chief senses this time. Just the sounds of him enjoying himself alone had a warm feeling curling in her chest and her belly, too, his hums and groans sending delightful zaps through her previously respectfully ignored nipples. His hands running up and down her ribcage, sometimes seizing her waist to pull her on him, sometimes fluttering over her diaphragm to feel himself moving within, nearly up her lungs he felt.

She felt as if she had finally been given privacy in which to truly feel and enjoy this, veiled by her own last shred of modesty, she let herself feel -and what she felt was astounding. She felt cherished. And she felt ravaged. And as if no one was here or anywhere on this earth to judge the way she screamed in delight, she yelled it and heard him answer her:

“that’s it, lemme hear ya” his teeth snapping at her nipples as he talked around them with his movements causing him to miss, sparking a fresh wave of noise to humidify the satin covering her face,

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

She chanted in happy panic as her legs drew up on their own, up and up and trying to close against the delicious onslaught, only to realize too late that it made the fit even tighter, the friction even stronger, the glint in her husband’s eyes wilder. He pinned them to her chest, with a single hand, to keep them out of the way. Slapped at her clit instead, made her scream in a way he didn’t think she was capable. Thought about doing it twenty years from now, thought about how he’d have the rest of his life to make his Tinkerbell scream. He slapped her there again and this time no scream, just a hissed in breath that had no exhale, her whole body clamping up in rigid ecstasy, tightening so strongly he couldn’t even keep his thrusts going to help her through.

Almost alarmed by her lack of breathing, he thought to pull at her slip, up and over her head till her face was visible again -she looked as if she were in some great agony, and his smug heart flipped at the sight, before leaning down to kiss her.

He was all chestnut hair aglow, wicked dark eyes and sweet lips, hovering down into her hazy view and her body wasn’t her own anymore, the damage had been done and the cliff she was teetering on gave way beneath her sanity when his lips met hers, his warm chest rubbing against her spit chilled nipples. For the second time that night she sprayed him, and through the eye rolling, rapturous tingle of it she heard him asking if she was “coming.”

“Oh goddamn, goddamn look a’that, oh fuck me sideways that’s hot as hell.” he blabbered, pulling out just long enough to wiggle his cockhead against her petals and force another jet out, coating his own abs with it, relishing the way her belly shook and her legs clamped together straight in the air, her hands clawing at the slip like she was trying to fight her way out. “Sweet Jesus you’re so sensitive.” he praised, pushing back in despite her hiss, and the way her feet tried to plant themselves on his shoulders to push him away. “Gotta lemme back in darlin’, I got another deposit to make.” he joked, loving the way she was clawing and wiggling away from him on pure, over fucked insinct, red painted nails dug deep enough to rip into the gold bedding. “Come on, be good, be good for me, lemme in baby, lemme in , doin’ so good, so good I know you’re so damn full, just a lil more, lil more. Don’t want any to go to waste do ya?”

He was wicked for using those magic words to make the shaking girl open up and let him in again, but he made up for it by the kisses, he felt, and in praise, and promising her if she stayed good she’d have those babies. Careening headlong towards another orgasm of his own with the sounds she was making and the lewd squelch of how wet she was down there, downright squelching with all his contributions and her own slick, he swore she was everything he’d ever dreamed of. She smiled at that.

“I’m gonna come.” he promised her almost in a beg, pleading for her to understand why he sped up and started to pound her again in earnest, erratic thrusts.

“W-whats coming?” she whined, her eyes screwed shut and her thighs shivering beneath his shoulders, “Y-you’re already here…”

The more he drained his balls, the more his mind seemed to leave him as well, all catered sentences and prim vocabulary gone straight out the window with his last shred of self restraint. “This-is-comin-“ he punctuated as he drove himself in, then felt his balls draw up and try to offer up residual bits of spunk but nothing seemed to come out. Served him right how white hot and painful it felt, sputtering dry inside her. He hoped she didn’t notice the deposit was a blank check. Also hoped she didn’t hear the pathetic whimper he’d let out as lil Elvis heaved his last attempt at it. By the way she was humming and petting at his hair, cradling him gently as he sagged atop her on the corner of the bed -he was afraid she’d heard and felt it all.

“Why’s it called that?” she whispered in his ear, and he wondered that she had any energy at all.

He burrowed his face deeper into her neck and mumbled, “Damned if I know, darlin.” he thought on it a little while longer while also thinking of the drip, drip, drip of their mess melting between them, “Unless it’s cause it makes ya feel like you’re havin a ‘come to God moment’, ya know?” he suggested and laughed when he felt her poking his cheek. “Do ya- do ya like it when…when ya-“ he couldn’t manage it now in the gentle afterglow, starting to get a chill after all his sweaty exertion cooled and left behind clammy skin and pooled secretions, feeling how naked and soft and lonely he was suddenly upon feeling sated for the first time tonight.

“Can we really do this as often as we want?” she asked instead, and her tone held no dread in it, only hopeful excitement. Suddenly the lonesomeness was gone again.

He felt her hands stroking his back and down to his ass again and he had giggled happily, not able to hold back his relief. “Yes, darlin.”

“Gosh.” she mused, petting him still, “To think I-I didn’t know about this and now it’s…” he propped up his chin on his hands to give her an inquiring look, begging her to finish, “it’s all I wanna do now.”

“That so?” he quirked his eyebrow and she flushed and began to shake her head, her tone pleading:

“Oh, not now, not right now -oh, please, please E, I’ll die if ya do, give me a minute.” she laughed and kissed him again.

“We should sleep.” he mused, half asleep already, pillowed on her boobs, his legs still technically still standing him upright as his upper body lay across the bed, across his new wife. “And bathe.” he realized.

“It’s very sloppy.” she agreed, and the thought of how uncomfortable she must be, stuffed with a half a dozen or more cum shots roused him to action.

He picked Elaine up bridal style and carried his now gloriously naked woman into the en-suite bathroom, seating her on the chilled marble countertop and grinning at the way she melted, spineless and used against the mirror, a soft smile lighting her dear face.

She liked watching his long lean, boyish figure, hard in some places and soft in others, strangely inviting in its combinations, ripple and flex as he bent and turned on the tub faucets, snagging gold embossed towels off the rack.

E.P. they read, gold thread glowing on the black cotton.

E.P.

For the both of them. It could be for either of them, it probably had been in his mind when he’d had them made, stocked his home full of monogrammed luxuries with her future initials on them E.P. --and all the while she had been fretting of dying a loveless old maid.

She laughed happily and found she couldn’t stop, catching sight of his embossed robe, hung on the door with the same initials. E.P. She was wanted, she was so very wanted here with him. It made her slide her jellied legs off the counter and hug him ferociously from behind, pressing kisses into his spine, and the freckles that smattered his shoulder blades.

“E.P.” she whispered and he got what she meant, turning round and grinning at her.

Once in the bath she dozed in his arms, near suffocated by bubbles and relishing his embrace, the warm water and his massaging hands soothing the ache between her legs.

“We haven’t washed the babies out have we?” she asked, groggily staring into the receding bath water as he tenderly toweled her off once stepping out of the tub. “I-I-I want those babies.“ she insisted and it must’ve been the lateness of the hour or the sheer amount of muchness she had been subjected to tonight but her lip started to wobble at the idea she’d carelessly risked her hopes down the drain, swirling away with the last of the bubbles. “Elvis I-I- didn’t mean to rinse them out!” she wailed, near hysterical with fatigue.

He tried assuring her but she wasn’t easily pacified. “I-I could give ya more.” he finally offered timidly, entirely uncertain either of them were capable of enduring another round.

He was toweling off her calves as he said it, pressing kisses to her knees and noticing the tremors in her thighs. To his shock she dropped to her knees beside him on the bathmat, eyes half mast and nearly insane looking in their fatigued determination,

“Please, please give it another try.” she nodded before spinning around on the bathmat, shakily swift and presenting him with her shapely ass.

‘Better for breeding this way’, came back to mind. God she was a quick study, and he prayed for strength and some shred of self restraint in indulging her. Instead, he found himself burying his face between her cheeks and licking at her devotedly, afraid they may have washed her slick away and worrying the burn of entry would be too much for her, fresh out of the tub and swollen from overuse as she was. No woman had let him do it this way, his face near buried in her bath warmed ass and his tongue kitten licking at her slick hole, but Elaine bore it with decorous appreciation, entirely unaware of being anything but eager in her responses, her spine arched and a rosy cheek pillowed on her forearms. Her yittle hand came down to pet Elvis’ diligent head as he worked between her legs.

“That’s it, I love it, E, like that, I love it when you…” she was mumbling in a slurred litany of praise he gobbled up ravenously, just like he did the shuddering little trickles of sweetness he coaxed out of her. “I’m -I’m, yeah yeah-“ he felt her grind down on his face as she shook again, and then it was as if the top half of her body nearly melted into the mat, just his hands keeping her ass in the air. “Please put it in.” she whispered, her hand still down there between her legs and reaching for something else of his now, her tone so soft and polite, like Cinderella asking for cock.

He aimed his cock into her waiting hand and watched with barely suppressed desire as her palm rolled over the rip and her nails gently raked across his veins as she moved to grip him and point him where she wanted him. There was a lewd sucking noise this time when he went in, like her body was finally trying to swallow him willingly, and he saw her head toss on the mat, dainty fingers woven into gold shag and her neck craned back to see him as he pressed in deep. Her face was flushed deep red and the makeup had worn off and she looked so innocent, so young beneath him, a single curl plastered dark and wet against her cheek from the bath. He’d unmade her, turned her back to her simplest form. He snapped his hips, lost his mind, noticed happily how her hand went to her hip and joined his there. He held onto it like a handle and jerked her back on him again and again, her cheek rubbing against the mat and her teeth sinking into her other fist to hush her cries. Those cries of hers, maybe something was very sick inside him that he liked them so much but he did, he did and he worked hard to draw more from her just as he dreamed of this, dreamed of her fluttering pink hole trying to take more and her eyes rolling back from the fatigue of it, her body unable to deny him.

“My poor belly,” he thought he heard her whimper, yet unsure he reached down and pulled her fist away from her mouth, it pushed him deeper in, bent her more starkly, speared her cervix, “Oh god, my belly, my poor belly.” she kept saying for sure this time.

“You alright, Lany?” he draped over her and brushed the damp strands off her face, her face that was red and splotchy from sensation and blood flow. She gave him a whimpering nod.

“You’resodeep” she accused him even as he felt her squeeze and shake around his girth, her mouth gaping for a brief moment at the unexpected little pleasure. “My poor belly.” she said it over and over again and he couldn’t stop. It was more just a bewildered mantra to comfort herself, as her mind betrayed her and wanted him but her body was so well used that was she was just…taking it

“You poor little thing,” he cooed, making sure to move slow and deep in a way that had them both shaking and stepping into madness, bent all over her bent frame himself, “you’re takin’ my cock so well, so obedient, never was a more righteous wife, never was, you’re a goddamn wonder, that’s what you are. I’ll thank God for ya every day.”

His praise always soothed her and he kept it up, not even sure what he was saying anymore as he chased his own release, focused on the bent little thing beneath him and the way it made her waist look minuscule in this position, her pink face, too. At one point he saw tears instead of bath splash on her face and as he felt himself begin to spurt he shushed her the best he could with the first thing that came to mind:

“Don’t cry Tink, please don’t cry.”

The nickname tickled her consciousness like a feather on the neck, some goosey thrill that tickled up her spine and added to the satisfied throb between her legs as he splashed hot and thick inside her.

“Tink?” she thought she had asked him, bewildered and charmed to have been christened. Maybe her words got lost in the bath mat.

He did not answer her, must’ve not heard her at all, but picked her up with his own shaking arms and like a couple of bambi's they toddled into the massive bed, throwing themselves under the covers quite unceremoniously. He tried to swat at the lamp as if that would turn it off, and realizing she was the more capable of the two -he seemed almost insensibley drained by that last encounter- she leaned over his chest and pulled at the lamp string, dousing the glow that surrounded them, only to realize dawn was splashing a violet haze through the crack of the window curtains.

“Good morning, Mrs. Presley.” he had teased softly, noticing the dawn too, his head tilted on the pillow to watch her shut off the lamp.

“Good morning, husband.” she murmured, wriggling on top of him as he held her fast, arms locked over her back and her head pillowed on his chest.

This cuddling was familiar, this drowsy holding of each other until he stilled and fell asleep, an art she had perfected since his mama died. But now she was the woman in his life, and strangely now that the hunger had been glutted and abated, they entwined around each other like babes or twins in a womb, this naked closeness the most natural of assurance in the world. Something Elvis had been missing since his brother had left him, since Jesse entered the world before him and chose not to stay and endure it with him, fell into place.

My sister! My spouse! -King Solomon had called his lover, and Elvis had felt that supremely odd when snooping through the Song of Songs as a boy. But now he knew -too many roles did she fill to be confined to one, and Elvis felt tempted as Elaine fell asleep atop him to whisper, “my brother, my spouse!” into her hair.

Sometime later, when deep unconscious, dreamless sleep had possessed them and held them fast, but not a long enough time for Elvis to be remotely cheerful about it, a obnoxious clanging sound broke in on their peaceful repose. Elaine jerked awake atop him with a startled little squeak and he put his hand to the back of her head to shush her, encouraging her to lay her cheek back on his shoulder. The noise resounded again and this time he was lucid enough to determine it was coming from outside the bedroom door.

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

Elaine huffed and rubbed her tired face into his chest, his sparse hairs there tickling her nose and making her sneeze. That made him laugh and with neither able to keep up the pretense of sleep, they raised their heads and looked towards the door with matching, raised and unimpressed eyebrows of displeasure.

“If this is the boys idea of a practical joke,” he growled with sleepy morning grit in his voice, “they won’t be boys much longer.”

“Will ya put them in boxes and give them to me?” she inquired and he realized with a self satisfied smirk that her melodic voice had gone hoarse from all the screaming he’d made her do the night before.

“Heavens Mrs. Presley,” he marveled, “ya sure have gotten comfy askin’ for things -I like it.”

“I could think of a thing or two I want right now.” she bit her lip and her eyes slanted hungrily and some scared part of him that worried she wouldn’t want this as much as he did got buried teen feet below the earth, locked away forever.

“Breakfast?” he acted dumb even as she propped herself up on his chest and gingerly tried rolling her hips along his thickening shaft, hissing at the soreness of her own petals.

The sheets falling away from her and pooling round her hips like some goddess that had condescended to come down to earth and make use of her spied after Adonis, Elaine was ethereal and happy and Elvis sank his head back into the pillow and watched her, wishing to pinch himself but the roll of his foreskin against her bud told him it was real. “Breakfast and water, breath mints and fresh air-“ she listed while speeding up and causing his cock to begin to weep and slick her way along-

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

“What?” he yelled fearsomely at the door and she shivered in spooked delight at his temper.

“I’m comin’ in wi’ breakfast,” came Mary’s unmistakable drawl through the door and to his horror he watched the gilt knob begin to turn, “y’all’s best disentangle yo’selves cause I done waited till two in the afternoon to feed yous, and I ain’t taking chances for waitin’ any longer-“ Mary stepped into the room about at the same second Elaine accomplished a dismount and roll that the would have made the marine corps proud, diving beneath the covers, only a bride sized lump to be seen by the cook as she came in with a heavy laden tray, her ingenious cowbell left behind in the hall. “Lawd Mr. Elvis, you’re wearing that loved on look just nicely, if you’ll lemme say so.” she admired his marital blush and scratched shoulders as only a proud auntie could, “Miss Elaine, you best come outta ‘der, I got bagels and cream cheese, jus’ as you like.”

“Oh Mary, you didn’t!” Came Elaine’s moan of appreciation beneath the bedding and it was altogether too close to his pelvis for Elvis’ sanity, “You’re much too good to us, you know that?” Elaine wriggled till just her head peeked out and bestowed on Mary a smile of such adoration the lady forgot the ache in her arms from carrying the tray upstairs.

“Yeas, well, wouldn't do to have y’all’s dying of malnourishment.” she huffed bashfully patting Elvis’ beet red cheeks while unconsciously setting the trey in his stiff lap.

He groaned. In appreciation for the eggs and burnt bacon, Elaine had to presume.

“Don’t you take your fill again till you’ve taken your fill, you get what I mean?” she wagged her fingers at them, first at Elvis, then at his bride as if she was second guessing who here was the more likely instigator, the groom seemingly meek and the bride grinning altogether too widely than was proper. Delighted, Mary couldn’t help her matching one, “Eat up.” She nodded, backing away while eying them suspiciously, as if at any minute they might overturn her carefully prepared victuals and begin to maul eachother anew.

“Wouldn’t think of letting it get cold!” Elvis assured her adamantly and to prove his point, stuck a bagel into his bride's mouth before getting into the eggs himself.

Satisfied, Mary left them and shut the door. They heard when she picked up her cowbell and the retreating sound of her footsteps down the hall assured Elvis it was safe. He moved the platter off his lap as if it were scorching him, flinging the offending sheets off his erection and patting his thighs, jerking his chin at a wide eyed Elaine.

“I’m a very talented man, I’ll have ya know,” he told her as she settled in his lap, his chest pressed to her back, “I can feed and fill ya at the same time.”

“So,” she began genially as she wiggled him in and got comfy, sucking cream cheese off his fingers and taking advantage of his compromised blood flow, “Is Tinkerbell gonna my nickname?”

Elvis choked on his bacon, and proceeded to cough into a pillow case. “I’ve no idea what you're on about.” he denied.

“Hey,” she grinned at him without wavering, “if you can enjoy splitting me in half, I can enjoy a nickname that outs ya for bein’ a lil nasty about it, hmm?” and she chucked his chin.

She -she had a point, Elvis supposed. “Sure, Tink, whatever you say, Tink.” he droned.

Masterlist

Taglist

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

#elvis fanfiction #sarge and lil mama #elvis x you #elvis movie #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #austin butler elvis #austin elvis imagine #austin elvis fandom #austin elvis smut #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis x elaine #elvis one shot

[chojrak-making-things]

Some screenshots from Scandicordia which I looked upon in July, in similar time as Teldrassil. I tried to convince CjPlays to look upon this world long ago, but he didn't make overview since then, so I had to see it myself (yes, I'm that lazy).

This world was created by Mutti, with help of her team from Discord. There's post which explains all details and contains download link, and vlogmas playlist, where video number 24 is world overview. It's recorded in German + Mutti focused more on showing families, that's why I asked another youtuber for overview, and then I did it myself. But anyway, here are some screenshots and thoughts that I had:

First of all, the map layout is really nice, and it really reminds me of Praven. There's not much worlds near rivers across the whole world, so it's good to have that layout.

The amount of trees is also perfect. As a performance maniac, this is important too.

Houses are rather larger than smaller, and really spread across, especially the farm ones. It's visible it was mainly done for Pets expansions pack, especially for horses.

...

But beside that, there is also district with smaller houses and spaces. Some of them are more rustic inside, giving feel of wooden shack.

Even such a small suburb has it's own park in the middle, which is nice.

There are also more extravagant houses, like this manor with dramatic wrap-around porch and beautiful landscaping:

or this sweet stick bellow:

Every part of building is functional! and well... it is kind of spoiler, cause I haven't seen it't been showed much on pics, and it's hidden in very interesting woodsy area, with a lot of camping and hiding spots nearby.

But speaking about recreation places, this town has really polished public lots, with a lot of activities.

Despite it's stylized as more of Nordic type of world, the lighting and all those camping/recreation areas gives me vibe of summer colony, which I absolutely love. It's not only world perfect for playing Pets, but it also squeezes every drop from Generations and Seasons expansion packs. Before I had it in game, I thought it might be like Aurora Skies enriched with EPs, but now I see it has it's own unique vibe.

I really don't have anything to prick about. I thought earlier that maybe buildings in town centre could be more distinguish - tenements houses or something could bring more diverse in architecture styles, but on the other hand it could also destroy this feel of summer destination and rusticness, so I'm glad the way it is.

It has even campus if you'd like to play University EP from home world.

It's been a little over a year since this world was released, and despite it gained a lot of notes, I haven't saw it since then, and thought it's criminally underrated, so I hope this overview will boost attencion even a bit.

#ts3 world overview #ts3 worlds to see #ts3 #the sims 3 #sims 3 #ts3 custom world

[lemonlover1110]

Baby Steps

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 28] The Effects of Time

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

*The next chapter is the last chapterrr

At seven months of age, Seiji learns the most amazing trick– Not necessarily a trick since the majority of babies crawl. However, it leaves you amazed to watch the baby that could barely sit on his own a couple of weeks ago, use his hands and feet to move around. Satoru has gone a little overboard with baby proofing the house since the teething baby loves to crawl around and put random objects in his mouth. And now at nine months, almost ten months old, Seiji absolutely hates being carried.

“Why don’t you like being held anymore?” Satoru asks as he holds his son whose hands open and close, his arms pointed to the floor. Satoru hears the whines from the baby, and he ignores them. A scream leaves Seiji’s mouth and it causes Satoru to roll his eyes. “Stop trying to be your own person, Seiji. You’re not even a year old. I’m holding you.”

“Satoru!” He hears you yell, and he walks over to the baby playpen in the living room, putting Seiji down. Since Seiji started crawling, a lot of new adjustments make the place feel cramped– Satoru truly can’t wait to move out. He’s about to walk to you, but you finally appear. “You won’t believe the news I got!”

“What is the news?” Satoru asks, and you seem so excited. Your happiness radiates and infects him, causing him to smile even though he’s upset that the baby behind him refuses to be carried.

“We have a double date.” You announce, and his brows raise, surprised to be hearing that. You walk over to him, and bend down to pick up Seiji from the playpen since he puts every single toy he finds in his mouth. 

“Did you get Kaya to babysit?” Satoru asks and you shake your head.

“We’re going on a double date with her and Daisuke.” You tell him, and now he realizes why you were so excited. For the longest time Kaya and Daisuke have been friends even though it’s clear that they’ve liked each other. They’ve been pining over each other for what feels like an eternity, and it’s nice to hear that they’ve finally gotten together. Satoru hasn’t talked to Daisuke in a while but it’s nice to hear that his friend is finally getting with the woman that he’s been fawning over.

“When is the date?” He asks.

“Friday. So two days.” You answer, and he’s concerned.

“Are we taking the baby with us? I can’t really leave Tsumiki responsible for a baby.” Satoru’s eyes keep staring at Seiji. He can’t help but feel jealous because the baby is so calm in your arms and he doesn’t want to go to the floor.

“My parents are coming to town and my mom wants to babysit her little grandson.” You respond, and while Satoru should be relieved that he doesn’t have to look for a babysitter, he grows even more worried. You notice, and you tilt your head to the side. You’re not sure why he’s worried. Then it hits you.

“We’ll blow up an air mattress in Seiji’s nursery, and they’ll stay in our room for the time being.” 

“We’re giving up our room for your parents?” Satoru furrows his brows, a bit confused if he’s hearing you right. You nod in response, and he’s confused as to why you’re so excited to be sleeping on an air mattress in the baby’s room. “Why are we doing that?”

“So we can go on a double date with my best friend and then have the night off to do whatever we want.” You comment, and it’s tempting. Maybe it’s not so bad– But it’s one night compared to–

“How long are your parents staying with us?” Satoru asks, taking Seiji from your arms because you’ve learned this trick that when you move Seiji’s bottom lip and put on a baby voice, Satoru says yes. At least nine times out of ten. 

“We’ll have a lot of nights off…” You kiss Satoru’s cheek, and he’s tempted for a minute. Until he sees Seiji’s little arms stretch out, pointing your way. He rolls his eyes. He’s fucking jealous that a baby prefers someone else… His own son prefers his mother’s arms. “We can do whatever you want, every night for a week. Free babysitting. Think of it as payback for what my dad did when I was pregnant.”

“Is sleeping in an air mattress really worth it though?” His brows raise, and you purse your lips together. You cross your arms and let out a sigh,

“I guess I’ll tell my parents that they can stay home… Even when they really want to see their grandson– Also, I’ll tell Kaya that we should cancel the double date, unless she wants Seiji to tag along and cry in the middle of the restaurant.” You try to guilt trip him, giving him doe eyes. It makes him sigh and roll his eyes.

“Fine.” He gives in, and it makes you squeal before you kiss his cheek. You then kiss your baby’s cheek. 

“If you get lucky enough you might get another baby.” You comment before you walk away, and it leaves a smile on Satoru’s lips. He bounces Seiji and asks,

“Do you want to be a big brother?” The baby coos, and Satoru kisses the top of his head.

-

“So who asked who out?” You ask when you sit across from Kaya and Daisuke. You want to talk with both of them for a bit before you and Kaya have your own conversation, and Satoru has his own conversation with Daisuke. 

“Daisuke finally stepped up.” Kaya chuckles, and it causes her new boyfriend to laugh as well. You can’t help but smile as you hear about the sweet story of how it happened. It makes you glance at Satoru and wish you had a similar cute story. You just hope that Seiji is never curious enough to ask about how you started dating because it’d be weird to explain how you officially started dating his father when he was months old. The story of how you met is cuter , of course, if you leave out the detail that not too long after you were in Satoru’s bed.

“I’m so happy for you two. We’ve been waiting an eternity for this.” You respond, a chuckle leaving your lips. You’re about to comment about how you almost got married before they even stepped up to go out with each other. “Now Seiji will have a cousin that he can play with.”

“Woah, slow down. That’s in five years at the bare minimum.” Daisuke quickly interrupts. Kaya agrees with her boyfriend– She wasn’t so sure about becoming a mother but then she got to meet Seiji, and she knew she wanted that for herself one day. But that day isn’t in the near future. Daisuke then jokes, “Seiji will probably have a sibling by then.”

“Have you two decided on a date for the wedding?” Kaya asks a question that you’ve been putting off answering. You shake your head. You’ve been so busy with everything else going on with your life that you haven’t talked much about your wedding.

“We’re going to move out first. I want to get Seiji walking first before we plan a wedding.” You respond. Satoru takes a sip from his water before he says,

“Especially since it’s going to be a big wedding.” Satoru comments, which makes you roll your eyes. The same man that suggested a small wedding has changed his mind, Satoru just wants to see his baby as the ring bearer. 

“Is it really?” Kaya asks, and Satoru hums in response while you shake your head. You don’t have the energy to deal with a big wedding. She laughs seeing your opposite responses and then she asks, “Oh yeah, I haven’t heard from Mei in a while, have you?”

“Mei? Who is that?” You tilt your head to the side, and Satoru’s eyes perk up.

“Your friend…” Kaya is confused at your confusion. “We went out once and she approached me, saying that she was close friends with you and Satoru.”

“I have no idea who that is.” You respond, and you look over at Satoru who has a frown on his face.

“When was this?” Satoru asks and Kaya takes a moment to think.

“She approached me… Over a year ago. Early into the pregnancy. She stopped contacting me when Seiji was born. She asked a lot of questions about you and shit but it was always so weird.” Kaya answers, and Satoru lets out the biggest sigh. He pieces everything together, about who let Suguru know everything that was happening. Mei Mei would do just about anything for money.

“If she contacts you again, let me know.” Satoru says and Kaya nods her head, she’s confused but she has to trust Satoru. There’s some things that she can’t argue with him about.

“Is this like another weird thing like the sorcery shit?” You ask, and Satoru hums in response before kissing your cheek. Daisuke is completely out of the loop, asking the question,

“Sorcery?” Which makes the three of you laugh. Kaya pats his shoulder.

“It’s a long story.” Satoru responds, and while Daisuke is curious, he decides that the answer can wait. You then begin to have your own conversation with Kaya, and Daisuke and Satoru talk about their own stuff. You keep glancing at Satoru, and he looks so tense which makes you want to stop and ask what’s wrong with him, but you don’t. Your hand goes under the table and goes to his lap.

He glances at you and you smile at him, and he tries his best to smile back at you.

-

You walk around with Satoru, enjoying the bit of time that you have before you have to go back to your apartment and sleep on an air mattress. Satoru has been acting weird ever since the mention of Mei Mei, and you find yourself worried about who she is. While you mindlessly walk around you ask him, “Who’s Mei Mei?”

“She’s a coworker… Sort of.” He answers. It doesn’t really explain why his demeanor changed. He clears his throat and says, “She… I’m sure that she told Suguru about you. I’m not sure, but I think it was her.”

“Oh–” You come to a stop, and so does he. You’re taken back by this, in your mind it was something completely different. You weren’t thinking about Suguru. You feel your stomach churn at the mention of the name and you have to ask, “Why do you think she would do that?”

“Money. She’s the definition of a gold digger.” Satoru answers. You purse your lips before you take a deep breath. You begin to walk again, but you turn around to walk back to your car.

“It’s fine now. I’m over it.” You comment, and it makes Satoru’s brows raise. That’s definitely not something he was expecting to hear, and when he’s about to ask why you’re over it, your phone rings. It’s your mother so you don’t waste a second picking up the phone. “Hi, mom.”

Satoru listens and watches as your jaw drops. Then a smile comes to your lips. You comment, “That little traitor waited till we were out of the house. Thanks, mom. I’ll tell Satoru.”

“What happened?” Satoru looks worried yet excited to hear what your mother just told you. You’re smiling and you tell him,

“Seiji took his first steps.” And he looks absolutely mortified at the news. He’s excited, yet upset that he wasn’t there to witness it. Of course Seiji decided to finally walk when his parents weren’t around.

“That little shit. He doesn’t like us, I swear.” Satoru completely forgets about Mei Mei, throwing his arm over you and guiding you to the car. His baby took his first steps, and he wasn’t there to see it.

“He just wanted to show off to his grandparents.” You respond. You feel excited to go back home to see your baby’s new trick– Although he’ll most likely be passed out when you get there. You feel your phone vibrate and you look at the message you received. A video from your mother and you stop walking. “She sent me a video.”

Both of your eyes are glued to the screen. You watch Seiji crawling around for an awful long time in his playpen. Until he uses a toy to prompt himself up, and takes a couple of steps toward his grandmother who encourages him– Until he falls on the floor again and he crawls to her. You’re so excited yet tears spill your eyes because you missed your baby’s first steps. Satoru is smiling and he comments, “He’s just so fucking adorable– Are you crying?”

“No, I’m fine.” You respond, wiping away the tears. He hugs you and you say, “I just wanted to witness that.”

“Aw, baby.” Satoru says, hugging you tightly. He jokes, “We always have the next baby.”

“What next baby? Seiji is going to be our only one.” You reply even though earlier in the week you were talking about having another one. He kisses the top of your head, deciding not to comment because you’re simply too emotional.

“Are you on your period?” He asks because he can’t seem to understand why you’re so emotional about the fact that you missed your baby’s first steps.

“No.” You shake your head. “That’s so rude to ask, Satoru. Of course I’m going to be upset about this.”

“My bad, honey.”

Bonus:

“Satoru!” You yell from the bathroom, trying to keep watch of the new walking Seiji that simply can’t stop moving around. Seiji tries to prompt himself up and run around simply because it’s fun, and you need Satoru to take him for a moment. Seiji refuses to sit in your lap calmly, so you have no option but to call his father

“What?” Satoru opens the door, finding you sitting on the toilet. You’re not doing anything. Then he sees the stick that you hold in your hands. It causes him to pick up Seiji from the floor, “What does it say?”

“Don’t know yet.” You respond, and this time you’re more calm than finding out about Seiji. You’re fine with either possibility but at the same time you really wanted to finish getting your degree before having another baby.

“What do you think, Seiji? You wanna be a big brother?” Satoru asks, which earns a yell from the baby that so desperately wants to be put down. Satoru watches you intently. You end up standing up and wrapping your arms around Satoru, which honestly doesn’t answer the question of whether or not you’re pregnant. “What are the results?”

“We better move out and get more space soon.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #anime #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo fanfic #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo saturo

[miss-sweetea-pie]

I just saw an interesting maiko post. I didn’t want to comment or reblog because I figured that person didn’t want to have a discord considering the tags and some times tumblr recommended things to you. I probably wasn’t meant to see it honestly, But now I want to talk about it.

It was about how Zuko and Mai are just teenagers who don’t understand each other sometimes and then fail to communicate.

Also about how Mai’s emotionless trait collides with Zuko’s need for emotional validation and Zuko’s controlling possessiveness collides with Mai’s need for freedom. But they care for each other that doesn’t make them a bad couple, and Mai is not a bad girlfriend.

Honestly it a really good way to frame the relationship. I would also call it incompatible, maybe even toxic? it doesn’t make them bad people, but sometimes people do bring out the worst in you. Technically, this is true for Zuko, considering he went back to the fire nation, and he started dating Mai at the same time. Mai is the first person we see him speaking to after betraying his uncle and the show wants us to know he made the wrong choice. Mai is use as a narrative tool for Zuko’s lack of support in the fire nation,he’s miserable when he goes back home, and the one person, you would think he could connect with, his girlfriend, is cold and emotionally withdrawn. The show used Maiko to explore the the emptiness of being home in the fire nation, the empty promises of fire nation glory he been chasing and it doesn’t resonate with him anymore, also the impossible standard of gaining conditional love. (Sorry but Maiko is Zuko centric so it does makes Mai hard to read at best and abusive at worst)

I don’t deny that they care about each other in someway they’ve known each other since they were children, it’s safe and comfortable. but love is not enough. Honestly most toxic relationship in irl continue because they love each but they are not good for one other. Zuko and Mai they don’t understand each other and it seems like they don’t really want to understand each other. That’s the problem. (Mai mostly).

Maiko is really just a toxic cycle of their needs not being met

This scene where Zuko want to talk about his feeing and open up to her

Mai: *yawn* I just asked if you were cold not for your whole life story.

(Not going to lie, that was funny but it’s still a very dismissive thing to say, especially to your partner.)

Zuko is actually a little bit more sympathetic when she tells her “sob story” he didn’t yawn

Zuko: I like when you express yourself.

(her being off and on with her anger. Is like a metaphor for him being in the fire nation, trying to make something work and it’s not working. Constantly feeling like he said or does the wrong thing)

and It just bubbles over until they finally blew up

Zuko’s possessiveness is a reaction to after he feels like he has done all sorts of stuff to please her. it’s zuko reaching his breaking point. Boy is really insecure in this relationship because the feed back he gets from her is contempt. Sure we could argue and say that doesn’t make mai a bad girl friend maybe this is just her sense of humor or personality. well, it doesn’t mesh well with Zuko therefore, they are incompatible, and a bad couple with each other. 

( also Zuko is not nice here that’s kind of the point he hads regressed  in his character arc so to speak.)

and then they get back together by making out.

Sure she says she cares but why when did she actually show it? Actions speak louder than words! We never get a moment where Mai gets it and really understands him.

#anti maiko #anti mai #just to be safe #zuko #they deserved better #pro zuko #pro zutara

[mrghostrat]

The only thing on my mind lately has been your absolutely amazing streamer au and how I just know damn well that The Them (now being older and getting into streaming as well) are little chaos gremlins and occasionally Crowley does streams w them. (Anathema also definitely hops on with them occasionally bc she misses them and just sits in calls on discord or even just plays silently in games while typing her response to them on discord off stream) They definitely all play jackbox together on weekends and fortnite and valorant or like some lawless minecraft server like 2b2t almost. (Crowley doesn’t really know how to play mc but The Them are trying to teach him lol) They do the most heinous crimes on any server they play on in any game they can get their grubby hands on (they love sea of thieves) but also have like chill days where they have like a really nice Raft server and their own modded mc server but none of them are very good at keeping things totally calm so streams on chill days always end in chaos anyways. Silly little rambles sorry abt that! But I just know the Them being young adults now would definitely be streamers too. Crowley probably wouldn’t stream with them too often but in my head that’s what The Them are up to as well in this au:)

im always kicking my feet and absolutely squealing every time I remember the streamer au. Your art, writing, and ideas are absolutely fantastic and a seriously great part of my day when i read ur posts. I can’t wait to spend my entire holiday break from college just reading ur current fic and getting even more hype for streamer and fandom au.

thank you for your services to this deranged and truly feral fandom. As a twitch enjoyer, i am feeling so seen and heard w the streamer au bc i know I’d definitely be in their chats going neurotic!!!!! I simply cannot get enough of ur work!!! ehehehehehhagahage ur so cool keep at it:))

YES YES YES!! and did i mention YES!!! this is a perfect Them and i'm LOSTTTTT thinkin about old man crowley, as modern and up to date as he is, needing a bunch of kids to tell him you don't attack zombies with your pickaxe

thank you for being so sweet and sharing this with me omg 😭 i'm having the best time talkin about my silly fixations and collaborating with so many enthusiastic askers. i hope you like my fics!! (and best of luck getting through classes!!!)

#ineffable streamers #fun rat fact: Why Not is my favourite line in the whole damn show thpfhthudhksha #ask a rat