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semischarmed · 8 months

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Demonizer

Hope you’re not religious…

———

Parker Mills here sure was. The cross, dutifully hanging on his neck in every other post. The obligatory bible passage quoted on the profile. A “#believer” given every other caption. The works. By all accounts, religion had been good for him. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Friendly to all, despite the evangelizing. Virgin too- saving for marriage, of course. His parents on the other hand were vile fucks. The Mills often terrorized our small town’s tiny lgbt community but by some stroke of divine luck, the son of those demons turned out completely normal. Better than normal. Parker was probably the nicest jock in town. Parker also turned me the fuck on. With Parker, I just knew. Just knew that those kind blue eyes and gentle smile adorned that angelic face and ripped body. Knew that with his family’s wealth and that face, he had the makings of the town menace. Knew that despite all this, he was entirely clueless on his appeal and unwilling to share his god-given gifts. Many have tried to corrupt poor Parker, but the man was a saint. He even looked uncomfortable doing anything beyond a quick peck on the lips. I just knew I could make him my own cocky motherfucker.

There were a handful of options in the dark web. Entirely different avenues ranging from a neurosurgeon offering direct transplant to a ritual for astral projection. It took 1 month just to sift through all the possibilities and options. Each one felt messy or required some form of constant maintenance. They wouldn’t do. I wanted Parker permanently. All of him-body, mind and soul. At last I had landed on the Demonizer Potion. The effects seemed to vary drastically, though they all seemed to warn of its corruptive properties. In the end, I chose it because it filled the most important niche for these products for me- I could actually afford it.

Finding a witch to procure this particular potion was… surprisingly easier than expected. In fact, it was downright effortless. Miranda, a witch just a town over, scoffed when I mentioned it to her. “A girl’s gotta pay her bills. Besides, It’s a lot easier and a lot cheaper to hide out here than it is in the big city.”

And that was that. For the “low-low price of $500”, I had the demonizer potion in hand. The drink was pitch-black. Darker than black even. And it seemed to pull all warmth from the room in an otherworldly, sinking feeling. I had no doubt this thing was the real deal. I read the instructions: “Drink with your intent.“ I imagined mine.

- - -

I knew the perfect time to strike. It felt oddly fitting to take him during a service. In the church’s bathroom, I took a quick swig of my future. Just a third of the black substance. I gagged as I felt it stream down my throat. And I winced, expecting a burning sensation. No-not a burning sensation. It was more like a pit of nothingness spreading throughout my body to my fingertips. The burning came after. All at once, the world around me spun as I felt my body leave physical manifestation. I watched as my spectral hands flashed white then black in a pulsating pattern, before finally settling on a grey.

Parker Mills sat, listening attentively. They seemed to be playing some religious music. My only religion sat right in front of me. In devilish glee I began to stream into him. Inch by Inch, I flooded into his thick dick. He made a small grunt at first insertion.

Parker shifted in his seat as the worship choir continued singing. His face grew red as he tried to hide a growing boner. The worship singing droned and I felt a sharp pain in my head. As if empowered, Parker’s own soul began to push me out.

In the end, I only managed to slip a bit of the grey essence into him. It did not seem to have much effect, aside from giving him an inexplicable need to grab the flask from the bathroom floor. I tried to make a mental note of that.

I sighed, defeated, as I fled into the night. In the darkness, I recuperated as I planned my next visit.

- - -

This time, there would be no fanfare. No choir to welcome our joining and my rebirth. I wasn’t sure how long I could stay in this world without his warm flesh tethering me mortal, so I knew I had to get in him fast.

I followed the man to his apartment, sitting patiently in a dark corner of his bedroom as he went about his day.

When he was close to sleeping, he turned off the light and sat on his bed in a meditative tone. I watched in anticipation as he closed his eyes and began to pray. “Lord, ple-“

“Mmhhmph!” I struck the man a snake, prying his full lips open and forcing his body to gorge itself with me.

This time, no music. Just the sounds of a teary-eyed Parker choking on invisible mass. Drool ran down his cheeks as I inched more and more of my form inside. His neck bulged and eyes grew wide and bloodshot as he tried badly to reject the intrusion. Lubricated by Parker’s own saliva, by the taste of Parker, I greedily dug into his insides.

Parker’s body began to move involuntarily. Deep in violation, it tried in vain to get me out. He smashed his head over and over again across the apartment wall trying to shake me out. I only forced myself inside harder. His head shook as it contorted in odd angles. Biceps started scratching at his own throat, trying to get me out to no avail. Eventually, they were forced splayed open as Parker’s body began to travel up the apartment wall. At first, his legs began to kick, then shake, then they begun to dangle ominously off the ground. In a perverted facsimile of his religion, I strung Parker up his own apartment wall, arms outstretched in a blasphemous pose as if to welcome me. “All are welcome..no, I am welcome,” I thought to myself. I continued my assault.

As Parker screamed, I weaved through each crevice until I could find the core of his soul. It looked pure and white, aside from the small speck of gray in my earlier intrusion. Gingerly, I pried the soul’s own mouth open as I laughed. I wanted Parker to his depths. Parker to his very core. And so I burrowed and coiled. Shackled myself to it. Shackled him to me. Like a trap jaw, his soul’s mouth closed. Forever sealing me in nice and tight as I continued squirm and fill into Parker. His spirit was mine. It bent in odd and unnatural angles, contorting until it tore. Outside, I felt Parker’s thrashing head slow into a twitching.

I wanted-no needed every part of Parker to myself. So I begun to fill into the tears of his ravaged soul. I then felt the the fibers of those tears heal- with me embedded. Euphoric. Stillness.

Parker’s pale blue eyes shot wide open, dilated. “P-Please,” he whimpered, before they go glassy and a smile began to form on his lips. Parker’s flesh collapsed into a pile on the floor, body, mind, and soul spent.

- - -

My first breath as Parker felt out of this world. Parker’s body was his temple after all. When I felt his lungs fill for me, and air flow into us for the first time, I felt the power in his drawn breath- Like having an athlete’s lungs chained to my whims. I felt our drawn air circulate inside me, tickling bits of me in drunken pleasure. Granted, I was not that unhealthy in my previous flesh, but this new home was unreal. Merely existing in his flesh felt like an unburdening. Energy brimmed from fingertip to fingertip and my mind raced with a clarity I did not know possible.

“I can’t believe you just feel like all the time” I teased as I twirled my new perfect hairs. I couldn’t help but giggle in my new perfect voice. Hearing it vibrate into a low moan was music to my ears, as the man’s hand travelled and cupped his own perky ass. “Fuck,” I panted breathlessly as I massaged my new right asscheek. The Jock’s face twitches in vain retaliation. “Fuck you feel so good…” I twisted his nipple. “Thank you for saving yourself for me.” Hearing and feeling this Parker, a Parker the world has never seen- A Parker he himself had never seen, drove me mad with lust. This was a private Parker, my Parker, one bound to me for my personal enjoyment. A moment exclusive to us. This seemed to light a fire in the original Parker and I felt my soul shiver as his encapsulated mine. “g…g-get the fuck out of me!” He spat.

With newfound agency, the original Parker ran to his desk and managed just one action before I could wrestle back control.

I gulped. My shaking hand dropped the empty flask as I felt his intent hung around me like a death sentence. “Cast this demon out of me”.

Control over my perfect meat-suit went dark. Like a barrier emanating from within, I felt myself squeezed out of my home. Then falling. Falling for an unbelievable amount of time. I blacked out.

- - -

I awoke with the smell of sulfur in the air, the sky was dark and glowed a faint orange. I stood as I surveyed my surroundings, horrified. I saw a sea of bodies writhing and groaning.

“Is this..?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. I closed my eyes as I thought of the potion and the life I gave all to come to this. I didn’t even have a chance to play with my new body. A sensation stopped my racing mind abruptly.

It was a hand.

One of the bodies on the floor moaned as it spoke in velvet. “Are you joining or what?” I shook it off me as the realization slowly dawned on me. It wasn’t groaning… it was moaning. They were not damned. At least, they were certainly not upset about it.

Then I felt something else stir inside me. Hope? No- At least, not my hope. I grinned as I realized what had occurred. I took note of my spirit- a spirit that was a part of Parker’s. Partially superimposed. Partially one. We were bonded together, even as souls. When his sleeping soul came to, I felt that hope of his immediately vanish. He grabbed our merged face in horror, before looking around.

“B-but, I never did anything… I was perfect…” Parker trailed. I felt a blackness pour out of me. That’s it? Is that all there was to being a demon? These people were not suffering in the slightest. If anything, this was something to look forward to. This time, I felt no resistance from Parker as our shared soul began to fondle itself. Our face, however, was stone cold. Parker was in control.

Feeling all that he had to look forward to, something shattered in him. I felt as much- Rage. Betrayal. Then, Liberation. He looked up into the sky with a sneer and hands outstretched. “This what you wanted, asshole? I do everything right and you still put me here? How much time did I waste in those stupid lectures? How many people did we turn down?” I immediately felt the pieces of this new Parker worm into my psyche. “Fine”. He said with a broken satisfaction.

Like a root, he spread throughout me. Bonding each of us tighter and tighter. This time, I felt a natural cockiness exude from Parker, and by extension me. It felt wrong, coming from Parker. At the same time, a part of me felt like this truly was Parker. This time, the disillusioned man continued fondling himself on his own volition. He brought me into the fold, guiding my movements. “Bro…” . I felt mind mind dull in euphoria. “Bro….”. It rolled off our tongue lazily. Something about it just felt natural. “Parker, if you don’t stop… we’ll”. His mouth opened in a wide smile as he gave both pecs a squeeze. “I know. Enjoy the ride bro”. All at once the pieces of Parker rooted into brimmed with energy. “Fuck it, right? You should be thanking me for this… My body is my temple… and I’m letting you live in it. Thanking me is the least you could do.” Searing pain hit us both. Despite all this, he retained a crazed expression as he kept defiling his own soul. Bit after bit, I felt him kneed soul into mine. Though terrified, I couldn’t help but soften. This was truly a side of Parker I had never seen. Here he was, tainting himself- tainting us both- locking us to eternal damnation. Into one being. And he laughed while doing it. I could feel it in his depths. A raw aggression. A depraved, sexual hunger in him. One that swallowed me infinitesimally. One that strung me up inside him, fed me pieces of himself. Fed me too much of himself. Fed me to him. My head was spinning as the lines between us blurred even further. This new Parker coursed through me as he guided me to finish the job. Let’s sin in this temple together. The last, innocent piece of the original Parker spurted out of our soul in a torrent of spectral cum. We could see the weightlessness of it. We watched as it floated up to the dark sky. This remnant of the original Parker-the original me, would be mine. I drew the land into me, felt empowered by the flames as I jetted up. In unbelievable pace we ascended back to the living world.

- - -

Final bits of soul continued to ascend but with a swift, dark grip, we grabbed it and jammed it into our body’s chest. I watched my meat shudder at the feeling. It breathed into life, but remained unconscious. Our soul now brimming black, I caressed my perfected form in satisfaction. We were Parker. And we needed every bit of ourselves to be whole. On that note, I jammed our dick right into the Parker Meat body’s chest and watched as it shuddered. Caressing the face now wholly mine, I jammed our dick in again and again, reveling in the body’s shaking. I watched it claw into the floor, legs kicking and flaying in some automatic attempt to keep its own soul out. I only continued with faster and faster pace, grunting in his manly tone until finally-release. The invisible barrier around flesh punctured and I willed my spirit to pump bit after bit of myself into the small orifice. The Parker body only made gurgling noises as I streamed inside. Once all of me was finally home, I felt my flesh begin to enclose me and laughed as I felt the barrier reforge- only with me inside it this time. I made quick work of the last piece of the original Parker’s soul. Staining it black and integrating it into myself.

Tears now flowed freely down Parker’s flush cheeks. His hands caressed his thick biceps in gratification. We were finally complete.

I moaned as I felt myself overcome a familiar sensation that my old body often experienced. However, this sensation was entirely foreign to this Parker-flavored bod. Electricity coursed inside me, and moans turned into screams as shook back and forth in a downright religious experience. My back arched in violent delight and I felt the lights go out from my new pale, blue eyes. Parker’s first cum- our first cum together- absolute pleasure. My jaw slacked and drool began to escape as I was still reeling from the sensation.

Mess. I sat there panting for a second, chest and stomach soaked and coated in our liberation. I scooped a bit of the white and stared at it in my hand, watching this body’s own seed violently shudder and contort unnaturally before phasing into a dark mist. In demented glee, I felt the mist like an extension of myself and began feeding it into the rest of the untouched cum still outlining my abs. I licked my lips in savage pleasure as I watched as the rest of it slowly turn dark and soon felt it also under my control. Exquisite. I sent the small package of myself into the air, flying towards one of my teammates. Just a small piece to convince him to submit himself to Parker’s temple.

I couldn’t wait to show the town our new self. We are Parker. And all are welcome to worship at this temple. “Let us pray”.

- - -

Now, have you accepted Parker as your personal lord and savior?

#male possession #male body control #male merge #male takeover #malepossession #soul possession #male corruption

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transhuman-priestess · 5 months

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Sometimes the struggles we go through to be ourselves can be as rewarding as the end result.

A pretty breezy one here. Only content notes are surgery mention and needle mention. No gore to be found, no sex neither. Just good ol' fashioned yearning.

This is definitely a bit of a right angle to my usual stuff. There's no horror, it's light on dialogue, but its in a very similar space to a lot of the other stuff, just a different way of going at it.

Daughter of Elysium

I scheduled the surgery without telling my parents. They wouldn’t understand.

When I came out as trans they were supportive, in perhaps the slightly awkward way that cis people tend to be when they want to be accepting of things they don’t understand. This was different though.

I sat in the waiting room of the clinic in Montevideo, lined with faux wood paneling and sleek glass. Peak 2010s architecture. An older building, but the clinic’s reputation spoke for itself. There was no way I was going to get this procedure done in North America. Too expensive, too niche.

Too many hoops to jump through, too. Go see this doctor, talk to this therapist. Walk with these crutches. Practice with this fake charger for a year. Bullshit, all of it. I just wanted to be me.

So I saved money where I could. I slept in the heat of the Californian summers, kept the lights off early in the winter, rode the train to work, ate cheap meals, canceled all my subscriptions, lived in a 300 sq foot apartment in Watsonville.

3 years and $100,000 Californian Dollars later, I got on a train in Santa Cruz for a 3-day journey to Uruguay.

It was late June, a few days before the solstice. This far south of the equator that meant the sun rose late and set early. It was early morning, a quarter to 7, and 5 hours ahead of California time. I was used to being awake at night, but that only made the early sunrise more disorienting.

“Lewis, Kara,” a thrill of adrenaline rushed through me as the receptionist called my name. After reciting my birthday to confirm my identity, I was taken back to preop. I changed into a surgical gown and then lay down on a gurney while a nurse ran an IV to my arm and started saline. I thought about asking what happened once the arm was removed, but I figured it wasn’t worth the explanation.

For the next 10 minutes I stared at the clock. I hadn’t brought anyone with me. This was something to do for me, by myself. No partner, no friends. I had brought a bag with one change of clothes, my passport, and my phone. I thought about calling my friend Cory, but decided against it. No sense in getting anyone worried. As far as the outside world was concerned, I was on vacation.

I guess that wasn’t too far from the truth.

At 7 sharp, a couple of orderlies came in, checked my name and date of birth, and released the brakes on the gurney. They wheeled me out into the chilled hallway, and through the double doors into the operating room.

Inside the surgeon, the anesthesiologist, and several techs were waiting. A nurse placed a mask on my face and told me to count backwards from ten. A sweet, chemical smell filled my nostrils, and the world faded out.

* * *

It wasn’t the first time I’d had surgery, so the novelty of coming up from the anesthesia surprised me. Rather than the slow, heavy feeling I’d expected, it was like waking up from a nap. Disorienting, but in a cozy way. Nothing hurt. I hadn’t expected that. Probably the painkillers were still feeding in.

I tried to open my eyes, but my lids only twitched slightly. I heard one of the nurses say “You’re awake! The doctor will be in to see you soon. Everything went well, congratulations.”

I tried to reply, but my jaw moved jerkily and I had trouble forming words. The result was a disjointed grunt emerging from my mouth. But I could tell that I had a mouth, which was good.

The nurse left. I could hear his shoes squeaking off into the distance. As they faded, the thrum of the HVAC replaced it, and an occasional mechanical whirring near me. My eyes were still closed, and for the first time I noticed the green letters in the corner of my vision. Instinctively, I tried to look at them, but they moved with my eyes. After a time I was able to make them stay put long enough to look at them.

ARLINGTON ROBOTICS SYSTEMS

BANGOR, WASHINGTON, CASCADE REPUBLIC

I managed to open my eyes after a few minutes. At first it was all much too bright, everything blown to white, but after a few seconds my vision dimmed to a comfortable level. I focused on a tiny hole in the floating ceiling above. After a moment, I managed to zoom my vision in.

I marveled for a time at the detail in the ceiling. This mass-produced object, fiberglass and paper, contained so much beauty. How many times had I stared a ceiling like this without noticing?

The doctor came in and reaffirmed that everything had gone well. She told me that rehab would start in a few days, once my new body’s systems stabilized and adjusted to neural commands. I tried to smile but couldn’t manage to get my face to move right.

The doctor chuckled and plugged a display into a port on the back of my new neck. She held it up to me, and I watched as the words “What is this for?” appeared on it. She explained that until my vocal rehab started to kick in, this display would help me communicate.

She told me to raise my arms out to my sides. I struggled with this task for a moment before finally managing to do so. For the first time I got a look at the body I’d picked out from the inside.

Gray plating, seams that slid over each other, an unapologetically mechanical body. I’d wanted that. They’re getting good at synthetic skin these days, but I wanted to distance myself from humanity. There was nothing wrong with humanity, but it never spoke to me. I’d always been somewhat apart.

* * *

I slept most of that first day. The next day they let me eat. The bioprocessor seemed to be working, the staff said, but I should keep it light, and stick to carbs rather than fat and protein until the new tract could build up a sufficient biome to support those.

Odd as it sounds, it was 36 hours post-op before I realized I hadn’t peed. The charging station that I hooked into took care of filtration and detox of what little biomass I had left. I felt suddenly elated. I actually tried to get up out of bed, and promptly tripped over my own foot, smashing my face against a wall.

The nurses rushed in, worry on their faces, but I couldn’t stop laughing, and that’s when I heard my voice.

It wasn’t like my old voice. It wasn’t cold and computerized, but warm, and rich, like an old Roland Jupiter, full of dense harmonics, singing highs, and comforting, enveloping lows.

Soon I was sitting on the floor, sobbing. My eyes didn’t water anymore, but I still went through the motions. I held my gray plastic hands to my face, and touched them to my cheeks. I felt the subtle vibrations as motors moved my eyes around. I had never felt so happy, so myself. So real.

* * *

After a week I was able to clumsily walk around the hospital room, and they moved me to the recovery house. I met a few other converts there. There was a girl named Morgan from Seattle, a guy named Case from Kansas City, a few others. I mostly kept to myself.

I started speech therapy shortly after the move. Lots of reading convoluted sentences, but also singing, reading poetry, even some play-acting. I grew to love my voice. It was obviously synthetic, but that only made it feel more like a part of me.

Motor therapy was interesting. They asked me if I played any instruments. I told them I played bass. The therapist walked to a closet and returned with a bass made entirely out of carbon fiber. I asked why they made it from that, the therapist told me I’d see shortly, and handed me the Bass.

I immediately gripped the neck with far more force than I’d intended, denting the frets and the strings. I said I understood now.

Time flew. The solstice came and went, and by August I could speak clearly, play “Highway Star,” and wash my own chassis without damaging it. I could dress myself. I could walk without tripping over my feet.

On an evening in early August, I bade farewell to my fellow converts at the recovery house, and made my way to the train station. I could have taken a cab, or the bus, but I opted to walk. It was 8 miles and took all night, but I enjoyed every moment of it. Never tiring, stopping for food to recharge myself here and there at convenience stores and night markets.

I settled into my roomette for the trip back to Santa Cruz, looking out at Montevideo Bay. I saw my reflection in the window of my train, and for the first time, really took it in, with eyes that were my own.

#ivy michaels writing #robot girl #cyborg girl #cyborg #transhumanism #cyborg conversion

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hippotooth · 21 days

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💙 Hello talented people who create fan art and fan fiction! 💙

It’s probably just some random fluke of my dash tonight but I’ve been seeing a lot of discouraged people wondering why they aren’t getting more interaction, or followers, comparing themselves to other artists etc- so I wanted to share my perspective, for what it’s worth.

I’ve been doing this thing for a while where I seek out, and reblog, BG3 fan art that is under appreciated - doesn’t have a ton of notes, etc - so visual artists are more my niche than fan fic but this applies to you writers out there too I think.

I’ve noticed:

Interaction does not always correlate with quality ✨

I see a ton of art each day of all skill levels, mediums, and subject matters. There is a ton of amazing stuff out there that simply does not get notes.

More importantly:

Every post is someone’s favorite 💕

Your post may not make you tumblr famous but I guarantee you someone loves what you make. I can reblog something, see most of my followers not interact with it, then see one follower reblog it absolutely losing their mind in the tags because it’s the perfect piece for them. If you’re not finding that person, the problem is most likely circumstance and not you. Maybe they’re in a different time zone than when you post, blame tumblr’s messy tagging and impossible search function- not yourself!

Sappy as it sounds, consider me your biggest fan if you want! I’m grateful for how active the BG3 community is and love seeing your talent and growth as artists. I genuinely enjoy every post I like and reblog. Need a pick me up? Message me and I will shamelessly gush about how much I love your work and mean every word of it. 😊

Your art and writing are appreciated. Sometimes that appreciation isn’t as loud or as visible as it should be, but that is not a fault of you, devoted and talented people. 👏

Thank you for sharing your creativity with us all!

#bg3 #bg3 fanart #bg3 fan fic #bg3 comic #baldurs gate 3 fanart #hippotooth talk

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obsolescent · 8 months

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Leon S. Kennedy Headcanons

Author’s Note: As you know, I write Leon in a certain way. Here’s headcanons that I have for him...I think about him a bit too much, I fear. My desire for Leon to be a country boy is the product of living in the south and also some projecting, lol. Some of these delve pretty deep and some of these are niche. If you want to share any headcanons that you have, please do. I love creating lore for characters that we know little about! Thank you to @roseglazedlens for reading over most of these for me! I’ll also be doing a NSFW version as well, the alphabet prompt.

Content warnings: Mature rating, no gendered language used for reader, nothing sexual but general discussion of Leon and his life so that involves alcohol, depression, suicidal thoughts, trauma.

NSFW Alphabet

Leon is more or less introverted from how he behaves in the games and movies, I was thinking probably INFJ-T for his personality type.

He’s bisexual. He likes whoever he can be comfortable and feel safe around, though with his hinted attractions, he prefers dark haired people.

There’s been speculation that Raccoon City is based around Springfield, Missouri, based on a few factors, so I tried to think of where he could be from. I was choosing based on my desire to have him connected to the south in some way while also not being too far from Springfield. We don’t know how far he traveled or how long it took him to get there during the events of RE2, unfortunately.

I thought of specifically around where Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, and Tennessee meet. It would also be a convenient area for his family’s mentioned crime involvement.

Also why he doesn’t have much of an accent due to being near four different states. He is of Italian descent which is one of the canon things we know. KY, MO, and TN have a higher percentage of Italian Americans in the south from what I’ve researched.

If I had to choose a specific city, it would be Paducah, Kentucky. Definitely more of a small town kind of guy. It’s also around 5 hours from Springfield.

I don’t believe he went into the foster care system, though it’s not stated. But I like to think the police officer who saved him adopted him.

Also I feel like he’s autistic in some way, generally based on how he acts and carries himself in the games. (He’s just like me fr)

His favorite brand of cars is Jeep.

He’s definitely the type of Jeep owner to wave at every Jeep he passes by while driving.

We know he likes Ducati too, he drives a XDiavel in Vendetta and DI.

He can do minor repairs, on both cars and motorcycles. A bit of a mechanic in his spare time when he’s home from missions, helping some of the others when they have car troubles.

His love language is definitely acts of service.

Even platonically, if he overhears a friend having a bad day, he’ll stop and ask if they need help with their work, or get them their favorite snack.

Romantically, he’ll bring you flowers, drive by your pharmacy to check if you have anything that needs to be picked up, tidies up the house, cooks for you, prepares you lunch for work, gives you massages if you’ve had a tough day.

He’s not the best at cooking, but learns quickly, so if you give him tips on how to improve, he’ll apply them to the next time he makes something.

Pretty sure blue is his favorite color, we see him wearing it a lot.

There’s speculation on what he smells like, I think even some perfumes made for him? But personally, I don’t think he would wear typical masculine scents, something more alone the lines of citrus/clean/fresh. One I think he would wear is Nautica Blue by Nautica. It smells so good.

He has some religious background. With how Leon behaves/carries himself, it leads me to believe his family were a part of the Church of Christ, which would correlate with the location I chose.

Leon, to this day, follows the church’s principles: “In essentials, unity; in opinions, liberty; in all things, love.” It’s something he repeats often in his head.

He sings, having taken it up at church. After the incident with his family, he continued, as it reminded him of attending, and of his mother, how she would sing him to sleep. He likes to pop into random churches during times of service.

Not straying too far in, just near the exit to join in with singing and reminisce on his own memories.

With singing, he's a baritone.

His favorite song is We Shall Be Free by Garth Brooks.

He’s all over with his music taste, from alternative to country, divorced dad rock, pop, to gospel hymns. If it has a catchy tune, he’ll like it, not too picky with music.

To get into the sad bits, we know he liked to drink to cope, a functional alcoholic.

He would have trouble sleeping through the night, drinking helped.

Sees a therapist and isn’t the most truthful during meetings. Afraid to open up about everything that’s happened to him.

In RE6, you can see a document where Leon confesses he’s thought about suicide, as far back as RE2, so he’s struggled with depression.

Doesn’t do well with large crowds or gatherings. Stays on the outskirts of any event unless he has to go deeper into the throng for the sake of a mission.

Firm believer of his corny one liners:

*Gets bill* “What’s the damage?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

*Starts raining* “We needed this.”

Also looks out the window/stands on the porch when there’s a storm coming.

He keeps a memory box. It holds items he’s kept from each of his missions. It’s small things, like a key, a piece of paper, photos, a keychain. He looks in it every once in a while, so he doesn’t forget about what he’s done, who he’s helped, and those who didn’t make it.

Not the best with technology, basic knowledge of what he needs to do and how to get to things, but doesn’t use it much outside of work.

He has to ask you for help sometimes, thankful you’re more knowledgeable on the topic.

Will always tell you goodbye when he leaves for missions, no matter what method he has to use.

Face-to-face, video chat, or even going to your work. He just wants to see you one more time before departing, in case it could be the last time. Though it’s unsaid between you two, it’s in the air, tinging it with sadness and trepidation.

When he comes back, though, he immediately notifies you and wants to see you as soon as possible. He holds you a little tighter than he usually does for the first few days after returning from a mission.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon headcanons #leon kennedy headcanons #leon kennedy hc #leon kennedy imagine

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angelbarelywrites · 1 month

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♡ scenarios | dating negan

♡ fandoms; The Walking Dead

♡ characters; Negan Smith

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; explicit sexual content

♡ notes; in case anyone forgot i’m technically not a dedicated slasher blog

i put this in sections so i didn’t have to make more than one post lol . also these take place while he’s still the ruler of the saviors. i’ve been obsessed since his first episode oh my god that’s eight years of hyperfixation so that’s usually where my brain goes plot- wise

i’m thinking Billy Butcher is up next? lmk who else we wanna see, Garcia Flynn from Timeless is probably too niche? but i love him so so much

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

I. Kisses/PDA

> negan is an affectionate person

> with his wives it’s just for show- they’re hot, and he wants all his followers jealous of his lifestyle

> but with you, it’s different

> his wives don’t like him, per-se. he’s convenient to be married to and easy on the eyes, but they’re cold to him

> and he knows why, he doesn’t really give a shit. especially now that he has you.

> you may not be his spouse- you’re sure as fuck not letting him call you that without a ring- but he’s even more physical with you

> standing by him? hand on your back. sitting? you’re on his lap. look cold? he gives you his jacket and keeps you tucked under his arm

> “i just like takin’ care of you darlin’”

> and he loves kissing you in front of others- from little pecks to long, lingering kisses that makes other people look away

> he seems possessive, and he doesn’t mind people pointing it out

> it’s not that he doesn’t trust you- it’s never that

> he trusts most of his men too…maybe not simon. because simon loves staring at your ass

> but he’s proud. he’s proud you’re his, and he’s yours, and that he gets to show you off

> and like hell he ever lets anyone forget it

> alone he acts like keeping his hands off you is impossible

> he smacks your ass any time you lean over, pulls you into big bear hugs from behind and randomly pick you up

> he doesn’t ever want you to doubt his feelings for you, and physically is the easiest way for him to show it

> he’s very sexual, big shocker

> but his favorite kisses are sleepy kisses

> you wait late into the night when he’s due home from terrorizing his territories

> some part of you is afraid one day he won’t come home- so you always wait

> you’ll be exhausted, rubbing your eyes and yawning and usually wrapped up in a blanket

> but no matter how long he takes directing his men and double checking inventory and dealing with the dead

> “hey there, baby doll”

> you always run straight into his arms and bury your face in his chest. he’ll laugh and pick you up, kissing you gently before he carries you to bed

> most times he falls asleep on top of the covers with you, eager for the morning when he can make it up to you for being gone so long

II. Sharing a bed

> negan isn’t used to sharing a bed anymore

> the wives have their own rooms just down the hall, and so do you

> no reason for him not to give you at least a little space

> and having a room is the height of luxury in the sanctuary anyways. it’s a perk of dating the boss

> but you don’t know how to tell him you do want to share a bed, even though you’re barely apart when you’re awake

> so you just…don’t. you assume it’s a boundary he wants to keep and don’t mention it

> until the night terrors start up again

> you’ve seen a lot of people die a lot of different ways. most of them people you cared a lot about

> the memories always seem to come back in your dreams no matter how far back you push them

> when you’re woken up by one in the middle of a harsh storm, it’s just a bit too much

> you just can’t stop crying, and it’s loud and you need held. you need him.

> you creep as quietly as you can down the hall, and you hesitate at the door until the thunder crashes again

> when you stumble in he sits up fast with a knife in his fist

> then he gives a slightly annoyed sigh in recognition, relaxing

> “the hell are you doing?”

> “i just- um-“

> you can tell he notices the wobble in your voice and opens his arms up without another smart remark

> “hey, hey, i’ve gotcha..”

> he doesn’t ask questions- you don’t cry for nothing. and he gets nightmares too

> falling asleep in his arms feels natural…so natural it becomes a habit

> and he sleeps better with you too, curled around you and holding you so tight you think he might be worried you’ll disappear

> it’s less than a week before you stop using your bed altogether

III. Let’s get kinky

> he’s happy in pretty much any dominant role, whatever you call him is good enough for him- daddy, sir, master, etc

> and he likes when you call him whatever it is in front of his men

> the only chance of getting your dick/strap in him is if he power bottoms. but 95 percent of the time? you’re receiving and it’s big

> he likes being risky. he’ll take you out to visit settlements just to have an excuse to stop and fuck you in the car

> or even in a house there, just a room over from his men and gagging you with his fingers so you don’t get caught

> not that he’ll care if they catch you anyways

> he has a nice big office- half of the reason he uses it is so he can have you on his lap as a cockwarmer while he reads or looks over inventory numbers

> the other half is so you can suck his dick under the desk while he talks to simon or dwight

> (simon is a raging pervert so he definitely knows, too)

> he loves fucking your face, watching you get all teary eyed and drooling all over yourself from taking his massive cock

> “oh look at the fuckin’ mess you’re making!”

> he’s generous though- he loves reciprocating oral

> and he loves overstimulating you too- whether that’s by edging you for hours or just making you cum again and again and again

> he loves taking you from behind, pushing your face into the mattress and gripping your hips so hard they bruise

> but he also loves when you ride him slow, gasping quietly as he watches you fall apart completely for him

#negan x g/n reader #negan x y/n #twd negan #negan smith #negan x you #negan x reader #the walking dead #twd dead city #cw sex #cw kink

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mapsontheweb · 1 year

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Cities by Impressiveness of Mountain Backdrop / Rut

by u/Gigitoe

After seeing the recent posts Cities with a better mountain backdrop than LA? ( u/odi3luck ) and This is a response to the LA mountain backdrop ( u/sam_woke ), I realized that I had the exact tools to answer a particularly niche but interesting question:

How do we quantify how impressive a city's mountain backdrop is?

To answer this question, we use rut, an indicator I developed back in the days to quantify how sharply or impressively the surroundings of a location rise above the location. (my research paper if you're interested)

Roughly speaking, rut works as follows:

The higher the mountains rise above a city, the more impressive they are, and the higher the rut.

The steeper the mountains rise above a city, the more impressive they are, and the higher the rut.

In the map shown, I measured the rut of every city with a population of over 100,000. Here's some cities in each tier and their corresponding rut values:

S tier - rut > 500 m (world-class, would visit for mountain views alone) -

Pokhara, Nepal (1358 m) | Chamonix, France (1336 m) [not on map; population too low] | Zermatt, Switzerland (904 m) [not on map] | Yosemite Valley, CA (617 m) [not on map] | Innsbruck, Austria (584 m)

A tier - rut between 200 to 500 m (impressive, but probably wouldn't visit just for mountain views)

B tier - rut between 100 and 200 m (mountains in close proximity, or big mountains further away)

C tier (glorified hills nearby, or distant mountains, or very distant big mountains) - rut between 25 and 100 m

D tier (hills nearby, or glorified hills in the distance, or very distant mountains) - rut between 10 and 25 m

F tier (flat tier) - rut between 0 and 10 m

So to answer the question, what cities have a better mountain backdrop than Los Angeles? Quite a lot... quite a lot.

Here's the data spreadsheet that was used to generate this map!

Edits: switched Vancouver to downtown measurement, added more cities, switched to steepness explanation instead of proximity explanation.

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

Note: rut measurements only consider rise above surroundings (relative height differences and steepness). They do not consider absolute elevation, nor the "aesthetics" of a mountain, nor visibility (or lack thereof) due to weather or smog.

This visualization was made possible with Google Earth Engine, MERIT DEM, and GeoNames.

If you like rut, you'll probably like its older brother jut even more. Jut is an indicator of how impressive, spectacular, or badass a mountain is—considering both its height above surroundings and steepness. If you want to find the most impressive mountains near you or worldwide, you may find the link above to be useful.

Let us know if you have any questions or comments—I'm happy to address them!

#maps #Gigitoe #cities #mountains

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hanbindans · 1 year

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zerobaseone as IB students (headcanons)

some fun headcanons for my fellow students. please take these with a grain of salt, obviously I don't know them personally and these are just meant to be fun :) word count: 1.1 k (ca 140 for each) a/n: this is for a very niche target audience but it makes sense in MY head. also I have exams in less than 2 weeks so this is kind of representative of where my mind is at rn. and PSA if you're also an IB student please don't actually skip TOK <3

jiwoong

what's that?? "he's a 24 year old man, it's been years since he completed high school??" sorry I can't hear you too well I'll just go ahead and write this headcanon anyway <3

he's such a drama kid and he would take it even in IB, so theatre and korean lit would be his HLs

I feel like he would take bio and psych sl purely out of curiosity and then immediately regret it when he realizes how much content there is (but would be really good at psych)

aa sl!!! no particular reason tbh I just think he's kind of smart

doesn't understand tok. like...... at ALL. is saved by the fact that his psychology EE is pretty good because he pretty much flunks tok miserably

CAS defender because "guys it builds character I think it's great that we all do volunteer work :))" bless his heart

hanbin

7 subjects :)

is good at tok probably

genuinely puts SO much time and effort into his cas and regrets it in the end but it looks cool on his resumé

psychology and korean lit HL, probably takes VA too but maybe as sl. he gives such lit vibes I feel like he would totally be a literature kid

chinese ab!!!! and maybe ESS because he can and doesn't like science <3

AI SL just because he's so social science but he gets 6s and 7s because it's too easy for him <3

basically he's all the social science subjects but because they're FUN not because they're easy :)

shares notes and study resources in the class group chat because he's cool like that

zhang hao

science kid

HL math AA, geography, and maybe chem or bio. maybe takes physics SL too.

definitely chinese lang/lit and korean ab (he could definitely do korean B but he can't be bothered)

you won't catch him anywhere without a comically large energy drink

completely numbed on the inside but also puts more effort in than everyone else and gets straight 7's

skips tok though because he can't be asked

does his EE on a very niche obsession of his and it gets a really good grade but he puts way too much effort into it

everyone wants to learn his ways but he doesn't do study groups because he gets too annoyed lmao. WILL tell juniors chatting in the library to stfu

he will complain about anything and everything any chance he gets but also catch him getting that 45 at the end of the day.

taerae

also science kid but a lot less intense

HL bio, chem, music, SL AA, korean lang/lit and japanese ab

he would complain SO MUCH about group 2 btw he's one of those science kids who really doesn't want to do 2 languages lol

really only cares about music to be honest but does the sciencey subjects because he thinks they're cool and gets pretty good grades

the type to do a hyper specific science IA and spend way too much time on it just for shits and giggles because he likes pouring things into beakers and swirling them

unintentionally does the most for his CAS, like "oh a service??? yeah I've been tutoring guitar for like 6 months does that count" and genuinely fails to see how other people struggle with it

also excells at tok, like genuinely writes an amazing philosophical TOK essay and gets full marks

ironically cares so little about IB but somehow does so well because he genuinely likes his subjects (and has an iq of like 150)

matthew

7 subjects :)

wants to do more languages than he's allowed because he's just built like that, he likes flexing his multilingualism

HL english lang/lit, french B, history. SL AA, bio, chem, psych

is annoyingly good at all his subjects like HOW are you doing all that and remembering everything?? secretly kind of a genius

does the mostest for his IAs for absolutely no reason other than he's just interested in his subjects and wants to do fun projects :)

also genuinely likes CAS for the same reason (play sports feed stray cats, what's not to like?)

super ambitious classmate who is somehow the only one still sane and always happy

encourages everyone before tests and exams like "come on guys we can do it!! :)"

ricky

this is more likely than you think like do you know how many rich international kids do IB??? in an alternate reality he's M23

visual art HL <33

probably business management HL too, but I could see him doing psych as well!! I think he'd enjoy the human relationships option

chinese lang/lit and english B because why do a bilingual diploma and struggle when you could just breeze through english B?????

AI and ESS sl because he cba, he just wants to pass fr.

to be honest he only really cares about visual art (does his EE in it and regrets it every day) and his social science a liiittle bit, other than that he's just doing exactly as much as he needs to pass

super chill classmate though like all IB kids need a Ricky in their class to humble our god complexes

gyubin

IB but because he's an exchange student :') like he didn't even know what IB was when he started it

cramming the night before tests because he can't be asked to dedicate his whole life to studying

actually the nicest classmate though

eng b HL and breezes through it

ESS and AI sl together with ricky (they sit in the back of the class and snack together <3)

also like business management/psychology or something equivalent but he's REALLY good at it and gets easy 7's?? like he will be that 1 kid who has that 1 subject that he's an absolute god at

cries every tok lesson but it's alright

favourite part is ironically CAS because he has an excuse to volunteer at dog shelters and play basketball with his friends :)

gunwook

peak IB child I bet he would take this programme for real

4 hls (economics, psychology, korean lang lit, chemistry)

I have no justification for these subjects btw I just spat out 4 that I think he would take. he definitely would do 4 HLs though because that's how he rolls

ALSO takes cas very seriously for absolutely no reason

also takes tok SUPER seriously- he will lead class discussions and get into heated debates about stupid shit like if newspeak would work in real life

AA sl and japanese ab because that's just his vibes

kind of overworked but is always helpful and shares notes with his classmates :)

does his EE in economics and ends up getting way too invested in it and becomes obsessed with economic development policies or something niche like that (nerd but affectionately <3)

very stressed and overworked but he WILL get those grades at the end of the day <33

#boys planet scenarios #boys planet imagines #zb1 #zerobaseone #boys planet headcanons #kim jiwoong #sung hanbin #zhang hao #kim taerae #seok matthew #shen ricky #kim gyuvin #park gunwook #this was purely for personal entertainment but I think it's fun so I'm posting it lol

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apple-salad · 9 months

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Petticoats for Farutetto JSK

AKA an attempt at putting the butt in Farutetto..if I can say that?

Note: I will be referring to Farutetto as Faltetto in this post as MM has previously translated the dress name as such.

I'm honestly not really sure why I wrote this post, and I'm regretting it a little having finished writing it because the topic seems pointless, but if you like maximum poof, then maybe this niche blog topic is for you.

Related posts about farutetto/faltetto dress: Unboxing (2023 mist and navy), Mary Magdalene faltetto history (long), 1st coordinate post

Mary Magdalene's stock photos for Faltetto picture it bustled with a highly raised back, but they really left it as an exercise for the reader when it comes to achieving this effect ourselves.

Bustle-able skirts are common enough in classic lolita, but we don't have a lot of lolita petticoat options that provide a historical-style rump. Not to mention that the bustle effect going on above is quite extreme.

Some petticoats that I can think of that have increased back volume are Sheglit's Victorian pannier, and some of Victorian Maiden's old petticoats.

left: VM Hip Up Middle Tulle Pannier, right: VM Hip Up Pannier

The VM petticoats appear to be designed to be used with their bustle skirts, with a few extra tiers of hard tulle to help provide a slight volume to the outer skirt.

Sheglit Long Bustle Pannier

Sheglit's is similar, with a large amount of tulle gathered near the hips for an Edwardian silhouette. I don't own this petticoat, but it might work with faltetto if the petticoat is wide enough to stuff more volume underneath.

For me, I think these types of petticoats weren't quite going to cut it... I needed huge back poof. Or at least needed to try...

Here is faltetto without any petticoats. The dress itself has no additional volume built in, so it's pretty flat. The lining is as densely (or nearly) gathered as the outer chiffon, so you could argue it is giving a tiny bit of volume. But still, quite flat.

I have collected too many petticoats over the years and own about a million at this point, so note that the petticoats I am layering here are only a guide and should be achievable if you own 2 or 3 relatively poofy petticoats of your own.

I use a couple not very poofy petticoats as a base layer to help hold up the larger upper petticoat layers.

Layer 1 is a Malco Modes 580 ("Zooey"), which is a light-poof petti.

Layer 2: Just a deflated Mary Magdalene Pannier-skirt for a tiny bit more volume

You could probably use one decently poofy A-line or 1 quite poofy, slightly longer bell petti instead.

I layer a short bell shaped petticoat on top of these to give more volume to the upper portion of the skirt. A-line pettis tend to be quite bottom heavy and I think the delicate chiffon fabric of faltetto needs consistent support along its silhouette, or else it looks weird.

Layer 3 is AP's "short organdy pannier"

These are the base layers. Next I add a back cushion to help hold up all the layers that will follow. It helps a lot in creating a "shelf" effect at the back.

The cushion itself is made from kona cotton (scraps can also be used) with a pattern that I freehanded off of examples of edwardian back pads online. I don't think the exact shape matters that much--you could probably tie a literal tiny cushion to your hips. But the dimensions of this one are approximately this if you want to try it yourself:

You can round off the sides into a kind of 3-oval shape, or cut out a smooth semicircle, I don't think it will make much of a difference for this purpose.

After trying this setup with the upper layers added and finding the bustle effect not jutting out enough, I decided to add an extra volume layer just to the back. I don't have anything purpose-made right now, so I made do with a deflated bell shaped petticoat folded in half (and folded again slightly around the edges to keep the total pinned width about 3/4 of the waist) and pinned to the cushion.

The result so far is weird, but maybe it works...

The last actual petticoat layer is Angelic Pretty's "Long Organdy Pannier". I don't think AP makes these anymore, but they are a approx. 50cm long, gently bell-shaped petticoat designed for the longer dresses AP was releasing around 2016~2020. I find the longer length quite good for sweet-classic when the skirt of a JSK or OP is a little longer, or achieving a little more poof around the upper part of the skirt with certain longer classic pieces. It's not extremely poofy on its own, but I personally enjoy using it for various poof purposes.

Layer 6 or so (?) (AP Long Organdy Pannier)

This final petticoat layer also helps smooth out the bustle silhouette, from the front to the raised back.

Finally, on top of all that a tiered underskirt is layered on top. Faltetto doesn't have any built in underskirt (just a lining, which is expected to be bustled up with the main fabric), so it's more attractive to add some ruffles to the back that are visible when the skirt is lifted. Unfortunately, at this point the petticoats are so wide that I don't seem to have any underskirt wide enough for the entire circumference of the poof.

This is the result, but I actually wouldn't recommend positioning an underskirt like the above because the length of the underskirt didn't end up matching the length of the skirt, being quite a bit too short instead (and not really in a nice bustled looking way, in my opinion). In my initial worn photos, I instead fold the underskirt in half and pin it to the waistband of my petticoat (and then pin the underskirt up a little bit since doing this made it a bit too long), which kind of worked but also wasn't really a great solution. I might need to make my own super wide underskirt, or something...thoughts for another time.

Lastly, the dress can be added over top everything! And don't forget to bustle the dress. It's not an entirely intuitive process for first-timers, but there are loops on the back of the dress that you thread the bustle ties through and further tie into a knot. I might try to post a reel of this process eventually (and will update later if I do), but here are some pictures which muddily attempt to express how the bustle is tied:

It was about at this point that I realized that this JSK had a minor factory defect, but thankfully it was easily and very quickly fixed.

And so, here is how the dress looks with all those layers underneath from different angles!

From the front, it looks pretty much like a normal petticoat is being worn with it. I hope this is enough back poof, but what do you think...?

And here are some extra photos of this coordinate to show the set up worn. I can tell that this arrangement might not be very sustainable for a full day, so I will probably be tweaking the petticoat arrangement further in the future.

Last note: As you might be able to tell, I don't own any hoop or wire petticoats, so I can't really give good advice or opinions on where they would fit in here. A hoop skirt that has a rump in its silhouette would be historically on point and probably work quite well, but you would likely have to make a custom one with shorter length. I really don't know enough about mid 19th century fashion to comment on this either, though. But maybe I might attempt it some day!

#lolita fashion #mary magdalene #mary magdalene jp #faltetto jsk #farutetto jsk #lolita petticoats #farutetto #classic lolita

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sleepdeprivationbutitsvaruna · 1 month

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Hey #GreekMythology tumblr, I want ya’lls help on something :).

So, I’ve been thinking about starting this massive project. Like, would take years and years work of writing and research and sheerly finding the time and motivation for. And as I was thinking about the specifics, I thought: why not bring others into it as well? Because as much as I am interested in a lot of Greek Mythology, there are things that are simply not my interests and might cause writers block and my goal for the project would to be as fun as possible. So, here we are.

What is the project exactly? Well, hopefully, it’ll be a long Ao3 series/fic focusing on the individual perspectives of various figures/events in Greek Mythology arranged in (semi/good enough) chronological order. I personally intend to write for Poseidon in his/my version of the Titanomachy and (maybe) some events that follow, if you want a little bit of an idea on what I’m talking about.

The limits on this are almost completely free, all that I ask are that each of your submissions are one POV only (and by that I mean your main subject’s POV). Why do I say this? I say this because that is what I want this project to look like. It doesn’t matter if it’s First, Second, or Third POV along with all the other variants of those three, my main focus is on the individual experiences of these individuals. Kind of like character studies, if you know what I mean. I’m intending for it to be mostly formal but I will absolutely accept crack admissions that I will probably put into its own series to Separate the Vibes for whoever comes by :).

Ultimately, this is a completely open-ended project that has absolutely no deadline. I’m about to go to bed so I can’t go into too much detail, but if you want to DM me or send any asks, I am completely okay with that and we’ll all flesh out the specifics we go :).

What is my overall purpose? Not only is this project made for my own individual purposes of learning more about the gods and other Greek Mythology writers, but it’s also the chance to spread the word of other writers. I know how hard it is to get specific audiences, especially when you’re shy, so this is a chance for your work to be stumbled upon. Each post on the eventual Ao3 fic will include your socials, how to find you, and your other general works on either ao3, tumblr, wattpad, or other :)

Can you participate even without socials or a tumblr page? Yes you absolutely can :). My asks will always be open to anons and I will do my best to give credit when I eventually post everything :). If you want to post multiple submissions or simply just want a trackable (between works) name to your writing, just sign something at the end. It could be a name, it could be a potential username, I don’t mind at all :)).

How do I submit things? Well, the best way would be to DM me :). I have a personal writing email separate from most things that would be perfect to either share a google docs with or to just send a copy-and-pasted copy of it. Otherwise, I take asks. None of them will be posted unless asked or we’re ready to so it’ll be safe to just drop them off in! It’s also where I take questions :).

Any other things to note? I’d really appreciate some other moderators and editors :). There’d only be like two or three of each and we’d have to know each other decently well before officially starting, but some help would be appreciated! Also, I’d like to keep a working ‘spreadsheet’ of who’s working on what just for people to see what’s going on :). Maybe some people can collaborate or it’ll encourage those niche writers to write :). A third thing is that most questionable stuff is accepted. I’d personally rather not handle all those things other than posting it so it might be a while until I can officially accept (consensual and/or graphic) ✨spicy stuff✨ but, other than that, I’ll take any of it (also, it’s Greek Mythology, almost all of it already happened). If someone’s willing to take over the ✨spicy stuff✨ then please DM me so we can work out the details and see if it’s a nice fit :)

Honestly, that all should be it. The main point is that I’m trying to start up a long-term project on Tumblr and Ao3 about what is essentially Greek Mythology character studies that not only allows for mass communication across a wide audience, but also (hopefully) gets some recognition for the smaller writers :). Feel free to DM me or send me asks with questions but for now, I shall sleep

Tagging: @bluebellstudio @thirteen-deaths-later @0lympian-c0uncil @happyk44 @h0bg0blin-meat @sworeontheriverstyx @deathlessathanasia @gotstabbedbyapen. Sorry if I tagged you and you want nothing to do with it, I just wanted to get it out there /pos /gen

#ya know this is the one time I regret deleting all my old accounts :/#I had such a large (ish) following on my old tumblr (neptunes-sea-of-writing btw if you recognize it)#that it’s kind of intimidating to restart again :(#need to do it tho. i just gotta #but I haven’t really written-#anyway that’s not this post’s problem #tagging everyone to try to get it out there #even if you aren’t interested #it’d be appreciated if you share anyway to get to a larger audience :)#i just. wanna build that community and know more things #as much as I’d love to tackle this project all on my own #I know I can’t and it wouldn’t be beneficial for me #but since a large portion of it is gaining knowledge #why not ask it from others?#tagging everyone to get it out there #also the general tag is going to be:#Neptune’s Big Ass Greek Mythology Project #bc why not :)#but seriously #consider it if it’s your thing #and if it’s not that’s fine #I remember being a small writer so intimidated to find people #and I’m feeling that feeling once again having started my entire platform over again :)#we’ve all got this. we’ll make it work /pos #greek mythology #also #you can write for absolutely any fandom #idc #as long as it’s one consistent pov of your focus character :)#also I’m like incredibly sleep deprived and tired rn ive been up since four am and its nine pm rn

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plethomacademia · 5 months

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I just got a commission so everyone has to meet one of my other OCs, Merla the halfling life cleric with her spectral slotted spoon! Art by @sadmages !

I have been looking for an artist with the right style for Merla for a long time and when I saw @sadmages comics of their dark urge bard I knew I had found the one. Merla is new to adventuring and is also an absolute mama's girl, so I asked for the vibe to be "picture your mom insists on taking before your first adventure" and they nailed the concept.

I'm going to gush about this OC under a jump because she's so different from the OC I normally talk about and since she's in a campaign I never get to talk about her.

In our setting, we live on a moon circling a large planet called Mother. Worshipping Mother is a niche religion and one that Merla inherited from her family, but her family isn't too over the top of it. Merla is the kid who grew up in a moderately religious family who went really hard into it and joined the clergy.

She helps with a healing clinic when she is home and her skill was why she was contacted by the local adventuring guild. She spent AGES deciding if she wanted to join and only did so because her mother used to tell her stories about adventurers and also because she convinced herself it's a way to provide service to her community.

Merla is the fifth of thirteen children. They have a family band, she plays an ukulele type string instrument. She and the party bard are very annoying.

Merla has a gap tooth and cuts her own hair.

She is the youngest in the party and the only one without adventuring experience. Her family is very well known in the city though, so she knows lots of people and her family connections come up a lot. But when her and her friends get into anything remotely of note, her parents hear about it immediately.

She leads with kindness, but if she's in a situation where she runs into something she finds unholy, she becomes a little zealot. She is strict lawful good but her law is in reference to her god.

And my favorite Merla fact:

Her spiritual weapon when she's trying to be cool is a large sphere that looks like Mother. But when she's scared or in a hurry, she conjures a large slotted spoon because when she was younger and her siblings were misbehaving, her mom would threaten to throttle them with one. She never did but the psychic damage stuck. Merla's mom actually doesn't know about it and if she did, it would probably result in a family meeting.

#merla goodfellow #dnd character #halfling #cleric #halfling cleric

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writefightandflightclub · 2 years

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The things I do for you: (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader x Frankie “Catfish” Morales)

Summary: you don’t have a cock… but sometimes you wish you did, specifically so that you could make Santiago suck it 😇. Luckily, Frankie thinks he has a bright idea to help with that. (Aka, maybe this is niche content idek anymore)

Genre: purely smut. Poly! Established Realtionship (MMF)

Reader: fem!reader (vagina-owning)

Author’s note: just don’t even think about looking at me, okay? 😝 Just don’t look at me. Clearly I was on a very specific thing when I wrote this. I found this hiding in my drafts from an age ago and it’s not proofed or refined at all and probably shouldn’t even exist but I got super sick of not having anything to publish, so here it is. (As ever, credit to @astroboots for inspiring Frankie / Santi poly thoughts that I can’t escape through her incredible and flawless Homecoming universe. Consider this a meagre tribute.)

Rating: EXPLICIT. MINORS DNI. Do not read or interact unless you are 18+ or you will be BLOCKED.

Warnings: reader is vagina-owner and in this scene is “wishing” she “had a cock”. As it’s written, this desire is for fleeting and fantasy purposes only, rather than connected with, for example, gender dysphoria. This may however be difficult for some readers even if it is presented exclusively in a fantasy context. Other than that, lots of MM, MF, slightly rough consensual blow job (M/M but fem!reader controlling the situation), oral m to f, general sexy times, some dirty talk, slight praise kink, reader calls Santi good boy a fair bit, lot of cumshot/cum play. Out of character maybe, it was purely for the smut. Not proofed. Probably a ton of autocorrects which will come back to embarrass me. Questionable logistics also. Like I said, don’t look at me 🙈

“You know. Sometimes, I wish I had a cock so I could make you suck it,” you blurt out of nowhere, fracturing the lazy ambience of the morning, and causing your two boyfriends to snap their gaze up at you around the breakfast table.

You could back-pedal. Add some qualifiers, maybe - but given the looks on their faces you feel it will be much more fun to stand by your statement.

“Oh yeah?” You can tell by the instant sweep of his eyebrow that Santi is interested in this conversation. Interested enough that he puts his book down on the table without bothering to save the page, leaning forward in his chair. Meanwhile, Frankie’s spoonful of cereal falters just before it reaches his mouth, crunchy hoops plunging right back into the milk as he loses his faculties.

“Which of us do you want to suck it, hermosa?” Frankie asks, gathering himself immediately and mustering concentrated heat in his mahogany-dark eyes. Meanwhile, you take a deliberate sip of your coffee, looking deviously between each of them from beneath the rim and stoking their suspense.

It’s a tough call but…

“Santiago,” you purr definitively, a positively lewd glint in your eye which causes his jaw to go slack and his big brown eyes to fixate on you. His gaze is brewing with heat but a dull spark settles there too, like he’s somehow dazed. Cock-drunk already.

Okay. He’s listening. And it’s not lost on you that, in your periphery, Frankie squirms in his chair as though he needs to make himself more comfortable all of a sudden.

“So pretty when he sucks cock,” you praise, and Santi’s eyes grow instantly hooded with want, pupils lust-blown and devouring. He talks a good talk but he’s a sucker for a little praise, this one. Not opposed to earning it either. You like that about him.

“Tell me more about that,” Santi says, a hard swallow sinking down his roped neck, and his rough morning voice flecked with grit, as deep and dark as his black coffee.

The two of them are rapt with you, and you love that after all this time together, you can still make them feel so needy. That rarely is a want of yours ever off the table. At least, not without fair discussion.

“I dunno,” you breeze, standing and circling the table, Santi’s gaze following you in your oversized tee and bare legs. His head is already turning and tipping up as you come to stand above him, your crotch falling level with his pretty face. You cup his sculpted jaw almost gleefully in your hand and tip it up further, his thickened fleck of Sunday stubble bristling beneath your hand.

His head goes so easily where you lead, and you think that could prove to be a lot of fun. You shuffle forward, lifting the hem of you tee and pressing his proud nose into the seam of your panties, your fingers snaking tightly into his mussed morning curls. He exhales gruffly against you and you feel his hot breath permeate the fabric, a damp warmth suffusing over your mound. “Hnnngg. I just wish I could fill you up,” you purr, tugging his curls and pressing his face more firmly against your heat. “Sink you down on me until you made those pretty little gagging noises.” Santi lets out a wracked moan already, and you feel him begin to pant ragged breaths against the thin strip of material - all that stands between his lips and your now aching clit. “Use this pretty little mouth up.”

“Fuuuuck.” Frankie expels in a low, abrasive keen. “If you need a cock for him to suck you can borrow mine.” He does so love getting sucked off by Santiago.

Santi twists his head towards Frankie then, licking his lips, but you fist more firmly into his curls and push him back into your heat.

“Do it then.” Santi goads Frankie with little concern for logic, his words sending a vibration right through your core. His robust thighs are now spread on the chair beneath him, and you can clearly see him growing fat and rigid beneath his painfully thin grey sweatpants. Instead of taking care of himself though, Santi -ever the giver- languidly snakes his hands up your bare thighs, and you know it won’t be long before he is moving the dampened strip of fabric aside and delving into your wet heat, his tongue rolling against your folds right here at the kitchen table.

God, you want that, but…

“I wish I could, Frankie,” you coo, almost petulantly. “I want to bury myself in him. He’d look so pretty taking me.”

“Really, Princesa,” Frankie says urgently, watching what Santi is doing to you with a slack-jaw and a razor focus. “You can lie on top of me, put my cock between your legs, grab a handful of those gorgeous curls and make Santi suck you off.” You don’t know what is more compelling in this moment - the way Santi’s long lashed eyes flutter closed or the intense scope of Frankie’s gaze on his mouth and your clit as Santi’s wet writhing tongue fleets teasingly against you. You throw out an arm to steady yourself against the table’s surface as your legs start to wobble.

Christ though. Santi is reliably the cheerleader for your ideas, but Frankie is one hell of a logistician. And he’s deadly serious.

Meanwhile, Santi simply makes an indecipherable sound against your folds as a single thick finger swipes through your slick, noting how wet they both have you already. He looks undone and lust drunk already, even as he hitches one of your legs up on to the chair for better access. “Uh huh. Pussy or cock - whatever, querida. Just tell me where to point my mouth.” You yelp as he curls a finger inside, sending a jolt of pleasure through you, a smugness blooming on his lips as he feels you react. “Or my hands. Or my cock. Or my ass.”

You smile with glee. Your boys sure do know how to treat you right.

You could easily forget the trajectory - the specific thrust of your want, and simply let Santi eat you out like this; however, you hear the scrape of a chair on tiles to your side, and Frankie’s eyes remain full of determination.

He always does enjoy giving you exactly what you want.

The man stands. Apparently, he’s had just about enough of watching. “Upstairs. Now.”

You and Santi each turn to him in unison, and give him the same devilish smile.

Then; you move.

That’s one thing about Frankie. He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

***

The noises are everything. Frankie’s gruff, abortive exhales against your neck. The deep hum and delicate wet sounds of Santi bearing down on Frankie’s thick veined shaft.

The logistics are working as perfectly as they can. You are sprawled on top of Frankie, his broad chest flush to your back as he sits slightly propped on an array of pillows. His head hooks over your shoulder, and his hands under your ass keep you in position. His thighs are spread to make room for Santi to settle in between them and yours are spread too, laying just outside of his, providing contact with his smooth, lightly muscled quads.

Reaching down between your legs, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s hardened length, earning a gentle huff of air into the junction of your neck as you settle Frankie’s shaft up against your heat - because you can’t resist the wet, warm grind. The feeling of him all rigid and needy like this.

From this angle, with his proud length settled between your legs, it almost looks like it could be your cock - regardless of skin tone. You lose some length -perspective wise- given he is settled under you, but he is so deliciously and generously endowed that you still have plenty to enjoy. To take control of.

You pump Frankie languidly in the circle of your hand, angling so the shaft of him bumps against your clit, even planting your feet so that you are better able to angle your hips and grind your folds along the length of him, coating him with your arousal.

You enjoy the way his thighs tense up against yours. The way his broad hands claw a little more insistently into the flesh of your ass, and the way you can feel his chest heaving at your back.

“Come here, baby. Make me feel good,” you command Santi, and he wastes little time.

Within moments he is there on his hands and knees, bowing his head towards Frankie’s need. Of course, the smug fucker doesn’t do exactly what he’s told right off the bat - but you let him off since he does something better.

First, he writhes his tongue all over, licking a wide stripe up the side of Frankie’s shaft and your folds at the same time, shimmying and undulating to reach each of your most sensitive spots.

You know that Santi is nothing but dedicated. You know that if he can make the both of you come undone he will, and you know he’ll drag it out too, until you are barely sure where you end and Frankie begins; however, that’s not exactly what you had wanted. Not the reason you have him bowed before you, his mouth all ready to be used. You’d wanted the power here, and you plan to take it - from both of them.

Indeed, you grip Frankie’s aching, veined cock and you smack it cruelly against Santi’s cheek, causing each of them to whimper deliciously. Then, you run the swollen head of it along his plumped lower lip, swiping the pearl of precum beading there along him and leaving an irresistible salt tang. Lids heavy and brow burdened with need, Santi’s pink tongue swipes the taste of Frankie away with a hum.

“You gonna be a good boy and suck my nice big cock, Santiago?”

You are enveloped by deep, resonant moans as you hold Frankie’s pleasure in the palm of your hand - quite literally. You feel him twitch with anticipation, and you relish Santi’s slack-jawed, needy expression too.

“That right, Frankie? This my cock now?”

“Yes, bonita. All yours. Do anything you want with it.” Christ, he sounds undone already, voice wracked with need.

“And this?” you ask, pushing your thumb past the pillow of Santi’s lips and gliding it along his eager tongue, his lips closing around you as he sucks gently. “This my mouth to use too?”

“Yes,” he croaks obediently.

“Good, ‘cause I’m going to make you choke on my dick.”

With perfect timing, Santi’s mouth falls open with a musical, flowering moan, and that is when you grip his curls and push Frankie’s length past his lips with an insistent surge, until he is all filled up.

Tears prickle at the corner of Santi’s eyes but he takes it with relish, surging wetly down Frankie’s -your- length until you hear his throat rebel with a glug; sounds like crushed fruit spilling over. You release him and he surges off, Frankie’s length gleaming for him, linked to him by spit trails.

“Do you like that, baby?”

“Uh huh,” Santiago nods, a blatant tremor in his voice, looking blissed out and hungry. “Tastes of b-both of you. So f-fucking good.”

When he’s ready, desperate - both of them desperate for more, Frankie’s thighs now trembling against yours - you guide Santi’s head back down on this thick, slick shaft.

This time, his gag reflex relaxed, Santi takes it almost all the way. At least, deep enough that his proud nose nudges against your clit, even whilst his lips and tongue are folded obediently around Frankie’s arousal.

“Fuck,” you breathe at the sudden pressure, Santi all too deliberately nosing gently at your sweet spot until he needs to surge off of Frankie again, his cheeks glistening with squeezed out tears. “So good for me. So pretty like this, Santiago.”

With relish, with your own barrelling need and that of Frankie shuddering and moaning and writhing under you, you control the pace of Santi’s ministrations. Frankie helps you out, thrusting lightly in time to deepen his passage into Santiago’s eager throat, the whole motion grinding you up against them where it counts. Your own arousal swells, your juices leaking from your cunt until they coat Frankie’s shaft too, Santi tasting you as he works so diligently to suck this cock for all it’s worth.

You fall into the rhythm of it, the pace, the wet surge and slip and slide and the choke and release and those pretty tears beading in Santiago’s eyes - practically poetic with need now - his breath ragged and his lips plumped and beaded with spit and cum. Everything so wet and liquid.

Frankie helps you too, finding space for his girthy finger to massage your clit in time with the sensations being delivered to his length, almost as though the pleasure delivered by Santi’s mouth is going directly to the core of you. Almost as though the swirl of his tongue around that fat, contoured head is one and the same as that white hot pleasure spreading through your middle.

You thrill as you watch Santi surge off that cock another time, your stomach lurching pleasantly.

“Good boy. Such a good boy for me. You like this, don’t you? All needy for us?”

It’s not lost on you that -yes- he’s enjoying this. Very much. That besides the moans and the way he pushes his curls insistently into your palm, eager for your control, he’s also hard as a rock, beginning to rut himself up against the mattress less than subtly too to relieve his own throbbing want.

God, he must be aching. Must be so needy as he takes care of you.

“Good,” Santiago gushes, mouth still full of ‘you’, words all rounded and incoherent. “Tastes so good.”

The fact Frankie’s head is now thrown back on to the pillow, his hands fisting into the sheets, is a sure sign that he is close too. The jagged breaths he’s submitting to the air now are a dead giveaway, in fact.

“I’m not going to cum yet,” you insist, even if Frankie evidently has other plans. Even if he seems thoroughly ready to pop and paint Santiago’s throat. “Gonna take a little more from you, sweetheart.” Frankie’s breaths are gusts of air now, like he’s fighting hard to stave off his release. To truly give you the control you crave here.

God, you’re close to your own end too though. You’re dripping now, your nectar coursing down to dampen Frankie’s thatch of coarse dark hair. Dripping to coat his tightening balls.

Frankie’s hand finds your clit again, with new resolve, and somehow he manages to find words - fighting through the pre-nut fog. “You are gonna cum now. Santiago’s making you feel so good with his mouth, hermosa. You are going to come.” He’s warning you. He can’t hold it much longer before he bursts. He’s inviting you - to feel it with him.

You moan into the air, Frankie’s words and fingers both making a rather compelling argument. And, Santiago’s ministrations show increasing vigour, the suck and pop louder and wetter and that crushed, glugging rhythm growing far more insistent.

So eager to please. Such a good boy. Ready to drink it all down.

“Gonna take my cum on your face, pretty baby? Gonna let me paint you?” you ask him, and you hear a muffled affirmative spoken around the girth jammed deep into his face.

You could let Frankie spill over into Santi’s throat - that delicious salt-tang flooding over his tongue. You could keenly watch the bob of his corded neck and he swallows it all down… but you want to see him covered in it. Want that pretty man to be left a mess from you, all chaotic curls and tear-tracks and glistening seed coursing down over that proud chin. That’s what you want.

And so, you reach between your legs and you pump Frankie’s slick, sensitive length in the circle of your hand, just how you know he likes. He groans for you, the sound rattling through you as his hips start to stutter.

Santi waits obediently, basically presenting his face to you while he waits for this thick load to be delivered all over his face.

Frankie follows your lead, his diligent, skilful fingers making your own release bloom through you. At the same moment, your explosion of pleasure is made visible, as Frankie shoots himself, thick and abrupt ropes of cum coating Santi. Spilling over his grizzled curls, his nose, his cheek, his lips, his eyelashes, his face scrunching up with the initial shock of it and then settling into a blissful, awed calm. Then, as you continue pumping his gratified length - pressing the head of Frankie’s cock into Santiago’s cheek as the final pulses of his seed spillover, all warm and creamy over your knuckles too - your core convulses in time, your throbbing waves of pleasure only heightened by the delectable sight before you.

“Fuck,” Santi breathes after a while, lazily swiping seed into his mouth from where it has settled on his mouth.

Beneath you, meanwhile, Frankie is still wordless as he floats back down to Earth. You felt how hard he came, his whole body tightening under you - now slack and boneless and sweat-sheened.

You both flutter down from your high, eyes closing as you drift back down to your bodies. However, as soon as your eyes are opened, you are each eager to survey the mess you jointly made of your beloved Santiago, Frankie’s seed now slowly coursing down his face, already beginning to stiffen in that way it does, but you opt to let Santi enjoy/suffer with it for a few extended moments more.

Then, you feel Frankie’s warm throaty chuckle wrap around you like a blanket. “You got it in his hair, hermosa. Need to work on your aim,” he teases fondly, wrapping an arm around your soft middle.

“Nope. My aim was perfect,” you insist, allowing yourself a devilish smile as Santiago looks mock-accusingly at you - as if he isn’t loving being covered like this - marked as yours and Frankie’s. All used up.

You reach for a cloth from the beside table and laugh gently -fondly- yourself as you help him to clean up.

You’re waiting though, for his inevitable question, his brow and his cock still burdened by his own need.

“Have I been a good boy?” he purrs sinfully, knowing fine well that he has. Knowing that that tone can only help him to get what he wants. Permission to find his own end.

“You have.” Surprisingly. He’s far more of a brat for Frankie. “You can take care of yourself now, baby.” You know he’ll spill himself in moments. Can see the ruddy, swollen head of his cock, flushed almost purple with need as he languidly pumps himself in his own hand - almost reluctantly, as those he’s almost too sensitive to be touched after being made to wait for it while you were pleasured.

“Yeah? Who wants it?”

You roll off of Frankie, and you settle on the bed with your legs wide open, all spread for him. “Cum on my pussy, if you wanna? You earned it.”

From the way Santi practically growls and shifts himself on the mattress, you know he likes the sound of that. Very much. “Fuck. Look at you, hermosa.”

“Mmm,” you hum, fingering your own slick - playing with it, as Santi appears rapt with your plump, glistening folds. “Did you like sucking on my cock? Did it get you all hard?“

Your voice is velvet, and apparently, your words and the sight of you is all that Santi needed. With only a few thrusts into his palm he is coating you, pulsing his seed over your heat until you are a warm, creamy mess. His release is punctuated too by Frankie and Santi both firing gentle, breathy expletives into the air, loving how you look all laid out like this.

Well. Alright.

It seems like your idea worked out pretty well? It seems like everyone had an exceptionally good time - you included. But still, you’re not averse to a little praise yourself, so you simply have to ask. “How was I with a cock then, boys?”

“Honey, we need to get you a strap.” Frankie insists immediately. Oh yeah? He’s keen? That’s… very interesting. “I gotta watch you fuck our little brat. Fill up all those holes of his.”

There Santi goes again, that dazed, lust-drunk look overtaking his face. “Uh. Uh huh,” he agrees efficiently. “Fucking hot.”

No complaints from him either, then? You take that as a good sign too, and a happy, giddy grin spreads over your face as your boys set about cleaning you up too and showering you with long, slow, loving kisses.

With these two, almost anything is possible, it seems. Apparently, Santi can be relied upon to cheerlead any kinky idea you may have. And luckily, the two of you have Frankie to help you work out the logistics.

Actually… there’s an idea.

You bite your lip shyly. “Frankie? Do you think… Can we maybe get Santi a cheerleading outfit?”

The man’s jaw goes slack now as he plays with that mental image, but when you look at Santi to absorb his take, he appears nothing but smug.

Santiago flings himself on to the mattress by your side, nestling himself in between yours and Frankie’s naked bodies. Little attention-seeker he is. Always looking for snuggles. “Cariño,” he teases, with a playful flutter of those pretty lashes. “You’re not ready for how good my cheeks would look in a cute little skirt.”

“Probably not,” you admit, thinking about how on Earth you would survive the sight. “But I’m willing to find out.”

“The things I do for you,” Santiago jests, snuggling even closer into your side. Yeah right, as though he doesn’t love every minute of this. The way that you and Frankie both fawn over him.

Still, you notice Frankie reach to the bedside in that moment, cutting the snuggles unusually short as he reaches for his phone and reading glasses, post haste. “Watcha doing, babe?” you ask curiously.

He turns the screen towards you both and his quest becomes immediately evident. “Your wish is my desire,” he says in all seriousness, and you wonder how you managed to get so lucky. “I’ve got some shopping to do.”

#santiago pope garcia x reader #frankie morales x reader #Santiago Garcia x reader #Pedro Pascal #Oscar Isaac

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elvisabutler · 1 year

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i've had no love like your love

summary: both you and professor presley would like to forget about the incident between you two and you do while still occasionally falling into each other's arms when spending time with one another. the two of you finally reach a breaking point. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: professor! elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x student! female reader word count: 9487. i got a little carried away. warnings: big daddy elvis. elvis using a walking stick/cane. implied praise kink. student and professor relationship ( everyone are of legal age ). religious talk. elvis being ill enough to miss class. unrequited love that would be requited if people just opened up their mouths. oral ( f receiving ). use of psalms in inappropriate ways. bunch of tears. mention of physical abuse/hitting/being kicked out of houses. use of the nickname belle for the reader. use of the derogatory name jezebel. mentions and beginning of impersonal sex like in my hearts already sinned. thigh riding. author's note: so i'll warn you ahead of time you've got to get through a lot of words of sadness to get to their happiness in this but it's worth it. i'm honestly super glad this got the reception it did since when i posted the little teaser/trailer as my last kinktober piece i thought this was hella niche and didn't think anyone would like it since it's big daddy elvis and it's a professor au. but y'all have seemed to absolutely adore it and it makes me happy. this is not the end of them since i've got an epilogue ( purely happy, i promise ) and honestly, if anyone ever wants me to write more of them ( case in point, the ask i got about a movie night with him and belle ) or i have an urge to i probably will. and y'all know the drill, pick your elvis poison, this is written with real elvis in mind but you can imagine austin elvis. and previous parts are here to be read in order: 1 and 2.

There's one thought- or a series of thoughts- his mind keeps cycling back to, that keeps rolling over and over in his head as he looks at the door you just left out of. Gossip isn't something he normally cares about but when he heard your name, he couldn't help but listen in properly because when it came to you he couldn't help it, he never has been able to help it.

"She's going for Presley? That religious- he won't give her the time of day like that. She's too impure for him."

"I've heard that's why she wants him because come on man, you know he never has gone for a student. Why not have the Tour Guide show him what he's been missing? Besides she's already spending all that time in his office and wearing his jacket half the time. Bet she's gonna fuck him before Thanksgiving break. Then she'll be free."

"Two in one semester-" The calculus professor whistles. "Next semester she'll be begging for an orgy at this rate."

He's not dumb, contrary to what his teachers back in the day might have thought. No, he's not dumb but sometimes he prefers to see the best in people, sees the parts that other people might overlook. Maybe it's just from his upbringing or maybe it's from how he was treated in the music industry but he likes to think himself a good judge of the character people might otherwise keep hidden. And with you he had thought- he had thought there was something there. Something you had hidden away amongst your conquests as ill advised as they might have been. You were- you felt like the sort of person who could be taken care of while still taking care of him. You felt like coming home or like God himself had dropped an angel in his lap. The idea that he was just another man- another professor in your long line of them stung. He knows he's not a great catch any more, that he's not nearly as pretty as he was even two years ago, let alone when he used to perform on stage or was in the movie picture business but you didn't seem to mind. You seemed to enjoy him, unless he had read everything wrong, had read your lingering glances wrong. Unless he had read your reactions to his very presence wrong or how you would smile just so in a way he recognizes from some women.

If he hadn't have read this situation wrong and you had actually enjoyed his company and cared about him at least in some small part the way he cared about you, why had you answered yes to his test. Why in God's green Earth had you told him that you just wanted him to be another professor you fucked? The answer should have been that you wanted to fuck him as a person and not just- him because he was your professor. You didn't need to charm him like this- to worm your way so comfortably into his heart in a way Priscilla had and how Linda had as short as their relationship was. It's- you didn't need to play with him like this- you didn't need to be cruel.

Maybe the best thing for both of you would be to pretend none of this happened. Pretend that everything was normal and that he hadn't seen how your pussy looked in underwear that was barely there. Pretend he hadn't seen you arch your back for him. Just pretend he hadn't had you against the desk in a way that was so far from how he planned. That's- that should be what he does. You were still perhaps that good girl, that wonderful woman he thought you were, you just needed to be reminded of it continuously. Maybe he just wants to be selfish and have you in his life in whatever way he can. God, he was getting to be stupid and silly as he got older, wasn't he?

Love makes you do stupid things, you've realized this more than anything with El- Professor Presley. With other men, with other professors your brain and your heart seemed to actually be in line with one another, seemed to remember that these were flings and while their outcomes led so much to be desired you could file them away as business transactions. Business transactions that allowed you to avoid worrying about your grades if you were sick or if you had too much going on at one time. You figure it's your own fault for taking the challenge Noelle had offered you. Figure that you brought this on yourself despite knowing that you had seen the man for years now from afar and thought that he was the most attractive man you've ever laid eyes on. Thought his waistline- much as it occasionally fluctuated was perfect at damn near any size but you had a special place in your heart for his size now. You should have known your heart would believe one thing- would feel one thing while your brain would try and remind you that this- this couldn't ever be more than whatever it was. You hadn't even needed to do it, hadn't needed to take the chance on sleeping with him because you were fine when it came to his class, never missing a class or a discussion or anything that had him lowering your grades. Yet, you had to be selfish, had to ruin the relationship- the friendship you and him had with each other. You had to ruin him as a person, didn't you?

The man who had sex with you against his desk that day wasn't Elvis Presley, Professor Presley, whatever you wanted to call him. He wasn't the person you had fallen so deeply in love with that your heart ached and twisted and threatened to fall right out of your chest at the mere idea of losing him for good. He was something- someone else entirely, someone who you didn't recognize in the slightest but maybe that's who he always had been, maybe that was the man you had fallen completely in love with over the semester. Your brain hadn't bothered to entertain the idea of a life beyond this semester but you think- no, you know- that your heart had other plans. Your heart dreamed of a life with you at his side at Graceland during the summer and on the breaks at night. It dreamed of a life with you in his lap and his head in yours. You just dreamed of a life with him come whatever may be.

That dream is still in your heart as much as your brain knows it's stupid and silly and a forgone conclusion at this point. Yet, you can't stop yourself from still wanting it from pining for the mere idea of it. You can't stop yourself from taking his jacket you still have and wrapping yourself in it after you come home from that day- that absolute mess of an emotional day because that mere idea of a life with him. A life where he comforts you and wraps his arms around you when you find that life is too much or when he finds that life is too much.

Maybe that's why you don't back away, maybe that's why you let yourself continue on debasing yourself in a way that you're practically mortified to realize. Or maybe it's because after that day things go back to normal. He acts like the man you fell for, acts like the man you could see some form of a future with and could dream of living the rest of his days with. Still, you choose to believe that it's worth it, that this is all you're ever going to have of Elvis. God you wish your brain could just call him Professor Presley or Mr. Presley but when you're in his office talking about what had happened in class or the lesson plans he had for the next one he always insists on you calling him Elvis and it feels so natural rolling off your tongue. It feels like it's meant to leave your mouth in sighs as he brings you pleasure and with fondness that you can only have with someone you love to the ends of the Earth.

You should have known better, you should have known better because you might be strong, you might be the sort of person who can hold herself up with or without praise that Elvis sprinkles into your life. You're the sort of person who shouldn't do this, who wouldn't do this for anyone else if it wasn't him. You should break it off, should give yourself a clean break but he's always there and he's right there saying the words you want to hear. He's there acting like he's supposed to and you find you can't even grieve for the loss of him because he's not gone, is he? No, he's right there in front of you, almost mocking you in his actions and how they conflict when you're up against his desk, his cock sliding in and out of you with such obscene squelching and squishing because he knows how to touch you in just the right way that has you groaning against the coolness of the desk. He knows how to touch you in just the right way that has you so aroused you make a mess of whatever you touch. The times you're just on his thigh because he can't get it up- not for lack of want, but because of his body betraying him like everything else seems to- those times always end in him with a suspicious wet spot that makes him glad he's got on black pants to hide the stain you've put there from riding him.

Things feel so impersonal, such a stark contrast to the actions of both of you around the times you do these things. You're adults and yet the concept of talking about what happens- talking about how you two fall into some natural rhythm of companionship only to have it stripped away the moment one of you climbs on top of the other or the moment he pats his thigh for you to straddle- is so alien to either one of you. When you've fooled around with the other professors even when it came to the worst exits you were still able to look at them, still have that element of attachment when you would be with them up until the point where you were kicked out and where you were slapped and yelled at and chased out windows that had you breaking your ankle. With Elvis it should be the same, you want it to be the same because maybe if it was you could- it would be easier for the two of you to talk. It would be easier to not feel like this is a business transaction and that as much as he'll be the man you started to love before and after it, he won't be that man during the act. You'd say you felt used but how can you be used if you're also using him. It's silly and embarrassing and it wears you down after each time even though you always crave it just a little bit because it's all you feel like you can get of him like that. You want more than his companionship, his praise and his subtle touches on your shoulder and his laughter. You want every single bit of him you can have. You're grasping at whatever you feel you can get and you don't realize he's doing much the same thing.

It has to be impersonal because if he looks at you he doesn't trust himself to not fall to your knees and worship you like the angel sent from on high he believes you to be. He calls you Jezebel because that reminds him how you wrenched his heart from his chest and twisted it in your hands. Staying away from you isn't an option because outside of when you two fall into each other's arms you feel like his- feel like third time is truly the charm on women he adores to the ends of the Earth and that you could be the one he spends the rest of his life with- however long that may be.

However long that may be is always on his mind the more his stomach gives him issues or his body feels like it's breaking down more and more. Should try and get everything in check, try and cut out some things maybe but he's never been the most disciplined in anything that isn't religion and even then he knows he falls off that wagon on occasion. He has to miss two more classes and on one of the nights he can't sleep, his stomach contorting in on itself and his bones feeling an ache he can't shake he wishes you were there. Your presence that one night, curled up against him after he had woken up and found you on the couch only to carry you to his bed had been some of the best sleep he'd had in such a long time. You might not have healed all his ills but you served to be a balm he couldn't help but crave on this night.

The thing about him missing is that he can't know- he doesn't know that you notice the second it's Joe up at the front of your class again and you swear you want to throw up. Your stomach drops so far out of your body that it might as well be in the core of the Earth. Elvis wasn't here again which meant something- some part of his body was acting up again. Maybe you shouldn't have been on his thigh after the last class, maybe you should have just let it be one of those times when you just talked and relaxed with one another and not let it turn sexual. No- No, it would have happened regardless, after all, the last time he had missed you and him hadn't even done anything other than talk. That was before- you wouldn't dwell on it, if this was anything like the last time he'd be back come next class a little more worn down and needing perhaps more company and a bit of help but he would be fine. He's always been so larger than life and so strong that there was nothing to worry about.

Except- he doesn't come back after that first class and he misses another one and you had been lulled into a false sense of security thinking he was alright when no one including Joe was there early. No, instead you had Jerry coming in almost five minutes late telling everyone that class was canceled since anyone who would take over for EP was a little occupied and as nice as he's heard everyone was- he's a business professor- an economics one- not a religious studies kind of guy. You don't expect people to be loitering outside of the class, figuring that much like any college students they'd be rushing to the library to study or to their dorms or apartments to sleep. You wish people had done that, wished the two people you come upon would have done that.

"He's gonna be dead in a year if that, man." The student- James you think- says, rolling his eyes. "My brother had him last year and he missed one class, we're on what, our third?"

"Third and the Tour Guide wearing his jacket. Maybe that's why- she's drained him." The other laughs quietly.

"She hasn't worn it since the middle of October, no, she's already moved on. Wouldn't be surprised if he passed her along to his little Mafia." James pauses. "Whatever the case- he's dead next year. If he even gets through the semester. Sucks, man, he wasn't the worst professor."

There's a part of you that wants to hear what they have to say, hear how they want to blame you for Professor- Elvis not being here but you can feel your heartbeat rushing in your ears and feel your eyes welling up with tears you can't- you refuse- to shed in front of people and find yourself pushing past them, your boots thumping on floor as both of them laugh just a little realizing you had been listening to them the whole time.

They had to be wrong, they had to be wrong because as sick as maybe Elvis was he wasn't- he couldn't be that sick. No, they were just- joking around, they had to have been. Maybe they knew you were there the whole time and just said it to mock you, after all, you know it's truly no secret that you are his favorite student and were even before- the incident. If they were right though, that meant-that meant after this semester he was gone. You'd never hear a story about how stupid some of your classmates were or about hear him sing like he had that one night again. You'd never share another set of snacks and a drink with him. He'd be gone and you'd be- He'd be gone and the world would feel a little bit dimmer.

The idea of a world without Professor Presley, a world without Elvis swirls in your mind that weekend as you force yourself to do your schoolwork. Ignoring it would be so easy and you could just curl up with his jacket and with your favorite book or in front of the little television and just pretend you hadn't heard any of that. Any time you think of doing that, though, you hear a voice that sounds suspiciously like his with a little backing of a voice that sounds like yours in your mind reminding you that you should do your work. So you do and you eat and you do everything you're supposed to that weekend as you try to avoid thinking of what the other students had said. It's hard but you manage well enough. Monday comes sooner than you'd like and you find yourself dreading entering Elvis's- Professor Presley's class. You sit down in your normal spot though, your eyes shut as you try to relax and burrow yourself into his jacket as you do.

His cane taps against the floor and a breath you hadn't realized that you were holding comes out of your mouth in a rush. He's here, he's alive and he's going to be teaching class today. You bite your lower lip as you hear the taps stop right behind you and feel Elvis's hand grasp your shoulder, just as warm as it always is. You hear his voice rumbling, even with so much exhaustion coloring the tone about how he's glad to see you where you’re supposed to be and you look up at him to see something in his eyes, something that feels like a spark of the man you've fallen for completely this semester. Maybe- no, you don't dare hope fully.

Class feels like a blur and while there is a debate as per his usual it's much more subdued with you barely offering input and him still feeling a little too rough to really force some excitement into it. A part of you wants to just head straight to your other class and not entertain the idea of going to Elvis's office but as you start to leave you hear the tap of his cane following you and hear his voice.

"Y/N." He starts, his eyes roaming your top half and settling on his jacket. "Gonna see ya in five minutes?"

The word no is on the tip of your tongue, you should say no but you've been so worried about him that you nod slowly, adjusting the straps on your bag and it earns a small smile from him as he walks off slower than normal but still seeming just as strong as normal with the tap of the cane. It takes you a little longer than five minutes to reach him, almost as if you're too nervous to really go to his office but when you get there the door is wide open and you see two drinks on the desk and you settle yourself onto the couch.

Talking- even with everything- comes so naturally to the two of you that you hardly realize how you both shift closer to the other as you talk. You hardly realize how you're close enough that you can feel his body heat against your side and that he feels the same thing. This is how it always seems to start since the Incident, with you two moving closer and closer until you're in his lap and today is no exception. Except, maybe it is because you're wearing his jacket and you saw a glimmer of something in his eyes that tell you maybe there's something there. That maybe the person you want to spend all your time with is still there underneath everything. You don't know when you decide to hook your leg over his thigh, thanking every god you know that he has a tendency to spread his legs even if there's no reason to and you hike up your skirt just a hair as you start to grind against his thigh, facing him as you do. Your hands move to try and cup his face, try and pull him closer to you before you feel his hands on your hips manhandling you to face that opposite way.

No. This- no, this isn't- you want him but not like this any more. God you can't- why was it so hard for him to let you just look at him when you do things like this. He was gone for two classes and you were so worried but he won't look at you. You're wearing his jacket and he noticed and he won't let you look at him. Your body can't help itself, still grinding a bit as you try and maneuver yourself back to facing him only to be stopped time and time again by his grip. It's not punishing and it's not going to bruise- you hope- but he won't let you turn. He won't let you turn and his mouth starts to spew words that make you want to curl up in on yourself.

His mouth hisses into your ear. "The Jezebel doesn't want it this way? Doesn't want my thigh today? Too good for me?"

You snarl, tears starting to form in your eyes out of sheer frustration and anguish rolled into one. "I never- I'm not saying that, I just- Elvis, please, let me look at you." Your body starts to contort in positions you didn't think were possible as you continue to try and face him only to be brushed aside.

Words are leaving his mouth, you hear them faintly but you finally just launch yourself off his thigh, chest heaving and eyes fiery as can be. Your legs shake at the sudden loss of his thigh that had supported you up until now but you stand your ground as best as you can. "No, I'm not- We're not doing this, not like this, I- What have I even done to deserve this? This- God, I don't even know what to call it. This joke? This playing with me like this?"

"Playing with ya like this?" He barks, heaving his body off of the couch and moving to stand in front of you, his blue eyes stormy as anything you've ever seen in your life. "That's goddamn rich comin' from ya. Lil Miss Jezebel. The Tour Guide. The Harlot who-"

"Don't!" You shout, not even caring if anyone outside in the hallways can hear you. "Stop calling me that! I'm not- You wouldn't call me a good girl if I was any of those things!"

"They're- They don't hafta be seperate, darlin'!" His emphasis on the nickname is punctuated by him inching even closer to you, his words getting lower as he starts to hiss them. "Because you're most certainly a Jezebel, climbin' on me every chance ya get. Actin' like your God's gift to men wit' the others. Tell me, that new professor, t'one in the math department-"

"What other- Is this about-" Your thoughts jumble as they try to catch up with what he's saying. He's calling you a complete Jezebel and asking about someone who doesn't even exist to you. Your chest heaves as you push yourself into the little bit of space between you, your pointer finger pointing at his chest. "The new professor? The one I had to ask for help for because he's the only math professor who hasn't tried to come onto me?"

"Do- Do I look stupid to you, Jezebel?" He asks, almost as if he's afraid to say your name. "I heard from the other professors-"

"You could have asked me!" The words are spit out of your mouth and you can even see a bit of spittle flying onto his face. It brings you a sick sense of satisfaction to see how his already angry face slides between pure shock and more anger. "I thought we were friendly enough to do that! I've been to your house, Elvis!"

The noise that comes out of him before he can even get words out is truly defined as a snarl and a growl in the truest sense of the words. If you hadn't known any better you'd have thought you were arguing with a wild animal. It startles you to the point where you back away just a bit, not because you're worried he'll hurt you- no he's never been that type even with everything- but just because it's your natural instinct in the face of something like that. Despite that, he follows you, moves closer again even as his voice roars leaving his mouth. "You've been in my bed, Y/N! My goddamn bed! Curled up next t'me like ya belonged there!"

You duck away from him, almost as if to escape feeling very much like a cornered animal. He's not going to hurt you- he won't because he's not like- he's not like the rest of them but you can't defend yourself if he pins you down with his body or his words. His eyes follow you like a predator stalking prey even if you both know you've never truly been prey to him or perhaps anyone else. "That's exactly my point! Why wouldn't you just ask me?"

"'Cuz ya'd have lied!" His answer is slurred, the anger truly getting the better of him as he moves to cage you against the wall, only to have you slide away again.

"Not to you, Elvis!" How could he even think you'd lie to him about something like that? That you'd truly lie to him in general? "I've never lied to you!" You hadn't told him things but you had never lied, not a true and honest lie.

"Haven't ya?" He doesn't move this time, instead choosing to stare you down. "Tell me, Jezebel. Did ya just wanna fuck me so ya could tell everyone ya did? How ya got me when I haven't fooled around with a student in all my years and I haven't fooled around with anyone going on at least a year? Or was this just ya bein' sweet on the fat ol' man?"

The flinch that comes from you is unexpected and you look down at your body wondering if he shot you or slapped you and you didn't realize. There isn't a mark on you, no blood showing, no handprint making a mark on you. There is just you wishing he would have slapped you or injured you in some way because maybe it would hurt less than the words he had just said. It would hurt less than the accusation he's just thrown your way. You do not cry in front of people, you refuse to, knowing tears never make things better when you're caged and yet you feel your lower lip starting to jut and your nose starting to run before you shake your head. It's- he's not- he is wrong and you need to prove that to him.

"Just being sweet on the fat old man." You can't help but laugh, the cacophony of emotions threatening to tear you apart at the seams. "Do you- Do you hear yourself? I- What is it, Elvis? Am I your Jezebel sent to what ruin your little God Fearing self? Or am I just some Jezebel who's sweet on you? Or are you going to tell me I'm both? That I'm not good enough for you? Too used?"

You see his jaw tighten and you worry if you've said the wrong thing. You worry that he's seen how you look like you're about to cry and something is going to go wrong but he just takes a step closer to you, his cane tapping on the floor just once. His head tilts just slightly to the side. "I know what I said, lil Jezebel. I know that you've been actin' all sweet, actin' like you're worthy of the nickname Belle. Worryin' 'bout me. Comin' to my house, gettin' me into bed but when I worry 'bout ya, put ya in my bed next to me, ya leave me alone. Then I hear t'boys. Hear what the lil professors you'll eventually fuck gotta say about ya. Ya just playin' a lil game wit' me, ain't ya?"

You bite your lower lip as an answer before you take a deep breath as you start to head to the door, trying to open it only to realize at some point he's locked it. You could unlock it but you feel the need to turn around and defend yourself. "That's- Elvis. No. No- I- I wouldn't- I honestly like you!" You don't dare say love because if he thinks this low of you he's not going to want to hear it. "I care about you! I- You haven't been here for almost a week in actual days counted and I've been worried. They're making jokes about you dying and that idea terrifies-"

He cuts you off as he takes another step and you hear another tap of that goddamn cane as you find yourself moving up against the wall, realizing you can't move. "Stop. Lyin'."

"I'm not- Elvis- I'm not! Why can't you- I'm I wouldn't lie to you about something like this. I wouldn't lie to anyone like this." You want to be strong, you want to fight more but it's as if he's saying everything exactly to hurt you in just the right way. He's saying everything that just cuts through any defense you have for it.

It finally starts to weigh on you, finally starts to drag you down into the depths you were trying so hard not to fall into. He- he won't understand either because of his own choices and stubbornness or because the idea is foreign to him. The idea that you were terrified- you the girl who is so strong that you've taken something that should be an insult and wear it with a bit of pride or at least wear it in a way that lessens its effect- is so foreign it truly refuses to penetrate his brain. At last that's the only thing that crosses your own mind as you feel cornered. You feel trapped and like- you feel like something is finally breaking within you. That this, out of everything you've had thrown at you is what's broken you. The wall behind you reminds you of his solid form except it's all wrong, it's so cold that it can't be him. He's standing in front of you, blue eyes raging like a hurricane and his body coiled like a tight spring, his cane holding up his leg as he moves forward to cage you in again and that's it.

Your body sags against the wall, using it to remain somewhat upright as you slunk down to the floor, unshed tears congealing in a hard mass in your throat. You try and swallow only to have something again to a low groan or small whine escape your lips. This- he's broken you, you've been so strong only to let this stupid man who you shouldn't have even gone for in the first place break you. This stupid man who was- who felt so different and like he held every promise for happiness in the words he spoke. In the praise he gave you. In the way his body felt like it was made to hold you and touch you in ways you yearned for.

"Jesus-" His voice sounds crushed above you and for some reason there's a part of you that feels a victorious delight in the fact that you've made him sound like that. Made him sound as anguished as he's made you feel for weeks. As anguished as you feel thinking of him dead. “Y/N- Get up- Ya g-gotta stand up darlin’.”

No you don’t, hell you don’t even trust that your legs would let you stand up at this point, as much as you feel them minutely shaking. No, you’re quite content to stay on the floor, feeling almost catatonic in the way your mind is focusing on everything about the past semester. You try to close your eyes as if that will make the tears that are threatening to fall go away when all it does is make them slide out the corner of your eyes. That's the final dam bursting as more follow even as you don't want them to. All that’s in your mind is every moment he’s touched you, every moment you’ve walked next to him, every moment when his eyes were like sapphires glittering as he looked at you laughing over a bottle of Pepsi while you waved your hands talking. You remember every hint of praise that had your mind going a little fuzzy and had you shiver for a want of more.

"Anyone ever tell ya how insightful ya are?" No because even if you paid attention during class and did the readings and made the grades they didn't care.

"Ya ever thought about teachin'? Though the debate was a goner till ya put it back on track." That was nothing, just you wanting to make sure no one lost the point Elvis was trying to teach.

"You've been makin' this semester a goddamn breeze."

Perhaps you had but for what? For him to be missing class and looking half strung out or exhausted when he came back? In all the time you had spent together he hadn't even hadn't even told you what the problem was- what took him away from you and from a job he loved. Maybe everyone was right, maybe this might be his last semester teaching and look what you’ve done- you’ve made it so his last hurrah is being known as your last fling or just another fling in your series. The thought makes your stomach roil at doing that to him- doing that to a man that God help you- you had fallen head over heels for to the point that you wanted him at any cost and in any way you could get him.

"You're- darlin'- you shouldn't b-be-" He has to stop himself from talking, feeling an old stutter starting to rear its ugly head. His breath comes out shakily as he tries to focus on you, focus on how your shoulders are shaking with tears and how he did this to you. How he's done something that's irrevocably harmed you. He hadn't wanted this, not even at his most angry has he wanted this. "Don't- don't cry. Goddammit, calm down. God, why'd ya hafta get on the ground."

You look up and for a brief moment there’s a flash of fire in your eyes, a pang of pure annoyance at what he says. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you once again! Make the great Elvis Presley have to get down on the ground. Put him at the Jezebel's level. Leave me down here where I apparently deserve to be."

"Ya know I didn't mean it like that! Goddammit Belle, jus' meant my knees-" He has to take a deep breath, slow and steady and shut his eyes as he gets down to your level before he opens them and cups your cheek, trying to be gentle even as you flinch a little and shake your head. "This- you s-shouldn't be cryin' like this." Not over him and what he's done. Over everything that's been done from the very start. "Ain't worth it."

More accurately he ain't worth it.

"I don't know anything when it comes to you, Mr. Presley." You pull away as your tears start to fall even faster. "I am crying like this over a man who thinks I'm- Don't call me Belle, don't call me that like you did when I was leaving you in your bed. Don't act like you care." After all, he doesn't, he can't because who would care for you and feel the way he does about you. Believe the things he does about you without giving you a chance to explain. "I'm just a harlot. I'm the Tour Guide of the school who now even you get to say you've slept with. You've still got it."

"Darlin'." His voice is pitched lower, almost as if he's trying to talk to a skittish animal. As if he's scared if he talks any louder he'll spook you and that you'll run away for good. "I-I never said I didn't care. W-Wouldn't've put ya in my bed that night if I didn't. Ya looked- ya looked freezin' 'n i couldn't stand it." He pauses, his features darkening for a moment. "Then ya left in the mornin' 'fore I even woke up."

You had left in the morning. You had left that morning because every time you stay at someone's house, some professor's house it's always ended so poorly. The way his face darkens as he tells you that makes your body shiver even as his jacket- that for some ungodly reason you still have, that for some ungodly reason you couldn't get rid of- tries to keep you warm. The anger he has makes you think you were right to avoid him that morning- he- but if he cared, if he meant to put you in there- then you should have stayed. He wanted to wake up to you, wanted to have you burrowed into his side. It makes you freeze.

Elvis looks at you and sees how your body tenses up, sees how you're frozen in place and he frowns as you start to speak. "When I stay in the morning, it's not pretty, Elvis. I- I didn't want you to be the same."

His hand clenches into a fist as he shuts his eyes. His breaths are slow and measured for what feels like an eternity before you see him unclench his fist and look at you. "Ya mean how the Chemistry professor's wife would have beaten ya black and blue if she had gotten a real proper hand on ya? 'Stead of the shiner ya had for a week? Or how ya busted yer ankle hoppin' outta tha' one history professor's window. Ya want me to go on?"

Something blooms in your chest at him telling you about those times. You hadn't even met him when any of those times happened. Sure, you had seen him around campus but he didn't- couldn't have even known your name. You open your mouth, tears still falling but slower as your body tries to calm you down. "You- You shouldn't know about-"

"'ve got eyes don't I?" He responds, as if that explains everything. "Y/N- Belle- I noticed ya before ya ever stepped foot in my class. And they talk, darlin', oh do they talk."

It's then that you look away, almost ashamed at knowing that he's always known about you actions. It is absolutely no wonder that he called you what he did, why he believes you to be what he's called you. You have to pause before you speak, trying to gather your thoughts, rubbing at your eyes as you do. "And that's- that's why you've been- if you've heard all the stories and do know about me then I guess you're not wrong in calling me Jezebel. Just adding you to my long list. But- you- when that's what happens when I don't leave- why do you think-"

His voice takes on an edge of frustration you think, or maybe it's genuine hurt. "Ya really think I'd've done any of that to ya? Ya think I'd do any of that t' someone 've been callin' Belle in my mind 'cause I sometimes look at ya n' I can only think of that damn word in French?" He moves to stand up, his knees and other joints cracking just a bit. "Get up, darlin'. I- just trust me this once and get up."

A stubborn part of you wants to stay on the ground, just sit there and stew in your tears and feelings but when you look up at him with blurry eyes you can't help but heave yourself off the floor and plant yourself just close enough to him that you're looking into each other's eyes if you look up through your lashes. "I- Elvis-" You start to speak only to have him cup your face and the warmth of his hand juxtaposed with the calluses on his fingertips has your eyes fluttering shut against your will. He's not supposed to be this soft, not to someone- not to the person he doesn't care about, the person he's only roughly fucked while pretending it didn't happen afterward. "Don't."

When you say that word he pulls away his hand and you think he's listening to you, think that he's doing what you're asking him to do only to hear the next words that come out of his mouth. "Blow your nose, Belle." His hand that hand left your face, had left your cheeks came back with a handkerchief, monogrammed with a cursive EP. He doesn't necessarily shove it under your nose but it's a near miss even as he kisses your forehead. "I'm not moving it from under here till ya do, Belle."

"I'm not a-" You start before looking up at him and realizing despite his comforting air no part of him is doing this because he thinks you're a kid. No, he knows you're a grown woman- you're a grown woman he wants to be with until his dying breath. "I can hold my own handkerchief."

His lips stop in the middle of attempting to give you another peck on your cheek a slight chuckle escaping him. "Would ya quit bein' stubborn? Tryin' to comfort ya and you're tellin' me ya can hold your own handkerchief. 've been a goddamn asshole let me show ya 'm really a good southern gentleman at heart."

"Southern gentleman don't act the way you did." You shakily exhale, realizing that he's trying to comfort you, trying to place small kisses on your face as if that is solving anything. You shake your head. "Southern gentleman don't play with people like that."

"Darlin', trust me, the older we get, the more every single Southern gentleman does." He pauses to look down at you, his blue eyes narrowed. "I try t'be a gentleman but Lord knows 've got a temper wit' a wrath that rivals God himself. 'N I think I took that out on ya. I- I'm- Ya wounded my pride, alright? Sayin' what you said when I asked if ya wanted me t'fuck ya. I know- I know I can get a woman, but I don't- It's usually more of one night stand or somethin' that's lackin'-" He rubs at his neck. "Care. Doesn't have that tender lovin' care I need nowadays more than I did when I was younger."

Care. Oh, you had been so- you both had been so stupid. Your eyes flit up and you notice how vulnerable he looks just in this moment and you swear it takes your breath away. "Elvis. I didn't- I thought you were trying to make me beg." A pause. "I was trying to what I thought you liked. I didn't- You've never been- No one else has made me feel like you make me feel."

So loved, so proud of, so everything under the sun. There's a reason your heart and your brain had wanted to spend the rest of his life and your life together. Being with him felt right when you stripped away everything that's been happening.

Elvis is silent for a moment, almost as if he's debating his next words or actions even as he still places another kiss to the crown of your head and uses his thumb to wipe away tears that keep falling and holding the handkerchief by your nose. He finally puts the handkerchief away, freeing that hand and using it to cup your chin. He tilts your head up just a hair so that you can see his eyes shining with what you think might be unshed tears as his voice becomes so gentle it twists your heart. "What d'ya want from me?"

"Everything." You choke out your answer, your voice scratching and sounding so raw when you do that you almost want to hide. "I want to be with you after this semester. I want to dance with you like we did that night. I- God- I want to wake up with you every day until one of us dies. I just want to be yours."

At your last words the tears start falling in earnest again and it breaks something in Elvis a little, seeing you cry after that confession. He doesn't waste a second before pulling you into a soft kiss, using his grip on your chin to make it easier. You want more but he's pulling away and placing kisses on your forehead and your cheeks, chasing after the tears in a way that's so gentle you'd think it's fatherly but it's not- it's just him allowing you to be a human again. Allowing you to be more than just the harlot or the Jezebel. Seeing you as the person he's always thought you have been before the Incident and even after the Incident.

"Ya mean it?" There's a small part of him that curses how he sounds asking that but he needs to hear it from you. Hear that you're being honest and truthful with him about what you want. "If ya gonna change ya mind I need t'know right now."

You sniffle and shake your head. "I mean it! I want to be with you and only you. I've only been with you since that day. Haven't flirted or anything. I want to do my work on your desk, want to curl up on your couch with you just- I want you. I want you, my Elvis, my Big Daddy because you're- You're the only one who's ever treated me like more." You pause, taking a deep breath. "Like I'm worth getting to know beyond just my pussy. I can't- I don't want to go back to a world where I don't have you. Where I'm not able to kiss you and be with you in whatever way I can. Where I can't fill your house with-" You stop yourself, because that's too much, that's not something you're admitting to him right now. "I just I want you. I'm not changing my mind, if I was going to I would have the second you didn't give me back my panties, Elvis. When you were so mean and hurtful and-"

He cuts you off with another kiss, this time a little less gentle but still nothing compared to what he wants to do to you. His teeth nip at your lower lip just a bit and you can't help the whimper that escapes you as he pulls away your mouth trying to follow his. Looking in his eyes, you see something different, you see the overwhelming lust, the blown pupils threatening to overwhelm his blue eyes but more than that you see a man who looks so in love with you he might as well keel over with the sheer force of it.

"Feel like an idiot for missin' out on that. Gonna keep kissin you like that for as long as i can. Ya realize that." He pauses as his eyes rake over your form. "Get on the desk, Y/N. My sweet Belle." His emphasis on the nickname, Belle versus Jezebel is the only thing that reassures you he's not planning on doing anything rough. That he has a plan for you to look at him while he does- whatever it is. You take a minute to hop up, sniffling once again as you rub at your eyes. Your emotions are still a mess but you can- this helps, you think.

Elvis grunts, using the cane and a grip on your knee to help ease him onto the ground right in front of your legs, right in between your legs as his hands dance up your thighs. His gaze is on you, full of promise and want as his hands inch further up and up until he reaches between your legs, one hand moving to cup your pussy while the other grabs your hip and pulls you a little closer to the edge of the desk.

"You been payin' attention in class?" He asks as you can't help but whimper a little at the feel of his hand covering you like that. "Specifically this one? What we talked 'bout at the beginning?"

Your head nods slowly as you shiver, feeling the fabric of your underwear being pulled lower and lower down your legs. "You mean psalm 51? What about it, Elvis?"

"Think ya can recite it by memory?" The words of his question are punctuated by kisses up your legs, starting with your calves before moving to knees and then to your thighs. He bites softly causing you to clench them together around his head before he mumbles a no. "While I'm here between your legs."

It feels like a challenge and it causes a curl of arousal to shoot directly between your legs as your vagina clenches around nothing. His hand feels the movement and you can feel the smirk of his lips against your skin before you answer as he puts one singular finger inside of you. "I can." You sigh out your answer as he curls that one finger your arousal making it easy for him to.

Hard doesn't even begin to explain how it is to try and speak- to try and remember the psalm as you feel his tongue flick against your clit once, twice, before moving down to your folds. Another finger has joined the first and you can feel them inside of you, following where his tongue traces. His licks and strokes are leisurely done, almost as if he wants to drag this out, wants to go at the pace that you're speaking when all you want to do is have your orgasm that you can feel brewing but when you stop to take a breath, so does he. It's infuriating right until the midway point when you say "grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me" his mouth wraps around your clit, sucking and even giving you a small nip as his fingers curl against your g-spot. It shouldn't be enough to help you cum, it shouldn't and yet you feel your toes curling and your thighs tightening around his head as he hums in satisfaction. Your body shakes, grinding against his mouth even as his free hand tries to keep your hips from moving. Your thighs don't unclench until he taps at your leg and even then they still shake as he pulls away, mouth glistening with your release as you try and pull him up for a kiss only to have him continue his attack on your cunt.

You keep reciting, feeling as if that's what he wants you to do despite how your voice shakes and how you whimper the more sensitive everything becomes. You cum again by the end of your first full recitation, panting with your chest heaving. There is a thought in your mind to tell Elvis to stop, that you need a break but even though you are starting to feel over stimulated, the way he's looking up at you as his mouth does sinful things to you, as he teases your swollen clit with his fingers and his mouth more and more stops you. His free hand moves to lock fingers with the one of your hands that isn't winding through his hair, yanking and earning growls the more you speak. The intimacy of it all has you nearly sobbing tears of joy this time, not the tears of sadness you had been experiencing. You feel yourself cumming in a way that's unfamiliar as you stutter out the words "my tongue will sing of your righteousness" and Elvis has to pull away, a chuckle escaping him as you see his whole face might as well be covered in your release. It takes him a moment to recover but you swear you hear him talking about squirting when he kisses his way up your thigh and back to his task at hand. When you finally finish the psalm the second time your body is shaking and his tongue and fingers and everything are so overwhelming that when you attempt to start the psalm for a third time you say the first words five times.

"Daddy please, let me cum. Please, I've been good." The words are whimpers when they leave your mouth as you try and grind and get to that edge.

"I know, Belle, been so good, taste even better." He mutters against your clit.

That does it, that has your hand clenching his and your other pulling his hair as you grind on his face, practically smothering him as you cum. The sheer intensity of it has you thumping backward on the desk, trying to catch your breath as your legs shake and you hear him speaking against your thigh. You catch bits of the word holy and jezebel and God and you feel a warmth settle in your body that you can't quite explain. You use your hand to pull him away enough that you can understand him before you ask.

"Are- Are you talking to God- thanking God for me?" The concept boggles your mind but it's so touching at the same time that your heart threatens to burst at the idea.

"Think 've been thankin' God for ya since I first saw ya, but 'specially since I saw ya in my class. My holy- My sweet holy Belle." He winces at the crack his knees make when he gets up and leans both on the cane on the desk when he finally stands up. "None of 'em deserved ya 'n I'm not too sure I do but- 'll try to deserve ya."

Your hands move to cup his face, marveling in how he nuzzles up against your palm before you smile, pulling him in for a soft kiss. "Trust me, Elvis, I think you're the only one who ever has." You nuzzle at his nose before pulling away. "How about you let this pretty little sinner, this harlot, this Jezebel take care of you. I don't have a class and-"

Elvis cuts you off with another kiss before he nods. "Only if Big Daddy-" He looks at you, reminding you that yes, your nickname you have for him snuck out. "Gets to take care of his pretty lil sinner, his Belle, and help her wash away all those sins."

The light in the smile you give him could power the whole of the campus for months if you could bottle it up. You slide off the desk a little less gracefully than you mean to before nodding. "Lead the way, Elvis." A pause. "I love you."

"Ain't I the luckiest man for it too." He adjusts himself in his pants, hoping you don't notice that there's a bit of a wet spot on them where his cock should be. "Love ya too. Come on now, never did get to show ya Graceland's shower in my room."

taglist: @elvisgirl35, @butlersluvbott, @lokis-right-femur, @godlypresley, @steph-speaks, @lindszeppelin, @eliseinmemphiss, @thatbanditqueen, @venus-haze, @lrd98, @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @notstefaniepresley, @holyastronauts, @vintageshanny, @powerofelvis and @ellie-24 and i think that's it? i don't know and apologies if you got tagged twice, i trusted a copy/paste.

#elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley angst #austin butler elvis #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction #austin butler elvis x reader #austin elvis x reader #austin elvis smut #austin butler elvis smut #big daddy elvis #ally writes #elvis x you #austin elvis x you #austin elvis x y/n

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