#“ you are the wife shaker ”

[theangelcatalogue]

Don't shake the rat guys!! Bad things happen!!

[chosopie]

y/n will slowly grow to love Conqueror Sukana. Just as long as Yuji keeps his title and is happy and safe

PART 3, CONQUERER - RYOMEN SUKUNA

SUMMARY: It has been weeks since the day of your grand wedding. Sukuna agreed to give your brother Yuji his share of power. Ever since then, you have been spending more time with him, soon growing to enjoy his company.

cw: fluff, you and Sukuna becoming softies

: ̗̀➛ part 2

"You will make sure Yuji gets his title. He's my brother, my blood. I will see to it that he will have access to privileges and resources of this kingdom," You sternly ordered, your eyes intensely staring at your husband Sukuna.

"Damn, do you talk a lot, woman. It's only been a couple weeks and you're starting to nag like an old wife," Sukuna groaned.

"My wishes must be fulfilled," you narrowed your eyes at him.

"And what will you do if they aren't, princess?" He arrogantly smiled at you, amusement glinting from his eyes.

"I’m not a princess. I am the queen and I could send you into exile."

Sukuna laughed at you. "How bold of you. You can't do that."

"You forget that my people are loyal to me, the true blood of this kingdom."

"You forget that I single-handedly killed your pathetic man and his army," He looms over you, his chest right in front of your face.

"Only, because I allowed it. I needed someone more capable like you," You admitted, trying to hold together what remained of your pride while commending your husband. When he smirked in response, you instantly regretted letting those words leave your mouth. To your dismay, that surely fed Sukuna's large ego, keeping it full and satisfied.

"That's all you had to say, brat,” He beamed. “You have my word. The little rascal gets what he needs and I'll protect him." Sukuna reaches over your head, ruffling the hair you had just tidied up.

“Hey!” You groaned, your hands patting and combing your hair in an attempt to return it to its previous state. Sukuna and his ego was a handful, but you knew deep down there had to be a soft spot beneath all that pride and cockiness. You were determined to crack that shell and see what’s really in his heart.

When the sun had set, the dinner table had been set up by your handmaidens. There was a large variety of food all over the table. Yuji sat beside you with a big smile on his face and his eyes lovingly staring at the food.

“Yuji, keep staring like that and you might just marry the food,” you snickered.

Yuji gave you an unamused look, “Come on! I’m just hungry. It’s been a while since we’ve had steak.”

“A while?” You quirked an eyebrow up. “We have steak every week.”

“Just let me be hungry!” He whined. “Where’s your husband? I’m gonna starve to death.”

“Your king is here,” Sukuna loudly said from the other side of the room. He wore a big fur coat over his wide figure.

Hearing his loud and obnoxious voice, you roll your eyes, but you were going to test and prod at him tonight. Beneath all those muscles and ego, there has to be something else in there, right? We can’t pretend forever.

“Pass me the salt, hun,” you point towards the small shaker across the table. Sukuna raised his eyebrow, questioning your behavior; nevertheless, he complied with your request.

Yuji stared at the two of you with confusion. What was with the nicknames all of a sudden? Have you been taking something weird? This was not the big sister he knew. Perhaps you’ve gone soft. “As long as she’s happy,” Yuji thought. After having Sukuna around the house for a couple of week, he didn’t seem so bad after all, just a little obnoxious and boastful. He never raised a hand at you nor did he yell at you just because he wasn’t in a good mood. He seemed to care.

When all of you had finished eating, Yuji returned to his quarters while you and Sukuna headed to yours. Sukuna immediately threw himself onto the bed and made himself comfortable under the thick duvet.

“I’m gonna shower,” you told Sukuna. He simply nodded in response.

You stepped into the shower and twisted the small knob, allowing the warm water to rain on your skin. Closing your eyes, you thought about how Sukuna had been ever since he came around. Most of the time, you two would clash over your different ideologies or even the simplest things like food or how you ate the cake he had been waiting all day to eat. Despite all that, he respected you and treated you well. He would buy you dresses and jewelry, making sure you were clad in the prettiest things out there. You let out a sigh in relief as the warm water began to relax your body. You grabbed your most fragrant soap and made sure to scrub yourself clean. Once you were finished, you wiped yourself dry with a towel, then slipped into a pink nightgown that sort of matched his hair.

You walked into the room, Sukuna’s eyes immediately landing on you. “What’re you doing?” You ask while you made your way to the bed to sit beside him.

“Reading,” he mumbled, his eyes now fixed on the small book in hand.

“Is that a history book?” Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Aw, do you care about me and my country that much?”

“Fuck off. I’m reading this so I know how to take advantage of the shit you guys have,” Sukuna huffed in annoyance.

“I love you too, Sukuna,” you tested those words. Those three damn words. They felt foreign in your mouth.

Sukuna tensed up, his face looking stiff as ever. He hesitantly turned to look at you and got up. Now, you were scared. He inched closer and closer to you, his body towering over you as usual. You couldn’t read his expression and it made your nerves jitter. He reached his hand out to hold your head, and you thought he was going to ruffle your hair like he always did, but no. It was something different which shocked you. He pulled your head in and gently kissed you on the forehead.

“I love you,” he softly said.

You looked at him with wide eyes, your cheeks red from the intimate gesture. Was he serious? Your heart was beating so hard you could feel it in your ears. The room suddenly felt hotter than usual. There was a strange warm feeling that swelled in your beating chest. A bold idea crossed your mind, and you let your body move on its own, your arms reaching out to him for an embrace. You slowly snaked your arms around his torso and rested your head in the crook of his neck.

This isn’t so bad. You’ve fallen for him.

“I love you,” you whispered into his ear before pecking his cheek.

[theirishwolfhound]

I do love the idea of an unhinged reader. Not like brutally unhinged but... like the kind that is harmlessly annoying and is just a brat to Task Force 141.

Like the mother fuckers nickname is Menace and they're somehow still alive after everything so they make it everyone's problem.

They're great at what they do, amazing even— but no team wants menaces like Menace, not even the heavens nor the hells want the damn person.

This is the same Menace who wears a devilish half-mask, but only above their mouth so people can see their shit-eating grin (think similar to the ghoul mask above) as they leave small firecrackers under the lids of toilet seats, or so people notice the way their lips curl up in mock disgust when someone is talking.

Menace who only goes through with the SAS training to one up another soldier they despised, enough to have sicked a pack of squirrels on that they personally hand fed a few days after— they even bonded enough with the little fuckers that when they were finally transferred out to be someone else's problem, the squirrels would steal the remaining soldiers foods.

Laswell, whose grand idea of knocking the boys down a peg since she's tired of their shenanigans includes getting this Menace of a person to join 141 with faint threats of blackmail— to which Coporal Menace respects, leading Kate to being the only one who is not subjected to the dumpster fire that is about to happen, but is only encouraged by her wife.

Price, who in his right mind, nearly rejects the idea of this misfit joining because of their turnover rate but gives in when Laswell tells him it would be worth it— that her wife likes them and they're an excellent solider after all.

Immediately upon arrival, Menace lives up to their name— pissing on the side of the building as if to mark their new territory before deciding it would be a good idea to rile up the behemoth of a man by asking Price: "Didn't anyone tell the poor bastard that Halloween was four fuckin' months ago? Look at 'em he looks emo."

It wasn't until then that the poor Captain realized how much of an untamed brat his new corporal was— only to be further set in after the first two weeks on base.

Sure Menace got along with Soap, but they were far too alike for Menace's likings and Gaz, sweet sweet Gaz, gave them a few too man odd glances and playfully snide remarks for their liking— meanwhile Ghost had made them scrub the bathroom from top to bottom with a small sponge, and well they could already see the forming regret in Price's eyes.

So Menace did what they did best.

It started out simple: silently attaching balloons on strings to the back of their clothes without them noticing, flipping all of the furniture upside down during the middle of the night, purposefully mocking every single move of one of the operators for a full day, sugar in the salt shaker or salt in the sugar dish, you name it they did it.

Glitterbomb the captain? Oh yeah, and there's still glitter in his mustache.

Tied the two sergeants' doors together so that neither could open it? Done and done, they were locked in their rooms for a good hour until someone cut the rope.

Move the lieutenant’s furniture two inches to the right so that he would constantly stub his toe? Yeah, you can practically see him fuming after every trip to his office.

And what irked the lads the most? Menace kept getting away without being caught— managing to even out sneak Ghost, which the only reason for it is: Menace knowing they don't know what they look like without that mask. So obviously they take it off and blend in with the many other people on base.

They made a fool of their sergeants, their lieutenant, and their captain and it was time to get back at the cunning prankster— but Menace grew suspicious. Usually they would have been booted out by a normal team by then, but what Menace came to realize a bit too late was that Task Force 141 was not normal.

And reality came to a head when Menace was called to Price's office to collect something— only for that something to be a bucket of ice cold water falling onto their head and for the captain to tell their now soaking wet and cold Coporal: "Game's on, brat."

PT 1 | PT 2

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife : Smooches

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Notes: written in honor of the fabulous and fantastic @romanarose birthday today!!! 🎂 I would not be writing Pedro fics if it were not for their fantastic stories that got me hooked so everyone PLEASE wish our lord and Savior the bestest birthdays of all!

- - - -

Joel knew pregnancy brain was out of wack when you started slamming the table with a fork and knife at 5pm like a senior citizen demanding dinner.

"I aint got anything you aren't gonna throw up later. We're going out," he states with hands planted on his hips.

"Ooh yay!" You wiggle out of your chair and grab your purse. "Jone's steakhouse?"

"If that's what you want."

"But you have to ALSO want it. Or it feels like you don't want it and makes me feel like I'm dragging--"

"JUST. get in the car, sweetie," he grits with a fake smile, opening the door.

-

Dinner was good. Steak was solid. You complained it wasn't salty enough even after you dumped the entire shaker onto each slice. But now that both your bellies are full and satisfied, with you rubbing your exceptionally swollen one happily, the drive home was finally peaceful.

Until you kept smacking your lips. The quiet air was filled with schmockschmockschmock sounds from your beautiful but ever so annoying mouth.

Joel clears his throat but keeps his eyes forward and mouth shut. Just gotta get you into bed and it's a sold evening.

He hears you digging in your purse, scavaging deeply for--

"Oh no. Nononononono!" You shriek, hands splitting the seam of the bag open to dump out all its contents on your lap.

"What, what's wrong?"

After clearly seeing all pockets were empty, you shout, "Oh my god noooo! Oh god please don't be happening."

"What you forget your phone? Wallet?" He asks worriedly.

Instead of just outright answering him (because thats just ridiculous) you start panting heavily and tearing up. "I cant live. I need it Joel."

"Need--need what baby? Just tell me, I'll make it right."

But you're too hysterical and hyperventilating  at his brain dead question to give him the answer.

Roll with the punches, Miller. Stay calm. Resolve.

"Okay it's OK probably just sitting on the ground at the restaurant. I'm turning around, okay baby? Please calm down, we're gonna get it back."

Joel explains to the host that you just saw 15 minutes ago that his wife (he gestures to his obviously pregnant and agitated , volcanic explosion of a meltdown wife who's having a panic attack) forgot something and would like to check the table again to find it.

The host rushes the two of you back to the table to avoid mount doom from exploding.

But after thoroughly searching for something that only YOU know what is missing, absolutely nothing comes up around the table that doesn't belong to said restaurant and table.

"What did you lose?" He finally asks hesitantly. It MIGHT help to know. "Phone? Wallet?"

You take a deep breath, eyes swollen and red, cheeks blown warm and shiny with tears as the world crashes around you at the devestating realization that its GONE gone:

"My LIP MOISTURIZER!"

You slug your shoulders and tilt your head back to wail in the middle of this albeit emptying restaurant while Joel and everyone pauses to quietly stares at you.

Joel's expression with an edge of disbelief and exhaustion.

He takes you by the hand as you still cry, thanks the host with a wave and gets your fat ass in the truck.

"We got more at home... right?"

"Joel!!" You snap. "If I HAD another one, I'D BE USING IT! I wasn't finished with the last one! Everything will be wrong if I open a new one when I still has the other one every day for 6 months!"

"You've had this one chapstick since I got you pregnant?"

"LIP. MOISTURIZER." You throw yourself back into the comfy seat. "You only like kissing me when it's moist and pleasant and NOW you won't like me--"

"Babe I never even knew you had stuff on--"

"WELL NOW YOU WILL because it won't be on and everything is RUINED! I have to over compensate for your dry peely nasty crunchy flaky dead lips, but now you won't love me and our baby because I won't have silky smooth moist plushy baby girl lips and then my husband won't have juicy sucker's to suck on when we make out and get his fat cock sucked by my once pillowy beautiful lush lippy lips...!" and then you start sobbing again.

He shakes his head. "Listen, how about I get you some more first thing tomorrow morning--"

"Tonight!"

"Right, tonight. That's what I said." He gulps hard. "And uh, you'll be... coming with me?"

You slowly turn your head and narrow your eyes. He does now see the clock is 8pm, sharply past your self imposed bed time.

"I meant you'll be coming with me... as I drop you off at the house. Then I'll go back out."

You nod as if saying 'that's more like it,' before folding your arms over your chest.

He squeezes his eyes shut and internally rolls them as hard as possible.

-

The closest 24/7 general store was 10 minutes thankfully. He grabbed a handful of different flavor chapsticks and dumps them on your lap--

"Joel what the FUCK are these."

"Chap--!"

"I WANTED LIP. MOISTURIZER! NIVEA! EOS! VASELINE! NOT THIS CHEAP SHIT."

He growls--not this shit again. He has flashbacks of the taco yackies incident roll through his mind. "YOU ASKED FOR CHAPSTICK! I GOT EXACTLY THAT!"

"Chapstick is a BRAND name. This stuff makes my lips burn and feels even drier. Joel do you SEE my lips!" You point both fingers directly at your mouth and purse out. "DRY. AS. FUCK. these are NOT dick sucking lips.  They will start fucking peeling soon.  and then I don't know if I will be able to kiss my own baby's noggin when she's first born less she be DISGUSTED--"

Hes back in the car before you were even done yelling.

Back at the store. Staring at the wall of different lip care options. This is 10x worse than the tampon and pad aisle. THAT one he's a pro in. Pussy King expert for all its needs. Even shows other women that come back exactly where and what they're looking for. But this shit??

There's so many flavors. Why does the flavor matter? Cherry red, cherry blossom, cherry berry--what the fuck is the difference? One says lip moisturizer, the same one next to it says lip care, then lip cream, lip balm, lip lush, lip lotion... fuck.

He does the sensible thing: pulls one of every single item into his arms, struggling but managing to hold haphazardly close to his chest (the man doesn't get a basket for shit because he only comes on for the exact ONE thing he knows he's getting). When he hobbles to the tired cashier, he leans forwards and dumps it all the counter with a sad smile. A smile of which drops quickly when the total comes to exceed $85.

-

9:14pm. Could be worse. You're eating a bag of extra salted chips--which he suspects is only going to make the lip situation worse but whatever. One by one, he basketball chucks them into your lap. You inspect each one, scoffing at all the useless flavor ones that just don't work, until finally holding up the vanilla honey extra moistening stick. You rip it from the package, pop the lid off and slather that shit on with a orgasmic groan, rolling your eyes back as it glides over and over your lips repeatedly. You smack them to spread evenly, all shiny and pretty before nodding approval.

Joel sighs and tosses himself on the couch, head first into your lap. You rub his hair and continue watching the TV, gnawing at the chips carefully so as not to ruin your fresh lips, as he falls asleep and snores deeply.

It lasts for a minute before both you and he feel something small against his temple stir in your belly.

He sits up like rocket, and the two of you stare at one another in shock. You both slowly look down at the belly, hands crept over its rounded expanse, and wait.

Then--an almost inperceivable yet delicate tiny kick. The first one.

Neither of you have words as excitement floods your faces.

"See. Even the BABY needs the best kissy lips."

He grabs your face with both hands and smashes his lips onto yours like he's gonna suck your soul away.

When he finally pulls off with a big grin (and you thrown back against the couch with a delirious expression getting oxygen back to your brain while your pussy drips fresh juices onto the couch), he smacks his lips tastily and enjoying the soft, silky, honey sweetness of your lips.

"Oh fuck, that is good."

You grip his shirt and force him back down to make out with you again, falling sideways on the couch as you both hungrily grope each others' bodies.

-

The next day you find your brand new lip moisturizer missing. It's set in the bathroom vanity, somewhere you did NOT left it. When popping it open, it has suspicious short little whisker hairs stuck to it. You frown but plant it back where you find it, run behind the door, and wait. About 2 minutes later, Joel comes in, searches behind him around the room before sneaking the little stick off the counter and hustling to the bed. He lies on his back, pops it open, and greedily smears it all over, humming contently and whispering "mmm yeaaaahhhh" before smacking his lips and pursing them out.

You fall over giggling in the bathroom at his new found guilty pleasure.

- - - -

Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow

[archangeldyke-all]

https://www.tumblr.com/archangeldyke-all/752853003646746624/are-you-still-writing-ceo-sev-requests

Yesss so with Sevika’s work suits she wears those button up shirts you know, and one morning reader decides to just throw on one that Sev left on the floor before going to start breakfast.

When Sev sees reader in her shirt that is completely huge on her she basically folds and jumps on her right then and there in the kitchen. You can add smut if you want 😭

GOD fuck

men and minors dni

yesterday was friday. most fridays, you and sevika manage to sneak out of work an hour early-- you purposely scheduling her to be free by the end of the day-- so you can get a head start on your weekend.

but yesterday, both of you were at the office 'til 10 pm, renewing contracts for the upcoming year and making international calls with investors just waking up on the other side of the world.

so when you got home instead of your usual split bottle of wine and friday movie night, you both just stripped down, too tired to even crawl in your pajamas, and flopped into bed.

you blink awake now as the sun rises on a beautiful summer saturday, and turn over in your bed to admire your snoring wife.

she's adorable. you reach out and gently swipe up the trail of drool sliding down her cheek, and her face twitches a bit at your touch.

while you were there by her side all night last night-- she was the one actually reading and filling out the paperwork; and talking in the meetings. you spent your time on her couch, occasionally taking a note for her, but mostly just scrolling through vacation destinations for your upcoming anniversary. so sevika was a lot more tired than you were last night.

so now, you sneak carefully out of bed, not wanting to wake her before she's well rested. you pull the covers up over her chest and kiss her forehead, and her lips twitch in a subconscious smile before she returns to her loud snores.

you grab the closest thing you can find to cover yourself-- the pink and white pinstriped linen button up she'd worn under her suit yesterday-- and button a few buttons to keep it closed around you as you walk to the kitchen, mentally planning a nice weekend breakfast for your wife.

you flick on the radio, quiet soft jazz filling the air as you examine your cabinets and fridge shelves, checking the ingredients you have to work with.

you pull out butter, flour, eggs and sausage, setting them on the counter before gathering all the bowls and measuring spoons you'll need.

sevika sleeps close 'til noon on the weekends, so you can take your time, soaking in the rising sun as it filters through the penthouse, dancing and swaying to the music of sevika's favorite radio channel.

you start by frying up the sausages. once you're done, you transfer the cooked meat onto a plate, throw it in the microwave to keep it warm, and start a roux in the sausage-grease pan.

from there, it's just a matter of stirring in the milk and spices, making sure to add more pepper than you normally would-- though you're certain sevika will still ask for the shaker.

as the gravy thickens, you start making some simple biscuts-- just flour butter and milk kneaded into little clumps and thrown into the oven.

you're scrambling eggs when sevika wakes up. you can hear her huff and shuffle out of bed into the en-suite from the kitchen, and you grin as you listen to her start her morning routine.

it's these little domestic moments that make all the late nights worth it. listening to the sound of sevika brushing her teeth as you fix her a plate of biscuts, eggs, and sausage-- pouring the gravy over it all, just like she likes it.

and then, when two plates are ready and waiting on the table, you get to work cutting up orange slices to give your plates at least a little color. you look up in time to watch sevika stumble out of the bedroom clad only in her boxers and rubbing her eyes.

you choke back a giggle at her crazy bed-head, and then laugh anyways when sevika finally opens her eyes and they nearly bug out of her head at the sight in front of her.

"goodmorning, baby." you greet. sevika grins. pride swells in your chest at the sight. "go ahead, sit and start, i'll be right there with fruit and coffee." you say.

sevika doesn't head toward the table, though. instead, she rounds the counter and wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you into her chest. you grin up at her.

"i haven't brushed my teeth yet." you warn her. she huffs, then swoops in to kiss you anyways. you hum against her lips, giggling when her hands start to bunch up her shirt over your hips to grope your ass.

"you're in my shirt." she mumbles against your lips.

you chuckle. "your food's on the table." you remind her.

"you're in my shirt." she whines, kissing your neck. you laugh.

sevika's possessiveness isn't exactly subtle. usually it manifests as one of her hands on you at in public, or her matching the colors of her outfit to match yours. sometimes, it comes out like this too.

you're surprised to find that she finds you in her shirt more exciting than breakfast. white gravy and biscuits is her favorite.

"food's gonna get cold." you whimper as she turns you around and backs you up against the counter.

sevika chuckles and shrugs, shoving a leg between your. "thank god we gotta microwave." she mumbles. you giggle, threading your fingers through her hair. "fuck, you look so fuckin' good in my clothes." she grunts as she starts pulling your hips back and forth on her thigh. she's rock hard against your hip, her tits pressed your chest as she kisses you.

"s-sevika..." you whine.

"cum on my thigh, baby, lemme make you feel good. 's my thank you for breakfast." she mumbles. you giggle-moan, then lean forward to press your lips to your wife's as she continues to slide your wet cunt on her bare thigh. "you're so fuckin' wet." she groans.

"s-sev--" you gasp.

"give it to me baby. then we can eat, then i can fuck you while you do the dishes in my shirt."

you whimper. "y-you do the d-dishes." you grunt. sevika snorts.

"fine. you can wear my shirt 'n fuck me while i do the dishes." she offers. you nod and then cum to seal the deal. sevika laughs, peppering kisses all over your face and neck as you shiver apart in her arms. "there you go, baby."

sevika holds you until you catch your breath, but once she's sure you can stand on your own she gives you a breath taking kiss and then sprints to the table-- a grin on her face as she digs into her food. you burst into laughter.

"'s so fuckin' good, tha'k y' s'much." sevika mumbles around her bite.

"don't choke." you plea. she shoots you a wink, and you roll your eyes fondly before you go back to cutting orange slices.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352 @artinvain

[brainddeadd]

Accidentally calling your girlfriend "wife"

madison beer x fem!reader

It happened in the most casual way—completely unintentionally but undeniably loud enough for everyone around to hear.

You and Madison were out at a trendy café, seated by the windows, sunlight filtering through as you both waited for your food. Madison, looking effortlessly gorgeous in a cropped sweater and sunglasses perched on her head, was scrolling through her phone while you absentmindedly fiddled with the salt shaker.

The server approached, smiling warmly. "Your drinks will be right out. Can I get you anything else for now?"

You shook your head. "No, we're good, thanks." Then, without thinking, you added, "My wife loves extra ice, though, if that’s not too much trouble."

The words tumbled out so naturally, you didn’t even register what you'd said until Madison turned to you, eyebrows arched.

"Wife?" she echoed, loud enough to catch the attention of the nearby tables.

You froze, eyes wide in mild horror, realizing what had just slipped from your mouth. A few people glanced your way, amused smiles tugging at their lips. Madison, on the other hand, was grinning like she just won the lottery.

"Excuse me?" she teased, leaning closer with a playful smirk. "Did you just call me your wife?"

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and you rubbed the back of your neck, trying to play it off. "Uh... I meant girlfriend—same thing, right?"

Madison gave you a look that was part amusement, part affection, as if you’d just handed her the best compliment ever. "Not yet," she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear, "but I’m holding you to that now."

Before you could respond, the server returned with the drinks, shooting both of you a knowing smile. "Here’s the extra ice... for your wife."

Madison laughed softly, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "You better not take it back now," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with playful intent.

You couldn’t help but grin, leaning closer to her. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

The rest of the café blurred away as you shared a moment of unspoken understanding—accident or not, the word wife felt just right.

[wbcannibalgf]

Stumbling into the apartment in the middle of the night, caked in mud and twigs, presenting a single ant: see honey, i told you someone was leaving taylor hebert references in the forest :)

My wife (not looking up from her laptop as she googles 'worm themed divorce'): That's very nice, dear. Maybe you could Mover/Shaker the trash out next?

[literally-just-there]

The night has fallen. The tree is waiting to see the community hall overflowing with gifts.

But before it sees, it hears.

Tap, tap, tap.

Three little mouses make their way up to the door. Ben, Pete and Amy are certain to spot Santa this year !!

They open the door just slightly, enough to peek into the illuminated room...

But what is better than one Santa ?

Two Santas, apparently !!

I wish a merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates !! 🎄✨️ if you do not, I hope your own celebrations are wonderful !! If you do not celebrate anything, I simply wish you a great day and many good things !!

‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🎅⊹♡ Tag List

Let me know if you want to be added or removed !!

✨️ @cozylovers || @cinnamon-phrog || @earth-shaker || @francinekisser || @disabledbears

✨️ @sunflawyer || @bobmckenzie || @retrojem || @pinky-in-blankets || @frozenhi-chews

✨️ @princess-hope-selfships || @faerie-circle-ships || @tricksandtools || @wisp-herr || @catships777

✨️ @cosmic-ships || @catsiren || @lances-wife || @sanjiismystinkybaby || @nghtydogs

[toomuchracket]

day drinking (ross x girlband gf!reader smut)

first ever ross smut fic can u believe. anyway. summer75. warnings for exhibitionism and everyone being vaguely slaggy. enjoy <3

you're rinsing glasses in the kitchen when the doorbell goes. quickly wiping your hands, you weave your way through the house to the front door, scooping the cat up so she can't make a beeline for the street as soon as you open the door. when you do, you smile at the sight of gabbriette and matty, the latter holding a wine carrier in one hand. “hi, my darlings!”

“hello to you, too, gorgeous,” gabbriette pulls you into a quick hug, cooing at the kitten and taking the bag from her fiancé as she saunters towards the kitchen. “sorry we're late. one of us couldn't decide on an outfit, and it wasn't me.”

matty rolls his eyes, dropping a kiss on your head. “god forbid i wanna look good enough to keep up with the two of you - you really do look lovely, darling,” he ruffles your hair, before catching sight of the cat and beaming at her. “and who are you, baby?”

“oh, i forgot you haven't met nico yet!” you hold the cat up, and matty takes her in his arms eagerly, holding her as if she was a baby. “isn't she cute?”

“i'm literally gonna take her home with me.”

you snort, crossing the threshold to the kitchen, where gabbriette's already assembling snacks. “good luck trying to get her past ross. that's his baby you're holding right there, you know.”

gabbriette giggles. “i love that for him.”

“yeah, it's cute. now,” you clap your hands. “drinks? we've got… most things.”

“margs?”

“whatever you want, wifey, you'll get,” you kiss her nose, and she and matty both giggle; you kiss his, too, for equality, and they both laugh even harder. “ross has got a guinness surge machine outside now, matty, if you want…”

he shoves the cat into your arms and speeds out to the garden as quickly as you've ever seen him, so fast you half expect to see a looney tunes-esque trail of dust behind him. his wife-to-be sighs. “he's nuts.”

you bump your hip against hers on your way to lay the cat on her climbing tree. “and you're gonna marry him.”

“yeah,” her pretty face goes all dreamy, and it warms your heart. after a beat, though, she winks cheekily. “and then you're gonna marry his best friend.”

your cheeks burn, but still lift into a smile at the thought of tying the knot with ross; neither of you have explicitly brought it up to each other, but you hope it'll happen one day. he is the love of your life, after all. “well, maybe someday,” you busy yourself with salting the rim of two coupé glasses, and adding lime to the tequila and agave already in the cocktail shaker. “i just don't know if he wants to, y'know?”

gabbriette scoffs. “oh, please. he looks at you so intimately that we all feel like we're intruding just by being in the vicinity, and you don't know if he wants to marry you? come on, babe.”

she's got a point, to be fair. ross's gaze is so sweetly intense that it sometimes makes you weak in the knees, so overwhelming that you have to look away or bury your face into his chest to cope; you've a sneaking suspicion that's why he does it, because it gives him an excuse to hold you close and softly rub your back and whisper that he loves you into your hair.

some days, though, your boyfriend doesn't need an excuse to be affectionate with you like that, and today is seemingly one of those days. practically as soon you've stepped outside to join him and the rest of your friends, gabbriette in tow, ross is waving you over to him with a “c'mere, love, sit with me”. when you put your cocktail on the little side table and oblige, he tugs you further onto his lap, kissing your temple; you sink into his chest, warm from the afternoon sun, and take in the scene in front of you. george is deep in conversation with carly, whose son is half lying across a sunlounger and half across his aunt charli; she’s talking to matty - insouciantly draped on a beanbag next to you - and adam, who shuffles along the rattan couch so gabbriette can sit down. she takes a sip of her margarita and nods at you approvingly. “this is good, babe.”

you wink. “that's the tequila you got me for my birthday.”

“can i try?” ross's face screws up when he tries the drink - very cutely, though. “christ, that's strong.”

“maybe you're just a lightweight,” you tease, flicking his nose. “can't hack it anymore. oh my god, maybe you're getting old.”

he bites playfully at your fingers to make you laugh. “am not!”

before you can respond, baby hann chips in with all of the tact a three-year-old can have - which is, you know, none at all. “yeah you are.”

he looks pleased with himself as the grown-ups burst into laughter, cuddling into charli when she kisses his head proudly. you lean across to hi-five your nephew, while ross rolls his eyes and tries (poorly) to keep the smile from his face. “and here i thought we were pals, mate.”

“we are! but you're still old.”

the laughter increases, even ross chuckling. you love these moments, you really do, sat in the sunshine with the people you love most in the world, everyone happy and bright. the atmosphere lingers even after the sun sets and the hanns head home, the youngest asleep in his mother's arms after a day spent stroking nico and playing football with his uncles and learning snippets of spanish from auntie gabbi; you stay curled up against ross, only moving to refill your drink or take a lazy hit of the joint being passed around the remaining six of you.

at some point - you've no idea what time it is, too tipsy and high and happy to take note of such trivial things - the breeze picks up slightly, passing over your bare legs and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. you shiver, and ross looks down at you, concern in his warm eyes. “you cold, pretty girl?”

“little bit. my legs.”

he smiles, scooping you onto him and wrapping an arm around your knees. “better?”

“mhmm. thank you,” you pout, and he kisses you, slightly longer than could be considered polite amidst company. still, it's good. “love you.”

“love you too, baby.”

across from you, george pretends to retch. he giggles when you scowl at him, blowing you a kiss. “i'm taking the piss. you guys are cute.”

his other half pipes up. “and really fucking hot,” she downs the rest of her wine, and you brace yourself for her inevitable next statement. “i still maintain you'd make a killing on onlyfans, by the way.” 

the boys all shake their heads and mutter swear words in dismay, while you laugh. only gabbriette stays unaffected, taking a puff of her fiancé's cigarette and turning to charli. “oh, you wouldn't be able to handle watching them like that.”

charli cackles. “and you would?”

“maybe,” gabbriette smirks knowingly at you. “i'd happily try.”

you smirk right back. “yeah, i bet you would.”

she already has, live and in-person with her fiancé on ross's birthday, but charli and george don't need to know that. and, honestly, you don't need to be thinking about that night right now either, not when you're already slightly amorous from the drinks and the joint and just being in your boyfriend's arms. you have a sneaking suspicion that ross is aware that's how you feel; he adjusts you so you're sat more between his legs than on them, and calls a request to his friend. “matty, chuck us that blanket, will you?”

you squint up at your boyfriend as he spreads the fabric over your legs. “m'not that cold, baby.”

“no?” ross smiles, the somewhat manic glint in his eye sending shocks of anticipation through you - you know what that look means, and the way he lowers his voice to speak directly in your ear. “you don't need me to warm you up?”

heat floods through you, settling in your cheeks and underwear. “now?”

“no time like the present, love. s'your call, though.”

you glance at your friends, all four of them preoccupied in some sort of debate and getting progressively louder with each passing second, then look back at ross with a smile. “yes, please.”

“alright,” he leans down to kiss you, strategically timing it so your whimper at his hand sliding into your underwear is muffled by his lips. “not a sound, you hear me? not sharing you today, my girl.”

“mmmkay… oh, fuck,” you hiss against his mouth as two calloused fingers slip inside your needy cunt. “m'sorry, i just,” you exhale as ross gives you a second to adjust, before experimentally pulling out and beginning to slowly finger-fuck you. “feels really good.”

“i know, baby,” ross coos, centimetres from your face. “doing so well for me. keep it up, yeah? but,” he pulls back, shuffling you so it looks more like he's hugging you. “you're the hostess. don't be antisocial.”

fuck him.

but he won't let you do that if you disobey. so, instead, you take a deep breath, turning your head slightly so your friends can see more of your face. ross speeds up his movements - a test - and you feel him smile into your hair when you don't react other than clenching around him. “good girl.”

you smile softly at the praise, doing your best to focus on the conversation around you rather than what's happening inside you. for the most part, it's easy, ross's perpetual inability to fall out of rhythm working in your favour here - you quickly grow accustomed to the thrusting of his fingers and their tempo, the pleasure they're giving you firmly in the background behind the melody of your friends talking.

and then he changes angle.

you squeak, hastily turning it into a cough and praying nobody notices - unluckily, charli does, turning to look at you with concern. “you alright, babe?”

“yeah,” you manage to croak out, doing your best to trap ross's hand between your thighs so you can answer calmly. “just caught the smoke, i think. but please continue.”

you aren't sure whether that was aimed at her or ross. both oblige you, though, charli going back to yapping about a recent holiday while your boyfriend does his best to get you off. and it's working - the heel of his hand bumps against your clit with every thrust, while those long, long fingers of his hook into your g-spot and send sparks shooting through your nervous system. suddenly, george starts to look blurry as he talks across from you, and you make the executive decision to turn and snuggle into ross so nobody can see the tears in your eyes. being social be damned; you can't have your friends seeing you like this, because they'll put all the attention on you and ask what's wrong, and ross will stop. and wouldn't that be the worst thing of all, when you're as close to climax as you are?

ross knows you're about to cum, of course he does, and discreetly wipes your tears away before pressing his forehead to yours. to your friends, it would look like a tender moment, two lovers being affectionate, instead of the depravity it really is, with him murmuring “don't fight it, love. cum for me” and smiling when you obey with every muscle in your body tensed. the pleasure is almost blinding as it reaches its peak, manifesting in chattering teeth and the shaky exhale of breath that leaves your lips as you come down - despite it all, you smile into your boyfriend's chest, humming as he gently pulls his fingers from you and quickly brings them to his mouth. your eyes widen at the boldness, but ross simply giggles and whispers in your ear. “wasn't gonna waste it, was i?”

“you're an idiot,” you sigh, kissing him quickly and smiling at the faint tang of yourself on his tongue. “i love you, though. a lot.”

“love you, too,” ross kisses your nose. “wouldn't have fingered you in front of all our friends if i didn't.”

you smack him on the arm as he laughs, and you've just opened your mouth to respond when a familiar voice from the beanbag beside you cuts in, equally as quiet as you and ross. “fucking knew it. freaks.”

shit.

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 6 - Nobody's Fool

Summary: In the aftermath of Elvis' last day in his 1969 Vegas residency, Valerie and Elvis get caught in a compromising position. A decision is made, and a plan is formulated. Late at night, Valerie and Elvis almost cross the point of no return.

There are moments when one wakes up, and everything seems okay. That blessed space between sleep and memory, before the brain catches up with your body? 

I had about three seconds of that peace before I opened my eyes and saw Elvis' jacket draped over my chair like a question mark.

The gin-stained dress I'd fallen asleep in clung to me like shame. My mouth tasted like I'd been gargling with Dean Martin's martini shaker. And somewhere in the building's guts, that damn dove was cooing its morning commentary.

The Colonel's note lay where I'd dropped it last night: "Meeting tomorrow, 2 PM sharp. Re: Memphis arrangements."

I looked at the clock. 1:07.

"Well, shit."

The phone rang before I could make it to the shower. For a moment, I considered letting it ring. But in Vegas, you learn quick that ignored calls have a way of turning into bigger problems.

"Hello?"

"Val? Thank God." my best friend’s voice carried all the manic energy of a Chicago morning. "I've been trying to reach you for hours! Have you seen the papers?"

I hadn't. Didn't want to.

"Listen, Dee, I can't really talk right now. I have a meeting—"

"About Memphis?"

The question hit like a slap. I sank onto the bed, still wearing last night's mistakes.

"How did you..."

"There's a blind item in the Tribune. 'Which Chicago music teacher has caught the King's eye? Sources say she's trading the Windy City for Graceland...'" Deena paused. "Val? Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

I practically felt whiplash from how fast the news got out. Through the wall, I could hear the Memphis Mafia stirring - boots on carpet, voices carrying through the International's expensive but thin walls. Red's laugh. Jerry's drawl. The sound of Elvis' world waking up.

"It's exactly what you think it is," I said finally. "And it's going to come out now anyway. His manager’s already planning how to 'handle' it."

The silence on the other end stretched like taffy.

"Holy shit," Deena whispered finally. "Holy actual shit. You and Elvis Presley? All this time? The mystery man you wouldn't tell me about... that was Elvis fucking Presley?"

"Dee—"

"But he's married! To that gorgeous wife who was in all the photos last night, kissing him like—" She stopped. "Oh honey. Those photos. Did you... were you there?"

The memory of that kiss, perfectly timed for the cameras, hit fresh. Elvis's hand on Priscilla's waist. The crowd's approving applause. Ann-Margret's knowing look.

"When I told you to ride that stallion till you break the saddle, I didn't mean steal someone else's horse!" Deena's voice cracked between humor and horror. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Elvis. Actually Elvis."

"I have to go," I said. "Meeting in, like, five minutes. Call me later." I lied. 

"Val, wait—"

I hung up. Stood there for a moment, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Last night's mascara made me look like a raccoon who'd lost a bar fight.

Time to face the music. Or in this case, the Colonel.

*

The Colonel's suite was a shrine to his greatest creation. Elvis stared down at me from every wall - movie posters, concert bills, gold records, photographs spanning from that first Sun Records publicity shot to last night's show. Young Elvis, GI Elvis, Hollywood Elvis, Comeback Elvis, Vegas Elvis. A hundred different versions of the same man, watching our little drama play out beneath their frozen gazes.

The irony wasn't lost on me. We were here to talk about Elvis, but the only Elvis present was made of paper and celluloid.

Red and Sonny flanked the door like bookends. Jerry lounged against a wall between "Love Me Tender" and "Blue Hawaii" posters, trying to look casual and failing. The Colonel himself sat behind a desk (flown in specially) that had probably witnessed a thousand deals, smoking a cigar that put out enough smoke to rival a carnival cotton candy machine.

"Ah, Miss Pedretti." The Colonel's eyes twitched with what might have been amusement. Or annoyance. "Right on time. Coffee?"

"No, thank you." I remained standing, though there was an empty chair positioned precisely in front of his desk - red velvet with gold tassels. The power play was obvious - him elevated, me lower. I wasn't playing. Behind him, a young Elvis smiled down at me. From the very early days. Had there been a girl standing in my spot that day too? Someone else who thought she was different, special?

“Suit yourself." The Colonel gestured at a stack of newspapers spread across his desk, right beneath a photo of Elvis signing his first RCA contract. His mom and dad were in the photo. Her eyes were sad. My eyes were sad looking at her. "I assume you've seen the morning editions?"

I hadn't, but I could see the headlines from where I stood. ELVIS ENDS VEGAS RUN WITH A KISS. KING AND QUEEN OF ROCK REUNITED. And smaller, in the gossip columns: MYSTERY WOMAN IN ELVIS' INNER CIRCLE?

"The paper’s been particularly... creative with their speculation," the Colonel continued. "Something about a Chicago singer-slash-music teacher?"

A distant coo echoed through the ventilation system. Even Tom's dove was eavesdropping.

"Now," the Colonel leaned forward, his head briefly blocking out Army Elvis's crisp salute in the frame behind him, "we need to discuss how we're going to handle your transition to Memphis. I've taken the liberty of arranging—"

"Where’s Elvis?"

The question landed like a grenade in church. Jerry straightened slightly. Red and Sonny suddenly found the ceiling fascinating - specifically, the spot where a massive photograph showed Elvis and the Colonel shaking hands on that first Vegas contract.

"Mr. Presley is... indisposed." The Colonel's voice could have frosted glass. "Mrs. Presley's flight leaves shortly, and certain... appearances must be maintained."

Of course. The real Elvis was playing the devoted husband one last time, seeing Priscilla off. Probably at this very moment they were posing for photographers at the airport, adding one more perfect image to the collection.

I looked at movie star Elvis smoldering down at me from the "Viva Las Vegas" poster. Had Ann-Margret stood in a room like this too? Had the Colonel tried to manage her the same way?

"As I was saying," the Colonel continued, "I've arranged for a house—"

"No."

His eyebrows climbed toward what was left of his hairline. "I beg your pardon?"

"No thank you?"

The silence that followed could have choked a carnival strongman. A hundred Elvises watched the standoff - jumpsuit Elvis, leather Elvis, clean-cut Elvis, rebel Elvis. All of them waiting to see what happened when someone said no to the Colonel.

"Miss Pedretti." He said it like he was explaining physics to a child. "Perhaps you don't understand how things work in Memphis. Mr. Presley's... companions require certain... accommodations."

"I'm not his companion." The words came out harder than I meant them. "I'm not his anything. I'm just going to Memphis."

The Colonel's laugh had all the warmth of a snake's belly. "My dear girl, nobody 'just' goes to Memphis. Not in Elvis' world." He pushed a folder across the desk, right past a framed photo of Elvis handing him a gold watch. "Now, I've had my people draw up some papers. Simple things - non-disclosure agreements, property arrangements, a modest monthly allow—"

"No." I didn't touch the folder. "I don't want your house or your money or your papers."

"Then what exactly do you want?"

The question hung in the air like smoke. What did I want? Elvis, obviously. But which one? I looked around the room at all his faces. Which one was real? The one who sang hymns with me? The one who kissed his wife for the cameras? The one who...

A knock at the door saved me from answering. Joe stuck his head in, looking harried.

"Colonel? Sorry to interrupt, but we got a situation. Seems Dean Martin's passed out in the fountain again, and he's telling everyone who'll listen about Elvis and the towel incident..."

The Colonel's face went through several interesting color changes. "Christ on a cracker. Red, Sonny - go handle that. Jerry, get the car ready. Mrs. Presley can't be late for her flight." He turned back to me. "This conversation isn't over, Miss Pedretti."

"Yes," I said quietly. "It is."

I walked out before he could respond, passing under the watchful eyes of a dozen paper Elvises. Behind me, I heard Jerry whistle low.

"Girl's got stones," he murmured to someone.

"Girl's got a death wish," came the response.

Maybe they were both right. I glanced back one last time as the door closed. The Colonel sat fuming beneath his gallery of conquests - every image a reminder of his control over Elvis's destiny.

But I wasn't going to be just another picture on his wall.

*

I found Elvis in his suite, standing at the window in an emerald green suit that hung perfectly on his tall, lithe frame. He was watching something in the distance - maybe the desert, maybe nothing. The real thing was somehow both more and less than all those images in the Colonel's room.

Our reflections caught in the window glass - him in that perfect suit, me still wearing yesterday's mascara and this morning's doubts. Despite myself, I let my eyes linger on the picture we made together. We looked good, in a way that had nothing to do with staging or the Colonel's careful arrangements. Where Priscilla was all porcelain perfection and carefully coiffed hair, I was warmer, earthier. My olive skin glowed next to Elvis's golden tan. My long dark hair fell in natural waves, untamed by hairspray and hot rollers. Where Priscilla's baby doll lips seemed perpetually pursed in careful consideration, my wider mouth was made for laughter, for singing, for other things I tried not to think about.

Different kinds of beautiful, maybe. But standing there next to Elvis, I couldn't help but notice how well we fit.

The sound of my heels on the carpet made him turn. His eyes were hidden behind blue-tinted glasses. 

"Heard you had a meeting with the Colonel," he said softly.

"Gee. Word travels fast ‘round here."

His laugh was hollow. "Everything travels fast here. Except time." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which..."

"You have to take her to the airport."

"Back to Memphis," he nodded. "At least for now. She'll head back to California soon enough." Something flickered across his face - relief? Regret? "Just needs to..." He trailed off.

"Needs to what?"

"Settle some things. At Graceland." His voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the implication. Priscilla would be there, in Memphis, when I arrived. On her turf. Or what used to be her turf.

"The Colonel had some interesting ideas about my living arrangements," I said, watching our reflections shift as Elvis moved closer.

His jaw tightened. "I told him to leave that alone."

"Did you really think he would?"

"No." He stepped behind me, his hands hovering near my shoulders but not quite touching. In the glass, we looked like a photograph waiting to be taken - the kind the Colonel would never allow. "But I hoped. Kind of like I hope you didn’t mean what you said. About finding your own place."

"I did."

"Even though I really want you to stay with me?"

"Even though."

In the window's reflection, I watched him study the contrast of us - his emerald suit against my rumpled red dress, his calculated (and rare) stillness against my untamed energy. When Priscilla stood next to him, they looked like matching dolls in a shop window. But this... we looked the part of the real couple. With real differences.

He nodded slowly. "You know what she said to me last night? After all the cameras were gone?"

I waited, watching his reflection's lips form the words.

"Said I better not turn you into another version of her." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Like I would even want that." His hands finally landed on my shoulders, warm through the thin fabric. "Look at you. Telling the Colonel no. Standing here looking like... like..."

"Like what?"

"Like the answer to my prayers."

I turned to face him then, breaking the spell of our reflection. Without the glass between us, he was more real, more dangerous. His hands slid down my arms, leaving heat in their wake.

"Elvis—"

A knock at the door made us both jump. Jerry's voice carried through: "Boss? Car's ready."

"Be right there." Elvis' hands tightened briefly on my arms before letting go. When he finally faced me, his eyes were tired behind those blue-tinted glasses. Human. "I have to..."

"I know."

He crossed the space between us in one fluid movement, caught my face between his hands. For a moment, I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he pressed his forehead to mine. He smelled of mint and promises.

"Wait for me?" he whispered. "I'll be back after..."

"After you play the dutiful husband one last time?"

His hands tightened slightly. "That ain’t fair."

"None of this is fair." 

I could be detached. I could deal with the casual dalliances and the pills, as long as it didn’t get out of hand. But Priscilla’s presence somehow still made my stomach queasy. I think it was the title. Wife had a certain ring to it. A certain authority, an outward declaration. I wanted that role. 

"No." He pulled back, slipped his glasses into place. Just like that, he was Elvis Presley again. "But it's what we've got."

The door opened and Red stuck his head in. "Boss? Mrs. Presley's ready."

Elvis straightened his jacket, checked his reflection one last time. Perfect again. Camera-ready. But just before he turned away, I caught him looking at our reflection once more - that impossible, imperfect picture of what could be.

"See you when I get back?" he asked.

I thought about all those images in the Colonel's room. All those different versions of Elvis, frozen in time. Which one would come back to me?

"Yeah," I said. "I'll be here."

He paused at the door, looking back. For a second, I could see him wanting to say something more. Then Jerry appeared with a reminder about airport traffic, and the moment was gone.

I watched from the window as they loaded into the waiting cars - Elvis in the lead car with Priscilla, the Memphis Mafia spread through the others like an honor guard. Even from so many floors up, I could see the photographers waiting. One last photo op of the perfect couple before reality set in.

*

I stayed at the window long after the cars disappeared, watching Vegas shimmer in the morning heat. Behind me, Elvis's suite felt different without him in it - bigger, emptier, more obviously a stage set than a home. His books were still scattered around, they hadn’t been packed up yet. A half-empty glass of water sat on the bedside table, aspirin dissolving forgotten at the bottom.

The phone rang, making me jump. Probably the Colonel, ready for round two.

But it was Lamar's voice that came through the line. "Valerie? You might want to come down to the lobby."

"Why?"

"Press got wind of something. They're asking about a Chicago music teacher."

My stomach dropped. "How many?"

"Enough." He paused. "Bring sunglasses. And maybe a scarf."

The lobby had transformed into a circus since I'd passed through it earlier. Photographers clustered around the entrance like hungry wolves, their cameras ready. Someone had leaked something. It didn't matter now.

What mattered was protecting Elvis.

I thought about Ann-Margret, about how she'd lost him partly because she'd talked to the press. About how fiercely he guarded his private world, even while living in the spotlight. About how trust, once broken, never quite mended the same way.

The Colonel stood near the reception desk, watching me with calculating eyes. For once, we wanted the same thing - to control this story. Just for very different reasons.

"Miss Pedretti." His voice carried across the lobby. "A word?"

Every head turned. I felt the cameras swivel, seeking their new target. Someone whispered "That's her." Another voice: "The teacher." A third: “I heard she’s a bar singer.”

I touched the scarf at my throat - one of Elvis's, smelling faintly of his cologne. Beneath it, my pulse hammered against my neck.

I had two choices: run back to the elevator, or face this head-on. But there was really only one choice. Because whatever happened next, I wouldn't be the one to betray Elvis's trust.

I dropped the scarf and sunglasses in my purse - hiding would only make it worse - and walked through the lobby like I had every right to be there. Like I was exactly what I'd tell them I was: a music teacher and a studio session musician (okay, so I stretched the truth a little) who'd found herself in an extraordinary situation, nothing more.

The cameras went crazy, questions flying like bullets: "Miss Pedretti, what's your relationship with Elvis?" 

"Are you moving to Memphis?" 

"What about Mrs. Presley?"

I stopped, turned, met their hungry gazes with a calm I didn't feel. When I spoke, my voice was steady.

"Mr. Presley has been very kind to a fellow musician. We share an interest in rhythm and blues. And gospel." A truth, if not the whole truth. "Beyond that, I don't discuss my friendships. If you have questions about Mr. Presley, I suggest you speak to his management."

The Colonel's eyebrows rose slightly - surprise? approval? - as I walked past him toward the exit. The cameras kept firing, but I didn't stop again.

I'd protected what mattered. Everything else was just noise.

*

A short while later, the Colonel caught up with me at the elevator on my walk back from lunch. "Interesting performance this afternoon."

"Not a performance."

"No?" His mustache twitched. "Could've fooled me. Very neat, very clean. 'Fellow musician.' 'Gospel music.' Almost like you'd rehearsed it."

The elevator doors opened. I stepped in, but he caught the door before it could close.

"Maybe," he said slowly, "we got off on the wrong foot this morning."

"Maybe."

"A girl who knows how to handle the press... that's valuable." He studied me with new interest. "Very valuable. Perhaps we could discuss those arrangements again—"

"No." But I softened it with a small smile. "Though I do appreciate the offer, Mr. Parker."

The doors started to close. This time he let them.

Back in my room, the phone was ringing again. Deena, probably, having had time to stew on it all. But when I picked up, it was Jerry.

"Boss wanted you to know he saw what you did down there earlier. Says to tell you..." 

Word traveled fast in this crew. I filed that bit of information away for later use. 

He paused, and could hear him smiling somehow. He was choosing his words carefully, aware of who might be listening. "Says you did good."

My throat tightened. "He's still at the airport?"

"On his way back, I think. Photographers were everywhere, of course." Jerry's voice dropped lower. "Listen, about Memphis..." I heard other voices behind him. “Listen, I’ll call you back.”

*

Lamar materialized at my door. "Boss is here. Wants you to meet him out back. Service entrance. Less cameras."

Less cameras, but not no cameras. There were always cameras now.

I found Elvis leaning against his Cadillac in the service alley, still in that perfect green suit but somehow looking more rumpled. His glasses were off, and his eyes were red-rimmed. The pills had worn off again. I made a mental note to watch his use a little more carefully. Just in case.

"Hey," he said softly.

"How was the airport?"

"Like a damn circus." He rubbed his face. "We played it perfect, of course. Always do. All smiles and waves, right up until she got on that plane." He paused. "Heard you had your own circus down here."

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Yeah." Something flickered in his expression. "Jerry told me what you said. About the gospel music."

"It's true, isn't it? We do share an interest."

"That all we share?"

The question hung between us like smoke. I thought about all those photographers, hungry for any hint of scandal. About the Colonel's calculating eyes. About Priscilla, perfect to the last moment.

"That's all they need to know," I said finally.

He studied me for a long moment, then pushed off from the car. In two strides he was there, his hands framing my face like he had in the suite. But this time he didn't stop.

The kiss was different than any we'd shared before - desperate, almost angry. Like he was trying to prove something. To me, to himself, to the whole damn world. His hands slid into my hair, messing it up.

When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.

"Inside," he muttered. "Now."

But before we could move, a flash went off at the end of the alley.

"Shit." Elvis turned, putting himself between me and the photographer. "Red! Sonny!"

The Memphis Mafia materialized from nowhere, intercepting the photographer who was already running. But we all knew it was too late.

Elvis's hands were shaking worse now. "Val, I—"

"Don't." I straightened my hair, tried to calm my racing heart. "We knew this would happen eventually."

"The Colonel's gonna—"

"Let me handle the Colonel."

He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Handle the Colonel? Baby, nobody handles the Colonel."

"I dunno.” I giggled like I knew something Elvis didn’t. “I kinda think he’s starting to like me.”

Another flash, this one from a different angle. Elvis swore under his breath.

"Get inside," he said. "I'll deal with this."

"Elvis—"

"Please." His voice cracked slightly. "Just... let me fix this. I can fix this."

But as I watched him stride toward the gathering photographers, all controlled power and perfect posture again, I wondered which version of "fixed" we were about to get.

*

Back in the hotel, everything moved fast. The Memphis Mafia scattered like pool balls after a break, each man with his own mission. Jerry was on the phone with newspapers, his voice smooth as silk: "No comment at this time." Red had the photographer's camera - though we all knew there had to be more photos out there. Lamar was coordinating with hotel security to lock down the service entrances. Sonny and Marty were watching the elevators on our floor.

And somewhere, the Colonel was planning.

I made it to the elevator before he found me.

"Inside." He didn't wait for my response, just steered me into the car with surprising strength for a man his age. The doors closed on us, and he hit the button for his floor.

"Mr. Parker—"

"Not one word." His voice was deadly quiet. "Not until we're in my office." So much for him starting to like me. 

The elevator seemed to crawl. Somewhere above us, that damn dove cooed - even it knew we were in trouble.

His office felt different now. All those Elvis images on the walls weren't just pictures anymore - they were warnings. See what I built? See what I can destroy?

"Sit."

This time, I sat.

"Now then." He lit a cigar with deliberate calm. "Let's discuss what happens next."

"Nothing happens next. It was just a kiss."

His laugh could have stripped paint. "Just a kiss? With a married man? In broad daylight? After you so carefully told those reporters you were 'just friends'?" He blew a perfect smoke ring. "No, my dear. This is what happens next: You're going to take a generous settlement and disappear. Back to Chicago, preferably. We'll spin it as a brief friendship, nothing more. Elvis was being kind to a fellow musician, just like you said. End of story."

"No." 

"No?" His eyebrows climbed. "Perhaps you didn't understand. This isn't a negotiation."

"You're right." I met his gaze. "It's not. Because there's nothing to negotiate. I’m not disappearing unless—"

"Then let me be clearer." He leaned forward. "Elvis Presley is more than a man. He's an industry. An empire. And that empire is built on certain... understandings. With his public. With his wife."

"His wife who lives in California?"

His mustache twitched. "A temporary arrangement."

"Like I'm supposed to be? Another 'temporary arrangement'?"

"Now you're beginning to understand."

“I’ll only go away if Elvis wants me to. I’d like to hear it from him, please.”

As if on cue, the phone on his desk rang. He answered it, listened, then held it out to me.

"For you. It's Elvis." His smile hadn't wavered. "He's going to tell you he's fixed everything. That there's a plan. A story we're going to tell." He paused. "The question is: are you going to play along?"

I took the phone, my hand steady despite everything.

"Elvis?"

"Baby, listen..." His voice was tight. "I know what to do. But you're not going to like it."

Behind his desk, the Colonel watched me like a snake watching a mouse. Some choices, I was learning, weren't really choices at all. But how you played them - that was everything.

"The story's simple," Elvis said, his voice tight with something between exhaustion and resignation. "You're my new backup singer. Been rehearsing in secret. That's why you're coming to Memphis. Professional opportunity, nothing more."

​​I watched the Colonel's satisfied smile grow behind his cigar smoke. Of course this was his idea - neat, clean, controllable. A story that would explain everything while revealing nothing.

"The kiss..." Elvis continued.

"Was gratitude," I finished, seeing the shape of it. "Excitement over the opportunity. A momentary celebration caught at an unfortunate angle."

"Yeah." He sounded tired. So tired. "Colonel's already got the contracts drawn up. Real ones, not just for show. You'll actually have to..."

"Sing backup?" I almost laughed. "Elvis, I've been singing my whole life."

"Yeah, but this is different. This is..."

"Playing a part?"

The silence on the line spoke volumes.

"It's a good solution," the Colonel cut in, clearly having heard every word on his extension. "Clean. Professional. Gives you a legitimate reason to be in Memphis, access to Graceland for rehearsals, everything you want. Just with... proper boundaries."

Proper boundaries. Right. Like the ones he'd established for all those other girls, the ones whose pictures didn't make it onto his wall of fame.

"There's one condition," Elvis said suddenly. "My condition, not the Colonel's."

I waited.

"You keep your own place. Like you wanted. No arrangements, no settlements. You do this as a professional, not as..."

Not as what? His mistress? His kept woman? Another Ann-Margret who got too close to the sun?

"Okay," I said.

The Colonel's eyebrows rose slightly. He'd expected more fight, more negotiation. But he didn't understand - I wasn't negotiating. I was playing chess.

"Just like that?" Elvis sounded surprised too.

"Just like that." I kept my voice level, professional. "When do we start rehearsals?"

What followed was a blur of activity. Contracts appeared as if by magic - the Colonel had probably had them ready since that first elevator ride. Throughout it all, I signed where I was told, smiled when expected, played the part of the grateful unknown singer getting her big break. 

Statements were prepared for the press. A schedule materialized for rehearsals, appearances, recordings. Something flickered in the old man’s eyes - recognition, maybe. Of what, I wasn't sure yet. 

It was late afternoon by the time everything was "handled." The photos from the alley had mysteriously vanished, though we all knew copies existed somewhere. The press had their official story. Even that damn dove seemed to have finally found somewhere else to roost.

"Perhaps," the Colonel said softly, "I underestimated you."

I smiled and headed back to my room.

*

Packing shouldn't have been hard. I hadn't brought much to Vegas in the first place. But somehow my belongings had multiplied, scattered across the suite like evidence of a life I hadn't planned on living.

"You'll want to pack light," Jerry said from the doorway. He'd appeared with coffee and what he called "Memphis wisdom," though I suspected he just didn't want me to be alone after the alley incident. "Graceland's got its own weather system. Nothing you bring is gonna make sense there anyway."

"Helpful, Jer. Real helpful." I held up two dresses - one Elvis had sent up last week, one I'd brought from Chicago. The difference in quality was almost embarrassing.

"Take both," he advised. "You'll need the fancy one for show, the real one to feel like yourself." He paused. "That's the trick, you know. For when everything else gets crazy."

I folded both dresses carefully, thinking about Elvis's books scattered across my bed, their margins filled with his handwritten notes. Questions, observations, searches for meaning in scientific formulas and ancient wisdom. I'd been packing them when Jerry arrived.

"Speaking of crazy," Red's voice came from the hall, "wait'll you meet the Memphis ladies." He joined Jerry in the doorway, looking oddly formal. "Got a whole briefing prepared for you about that."

"A briefing?"

"Those women are sharks in southern belle clothing," he said seriously. "Especially the ones who've had their eye on Elvis since high school. They're gonna hate you on principle."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Red."

"Just trying to prepare you." But his eyes were kind. "Though something tells me you can handle them just fine."

I picked up Elvis's jacket from the chair - the one I'd been wearing this morning when everything changed. His cologne still clung to it faintly, mixing with the gin stains from last night's party. Had that really been less than 24 hours ago?

"Leave the jacket," Jerry said quietly. "Trust me on that one."

Before I could respond, Lamar appeared behind Red and Jerry, making the doorway look like a Memphis Mafia convention.

"Y'all telling stories about Memphis?" He squeezed past them into the room. "Let me tell you about Elvis's first day at Graceland. There he is, king of the world, right? And he can't figure out how to work the dang intercom system. Kept accidentally broadcasting everything to the whole house. And I mean everything." He winked. "Including some very private conversations with very private guests, if you know what I mean."

"Lamar," Jerry warned.

"What? She should know what she's getting into! Place is like a funhouse sometimes. Secret passages, hidden doors, two-way windows - Elvis had them put in during renovations. Says it's for security, but really he just likes playing hide and seek."

I tried to picture it - Elvis Presley, the king of rock and roll, playing hide and seek in his mansion. What would he need a two-way window for? Yet, somehow it wasn't hard to imagine at all.

The phone rang, making us all jump. The Memphis Mafia exchanged glances.

"That'll be your pal again," Jerry said. "She's called four times."

I stared at the phone. "How do you know?"

"We know everything, honey." Red smiled. "Part of the job."

I picked up the receiver. Sure enough: "Val? Finally! I've been trying to call you back all day!"

The Memphis Mafia made themselves scarce, but not before Jerry mouthed "be careful" and tapped his ear - reminding me that in Vegas, walls had ears and phones had extensions.

"Dee." I cut her off, gentle but firm. "I need you to listen very carefully. Can you do that?"

A pause. Then, quieter: "Yeah."

"I can't tell you everything. Not yet. But I need you to trust me when I say that what's in those papers... it's not the whole story. And I need you to not tell anyone anything beyond what's already out there. Can you do that for me?"

The silence stretched so long I thought we'd been disconnected. Finally: "This is really serious, isn't it?"

"Yeah." I twisted the phone cord around my finger. "It really is."

"But you're okay? You're being careful?"

I thought about the Colonel's offer, about Elvis's message through Jerry, about all the delicate threads I was trying to navigate.

"I'm trying to be."

"Val, a backup singer? Really? That's the story they're going with?"

I started folding a sweater, phone cradled against my shoulder. "That's the truth they're going with."

She caught the emphasis. "Oh. Oh." A pause. "So we're not talking about the real truth yet?"

"Not yet."

Another pause. Then: "Okay. But Valerie?"

"Yeah?"

"When you can tell me... when it's safe... you'll tell me everything?"

"Everything I can," I promised. "Just... not yet."

After I hung up, I found Elvis's books again. Opening one at random, I found a passage underlined: "The truth is rarely pure and never simple." In the margin, his handwriting asked: "But what if you're living multiple truths?"

*

A knock at the door made me look up. Elvis stood there, looking somehow both perfect and wrecked. His hair was immaculate but his eyes were tired behind his glasses.

"Hey," he said softly. He took in the scene - the half-packed suitcases, the scattered books, his jacket still draped over the chair.

"Need help packing?"

"I’m almost done. Just trying to figure out what belongs in Memphis and what should stay in Vegas."

He understood the real question. Moving into the room, he picked up one of his books. "Take ‘em all," he said. "We can read them together at Graceland. When things are... quiet."

"Does it get quiet there?"

"Sometimes. Late at night, or early morning. When everyone else is asleep." He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb my packing. "It's different than here. Better in some ways, harder in others."

"Because of Priscilla?"

"Because of everything." He rubbed his face. "You know she redecorated the whole place when we got married? Made it exactly what she thought it should be."

"Nothing wrong with that, Elvis. That’s what women do." I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah but now it's like living in a museum sometimes. Even the air feels..." He trailed off.

"Curated?"

"Yeah." He looked at me then, really looked at me. "That's what I love about you, you know? You always find the right words."

"That why you kissed me? In the alley?"

His hands tightened on the book he was holding. "I kissed you because I couldn't not kiss you anymore."

The air between us felt electric, dangerous.

"Baby—"

"I know." He stood up abruptly. "I know we can't. Not now. Not with everything..." He gestured vaguely. "But in Memphis. When things settle… God, Valley Cat, I can’t wait to…”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever he might have said next. Joe stuck his head in.

"Boss? Car's ready whenever you are. And the Colonel wants—"

"Tell the Colonel I'll be there when I'm there." For once, Elvis's voice held an edge of real authority. I liked it.

Joe disappeared. Elvis turned back to me.

"I have to go. More appearances, more pictures, more..." He shrugged. "You know."

"I know."

He moved to the door, then stopped. "The backup singer story... I'm sorry about that. I know it's not what you wanted."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. But it's what we've got." He smiled slightly. "For now."

After he left, I continued packing. The books went in first - all of them, even the ones I hadn't read yet. Then the dresses, both fancy and plain. But the jacket... Jerry was right. The jacket stayed behind.

The sun was setting over Vegas, painting the desert in shades of pink and gold. From my window, I could see photographers still lingering near the hotel entrance. Four weeks ago, I'd stood at this same window, watching Elvis's world from the outside. Now I was part of it, for better or worse.

A familiar coo made me look up. That damn dove was perched on my windowsill, looking remarkably pleased with itself.

"You're not coming to Memphis," I told it firmly.

It just cooed again, like it knew something I didn't.

Maybe it did.

*

I was deep in dreamless sleep when the knock came. So faint I almost missed it. For a moment I thought it was part of the dream, until it came again. Soft, uncertain, not like Elvis's usual confident rap.

When I opened the door, he was leaning against the frame, pajama shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes unfocused behind his glasses. His hair, usually perfect, fell across his forehead in a way that made him look impossibly young.

"Hey songbird," he slurred slightly. "Can I... can I come in?"

I hesitated. I'd never seen him this far gone before.

He swayed a little, caught himself. "Please?" His voice cracked on the word. "Just need... need somewhere quiet. Need you."

Something in my chest twisted at the naked vulnerability in his voice. I stepped aside to let him in. He made it three steps before stumbling. I caught him, guided him to the nearest chair.

"Everything's spinning," he mumbled, letting his head fall back. "Doctor Nick gave me something new. Said it would help with the... with the..." He gestured vaguely at his head. "But it's not... I can't..."

"Shh," I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "It's okay."

"No." He caught my hand, pressed it to his cheek. "Not okay."

He pulled me down onto his lap, hands clumsy but insistent as they found the zipper of my nightgown. "Need you," he mumbled against my neck. "Been needing you so long..."

For a moment, I let myself feel it - the weight of him, the heat of his mouth, everything I'd been dreaming about since that first elevator ride. But his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't manage the zipper. His words slurred together as he tried to kiss me and missed.

"Not like this," I said softly, catching his hands. "Not when you're not yourself."

"But I am myself," he insisted, eyes struggling to focus. "Love you. I love you."

My heart stopped. "Elvis, you're not—"

"No." He pressed his forehead to mine, suddenly intense. "This is right. I love you. Been trying not to but I do."

His voice broke on the last word and suddenly he was crying - silent tears sliding down his perfect face. Without thinking, I gathered him to me, cradling his head against my chest. He curled into me like a child, all that powerful frame somehow becoming small and lost.

"It's okay," I whispered, rocking him slowly. "I've got you."

I held him like that for what felt like hours, studying his face in the dim light. The thick fan of his lashes wet with tears. The vulnerable curve of his mouth. The slight tremor in his jaw that betrayed how hard he was fighting for control.

Something shifted in my chest - a fierce protectiveness mixing with a love so deep it almost scared me. I wanted to be needed by him. Wanted to be the one who could hold him like this, who could see him at his most vulnerable and love him more for it, not less.

"M'sorry," he mumbled eventually. "Didn't mean to... to fall apart like that."

"Don't be sorry." I wiped his cheeks gently. "Ever."

He caught my hand, pressed a clumsy kiss to my palm. "Still coming to Memphis? Even after seeing me like this?"

"Especially after seeing you like this."

We made our slow way to his suite, him leaning heavily on my shoulder. The halls were empty - the Memphis Mafia mysteriously absent. Maybe they knew to give him this privacy. This moment of absolute vulnerability.

At his door, he turned to me. For a second, his eyes cleared.

"Meant it," he said softly. "About loving you."

"I know." I touched his cheek. "But tell me again tomorrow when you're you."

"Promise you'll still be here tomorrow?"

"Promise."

I waited until his door closed before letting out the breath I'd been holding. The empty hallway suddenly felt very long, very quiet. We'd have to talk about the pills eventually. About limits and boundaries and all the things that could go wrong. But not tonight.

Tonight, I just wanted to remember the weight of him in my arms. The trust it took for him to let me see him like this. The way my heart had cracked and mended and grown when he'd said he loved me, even through the chemical haze.

Because somewhere between that first elevator ride and this moment, between Vegas glamour and raw need, I'd fallen completely, irrevocably in love with him. Not Elvis Presley the star, but this complicated, brilliant, troubled man who read numerology and cried in my arms and trusted me to get him home safe.

I wasn't going anywhere.

*

Morning came too soon. The hotel staff who'd barely noticed me four weeks ago now watched my every move, their eyes following me with a mix of curiosity and calculation. The maids whispered in corners. The bellhops suddenly knew my name. Even the woman who'd cleaned my room every day, Marie, looked at me differently as she helped pack my final items.

"You take care," she said softly, folding my last dress. "It's not like Vegas there."

The front desk clerk who'd checked me in that first day - Brenda, still blizzard-cold - handed me my final bill with a knowing smile. "So. Backup singer?"

I just smiled, remembering how she'd dismissed me a month ago. How I'd been nobody then - just another hopeful in a city full of them. Now I was somebody. Or at least, I was somebody's somebody.

Elvis had left earlier, his departure orchestrated by the Colonel down to the last detail. Priscilla was already in Memphis, preparing Graceland. I would fly commercial, arrive hours after them. Keep up appearances. Play the part.

I wasn't to go near Graceland, not yet. Not while Priscilla was there. The Colonel had made that crystal clear - I was to find an apartment far away from Graceland until... until what? Until Priscilla left? Until some arbitrary waiting period passed? Until the scandal died down? I felt caught in limbo, neither here nor there.

My stomach churned with guilt as I thought about her. How must she feel, knowing her husband's... what was I exactly? Mistress seemed too tawdry, girlfriend too simple for whatever this complex thing between Elvis and me was becoming. But whatever I was, I was coming to her town, into her world. Sure, Elvis swore their marriage was over, that she had her own life in California now. But she was still his wife. Still the woman whose home I was effectively invading, even if I wouldn't be living under her roof.

My cheeks burned with shame. Part of me wanted to do right by her - maybe even eventually talk to her, explain... what? That I loved her husband? That I couldn't help myself? That I believed him when he said they were done?

But another part of me bristled at feeling guilty at all. If they really were separated, if she really was building a new life in California, why shouldn't I be with Elvis? Why shouldn't I take this chance with him?

I made a mental note to find out the truth about their marriage - not from Elvis, whose view was complicated by pills and promises, but from someone who would know. Maybe Jerry. Maybe Red. Someone who could tell me if divorce was really on the horizon or if I was just another chapter in Elvis' story of extramarital adventures.

The press lingered outside despite the early hour, their cameras ready. I spotted the one who'd caught us in the alley - he had the decency to look slightly ashamed when our eyes met.

Red appeared at my elbow as I headed for the cab. "Ready?"

"No."

He laughed. "Nobody ever is."

Looking up at the International's gleaming façade, I remembered that first day. How overwhelming it had all seemed. How impossible. I'd been so naive then, thinking talent and determination were enough. Now I knew better. Now I knew about pills and promises, about public faces and private truths, about loving someone so completely that even their broken pieces felt precious.

A familiar coo made me look up one last time. That damn dove sat on the hotel awning, watching my departure like it had watched everything else.

"Still here?" I called up to it.

Red followed my gaze. "Tom's trying to catch it, you know. Says it's his responsibility."

"Tell him to let it be." I smiled. "Some things aren't meant to be caught."

The cab pulled up. Red loaded my bags while I took one last look at the Strip, already shimmering in the heat. Somewhere up there was the elevator where it all began. The suite where Elvis had cried in my arms last night. The lobby where I'd first heard him laugh.

"Miss?" The driver was waiting.

I slid into the back seat, letting Vegas fall away behind me. In a few hours, I'd be in Memphis. In Graceland. In Elvis's world for real.

The morning sun caught my reflection in the cab window. I looked different somehow. Older, maybe. Or just... more. More aware. More certain. More myself.

"Airport," I told the driver. Then, softer, more to myself than anyone: "Time to see what Memphis has in store."

As we pulled away, I could have sworn I heard one last coo from above. A goodbye, maybe. Or a warning.

Either way, there was no turning back now.

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[bigidiotenergytm]

Poseidon looked at the tiny human before him, his expression unreadable.

An offer of servitude, huh? That was quite a surprise. As much as he wanted the puny mortal to perish, perhaps this would truly be a better alternative.

After all, killing the king would be too quick and, as such, would bring him no satisfaction.

Servitude, on the other hand, seemed tempting. Especially with how humiliating and humbling it would be for the arrogant Greek.

After a couple of seconds of dead silence, the god's expression finally changed, no longer hiding his thoughts.

A sly smile spread across his lips, his sharp, shark-like teeth shining in the midday sun.

"Hm, that's quite an interesting offer, king of Ithaca. I hope you understand what you are getting yourself into."

The earth-shaker paused for a second, placing his index finger under his chin as if deep in thought. Then, he looked the captain in the eyes. A wide, toothy grin was plastered on his face.

"Very well, I will accept your offer. However, take heed: I will be the one to decide how long your punishment will last."

With those ominous words, the lord of the seas summoned a large wave before allowing it to wash over the ship.

The men aboard let out a few screams, once again worried for their lives. The wave, however, harmed none of them.

Instead, when their panic finally subsided and they looked around, now drenched in salt water, their hearts sank; their captain was no longer.

Where Odysseus stood now lay only his royal belongings, the ones he shed in order to save them all.

The god of tides was gone as well, leaving a tranquil sea in his wake. The king of Ithaca had been taken underwater to serve the lord of the ocean.

Realizing what had happened, the crew began to weep, already missing their loyal king and brother.

After a while, once they had ran out of tears, they looked at the second in command, their eyes hopeful and pleading.

Eurylochus sighed, already aware of what the men were asking. He would have to take on the role of a leader and, worst of all, he would have to tell Penelope that her husband had become Poseidon's servant.

"We'll make it home, Ody, I promise. And I will ensure your wife and son are protected and well taken care of. It's the least I can do for you, captain."

I see you on the brink of death.

Of course it was the BETTER ALTERNATIVE. Odysseus was still handing his life to Poseidon on a silver platter.

Death was easier. A captain joining his crew at the bottom of the ocean. Their souls all but BEGGED for him in the Underworld. He could have given his life to save these remaining 43. Only but to echo the NOBLE SACRIFICE amongst his kingdom. Odysseus would go down a hero. A martyr. A fitting end.

But he can feel her. Feel Penelope. Wrapping her arms around him. The embrace he remembers. The embrace he loves. The embrace he's getting back to.

It doesn't matter how.

Odysseus's head hangs. Peppered locks overshadowing his eyes. Not even looking up as Poseidon finally replies. Finally considers. He doesn't decide right away. No. The Sea God has to make his point. Has to leave that offer in the salty air of his ocean. It has to bury deep. It has to be mocked.

Even when Poseidon accepts it. Eyes meet the God of Storm's. There wasn't another word that's said. His tide becomes an all-powerful wave, its shadow overcasting the ship as it only reminds the mortals on it how tiny their lives truly are. And just how short they can become.

I see you draw your final breath.

Odysseus can only lift his head high, closing his eyes. Accepting what's to come.

The wave overcomes the entire ship. Its water crashing against his skin as its sweeping force forces him to succumb to its raging current. Its pull dragging him into its water and deep underneath the surface. And it hurts. The pressure, the sea's grip, the cold ocean quickly replacing the air in his lungs.

I see a man who gets to make it home alive-

Odysseus struggles. That mortal, indomitable will to survive. A hand reaching out as Helios's influence basking the ocean's surface begins to darken. The surface blurs into a familiar shape. A shape telling him that he can relax. That it can tell he's getting nervous. ... Polities. That shape only joined by another. One telling him she'll stay in his heart. His mother. Then Penelope. Then Telemachus.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting-

But it's NO LONGER YOU.

Everything goes black.

[tylermileslockett]

POSEIDON

“I begin to sing about Poseidon, the great god, mover of the earth and fruitless sea, god of the deep who is also lord of Helicon and wide Aegae. A two-fold office the gods allotted you, O Shaker of the Earth, to be a tamer of horses and a saviour of ships!”  

(-Homeric Hymn, translated by H.G. Evelyn white)

POSEIDON(puh-SAI-din) is the God of the seas, earthquakes, droughts, and horses. Pulled along in his seashell chariot by half-horse, half-fish creatures called Hippocampi, he holds his sacred trident high, bringing a tumultuous storm behind him. Standing beside him is his sea nymph wife, Amphitrite, who is the eldest of fifty nereid daughters of Nereus; the “old man of the sea.” 

Amongst the waters are the god’s faithful followers. The half-fish, half-man creature at bottom right is Triton, herald son of Poseidon, who uses a conch shell to calm the waves and announce the God’s arrival. In the middle is a Nereid, a female sea nymph, typically portrayed as a maiden riding a dolphin. Bottom left is Palaimon, sea god and protector of sailors, sometimes depicted as a boy on a dolphin. 

The god of the sea is known for his savage retributions. One fascinating episode involves Poseidon and Athena entering a competition to become the patron god of Athens. Upon the Acropolis, Poseidon produces a salt water spring for the Athenians, while Athena wins by creating the first olive tree. The sea god, in his anger, sends a flood to punish the mortals. In the odyssey, after Odysseus blinds Poseidon’s son, the giant cyclops Polyphemus, the god causes havoc and disaster for the hero and his crew as they attempt to sail home. Poseidon sends Cetusthe sea serpent to punish QueenCassiopa for her hubris in comparing her daughter Andromedato the nereids. And, he sends a bull from the sea to terrorize Theseus’ son Hippolytus’ chariot.

Want to own my Illustrated Greek myth book jam packed with over 130 illustrations like this? Support my book kickstarter "Lockett Illustrated: Greek Gods and Heroes" coming in early 2024. check my bio LINKTREE

Thanks for looking and reading! :)

[elliebyrrdwrites]

The Marriage Law Trope part 4

The little guest house is nestled into the far south corner of the property. There’s a pathway that leads from the front gates, winding around the manor, through the gardens, and past the quidditch pitch. It goes along the pond mother had installed before I was born, filling it with koi fish and lining it with cherry blossoms that are charmed with the perfect temperament year round. Every season, the cherry blossoms bloom. Snow and ice cling to the thing branches and the delicate flowers and even I have to appreciate the sheer beauty of it all. Because the pond freezes over and when my mother was younger and I was just a boy, she’d ice skate and pull me around on a sled tied to a string. I don’t remember it, but she swears I loved it.

The path, it snakes its way through the luxurious estate that I was raised on and it leads to a cottage style home that the earth clings to. The moss grows up the side of the white wood slats of planks and the windows are trimmed with aqua green paint and sweet peas that sprout and bloom along the vines that crawl up the sides of the home.

The guest house has three bedrooms. Only the master bedroom has a bed. I can see mother has been inside. Because, while she does her duty as a good little pureblood wife, what she really wants, is the chance of a grandchild. She wants to see me become a father and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why. Because I’m the worst. I was raised by the worst father in history.

But, she has come into this place and gutted the two spare bedrooms. She’s taken away the opportunity for us to both gravitate toward the only room with comfort to sleep in.

You enter the cottage and you find yourself in the middle of a space of clean, white furniture that opens up to a large kitchen with white countertops, white cabinipetry and aqua green accents hidden throughout. Like the thin little lines of x’s that are pressed into the white subway tiles behind the stove. Or the little salt and pepper shakers, or the jar meant to hold flour.

But it’s all white and clean and I look at the inside of this cottage and I want to see splashes of colors that don’t make you feel clean. I see the inside of this house all whit and blank and empty and I have to fight the urge to cut open my hand and smear blood against the walls or the couch.

Down the hall, there’s several doors. First, there’s a bathroom, all white and black tiled with a little picture hanging over the toilet that is an old advertisement for soap in French.

Across from the bathroom, is a guest room that is barren. Just wooden floors that are meant to look old and worn but really, they are brand new. The wood planks continue throughout the entire house and down the hall is a laundry room, beside that is another guest room that is full of boxes.

But at the end of the hallway is the master bedroom. It’s where the large, king sized bed is. The bed sits in the middle of the east well. Night stands on either side. Everything in this room is warm earth tones because on the west wall is a wall made entirely of glass that over looks the woods crowding the edge of the house. There’s a sliding door that opens up to a wooden deck. On the deck, there’s a table and two chairs. There’s a hammock attached to the two moderately young oak trees.

And this is where we will live.

This is where our story will take place.

Because, for now, this is our home.

Granger must hate this. Her entire life has been ripped apart and broken down. It’s been broken down and stuffed into boxes with labels that don’t tell you anything about what she has done or what she had been through.

Her life has been broken down and stuffed into boxes like an after thought.

Books, kitchen. Photos, more books.

There’s boxes of clothes, and boxes of shoes. There’s boxes of Knick knacks and sports equipment. I didn’t even know Granger liked sports.

But her life is here, compartmentalized into boxes and they’re lining the hallway of our new home and it’s fucking frightening. Because it’s me and it’s Granger and she’s my wife and I feel the need to snoop through her boxes because I know nothing about her.

Yes, she’s the Golden Girl.

Yes, she’s a swot.

Yes, she’s bossy and had big hair.

Yes, her tits are superb and her lips could kill me.

But, I know nothing else.

Since we were forced to get engaged, I’ve seen her cry over the idea of marrying me, only to kiss me on our wedding day like it was a long time coming. She kissed me like she’s been doing it for years. I’ve seen her stand up to my father, as if they have some sort of ancient history of rivalry.

And now she’s stomping into the master bedroom where I’ve been checking for traps or bugs meant for spying and she’s pouting like a child.

“What are you doing?”

Currently, I’m checking the floorboards for any trap doors or hiding places. So, I roll onto my back and I blow out a sigh before folding my arms under my head.

She standing over me in her little cut off denims and her big baggy sweater and she’s chewing on her fat little lip and all I can do is recall the way it felt to have it against my mouth.

“What?” I ask and she rolls her eyes and uncrosses her arms. They fall to her side and her eyes roam over me. The way my plain white shirt rides up, revealing the course hairs that lead from my navel, to below the waistband of my pants. They roam over the tattoo that is branded into my arm. They bounce from my eyes to my cheeks. Theirs sallow and sunken. My skin is pale, my eyes are dark and my lips are almost always chapped. I think, once upon a time, I used to be considered attractive, pretty even. But even the most beautiful sculptures made out of the finest stone can wither away if left out in the elements.

But Grangers eyes are hard to read. They’re always bright and sunny, though something tells me they are dulled, worn down from how they used to be. They’re always guarded.

“I can’t transfigure anything into a bed.”

I suck through my front teeth. “McGonagall would be disappointed.”

“I know how to do it, you arse, but nothing will take.”

I sniff and stare up at her. From here, I can almost see up her shorts. There’s enough of a gap between her skin and the denim that there’s an alluring shadowy space that makes me want to reach my hand out and touch her. It’s enough of a gap and enough shadow to let my imagination go wild. I can imagine a freckle on her inner thigh, oddly shaped like a heart.

Fuck.

I’m not supposed to want to fuck my wife. Not when I was going to marry Astoria and definitely not now that I am married to Granger.

But that kiss.

This witch had cursed me and blessed me. Because despite the never ending attack of ants fueled by anxiety, I feel like I’m alive.

Granger is giving me life and purpose and I hate her for it.

I love it.

It feels good, great even.

She’s looking down at me, expectantly. She’s looking at me like I’m supposed to fix this.

“That,” I prop myself up onto my elbows. “Is most likely due to mother’s meddling.”

“What?” She almost laughs at the idea. Because, yes. Narcissa is a dutiful wife and she does her best to back up her husband but, more than anything, she wants a grandchild.

Something tells me that if I were to have a child, it would somehow give her a chance to do things differently.

Like, shower their child with love and protect them from the patriarchal dictator of a father.

“There is only one bed in this house, for a reason, and something tells me that if one of us was to fall asleep on the couch, it would likely kick us off of it.”

Her lips do that thing, again, where it turns into a little rosebud. She’s staring down at me with unreadable emotions flashing quickly, across her face before she sighs and turns to observe the room. she looks at the wall of windows. She looks at the massive bed. The only bed in the entire house.

“I prefer the side closest to the door.”

Grangers head jerks down and her big golden eyes look down at me with that same unreadable expression. That’s when I realize something.

Granger is occluding. And from what I can tell, it’s only something she’s learned how to do recently.

And I know, I know, it’s because she’s married to me.

And that is when I realize that I’ve been letting my walls down and the longer I’m around her, the harder it is to keep them up.

Trust me, I know.

And now I’m living with this witch. It’s like being behind enemy lines, only the war is over and we have been forced together. We’ve been forced into a new kind of war. One that is all our own and we are the only soldiers, the only collateral and I can’t figure out if there’s even a chance of a winner or a loser.

Granger looks at the bed, the only bed, and I see her swallow as she fights to build those walls back up.

I need to stop her. I need to make this a fair fight. If I cannot keep mine up, then neither can she.

I shift onto one elbow and my other hand lifts to her ankle. My hand wraps around it. Her entire ankle fits inside of my hand. It’s a perfect fit.

And she jerks and her eyes return to me. She takes her eyes and she gives them back to me as I tighten my hold on her.

“This is the chain.” I say, glancing back to my hand. “And me,” I look at her and she’s all wide eyed and her lips are parted as she inhales deeply. “I’m the ball.” I slide my hand up, allowing my fingers to open up as it reachers her calf. “You’re stuck with me.”

I tighten my grip on her calf and she jumps out of my grasp. I grin up at her as she takes a step back and glares down at me.

And before she lifts her chin into the air and stomps away, going back to unpacking her life that has been divided and stuffed into boxes, she almost smirks as she says, “This isn’t going to go the way you think it is, Draco.”

Trust me, I know.

Because she slipped again.

To Granger, I am not Malfoy. To Granger, I am not just the boy who teased her in school.

To Granger, I am something else.

[one-winged-dreams]

I can't believe my first JJK ship art is this bullshit.

I had to do a warmup because i'm working on stuff for friends, so here you go. A reference to this post and its tags.

The cult leader needs his giant monster boyfriend to help him sleep.

You're all getting tagged but no pressure to rb whatever the fuck this is.

tag list: @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus @earth-shaker @dorothys-wife @the-sleeping-city

@mahitosoulmate @goldenworldsabound @dear-gambler @little-miss-selfships @sunstar-of-the-north

@faerie-circle-ships @heatobrienswife @tireddovahkiin

[sadhours]

I stg I need a fic with billy and his lil housewife and (possible) breeding kink.

Just imagine he's coming home from work everyday and you've got his dinner made and everything. And not the abusive kinda housewife shit. But you love being his lil wifey. Love cooking him meals and preparing his clothes and lunch every morning before he leaves for work.

And the first thing he does when he comes home is giving you a big ole kiss on the cheek and thanking you for all your effort around the house

"Dinner looks so fucking good, love when you cook for me like this. You're absolutely amazing."

And oh godddd when he tells you he wants a kid (took lots of thinking for him) and he's expecting you to say no because you're both so young still. (20-22) but you say yes and now you're starting your own lil family.

big fan of the housewife thing. 🥵

18+ minors dni!!! Smut!

Falling into the role of Billy’s doting housewife was easy. Hell, you were doing it before he even put this beautiful ring on your finger. It shimmers in the sunlight as you smear mayonnaise on bread while you prepared his lunch for the day and you feel so warm and fuzzy at the memory of your wedding day. How absolutely gorgeous Billy looked in his tuxedo and the way his eyes lit up, all glassy when you walked down the aisle. You heave a happy sigh, layering meat and cheese on the bread. You’d requested the ham be sliced as thin as possible, almost shredded, just the way Billy liked it. You close the sandwich up and slide it into the ziploc baggie, zipping it up before delicately placing it in his lunch pail, along with a bag of Lay’s and a can of coke. You grab the pad of heart shaped sticky notes and press a sharpie to it.

I hope your day is as lovely as you are, you scrawl onto it in practiced cursive.

You carefully lay the note on top of the lunch and close the lid, latching it closed before hurrying to the bedroom and opening the closet door, meticulously retrieving Billy’s uniform from the rack and laying it out on the bed for him. Your long, satin nightdress sways with your movements. You hear the bathroom door open as you’re placing a pair of socks and briefs on the bed and you’re overtaken with the warmness of Billy’s body pressing into yours from behind. He places delicate kisses to the back of your neck, chills running up to meet his lips.

“Mmm,” he purrs, “Thank you, darling.”

You melt in his arms, leaning up to smooch his lips. “You’re so very welcome,” you grin.

He gives a loving tap to your rear before dropping the towel from his waist and snatching the briefs you’d picked out for him. You kiss his cheek, turning to return to kitchen and pouring him his cup of coffee and dish up his breakfast. It’s the same breakfast every weekday, hash browns, extra crispy bacon and sunny side up eggs. On the weekends, Billy spoils you by making French toast and mimosas, bringing it to you in bed.

You set it at the table as he’s walking into the kitchen, gifting you with a wink before he sits down, “Thanks for cooking breakfast, darling. Looks amazing.”

You flush at his never ending gratitude and praise, dish your own plate and sit across from him at the table, waiting patiently for him to salt and pepper his eggs before grabbing the shakers yourself.

“So what’s my gorgeous wife’s day look like?” he inquires, lovingly.

You bite your lip, his compliments never fail to make you feel hot and bothered, “I think I’ll do a bit of light reading. I’ve got to go to the grocery store and then I’ll clean before starting on dinner.”

Billy shovels hash browns in his mouth and smiles as he chews, a tender glint in his eyes as he looks at you. He swallows, “Make sure you have some fun. Not too much without me, though.”

He shoots you a wink and it goes straight to your heart and nether regions… You can’t help but giggle, “I think I’ll go to Sears before I go to the grocery store. I need a dress for that work thing you have.”

Billy lifts his asscheek, retrieving his wallet from his back pocket and hands over his credit card, “Here, doll.”

You take the card between your fingers, “Thank you.”

You two finish up breakfast and you take his plate, bringing the pair to the sink. You grab his lunch pail and follow him to the door, kissing him deeply while handing his lunch to him.

“Have a good day, love,” you sigh dreamily, cheeks flushed from the goodbye kiss.

“You too,” he smiles and heads to his Camaro.

You linger in the doorway, waving to him as he reverses out of the driveway.

-

You peer at the row of mannequins sporting the new spring collection, tulle and floral catching your eye as you reach to feel the material. They’re cute dresses but you’ve got a goal in mind. You trail to the formal collection. The event is a charity event that Billy’s workplace is sponsoring. It calls for something that doesn’t currently exist in your closet.

An emerald gown calls your name, the velvet number with a draping neckline and a subtle slit up the side. You file through the rack until you find your size, trying it on and imagining Billy standing beside you in a dark suit. You melt at the thought, missing him intensely. You’re sold and after you exit the dressing room, you make your way to the display of ties in the men’s section. You find an exact color match to your dress, giddy at the luck. You drape it against the gown and search for a twin handkerchief.

You make it home after your purchases, hanging the dress up and displaying the tie and handkerchief on the dresser for Billy to find. You get started on your routine of cleaning the house; picking up clutter, scrubbing the kitchen and bathrooms before making quick work of the vacuuming, dusting and mopping the place. You step back proudly as you gaze at the house. Glancing at the clock on the stove, you realize your time is waning before Billy will be back home. You hurry to get started on dinner, prepping the vegetables and marinating the meat.

As it nears six o’clock, you light the candles on the table and move to find the right record for dinner, flipping through the vinyls until you land on a collection of Paul Anka. You lift the needle on the machine before delicately placing the record on the platform. You start it and your hips begin swaying with the music, dancing your way back into the kitchen to set the table. You retrieve the bottle of white wine you’d been chilling in the fridge since returning home. You’re pouring both glasses when the front door swings open and with it, you’re breathtaking husband walks in. He strolls over, placing a hand on your hip and kissing your cheek.

“House looks incredible, dinner smells wonderful and you look ravishing,” he purrs.

You do it all for him, for this. You wouldn’t have it any other way. He treats you so well, gives you absolutely everything he can and it’s so easy to repay him with making his home a home.

“Thank you,” you squeak, cheerily as you take the lunchbox from his hand and placing it on the counter.

-

After dinner, Billy enjoys a cigarette at the table and you retrieve an ashtray for him. As you’re placing it down, he grabs onto your waist and pulls you into his lap. He showers you with kisses, earning a fit of giggles from you.

“God, I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he beams.

“I’m the lucky one,” you tap the tip of his button nose with your finger before forcing yourself up to get started on the dishes.

As you’re finishing up, Billy snakes his arms around your middle and kisses from your shoulder to your ear.

“Dance with me,” he requests and you accept gratefully, pulling your baby pink rubber gloves off before turning and wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands rest on the small of your back as he sways with you in the kitchen, eyes gazing into your own. His ocean blue eyes are the prettiest you’ve ever seen, turning you to putty in his hands. He spins you around, dipping you and lifting you back up to kiss. Then he’s pressing you against the counter, still moving his hips in time with the music.

Don’t Ever Leave Me rings through the house, setting the mood perfectly for Billy to confess what he’s had on his mind since he married you.

“I want you to have my baby,” his voice is stern yet full of yearning.

It catches you off guard, eyes widening and he quickly babbles off, “I know. We’re young. But fuck, darling, I want to get you pregnant so goddamn bad.”

Heat rises up between your thighs while your chest tightens, you’re so pleasantly surprised. You’d been thinking about taking prenatal vitamins when your mom had told you it makes you more fertile. You’d wanted to start a family the second you got hitched.

“Yes,” you agree, “I wanna have your baby, Billy.”

He’s giddy at the prospect, lifting you up and placing you on the counter as he kisses you through his face splitting smile. Your legs wrap around him, hands pulling him even closer as you part your lips when his tongue prods for entrance. Your eyes fluttering shut as you feel his tongue swirl around yours. God, he’s all yours. You can’t believe you’ve been blessed with Billy. You thank every omniscient entity you can think of while he continues his invasion of your mouth. He pulls back and admires you, longing in his eyes. You’re floored under his gaze, extreme devotion to this man oozing from every pore.

“Get me pregnant, Billy,” you plead.

He picks you up from the counter, carrying you the bedroom and kicking the door open with his foot. He lays you down and begins kissing your legs, staring at your ankles and reaching your thighs. He shoves your dress up and hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them down your legs and exposes your glistening core. He takes it in with hungry eyes, gentle fingers brushing through your folds. You toss your head back, moaning breathlessly as your fingers frantically grip onto the duvet beneath you. Billy rests his cheek on your thigh, observing his motions while he swipes languidly up and down. His fingers briefly connect with your clit and you writhe against it, but he moves his digits down to your eager hole. He heaves a sigh as he feels the slick leaking out. Billy places a sloppy kiss to your thigh before placing another over your sensitive bud, he flicks his tongue against it and you’re falling apart beneath him as you pant out his name and spreading your legs further apart.

“I’m gonna fill this gorgeous cunt up with my cum,” he growls, eyes peering up at you from between your legs which earns a desperate cry from you.

He licks a broad, firm stripe through your folds and then sucks your clit in between his lips. It feels so good you feel like you’re sinking into the mattress deeper and deeper. His digits slide inside of your pussy, curling when fills you to his knuckles.

You cry out, “Fuck!”

Billy pulls his mouth away but keeps working his fingers inside of you, spreading them to stretch you out. “I’m gonna get you so fucking pregnant,” he bellows, voice deep and husky.

“Please,” you beg, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers drag against your walls. “Wanna have your baby so bad… want you… need you to—“ the words catch in your throat and a loud moan replaces them as he licks against your clit again.

Billy pulls his fingers out, making you feel empty as you clench around nothing. You watch lustfully as he shoves his fingers in his mouth to taste you. You sit up and try to pull your dress up and over your shoulders but you struggle. Your husband chuckles softly and you feel his fingers grabbing onto the material to help you peel it off. He litters kisses along your collarbone as he maneuvers beneath your back to take your bra off, his tongue sticking out of the side of his lips in concentration. You giggle, heart swelling at the adorable sight of him.

“What’s so funny?” he chides playfully.

“Look so cute,” you chirp, your cheeks hot.

He pulls the straps from your shoulders and tosses the bra across the room, lowering his lips to your exposed breasts as he mumbles against the supple skin, “M’being sexy.”

“Mmm, yes, very,” you purr as your fingers tangle in his blonde coils.

Billy licks against your nipple as he cups your breasts, bouncing them slightly, “These are just gonna get bigger too.”

Your back arches as his hand dips between your legs, rubbing against your hole teasingly, it feels so good but you want him to fill it. Billy licks his lips, looking up at you, “I can’t fucking wait to fill this pussy up.”

He was ecstatic. Billy was remarkably well at pulling out. The entire time you’d been together, you’d never had a scare or mishap and you’d never used protection. His mind was reeling at the thought of actually cumming inside of you.

“Need it, baby,” you whine out, writhing beneath his touch.

He straightens himself up and starts undoing the buttons of his work shirt. Your eyes take in the flesh revealed underneath, his toned chest and stomach. He’s the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen and he was all yours. You sit up to push the collared shirt over his shoulders, he presses his palm to your chest and lightly pushes you back. He just wants you to watch right now. He unbuckles his belt and swiftly pulls it from the loops as you lay on your back, eyes following his fingers when they start to unbutton his pants. You ache to touch him, squirming in anticipation while he unzips and pushes the pants to the bottom of his thighs. He’s straining against his tight briefs, the ones you’d picked out for him. Billy palms himself over the cotton material and you groan softly, loving that you’re the reason why he’s so aroused.

“Lemme see,” you plead, voice so light it’s barely audible.

He smirks down at you, “You want it so bad.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod eagerly, licking your lips as your eyes bounce from his back down to his crotch. “Pretty please.”

“Eager girl,” Billy chides as he pushes his briefs down and you heave a pleased whine as you watch his cock spring out.

Billy’s hand wraps around his base and you watch as he strokes himself. You spread your legs further, an attempt to entice him to give you what you so desperately need. Billy’s eyes drop down when you do so, impervious grin spreading his lips up and he scoots his knees up a bit, inching closer to your drooling core. He slaps his tip against your pussy, sending chills up the back of your thighs.

He speaks low as he drags it through your folds, “I’m gonna pump this pussy full of my cum.”

The filthy words dripping with desire pulls a whine from you as your back arches and your hands grab at the sheets. Billy leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You rip your hands from the sheets and cling them onto his sides, parting your lips when you feel his tongue drag against them. Moaning into his mouth when you feel his cock finally slip inside you, angling your hips up to meet him. Billy grunts, stilling his movements as he looks into your eyes. You squirm, scratching against his ribs as you silently beg him to move again.

“Billy,” you plead, rolling your hips up.

He pushes your hair off your sweaty forehead and smiles, giving a hard thrust of his hips. You gasp, toes curling against the sheets beneath you. Billy closes his eyes tight, laughing softly, “I’m already gonna fucking cum.”

You giggle, “Yeah? Feels that good?”

He buries his face in your neck and mumbles, “Just thinking about filling you up is getting me there.”

You grab into his hair and wildly rocking your hips up. Billy groans, “Fuck…”

He pins your hips with his hands and drills into you, his face contorted and breathless moans tumbling from his throat.

“Billy,” you cry out, “Cum in my pussy!”

He groans out, shooting his thick, hot load into you. Billy pulls out, sitting back on his feet and licking his lips as he sees his seed leaking out of you. He scoops it up with his finger and shoves it back into you. He presses his cock back to your entrance and fucks his cum back into you, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing it in quick circles. You cry out, the pressure building up in your stomach finally snapping as you fall apart around his dick.

Billy collapses next to you, kissing you all over but lifts an eyebrow as you lift your legs in the air and use your hands to hold your ass up too.

“What are you doing?” he asks, curiously.

“I read that if you wanna get pregnant, you should do this after,” you say matter-of-factory. Billy laughs, rubbing your stomach while he gazes at you lovingly.

-

Billy gets home from work not particularly in the best mood. Nothing really awful happened but it was a long day. All he wants to do is see your gorgeous face and relax.

He walks inside and you’re in the kitchen, dishing up plates as per routine. He saunters over to you, placing his lunchbox on the counter and grabbing a hold of your hips, turning you and pressing your back against the counter, kissing you eagerly.

You pull away and smile at him, “Long day?”

He nods, thumb caressing your chin, “Couldn’t wait to get home to my beautiful wife.”

“Pregnant wife,” you confess.

“What?” Billy’s eyes widen, smiling.

You nod, “I’m pregnant.”

Your husband picks you up and spins you around, kissing you deeply.

[c0smic-dawn]

×,.·´¨'°÷·..§SELF-SABOTAGE§.·´¨'°÷·.. -a Soobin smau (+ written chapters)

Summary: After (Y/n) breaks up with her ex, Do Jaeyi, she isn’t left alone by him. Finally after being bothered nonstop, she breaks and tells him she is dating her high school rival, Choi Soobin. Now they are left to keep up the act of being a couple till this all blows over. Little does (Y/n) know Soobin has been waiting for a chance like this.

a/n: here we go again with me attempting another smau! I’m more excited about this one because I actually planned stuff for once :D I really wanted to try my hand again at one of these and wanted to try an enemies to lovers type situation

☆Rating: 16+

☆Release date: March 2nd, 2023

☆Ending date: August 15th, 2023

☆Status: ended

☆Pairing: Choi Soobin x Fem! Reader, mentions of past relationship with an OC, and maybe some pairings on the side if I wanna add some spice ;D

☆Content: smau with written chapters, fluff, crack (idk if it really is bc I don’t really think I’m that funny), some angst at some point tbh, fake dating, semi-enemies to lovers, semi-mutual pining, psych major!(y/n), dancer!(y/n), psych major!soobin, barista!beomgyu, college!au, slow burn ig???

☆Warnings: lots of swearing (I have potty mouth myself so they all will too), some suggestive parts maybe and some mentions of sex but no smut bc smut isn’t something I write, chapters may be long idk yet, I didn’t really pay attention to like grade levels in relation to age so we don’t need to pay attention to if it’s accurate or not

☆Featuring: the rest of txt, lee chaeyeon (iz*one/solo), Lucy (weki meki), probably some other idols in passing

DISCLAIMER: This is a piece of pure fiction and do not represent txt artist, iz*one/solo artist, weki meki artist, any other artist or reflect their actual selves or morals. All in this fan fiction is 100% fake and not real at all

Profiles:

The ass shakers

Soobin’s emotional support group

Chapters:

01. ONE OF US RRRAHHHHHHHHH🦅

02. You see how easy it is to lie?

03. Twinkle toes

04. Don’t HMU😣😭😿💔

05. I’m meeting Lucifer today! (Written, 1.9k + sns) unedited

06. That's the spirit!

07. That is a (Y/n) response

08. Very Soobin core

09. Is that Choi Beomgyu?

10. Soob is a broke ass bitch

11. I was threatened 🥺🥺 (Written, 2k + sns) unedited

12. I do but I don’t :D

13. Darling baby girl

14. FEED ME

15. Slay or be slain

16. Mean girls Christmas routine

17. Love birds (Written, 3.6k) unedited

18. Because sleepover :)))

19. In the words of Twice

20. And I’m Hyojeong

21. SHUT UP ITS GIRLS NIGHT

22. Skill issue

23. Keep my wife’s name out of your mouth

24. I’m concerned (Written, 1.2k + sns) unedited

25. No pics🗣️ No proof🗣️

26. Not you too

27. Oh f*ck

28. Prettiest face I’ve ever seen

29. …what?😃

30. I know. I’ve known.

31. fanfic levels

32. Master manipulator (written, 1.9k + sns) unedited

33. Crush (written, 2k) unedited

34. Limited addition animal crossing switch

35. Epilogue

Bonus!: New privs

Bonus 2!: Daily bf texts