#Bathroom Sink Basin Countertop

[oseasons]

How to Choose the Right Bathroom Sink Basin in Warwickshire

The bathroom sink basin is one of the most important fixtures in your bathroom. It is where you wash your hands, brush your teeth, and shave. So, it is important to choose the right one for your needs.

Here are some factors to consider when choosing a bathroom sink basin in Warwickshire:

Bathroom size: The size of your bathroom will determine the size of the sink basin you can choose. If you have a small bathroom, you will need to choose a smaller sink basin.

Basin height: The height of the basin should be comfortable for you to use. The ideal height is equal to the height of your waist.

Mounting options: There are three main mounting options for bathroom sink basins:

Undermount: The basin is mounted under the countertop. This is a popular option because it gives a clean and modern look.

Semi-recessed: The basin is partially recessed into the countertop. This is a good option if you want to save space.

Top-mount: The basin is mounted on top of the countertop. This is the most traditional option.

Basin taps: The taps should match the style of the sink basin and the rest of your bathroom.

[theoldsports]

SOLUTION.

Art Donaldson x Reader | 5k words

SORRY SERIES LINK.

warnings: pregnancy, implied discussion of abortion, a boy groveling on his knees for his family, there’s a dog (a real one, not just Art), talk about Art’s forced weird athletic borderline disordered eating.

okay, i lied last time. THIS is my best work. this is very out of my brain and i hope you love it. holy shit.

Have you ever sat and listened to a leaky faucet? I mean, really listened?

Steady. Like a heartbeat, if you think about it.

Sometimes, though, if the leak is slow enough, it’s more like the kind of heart rate that sends the nurse with the crash-cart sweeping into the room to shock you out of an AFIB pattern. Or however that worked.

[Y/N] was listening to it. The dripping. The kitchen sink. It hadn’t stopped for days. When it began, it was steady. Now, it was irregular. It started the day Art left

Art had been away at an early season tournament. [Y/N] had an impossible work week, so Art had told her he was happy to go for the better part of the week on his own. They both knew Art really did hate to be alone in situations like that. He had always had one of his people there. His mom, Patrick, [Y/N]; one of them was in his corner at these things. This time, he was truly on his own. Art could not stand to travel alone. He had his team of physios and coaches, but not his family. [Y/N] was going to swing by and surprise him at the end, but her boss had leaned into her for trying to take more days off during release season for the big summer blockbusters. Plus, someone did have to watch the dog.

This context about Art’s being away is important. It’s not that Art was the epitome of a handyman, but he really liked to feel like he was contributing to their home’s ecosystem when a lightbulb went out or a switch needed replacing. The man was incredible with the small things. Yet, [Y/N] sat at the kitchen table with a frown on her face, trying to rough in an outline for an article. With the faucet dripping. If Art were there, or if she was with Art three states over, the faucet wouldn’t be dripping against the porcelain basin.

It wasn’t like the wifi signal was strong enough anywhere else on the property for her to up and move either.

drip drip drip. Said the faucet.

[Y/N] was damn near the point where she was going to run upstairs to the bedroom and get the baseball bat Art kept with the express purpose of running down the stairs in his briefs and cracking up on possible intruders. All she could think about was bringing the wood down against the glass and cheap metal on her kitchen counter.

A new house would have a working sink and a bathroom counter that wasn’t too small and a halfway decent wifi signal.

Instead, [Y/N] set her face down upon the cool blue faux granite countertop. The temperature helped ease the feeling of the hyperbolic corkscrew being driven between her eyes. The dripping kept dripping and [Y/N] wanted to cry.

This agony wasn’t all the sink’s fault, though.

[Y/N] saw on the tennis channel before she even got a call from Art that he’d won that weekend. He still hadn’t called. The lack of a call from made her feel ashamed. Not a soul there to celebrate the success with him. She felt an immense sense of guilt slide across her skin because she wasn’t there to witness that smile he got when he won. Sweaty and angry, but relieved every time. He still got that look when he won. Art was a machine on the court, and a competitor not worth counting out at this point in his career. He still looked surprised and delighted every time he, of all people, hit the winner. [Y/N] loved that look. Art loved how she would celebrate with him after a win, too.

[Y/N] prayed Art made his flight without delay that evening. Selfishly, because she wanted her boy back. Also because Art was mortally terrified of airplanes. Planes made him feel out of control due to lack of trust with the pilot. Without that phone call from him, [Y/N] was scared knowing he was out on his own and that he likely felt anxious enough to give a horse a heart attack. She would have no way of knowing if something had happened between the match end and now.

She did know that the sink was leaking.

She also knew her period was two weeks late.

That, Art couldn’t fix on his own. In fact, it was fairly obvious that the delay was more or less Art’s fault.

[Y/N] hadn’t yet taken a pregnancy test at that time. If she took the time to take one, it would make everything the obvious answer a reality she would have to deal with. She had scares before. Ones that she had never, and would never, tell Art about. She would wait for her delayed—not missed!—period and everything would be fine. Like the other times. It had to be fine.

She checked her phone. It was a blue slidephone with small rhinestone stickers she had applied to the back. Still nothing from Art. He said he would call first right after the match, but he still hadn’t actually called, so maybe it was time to call first. It had been hours since he said he’d ring up. It wasn’t a major concern that Art would blow her off. Ideas of danger and uncertainties flooded her head.

“I’m the one that wants marriage so bad. Not Artie. What if he says no? Or not now…?”

[Y/N] sat on the beach with her back against Patrick’s shins. Art and [Y/N] were completing their first year completely post college. [Y/N] and Patrick were twenty-four and Art was almost twenty-four. His November birthday set him behind.

Patrick’s hands were on her shoulders and his body in a beach chair behind her while they both stared off over ocean as the sun set. “You’re actually stupid if you think he’ll deny you, [Y/N].”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to step on his game, or whatever. The guy is supposed to ask. Isn’t this going to be… emasculating or something?”

“Emasculating for Art? For pretty baby? Yeah, okay,” Patrick teased. [Y/N] threw a fistful of sand at him. “Christ, okay, okay. Cool it.” He spit.

Art had run back up toward to hotel to grab his water bottle, while Patrick and [Y/N] stayed at the dunes. [Y/N] wanted to propose to Art by trip’s end. She thought it would be sweet. Art was extremely forward when it came to her her, but he hadn’t been forward about the whole proposal business. He seemed scared about marriage. [Y/N]he would do it herself.

She was grateful for the time alone with her best friend too. Sitting and doing nothing, or partying. Either was more than welcome. “He’s not going to say no,” Patrick continued. His mouth casually leaned close to her ear. “Because it’s insane how whipped you’ve got him.”

“Don’t say that—“

“He wants to have your babies. Ask him. Trust me, he’ll say yes and he will be all the hell over you.” His fingers worked into [Y/N]’s shoulders, feeling the tension there. He took his hands off of her when Art came running down the beach.

[Y/N] heard a click in the lock. Her head flopped to the left, still pressed against the counter, to glance at the door. Her heart rate increased. She was so tired and the speed of the situation so fast, that she didn’t both moving or attempting to defend herself.

Most fortunately, when the door swung open, it was her Art. The sun was going down behind him. He looked a bit ragged and had a racket bag over one shoulder and two duffels in the other hand. She sat upright sharply on the kitchen barstool. “Pretty baby!”

All Art’s gear hit the floor. The door was left open behind him (taking a big chance that their Labrador mix, Cheese, didn’t run down the stairs and bolt out and away). Art walked toward [Y/N], arms extending. His strong arms pulled [Y/N] in close to his chest. She rested her head against his soft gray t-shirt. Her own arms embraced him back and one of her hands tucked comfortably into the back pocket of his jeans. “[Y/N]… I missed you.” Art said into her hair.

“I missed you… I-I… You didn’t call. How did you get here—“

“Final match actually started on time, so I gambled on moving my flight to the earlier one. I didn’t have time to call if I was taking the early one. I should’ve texted. I got nervous with the-the flight. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

[Y/N] leaned back to look at him. There was no more welcome sight in the world than Art Donaldson. Irish genetics saw to it that Art was freckled from the spring sun. With shaggy hair boyishly covered by a baseball cap tipping back dangerously, he practically glowed. Even though he looked like shit. His sunglasses were hanging on his shirt. [Y/N/] tilted her head up, signaling for a kiss. Hungrily, Art leaned forward to take as many kisses as he wanted. His lips tasted like spearmint gum. Like always.

Cheese did run downstairs when Art’s hand climbed up the side of [Y/N]’s throat and when her own hand started to squeeze from under the fabric of Art’s back left pants pocket. Art had to pull regretfully away to grab Cheese by the collar and shut the front door.

Delightedly, Art did gteet Cheese with ear-scratches and a belly rub. Art received the customary licks and a tailwags in return. Cheese was always pretty down when the whole family wasn’t together. He walked and played a bit, but when his dad wasn’t around, Cheese kind of deflated. He had spent most of the time laying flat on Art’s side of the bed. It was obvious the dog was grieving the disappearance of his boy.

When Art bent down to pat his beloved Cheese, [Y/N] stood from her chair and bent at the waist. She pulled Art’s hat off and set it on the counter. Gently, she kissed Art on top of the head. With a scratch not unlike the ones he gave to the canine to the back of Art’s neck, the man looked up at her from the ground with a half-smile.

“Congrats, baby,” [Y/N] said. Art cut his eyes curiously from her to the tennis channel on the TV playing in the next room. That had him realizing where she would have gotten the information of his win from so efficiently. “How was the tournament? I’m sorry I couldn’t—“

“Sure, sure, but I bet Cheese here is pretty glad you were home,” Art said and stood up with one final pat to Cheese’s flank. “The whole thing was great. I… I’m kind of surprised I won, if I’m being honest.” Art said, wrapping an arm around [Y/N]’s waist.

Naturally, her hands flattened against his toned chest when he tugged her towards him. “I’m not. You’re fucking good at tennis, Art.”

His ears reddened in embarrassment as he tucked his face into [Y/N]’s neck to hide his face. Art was used to praise and loved it more than anything, no matter where it came from. Every compliment from [Y/N] was worth a hell of a lot more. Art hated thinking about why that was the case. He knew why, though. She had seen he and Patrick play and even then thought Art was good. Art still won the match when it came to [Y/N] and he would never tell her that.

“Hush…” He mumbled into her neck, planting a biting, teasing kiss there. She laughed. He laughed. “I played against an eighteen year old kid yesterday. He played really well,” Art leaned back to look at her again. “You saw, I’m sure,” he indicated the TV with a nod. “He would’ve won this weekend if I hadn’t won that match. Just… I’m twenty-six. Made me feel old.”

“…Glad you won, then.”

“I said if I hadn’t…”

“Well, if you’re sooooo down on your win then congrats on flying home all by yourself like a big boy.” [Y/N] smirked.

“Oh, you’re gonna be like that, huh?” Art withdrew his hands from his wife’s body and put them teasingly on his own hips.

[Y/N] nodded. “Yeah. If you’re old, imagine how I feel.”

“Ancient, probably.”

Art leaned in for another kiss. She pushed him back playfully. “No! You called me old!” [Y/N] laughed.

She leaned one way, then the other to avoid Art’s beautifully wrinkled nose and smiling mouth. “Please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You’re-you’re not old!” Art said and attempted to trap her with his arms and give her a kiss.

[Y/N] turned hard over her shoulder and ran up the stairs. Cheese gave a woof from the couch when Art chased after her. Art spent his life chasing after her.

“No! You can’t kiss me! Doghouse! Bad Art! Bad!” [Y/N] accused jokingly. Art jumped up the stairs. He took them two and three at a time.

Art backed her against the bathroom door. Nowhere left to run. His rough hands settled on her hips. “Gotcha. You’re pretty fast for an old lady, y’know. Late for bingo, or—“ Art smirked when he leaned in to kiss her.

[Y/N] shut him up with a kiss. She had missed his stupid boy babbling. His mouth was soft against hers. Art put one of his hands on the wooden door beside her face to hold himself up. The other hand found her belt loop, keeping her body close to his.

“I love you,” Art whispered between kisses. “I love you so much, honey. I missed you.”

[Y/N]’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. Her breath caught in her throat. “I love you t—mmh!” Art leaned in for another kiss.

The joy of being Art Donaldson’s wife was that he never got tired of touching her, or being physically close. Sometimes, [Y/N] would look over at him while she was writing, or making dinner, and he would be staring, or slowly extending his hand to her and seeing how long it took for [Y/N] to acknowledge his presence. It never ceased to make her feel beautiful. “Can we…” his fingers danced over the button on her jeans.

“Can we what…?” She asked coyly.

Art blushed, but smirked and lowered his lips by [Y/N] ear. “Can we fuck? Please?” He asked too politely for as dirty as those words were. Like the good midwestern boy that he was.

She tipped her head back further. Art kissed her neck with all the energy he could muster. “Can I not make you dinner first? You-you a cheap whore as well as old now, too?” [Y/N] jeered. Art snorted a laugh. The warm air from the giggle spread over [Y/N]’s skin, causing goosebumps to raise. “I’m never letting you leave home alone again, then.”

Art nodded against her skin, sucking and licking a spot they both new would bruise dark. The sound she let out was absolutely disgusting and Art loved it. “I would prefer to never be let out of your sight, personally.” He said when he pulled away.

“Come on, house boy… We’re havin’ dinner. And you’re gonna eat some bread,” [Y/N] said, pointing a finger at Art’s chest. He started to put up a fight about the ultra-low nonexistent amount of inactive carbs he was eating during the season, but [Y/N] kept chattering. “Stop talking. Your brain doesn’t work right without carbs. Braindead. Come on, dinner.”

“You’re bad for me.”

“I know.” [Y/N] smiled.

Normally, [Y/N] drank a cup of coffee when the pair made dinner. Art knew the pattern. He made her the cup of coffee every time. It sat mostly unfinished that night, though. She found herself heating and reheating it in the microwave as they cooked. She started to space out as he recapped the tournament in full detail, as she requested. If Art noticed, he didn’t let on. [Y/N] noticed, though. Little stood between her and coffee. She didn’t want to drink it. That was violently unusual.

“Hey, I’m gonna go piss. Can you—“

“Watch the sauce?” Art asked, indicating the creamy pesto she had on the stove while Art cleaned and cut vegetables.

“Mhm.” [Y/N] confirmed. Art slid over to take the spoon from her. He placed a hand at the bottom of her back as she walked away. Art fit perfectly into her life. It wasn’t fair how right he was for her.

She went to the upstairs bathroom instead of the downstairs one. She hoped that didn’t set off Art’s sixth sense about the way-things-had-to-be. Once upstairs, [Y/N] wasted no time yanking open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. It was overflowing, naturally. Makeup, supplements, condoms, hair ties, pill bottles, loose painkillers. It was a disaster. There was also a pregnancy test.

A laughing Art had given it to [Y/N] as a joke the morning after their wedding night and she had hit him hard enough to bruise across the chest. The test sat wrapped and in the box behind the mirror every day since. Just in case.

[Y/N] had officially arrived at just in case.

She gingerly tossed the empty box under the sink so Art wouldn’t see it without looking for it. Then, [Y/N] undid the buttons on her overalls and, well, took the test.

Lacking the time to sit and watch it come back positive or negative, [Y/N] tossed the clean cap on the stick, slid it into the pocket of her overalls, washed her hands and went downstairs like nothing was wrong.

Except she knew something was wrong. Now she felt like she had a loaded gun in her pocket. She was too cautious with her movements due to the fear that the test would slip out of her front right pocket in front of Art.

She was damn near about to step into the pantry and shut the door just to see if the pee stick had one line or two. If he wasn’t already suspicious, that would do it. [Y/N] felt that the anxiety created was easily the worst anxiety she had ever had. Oops.

[Y/N] got quiet. She was talking less and listening more. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she was a chatterbox. Art would notice her blanched face and wrinkled brow eventually, she worried.

Ever the perceptive bastard, Art did. When he sat beside [Y/N] at the counter to eat a bowl of pasta with more inactive carbs than he had eaten in six months, he kept cutting his eyes at her. His bare foot nudged her ankle. Her dish was relatively untouched. “You good, babe? You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You are being weird because you’re not being you. I’ve barely asked you how you’re doing with all the excitement. Long day?” Art asked, setting down his fork to drag his hand across the back of her shoulders.

“Yeah, a bit.” [Y/N] said. What she meant to say was I have a pregnancy test and I bet it is positive in my pocket right now and I’m so terrified that I can practically smell my pit stains right now, baby. But she didn’t say that.

Art spun to face her, taking in her expression and demeanor. There was that contemplative knot perched between his eyebrows. The back of his hand landed calmly on [Y/N]’s forehead to check her temperature. “Art…” [Y/N] said, pushing his hand down.

“No, hang on.” Art said firmly. He tried to put his hand back on her face. Instead, not having a clue what it said, [Y/N] reached into her front right pocket and slammed the pregnancy test down between them. Art retracted his hand and flinched back a bit at the sudden movement. The test was face down on the counter.

Art’s eyes cut from the test back to her. His face was suddenly very solemn. “Are you—“

“—I dunno. I didn’t-I couldn’t look. It’s been in my pocket for twenty minutes. No idea.”

“Do you think you are?”

[Y/N] shrugged and looked at her bowl. It looked too green. sick sick sick. drip drip drip said the faucet.

“Do you want to know if you are?” Art asked wide-eyed. “I want to know, personally. Do… Do you?”

Again, [Y/N] shrugged. “If we don’t look, it’s not real.”

“…That’s stupid.” Art shook his head.

“You’re stupid.”

Art sighed. “I’m gonna look. I mean, I’m going to turn it over,” his eyes frantically reached for [Y/N]’s. He grabbed her hand with his to get her attention. “I’m going to look. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah.” She whispered and it was okay.

And she was pregnant.

Two blue lines stared at them.

“Fuck.” [Y/N] said. She felt both elated and humiliated. She wanted so badly to be a mother. She wanted to cry. How could they keep it? The timing was wrong. She hadn’t agreed to this. The two of them had so many fights about it. She barely understood how this happened. She thought they were being so careful. It didn’t make any sense. Every precaution she could think of had been taken at one point or another.

And the fucking faucet was still dripping. She could hear it. drip drip drip. Over and over.

“Fuck.” She said sliding out of her chair and standing unsteadily. That wasn’t the result one should feel when they get something they have spent so long wanting.

Art ran his hands through his hair. He knew he shouldn’t be smiling when she looked so worried. His face betrayed the wide smile he hoped to hide. That’s exactly what he wanted to see. Fuck.

“Honey… Hey, hey. You’re okay. This is awesome. C’mere.” Art said like he was diffusing a bomb. His arm were wide open to hold her.

“Art…”

“No, uh-uh. Just come here. Please.”

Cautiously, [Y/N] made her way into her favorite pair of arms in the world. “It’s not supposed to be like this.” [Y/N] choked out as Art held her.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Art said calmly. His left hand’s fingers brushed her hair away from her face. “But that’s how it is now. We have to accept that and solve for the next move, right?” It was silent for a while after that. [Y/N]’s arms were tightly wrapped around Art’s shoulders and their bowls of pasta were certainly cold. She felt that she had ruined everything.

She glanced at Art’s face. The small smile betrayed him. “Art… We can’t. Not now.” she had told Art not now so many times that it felt forced and rehearsed. Now that [Y/N] that was actually pregnant, she wanted nothing more than to stay pregnant. The timing was far from good. She had articles that were still very due the next day. She had a husband who very much traveled often for work (who she traveled with too). She had Cheese, who was staring at her weird over the back the couch because he didn’t understand crying.

“What do you mean we can’t?” Art said quietly. “We-We can. We… have. We are… Actively.” He fumbled.

“We can. We did! But… You know now’s not a good time, baby.” [Y/N] countered weakly.

Art’s hands never left [Y/N]’s waist. “Let’s run pros and cons.”

“Pretty baby.” She said accusatorially. Good old analytic Art…

“Let’s run pros and cons.” Art repeated unflinchingly. He sprang up off of his barstool to gather a sharpie and a legal pad from some drawer. Art uncapped the marker harshly with his teeth. Cap between his teeth still, he asked: “Do you want it?” while he found a clean, smooth page.

Before she could respond with her head, [Y/N] responded with her heart. She nodded a yes to him immediately. “Do you?”

Art capped the back end of the marker to free up his mouth. “More than anything ever, I think. It would probably kill me a little bit, actually, if… Yeah. I understand and it’s all up to you, honey, but… Yeah.” His hand created a PRO column and a CON column on the page.

Under PRO, Art added the items he knew would cause no trouble in his blocky capitalized handwriting:

FINALLY START FAMILY

NATURAL/EASY START

SEASON ALMOST OVER

[Y/N] HAS FLEXIBLE HRS

DREAM COME TRUE??

WILL BE GR8 PARENTS

[Y/N] nodded in approval. She couldn’t think of more pros, but Art handed her the marker and she started in on the CON list:

OLYMPICS??

ART’S NEVER HOME

EXPENSIVE

SMOKING/COFFEE

CHEESE JEALOUS?

TOO YOUNG!

Art drew the line at giving up stimulants and assigning the dog human traits and struck both of those off the list with a frown.

Frankly, Art thought the cons list turned out rude.

“I haven’t qualified for the Olympics yet,” he protested. “And if I do, imagine how early on that would be. Before all the hard stuff.”

[Y/N] replied with the thing they both knew was the most real problem. She had waited forever to say it out loud. “No offense… You are never home anymore. You’re busy all the time. Which I get. It’s your job. You’re good at your job. But look how excited the fuckin’ dog got to see you because you were gone so long. You are never here. We can’t put a human in doggy day camp all the time. It would be fucking impossible to raise—“

“I’ll quit,” Art said, wincing. He wouldn’t. [Y/N] felt that this was a bluff. He tried in vain to hide his expression of shame. “I’ll quit tennis.” He said. He wasn’t going to.

“That would worsen the problem. No money.”

“I’ll work at the 7/11. I’ll be a construction worker. I could be a fuckin’ coach. I actually have a degree, y’know, I can use it. I’m more than a racket. I don’t want you to feel alone here. I want to be here for all of it, I can—“

“You know I’m alone here a lot, babe. A lot. You don’t… You’re in a position where you’re unable to help constantly. Because you’re gone. That’s okay. I married you knowing that, right? But a baby, Art? That’s not fair.”

“I’ll bail on a season. I will. I just…” Art stared at her. “Please. I’m begging you. See this kid through with me.”

The sharpie was forgotten on the counter along with dinner. Art’s knees landed on the floor before [Y/N]. Art practically lived on his knees in front of [Y/N]. He gathered [Y/N] hands in his. “Please. It’s your call, but hear me out. Because that thing is part of both us. I don’t want you to hate or resent me or the little stinker forever, but you want it. I know that. Hear me out.” His beautiful two-tone eyes stared up at her.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

“I will give you anything. Please, my world is you. Not tennis; you. I’m telling you, I-I would leave that behind to be anything you need right now. Just ask it. You’re my fucking priority, you got that? I just.. I… Please? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to keep it too, but—“

“Then what’s the big deal?” Art asked hopefully.

“It isn’t a good time. It’s too soon.”

Art’s mouth trailed kisses across his wife’s stomach and hips and hands and arms. He let this go on for several minutes. “Please,” Art whimpered pathetically into the skin of her wrist. “Please, please, please. I will do anything, my love. I’m on my knees here,” Art looked up at her through thick lashes. “We can do this. Both of us together. I’ll do whatever you want. You know I will. This can be good for us. I’m really sorry we’re here, but here we are, hon. What time’s going to be the right time? Please. I love you.” Art pleaded desperately.

[Y/N] knew this was going to be a disaster. But she wanted to keep it. What time’s going to be the right time? rung in her ears over and over, like the faucet. They had put so much time into arguing about the time and the place that would be right for a family. Now it was right in front of them. Her hand caressed Art’s face. She loved it when he groveled like that. This time, on his knees and everything. On instinct, he nuzzled his face into her hand and looked up at her through long lashes.

“Will you fix the faucet? It’s been dripping all week.”

“Anything.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it. I’m going to think about it. The baby.”

“You will?” Art’s teary eyes widened.

“Objectively, this is a terrible fucking idea. We both know that. But if it’s really so terrible, why do I feel, like… happy about it…”

Art’s face lit up. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. [Y/N], honestly, found it very hard to say no to Art. His arms wrapped carefully around her thighs while his head rested against her middle as he knelt. [Y/N] could feel his silver ring through the denim of her overalls. “God, I love you. I love you, [Y/N]. We’re not going to regret this. Holy shit…”

“Love you too. We’re gonna… We’re gonna try, maybe? This doesn’t feel real. Does this feel real? I…”

“It feels like a dream is what it feels like,” Art mumbled into her clothes. “I love you.” Art said, pressing a kiss to her stomach.

“I love you.”

“I’m gonna be a dad…” Art almost wept. “If you, y’know, but… Shit. I’m sorry.” Which part he was apologizing for was unclear.

At that, [Y/N] laughed and tangled her fingers in his curly blonde mop of hair. “Yeah, you’re gonna be a fucking dad, pretty baby.” She smiled.

[Y/N]’s next instinct was to say: I have to call Patrick. Then she remembered couldn’t call Patrick.

TAGLIST (ask to join):

@diorrfairy @donaldsonsdarling @muthafuckingstargirl @shysstuff @soberbabes @avylanchce

apologies for tag issues. i’ll dm those it didn’t work for!

[redheadredliiips]

Modern Bathroom - Kids

[hmmarble]

HMMARBLEDESİGN - DRAGON+ (2)

Marble Bathroom Sink

When it comes to home design, few materials evoke a sense of luxury and timeless beauty quite like marble. A marble bathroom sink not only serves as a functional wash basin but also elevates the overall aesthetic of your space. The elegance of marble exudes sophistication, turning an ordinary bathroom into a serene oasis.

Marble Bathroom Sink

A marble bathroom sink is not just a functional component of your bathroom; it is a statement piece that adds elegance and luxury. Marble, known for its unique veining and rich texture, brings a timeless charm to any space. When choosing a marble bathroom sink, there are several factors to consider to ensure it complements your bathroom design.

First, consider the style of your bathroom. Whether you are going for a modern, classic, or rustic look, a marble sink can fit seamlessly into any theme. The color palette of the marble also matters; white and cream marbles can lend a fresh and airy feel, while darker hues can create a dramatic effect.

Maintenance is another important aspect to consider. While marble sinks are stunning, they do require some care to maintain their beauty. Regular sealing and careful cleaning will help prevent stains and etching, keeping your sink looking pristine over the years.

Installation is another key consideration. Marble is heavier than other materials, so ensure that your cabinet and plumbing can support your chosen marble bathroom sink. Consultation with a professional can help you navigate this aspect of your renovation.

Ultimately, a marble bathroom sink is an investment in both aesthetics and functionality. By choosing the right type, color, and maintenance plan, you can enjoy the beauty of marble in your bathroom for years to come.

Wash Basin Sink

A wash basin sink is an essential fixture in any bathroom, offering both functionality and style. When selecting a wash basin sink, it is important to consider various factors such as size, design, and material.

One popular choice among homeowners is the marble bathroom sink. Known for its elegance and durability, marble sinks can elevate the aesthetic of your bathroom. Their unique veining patterns ensure that no two sinks are alike, providing a one-of-a-kind centerpiece for your space.

When choosing a wash basin sink, you will encounter various types including undermount, vessel, and pedestal sinks. Each design has its own benefits and can enhance the overall look of your bathroom. For instance, vessel sinks are often mounted on top of the countertop, making them a stylish option that complements modern decor.

Aside from aesthetics, the wash basin sink should also offer practical features. Consider looking for a model with easy-to-clean surfaces and a design that accommodates your bathing and grooming needs. The right choice will not only enhance your bathroom’s style but also improve daily usage.

In terms of installation, make sure to consult with a professional if you are unsure. Proper installation of your wash basin sink will ensure that it functions efficiently and lasts for many years to come.

Lastly, don't forget to incorporate additional features such as stylish faucets and accessories that complement your wash basin sink and add to the overall design of your bathroom.

Ancient Roman Baths

The Ancient Roman Baths were an essential aspect of Roman culture, reflecting the importance of hygiene, social interaction, and relaxation in ancient society. These baths, also known as thermae, were large public bathing complexes that served as a social hub for citizens of all classes.

Typically, the layout of a Roman bath included a series of rooms with varying temperatures and functions. The caldarium (hot bath) heated the water through a sophisticated system of hypocaust, allowing steam to rise and warm the space. Next to it was the tepidarium (warm bath), which served as a transitional room, and the frigidarium (cold bath), where bathers would plunge into cooler waters to invigorate their bodies.

In addition to hygiene, these baths featured amenities such as libraries, gymnasiums, and gardens, encouraging a sense of community and leisure. Romans often visited to socialize, conduct business, or simply enjoy the art and architecture that adorned these luxurious facilities. The decorative mosaics and grand columns were not only functional but also represented the wealth and sophistication of the society.

The significance of the Ancient Roman Baths can also be seen in their architectural innovation. The Romans mastered the use of concrete and arches, allowing for grand open spaces and intricate designs. These structures have inspired modern spa designs, embodying the idea of relaxation and wellness.

Despite their popularity, the fall of the Roman Empire led to the decline of these spectacular sites. Many were repurposed, and their intricate plumbing systems fell into disrepair. However, remnants of these ancient baths still surface in archaeological sites, offering a glimpse into a fascinating aspect of Roman life.

Today, while we may not indulge in the same communal bathing practices, the legacy of the Ancient Roman Baths endures. Their emphasis on hygiene and social engagement continues to influence how we design our own spaces for relaxation and community interaction.

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Pls enjoy a mostly fluffy but also slightly suggestive Hotch x gn!reader imagine below the cut bc this man plagues my thots 25/8 🙃

You’re brushing your teeth on a lazy Saturday morning, leaning against the wall of the bathroom while your husband stands at the sink. He lets the foamy remnants of toothpaste fall from between his parted lips into the basin before rinsing out his mouth and releasing a soft sigh, ready to start the day. Then he looks up in the mirror to meet your eyes and finds your hand stalled, toothbrush unmoving while you stare at him.

“There’s no way,” he rumbles out through a laugh, and your eyebrows scrunch adorably in confusion. “I mean,” he clarifies, turning around to face you and leaning against the marble countertop with his arms crossed, “there’s no way you’re turned on right now.”

“‘m not!” you protest, the sound garbled by the toothbrush hanging between your lips. You push him aside to get to the sink and finish brushing your teeth, the back of your neck heating up under his knowing gaze.

His hands settle on your waist, giving an affectionate squeeze. With a teasing lilt in his voice, he asks, “What was it that did it for you this time?” He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck and mumbles, “Thinking about my teeth biting you perhaps?” Then a delicate kiss to your shoulder and, “How small the toothbrush looks in my hand? I know that’s one of your favorites.” He wraps his arms fully around your smaller frame and rests his chin on your shoulder, looking at you through the mirror. Finally, with a wicked grin he concludes, “No, no, I’ve got it. It was the spitting that did it for you, you little freak.”

“Sometimes being married to a profiler sucks,” you laugh, breaking out of his hold and moving back into the bedroom to get dressed in a failed attempt to hide your flushed cheeks.

“I’ll give you that,” he hums in agreement, poking his head around the corner to watch you dress. You can hear the smirk in his voice, and you mentally prepare yourself for the out of pocket comment sure to come. “But aren’t I lucky the profiler I’m married to always swallows?”

“Aaron Hotchner!”

The bathroom door squeaks on its hinges when he rushes to close it with a cheeky laugh, narrowly missing your shirt hitting him in the face.

—————

I am simply unwell.

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner @iyv-ray24

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Even Educated Fleas Do It

A Sarge & lil Mama episode (wedding night)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now it’s all hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dodger was saying—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Birds do it, bees do it

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

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

-Even educated fleas do it,

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

-So let’s do it, let’s fall in love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That so?” she asks, utterly sarcastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It has a rather startling effect on her young husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who was he to deny her?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, why? it had been so lovely…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S’good.” she continued and her perfect diction was now slurred, her tongue heavy in her mouth and nothing but Elvis Elvis Elvis in her view and in her mind and in her body. “Gonna be good, it’s so good I-come on E, gimme those babies, please please, yes, you’re so good to me.” she was looking up at him in awe, her body spasming and shaking so hard he wasn’t sure if she was coming constantly or having one terribly intense build up. The sweet darling certainly had no clue, and that thought made him grip Elaine harder and he felt his mind grow hazy at her praise, “Elvis you’re, you’re so pretty like this!” she cried out, her neck strained as she clasped her hands around his face and stared deep into his eyes as he plowed her, those carmel colored eyes holding an intensity he’d never seen in a woman.

It shook him to the core and plunged him somewhere deep and subservient, the world felt like it was tilting and he was fading to a place where he was a pretty boy and a useful stud and he-

“Fuck! Elaine you-“ he wanted to tell her she couldn’t, she couldn’t say such things to him, it would turn him mindless, he knew the symptoms. He’d no longer be the strong husband she needed but her goddamn slave, a whimpering pathetic mess. He was going to come.

He pulled out abruptly, and as if his cock stuffing her pussy was filling the whole of her with strength, like a doll with batting. she deflated against the bed in confusion at the sudden halt and withdrawal.

“Baby?” she questioned him in a forlorn whimper, her entire consciousness begging for more as he patted her thighs soothingly and fought to grapple his sanity back in place. He couldn’t slip and turn ‘little’ tonight, he simply wasn’t able to do that to Elaine. He stared down at her freshly gaping little hole and swore he didn’t mean to be an ass, but he was just a man, and she was his wife to do with what he wanted. She wanted his babies, and she didn’t know better than to let him do whatever it took to give her that. And right now, he couldn’t handle the adoring looks and innocent dirty talk pouring out of the mouth of a virtuous girl he had long harbored such obscene intentions for. It turned him very desperate and perhaps a little mean.

“Forgive me, mama.” he muttered when leaning over Elaine and kissing her hard before he gripped his bride’s delicate waist and flipped her onto her knees. “It’s better for breeding this way.” he gritted out at her confused gasps, palming her ass where her slip had ridden up to expose her. He lined himself up with her pussy and watched with savage enjoyment as his girth slowly stretched her pretty pink rim beyond all seeming capacity and her following whimpers were music to his ears, her trill of confused enjoyment as he slid to the full, the cutest thing imaginable.

Immediately she missed the sweet intimacy of his embrace, the pleasurable sight of his face above her, also. And this angle, this method, it was deeper and tugged again at the petals of her house that had just gotten used to his usage. She thought to object, to tell him she didn’t like it this way -he had told her to tell him what she liked. She assumed, hoped, that stood for what she didn’t like, as well.

Elvis is a good boy, she heard her father say in her head, Elvis is a good boy -even as this good boy lined his inordinate organ up with her sore little place and thrust inside again. She was going to have to tell him she didn’t like it this way.

That is, until she lifted her head from the sheets he had tossed her in, belly first and face down, and noticed the mirror hanging opposite them. In it she saw a perfect view of her own face, a face she knew but hardly recognized, so…matured…was it in the gilt reflection. Her face was flushed and richly colored and her mouth gaping like one of those steamy movie posters where the woman has succumbed to the man’s embrace-and god knows whatever else it was the man was doing to her below the waist where the posters always seemed to cut off. The man was snapping his hips to push himself inside the woman, that’s what they were all doing. Now she knew, and she watched enthralled as Elvis mounted her from behind like a damn stallion, his broad hand gripping her shoulder and yanking her back against him as he snapped forward, the other fiddling under her hemline until he found her little button and began to play.

Nevermind, she thought, focusing on trying to breathe as he began to set a demanding pace again, pain and pleasure in this act equal parts for her as she propped up on her forearms and watched him watch what he was doing to her virgin hole, -nevermind he can keep at it, she decided.

His calloused fingers were petting and swirling and tugging so perfectly in her little nub in time with his strokes she began to happily anticipate the next thrust, rocking back on her own accord, feeling the bliss build again but this time stronger than what he had given her before with his mouth. In the mirror she could see how the strap of her slip had fallen off her shoulder and now lay partway down her arm, her gaping neckline now exposing a whole breast showing how it jiggled obscenely with each of his movements. It made her cheeks burn.

Elaine tried to right the strap but holding herself up with one arm made her nearly wobble face first into the sheets again and it made him lose his rhythm and suddenly it was entirely too good like that, face in the bed and hips propped up, and she needed that hand to stifle her shrieks of pleasure as he pounded into her without a hitch at the new position.

“Ya like it like that, hmm?“ he gritted out as she folded and screamed beneath him, speeding his fingers up on her clit as her thighs began to clamp shut. “God look at these hips, anythin’ but cradlin’ babies would be a goddamn waste of ‘em.” he squeezed at their plush width while yanking her back on him again and again.

“T-t-they’re gonna hear me.” she wailed once, and he realized she meant the guests downstairs, that once she realized that he wasn’t going to stop just because her pleasure had her in a place where she could no longer be in possession of herself, she had begun to fear for their reputation.

“Let ‘em.” he growled, taking his wet hand from between her thighs and running it up the length of her bowed spin, relishing the way she was drenching his thighs too, “They all know what I’m doin’ to ya. They knew what you were signin’ up for, even if you didn’t.” that thought made his balls tingle and he knew he close, that and the fact Elaine’s had her pretty little face barely propped up enough to watch them in mirror, watching as he plowed her from the back in tear stained, shocked, pleasured obedience to his wants, “Whole world’s gonna know what a good wifey you are, soon enough. They’re gonna see ya swellin and fillin out and they’re gonna know how good you are for me, how well ya take me, how much ya enjoy splittin’ yourself on my cock.”

“Oh God!” she screamed at the thought and at the thrill of his praise and buried her face into the golden bedding in abject submission and ecstasy, no longer able to compute the image of her dear, sweet Elvis mounting her body and snarling in pleasure in the mirror as he used her to chase his relief.

Elaine, to his lust clouded mind, had the prettiest ass on earth and it filled his hands perfectly, and her overstimulated shrieks and mewls and squeals sounded every damn bit like a Disney Princess. And somehow, that thought really did it for him.

Elvis hadn’t given it a lot of thought before, mind ya, hadnt spent time contemplating what it would be like to make Snow White touch her toes while getting skewered or how it would be to push Cinderella’s sweet face into the sheets. But he was pretty sure that if one of those doll-like little ladies had ever been made to take cock after true love's kiss, they’d sound rather like the squeaking little thing writhing beneath him right now.

He jabbed harder just for the fun of that, just for the enjoyment of the fact he was balls deep in a virgin cunt about to blow his load inside a woman for the first time ever. His jabs and swivels and fucks made she squeal more, clinging to the foot of the bed, no rich alto moan left in her with every inch he made her take.

She sounds like Tinkerbell, if Tinkerbell ever had the sweet misfortune to be loved on by Elvis Presley. He grins at the mirror, grins at the bowed figure of his little wife, gives a passing prayer of thanks for this perfect woman he is gonna spend the rest of his life loving in this way.

Take this, Tinkerbell, he thinks excitedly, ramming home once more and feeling himself drain inside her at last in long, pulsing, gushing spurts.

She knew that feeling, she realized in a daze. Yes she had felt it just this night when they were writhing against each other but -this hot gizer of warmth shooting inside her… the porch swing. He had wasted his seed in his pants on the porch swing. He wasted so much wanting her without telling her, it makes her heart ache for him. She spreads her trembling legs apart and tries to wiggle him in deeper, pushing back onto his key as he shudders to a halt, trying to be of help for him, to get it where it needs to go. No more waste. No more pining. It makes him sob and groan as she milks him, her sweet boy returning as he drapes over her back, a boneless weight before gently rolling onto his back and taking her with him, still impaled. A stopper of sorts, to keep it from leaking, from wasting.

There is not a single part of her body that does not tremble, nor of his either, they cling to each other, fully equal in post-coital vulnerability now and try to remember what world they belong in. His hands cradle her lower belly, pressing her close to him and swiping his thumbs along her spine, just as she pets over his arm and nuzzles into the hollow below his throat. She’s so touchy, caressing him and squeezing him like she needs the contact as badly as he does, and it’s exactly what he always wanted, hoped, didn’t dare ask heaven for but he’s got it. She’s here, she’s his.

“You’re my wife.” he marvels, and he is referring twofold to the act that just made her so and he means it wondrously by the way she lov- cares- for him so well. “You make me so happy.” he says against her lips.

“Thank you.” she whispers, cracking open her eyes to see him soft and gentle right there beside her, “For choosing me.”

“Didn’t have a choice.” he croaks, “Never has been a choice with you, I had to have ya, was more your choice than it ever was mine to lemme be yours.”

“You are mine now, aren’t ya.” she muses and he sees the way that thought sparks some life back into her heavy lidded eyes.

It’s good to belong to someone, he thinks, comforted as he brings his mouth down to hers. “Yeah, always, always gonna be yours.”

He kisses her long and slow and she returns it, her body sated beneath his caresses in a way his masculine, virulent one could never be when laying beside her, buried inside her still, newly laying claim. It is a gentle rocking when he begins again, quite helplessly, to move inside her, and she is so busy tugging at his cropped hair and nipping at his lips that she doesn’t seem to notice that they’re swaying vertically until he draws her leg over his hip and begins to drive up again in earnest, her moans a sweet melody she pours into his mouth. It’s quiet this second time and unrushed, and she has grown used to the ache, he thinks he should tell her soon to use the restroom, but he’ll have to take his fill again first.

He wonders when he’ll find the time to tell her to go between telling her he loves her. She asks him if they can do this often.

“Bout as often as we can manage.” Tumbled out of his lips happily.

“And how often’s that?” she urged him breathily, her eyes losing focus they were so close to his own.

“Enough times to lose count, Laney.” he promised, “Gotta fill ya up, best we can. Gotta be diligent.”

There was no soaring crescendo to this session, he merely clutched at her harder on one lazy upstroke, her fingernail had caught his nipple and zapped him straight to heaven like a thunderbolt to the frenulum. And then she felt him spilling inside again. Warm and hot and soothing the battering of her walls. His fingers took hers and pulled them down between her legs to pet the damage again, smearing him around like ointment on a wound. They had acted married twice now, she figured. They’d done marriage twice. The second she had liked even better than the first as he held her all the while, even though no searing height had happened to her.

“When you were with other girls,” she whispered into his chest later as they dozed between bouts of kissing and cuddling, “this isn’t -you didn’t…” she faltered for a moment before lifting her face to gaze down at him with warmth and gentle pleading, “-you didn’t do this with them, did you? You don’t act married with them, right?”

Perhaps most men would have chosen to lie. Elvis had no need despite his experience and his reputation. He had, a dozen or a hundred times, wrapped himself in latex and put it in a dozen or hundred women, some he cared for genuinely and some who were life preservers in a sea of lonely travels, but he’d never acted married. He’d never done this sort of intimacy before. He figured he was practically a virgin too, in that sorta way. In making love with the intention to bind himself, trap himself forever to one single soul. It ought to have been terrifying, that commitment, but feeling himself drip out of Elaine into the cradle of his hips he just felt right, like he was home. Like he’d just given himself to someone who actually wanted him. “No honey, I didn’t act married with any of ‘em. You’re the only one who gets my seed. I swear, really I do, now or ever.”

She could tell he meant that promise, and now he’d taught her how to express herself in this new language, she thanked him the only way she knew how, by gleefully rolling atop him again. It was a language she realized she was seeking most of her life, ever since anger and joy and want had flared in her and had been summarily instructed to be curtailed.

Propriety. Mildness. Rise above it all. She was good at the art of it all, and had been praised for it. Yet here was a man who coaxed vehemence out of her, taught her to inflict it on his body, who found pleasure in this grappling, wrestling, messy way that made such sense to her now she had found it.

I could love you, I’m going to love you, I’m very much in danger of loving you, was said with each swivel of her hips and lick of her tongue down his neck. “Oh Elvis.” sounded sweetly in his ear as he bounced her like a doll in his lap and made her fall apart.

Elvis had kissed her temple as he panted his breath back in again. Kept himself plugged in as long as possible till he shrank to nothing and slipped out. His destructive cock a now harmless, wet little thing that she cooed at in a most embarrassing way for him, but he was too happy with her laying on his chest to protest the curious fondling she gave his sensitive cock.

“This new house by Fort Hood, the one that agents of your’s got us,” he had murmured huskily while swigging from the chilled bottles of water retrieved from the mini fridge -with Elaine riding on his back to the closet and then the bed again, refusing to be apart, “it’s got a split layout, ya see. Top and bottom floor’s got a kitchenette, might not be the easiest for cookin’ but it’ll give us -space.” he assured, and she bit her lip imagining what he’d want the privacy for. “Wouldn’t ya rather a lil privacy ‘stead of a big ole countertop? I-I-if not I-I can-“

“Sounds perfect.” she sighed dreamily, thinking about making him meals and him coming home to eat them, gallant and lean in his pressed uniform. “You’re real handsome in your uniform, ya know that?” she figured it didn’t hurt to admit it, her man seemed to thrive off compliments from her, and he never did seem to get a big head from them. Except for the other little head that twitched and swelled at any compliment at all.

It was getting late, or early more like, and as she felt his interest grow yet again, Elaine played at denial. A silly, jokingly, little sort of thing where she wriggled away from his grabby hands and tried to make it out of the bed -headed to god knows where, the champagne bottle or the record player or downstairs, she didn’t know as she had no real intention of fleeing. But being seized from the back by her husband and playfully thrown back on his bed, made to sprawl out on the corner of the mattress , her legs hanging apart and her pathetic little slip still hanging onto her modesty for dear life, it was rather thrilling the way he had muttered,

“Oh no ya don’t, good lil wives don’t run.” and put himself back into her overused body, relishing her moan at his first thrust in and the fucked out compliance of the grinning girl beneath him. “I wanna see my pretty wife’s tits,” he asked as he watched them bouncing and jiggling with each absorbed fuck, “C’mon baby, be good and lemme see those pretty pillas of mine, you won’t deny me will ya? Come on, baby, so pretty, so round, gonna make ‘em blow up soon enough, whole world’ll notice ‘em. I wanna be the first to see ‘em before it. Up we go, lemme, come on yittle one, thas it, lift it up.”

He watched as this woman of his who was currently impaled on his cock blushed and smiled and bashfully pulled up her slip till her buttermilk soft mounds were bare, pink nipples pebbled and a scared, hopeful look on her face as her slip bunched at her clavicle.

“Goddamn, I’m a lucky man.” he had groaned and not missed her relieved smile. Then playfully flicked the slip up and over to hide her bright red face before folding himself enough to suck on a rosy little nipple while pistoning in and out. Soft, pliable flesh giving beneath the weight of his jaw and the nudge of his nose.

It was bizarre to Elaine, her sight obscured by the slip, her breathing hampered by the same, sound and feeling her chief senses this time. Just the sounds of him enjoying himself alone had a warm feeling curling in her chest and her belly, too, his hums and groans sending delightful zaps through her previously respectfully ignored nipples. His hands running up and down her ribcage, sometimes seizing her waist to pull her on him, sometimes fluttering over her diaphragm to feel himself moving within, nearly up her lungs he felt.

She felt as if she had finally been given privacy in which to truly feel and enjoy this, veiled by her own last shred of modesty, she let herself feel -and what she felt was astounding. She felt cherished. And she felt ravaged. And as if no one was here or anywhere on this earth to judge the way she screamed in delight, she yelled it and heard him answer her:

“that’s it, lemme hear ya” his teeth snapping at her nipples as he talked around them with his movements causing him to miss, sparking a fresh wave of noise to humidify the satin covering her face,

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

She chanted in happy panic as her legs drew up on their own, up and up and trying to close against the delicious onslaught, only to realize too late that it made the fit even tighter, the friction even stronger, the glint in her husband’s eyes wilder. He pinned them to her chest, with a single hand, to keep them out of the way. Slapped at her clit instead, made her scream in a way he didn’t think she was capable. Thought about doing it twenty years from now, thought about how he’d have the rest of his life to make his Tinkerbell scream. He slapped her there again and this time no scream, just a hissed in breath that had no exhale, her whole body clamping up in rigid ecstasy, tightening so strongly he couldn’t even keep his thrusts going to help her through.

Almost alarmed by her lack of breathing, he thought to pull at her slip, up and over her head till her face was visible again -she looked as if she were in some great agony, and his smug heart flipped at the sight, before leaning down to kiss her.

He was all chestnut hair aglow, wicked dark eyes and sweet lips, hovering down into her hazy view and her body wasn’t her own anymore, the damage had been done and the cliff she was teetering on gave way beneath her sanity when his lips met hers, his warm chest rubbing against her spit chilled nipples. For the second time that night she sprayed him, and through the eye rolling, rapturous tingle of it she heard him asking if she was “coming.”

“Oh goddamn, goddamn look a’that, oh fuck me sideways that’s hot as hell.” he blabbered, pulling out just long enough to wiggle his cockhead against her petals and force another jet out, coating his own abs with it, relishing the way her belly shook and her legs clamped together straight in the air, her hands clawing at the slip like she was trying to fight her way out. “Sweet Jesus you’re so sensitive.” he praised, pushing back in despite her hiss, and the way her feet tried to plant themselves on his shoulders to push him away. “Gotta lemme back in darlin’, I got another deposit to make.” he joked, loving the way she was clawing and wiggling away from him on pure, over fucked insinct, red painted nails dug deep enough to rip into the gold bedding. “Come on, be good, be good for me, lemme in baby, lemme in , doin’ so good, so good I know you’re so damn full, just a lil more, lil more. Don’t want any to go to waste do ya?”

He was wicked for using those magic words to make the shaking girl open up and let him in again, but he made up for it by the kisses, he felt, and in praise, and promising her if she stayed good she’d have those babies. Careening headlong towards another orgasm of his own with the sounds she was making and the lewd squelch of how wet she was down there, downright squelching with all his contributions and her own slick, he swore she was everything he’d ever dreamed of. She smiled at that.

“I’m gonna come.�� he promised her almost in a beg, pleading for her to understand why he sped up and started to pound her again in earnest, erratic thrusts.

“W-whats coming?” she whined, her eyes screwed shut and her thighs shivering beneath his shoulders, “Y-you’re already here…”

The more he drained his balls, the more his mind seemed to leave him as well, all catered sentences and prim vocabulary gone straight out the window with his last shred of self restraint. “This-is-comin-“ he punctuated as he drove himself in, then felt his balls draw up and try to offer up residual bits of spunk but nothing seemed to come out. Served him right how white hot and painful it felt, sputtering dry inside her. He hoped she didn’t notice the deposit was a blank check. Also hoped she didn’t hear the pathetic whimper he’d let out as lil Elvis heaved his last attempt at it. By the way she was humming and petting at his hair, cradling him gently as he sagged atop her on the corner of the bed -he was afraid she’d heard and felt it all.

“Why’s it called that?” she whispered in his ear, and he wondered that she had any energy at all.

He burrowed his face deeper into her neck and mumbled, “Damned if I know, darlin.” he thought on it a little while longer while also thinking of the drip, drip, drip of their mess melting between them, “Unless it’s cause it makes ya feel like you’re havin a ‘come to God moment’, ya know?” he suggested and laughed when he felt her poking his cheek. “Do ya- do ya like it when…when ya-“ he couldn’t manage it now in the gentle afterglow, starting to get a chill after all his sweaty exertion cooled and left behind clammy skin and pooled secretions, feeling how naked and soft and lonely he was suddenly upon feeling sated for the first time tonight.

“Can we really do this as often as we want?” she asked instead, and her tone held no dread in it, only hopeful excitement. Suddenly the lonesomeness was gone again.

He felt her hands stroking his back and down to his ass again and he had giggled happily, not able to hold back his relief. “Yes, darlin.”

“Gosh.” she mused, petting him still, “To think I-I didn’t know about this and now it’s…” he propped up his chin on his hands to give her an inquiring look, begging her to finish, “it’s all I wanna do now.”

“That so?” he quirked his eyebrow and she flushed and began to shake her head, her tone pleading:

“Oh, not now, not right now -oh, please, please E, I’ll die if ya do, give me a minute.” she laughed and kissed him again.

“We should sleep.” he mused, half asleep already, pillowed on her boobs, his legs still technically still standing him upright as his upper body lay across the bed, across his new wife. “And bathe.” he realized.

“It’s very sloppy.” she agreed, and the thought of how uncomfortable she must be, stuffed with a half a dozen or more cum shots roused him to action.

He picked Elaine up bridal style and carried his now gloriously naked woman into the en-suite bathroom, seating her on the chilled marble countertop and grinning at the way she melted, spineless and used against the mirror, a soft smile lighting her dear face.

She liked watching his long lean, boyish figure, hard in some places and soft in others, strangely inviting in its combinations, ripple and flex as he bent and turned on the tub faucets, snagging gold embossed towels off the rack.

E.P. they read, gold thread glowing on the black cotton.

E.P.

For the both of them. It could be for either of them, it probably had been in his mind when he’d had them made, stocked his home full of monogrammed luxuries with her future initials on them E.P. --and all the while she had been fretting of dying a loveless old maid.

She laughed happily and found she couldn’t stop, catching sight of his embossed robe, hung on the door with the same initials. E.P. She was wanted, she was so very wanted here with him. It made her slide her jellied legs off the counter and hug him ferociously from behind, pressing kisses into his spine, and the freckles that smattered his shoulder blades.

“E.P.” she whispered and he got what she meant, turning round and grinning at her.

Once in the bath she dozed in his arms, near suffocated by bubbles and relishing his embrace, the warm water and his massaging hands soothing the ache between her legs.

“We haven’t washed the babies out have we?” she asked, groggily staring into the receding bath water as he tenderly toweled her off once stepping out of the tub. “I-I-I want those babies.“ she insisted and it must’ve been the lateness of the hour or the sheer amount of muchness she had been subjected to tonight but her lip started to wobble at the idea she’d carelessly risked her hopes down the drain, swirling away with the last of the bubbles. “Elvis I-I- didn’t mean to rinse them out!” she wailed, near hysterical with fatigue.

He tried assuring her but she wasn’t easily pacified. “I-I could give ya more.” he finally offered timidly, entirely uncertain either of them were capable of enduring another round.

He was toweling off her calves as he said it, pressing kisses to her knees and noticing the tremors in her thighs. To his shock she dropped to her knees beside him on the bathmat, eyes half mast and nearly insane looking in their fatigued determination,

“Please, please give it another try.” she nodded before spinning around on the bathmat, shakily swift and presenting him with her shapely ass.

‘Better for breeding this way’, came back to mind. God she was a quick study, and he prayed for strength and some shred of self restraint in indulging her. Instead, he found himself burying his face between her cheeks and licking at her devotedly, afraid they may have washed her slick away and worrying the burn of entry would be too much for her, fresh out of the tub and swollen from overuse as she was. No woman had let him do it this way, his face near buried in her bath warmed ass and his tongue kitten licking at her slick hole, but Elaine bore it with decorous appreciation, entirely unaware of being anything but eager in her responses, her spine arched and a rosy cheek pillowed on her forearms. Her yittle hand came down to pet Elvis’ diligent head as he worked between her legs.

“That’s it, I love it, E, like that, I love it when you…” she was mumbling in a slurred litany of praise he gobbled up ravenously, just like he did the shuddering little trickles of sweetness he coaxed out of her. “I’m -I’m, yeah yeah-“ he felt her grind down on his face as she shook again, and then it was as if the top half of her body nearly melted into the mat, just his hands keeping her ass in the air. “Please put it in.” she whispered, her hand still down there between her legs and reaching for something else of his now, her tone so soft and polite, like Cinderella asking for cock.

He aimed his cock into her waiting hand and watched with barely suppressed desire as her palm rolled over the rip and her nails gently raked across his veins as she moved to grip him and point him where she wanted him. There was a lewd sucking noise this time when he went in, like her body was finally trying to swallow him willingly, and he saw her head toss on the mat, dainty fingers woven into gold shag and her neck craned back to see him as he pressed in deep. Her face was flushed deep red and the makeup had worn off and she looked so innocent, so young beneath him, a single curl plastered dark and wet against her cheek from the bath. He’d unmade her, turned her back to her simplest form. He snapped his hips, lost his mind, noticed happily how her hand went to her hip and joined his there. He held onto it like a handle and jerked her back on him again and again, her cheek rubbing against the mat and her teeth sinking into her other fist to hush her cries. Those cries of hers, maybe something was very sick inside him that he liked them so much but he did, he did and he worked hard to draw more from her just as he dreamed of this, dreamed of her fluttering pink hole trying to take more and her eyes rolling back from the fatigue of it, her body unable to deny him.

“My poor belly,” he thought he heard her whimper, yet unsure he reached down and pulled her fist away from her mouth, it pushed him deeper in, bent her more starkly, speared her cervix, “Oh god, my belly, my poor belly.” she kept saying for sure this time.

“You alright, Lany?” he draped over her and brushed the damp strands off her face, her face that was red and splotchy from sensation and blood flow. She gave him a whimpering nod.

“You’resodeep” she accused him even as he felt her squeeze and shake around his girth, her mouth gaping for a brief moment at the unexpected little pleasure. “My poor belly.” she said it over and over again and he couldn’t stop. It was more just a bewildered mantra to comfort herself, as her mind betrayed her and wanted him but her body was so well used that was she was just…taking it

“You poor little thing,” he cooed, making sure to move slow and deep in a way that had them both shaking and stepping into madness, bent all over her bent frame himself, “you’re takin’ my cock so well, so obedient, never was a more righteous wife, never was, you’re a goddamn wonder, that’s what you are. I’ll thank God for ya every day.”

His praise always soothed her and he kept it up, not even sure what he was saying anymore as he chased his own release, focused on the bent little thing beneath him and the way it made her waist look minuscule in this position, her pink face, too. At one point he saw tears instead of bath splash on her face and as he felt himself begin to spurt he shushed her the best he could with the first thing that came to mind:

“Don’t cry Tink, please don’t cry.”

The nickname tickled her consciousness like a feather on the neck, some goosey thrill that tickled up her spine and added to the satisfied throb between her legs as he splashed hot and thick inside her.

“Tink?” she thought she had asked him, bewildered and charmed to have been christened. Maybe her words got lost in the bath mat.

He did not answer her, must’ve not heard her at all, but picked her up with his own shaking arms and like a couple of bambi's they toddled into the massive bed, throwing themselves under the covers quite unceremoniously. He tried to swat at the lamp as if that would turn it off, and realizing she was the more capable of the two -he seemed almost insensibley drained by that last encounter- she leaned over his chest and pulled at the lamp string, dousing the glow that surrounded them, only to realize dawn was splashing a violet haze through the crack of the window curtains.

“Good morning, Mrs. Presley.” he had teased softly, noticing the dawn too, his head tilted on the pillow to watch her shut off the lamp.

“Good morning, husband.” she murmured, wriggling on top of him as he held her fast, arms locked over her back and her head pillowed on his chest.

This cuddling was familiar, this drowsy holding of each other until he stilled and fell asleep, an art she had perfected since his mama died. But now she was the woman in his life, and strangely now that the hunger had been glutted and abated, they entwined around each other like babes or twins in a womb, this naked closeness the most natural of assurance in the world. Something Elvis had been missing since his brother had left him, since Jesse entered the world before him and chose not to stay and endure it with him, fell into place.

My sister! My spouse! -King Solomon had called his lover, and Elvis had felt that supremely odd when snooping through the Song of Songs as a boy. But now he knew -too many roles did she fill to be confined to one, and Elvis felt tempted as Elaine fell asleep atop him to whisper, “my brother, my spouse!” into her hair.

Sometime later, when deep unconscious, dreamless sleep had possessed them and held them fast, but not a long enough time for Elvis to be remotely cheerful about it, a obnoxious clanging sound broke in on their peaceful repose. Elaine jerked awake atop him with a startled little squeak and he put his hand to the back of her head to shush her, encouraging her to lay her cheek back on his shoulder. The noise resounded again and this time he was lucid enough to determine it was coming from outside the bedroom door.

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

Elaine huffed and rubbed her tired face into his chest, his sparse hairs there tickling her nose and making her sneeze. That made him laugh and with neither able to keep up the pretense of sleep, they raised their heads and looked towards the door with matching, raised and unimpressed eyebrows of displeasure.

“If this is the boys idea of a practical joke,” he growled with sleepy morning grit in his voice, “they won’t be boys much longer.”

“Will ya put them in boxes and give them to me?” she inquired and he realized with a self satisfied smirk that her melodic voice had gone hoarse from all the screaming he’d made her do the night before.

“Heavens Mrs. Presley,” he marveled, “ya sure have gotten comfy askin’ for things -I like it.”

“I could think of a thing or two I want right now.” she bit her lip and her eyes slanted hungrily and some scared part of him that worried she wouldn’t want this as much as he did got buried teen feet below the earth, locked away forever.

“Breakfast?” he acted dumb even as she propped herself up on his chest and gingerly tried rolling her hips along his thickening shaft, hissing at the soreness of her own petals.

The sheets falling away from her and pooling round her hips like some goddess that had condescended to come down to earth and make use of her spied after Adonis, Elaine was ethereal and happy and Elvis sank his head back into the pillow and watched her, wishing to pinch himself but the roll of his foreskin against her bud told him it was real. “Breakfast and water, breath mints and fresh air-“ she listed while speeding up and causing his cock to begin to weep and slick her way along-

Clang-a-lang-a-lang-clang-a-lang

“What?” he yelled fearsomely at the door and she shivered in spooked delight at his temper.

“I’m comin’ in wi’ breakfast,” came Mary’s unmistakable drawl through the door and to his horror he watched the gilt knob begin to turn, “y’all’s best disentangle yo’selves cause I done waited till two in the afternoon to feed yous, and I ain’t taking chances for waitin’ any longer-“ Mary stepped into the room about at the same second Elaine accomplished a dismount and roll that the would have made the marine corps proud, diving beneath the covers, only a bride sized lump to be seen by the cook as she came in with a heavy laden tray, her ingenious cowbell left behind in the hall. “Lawd Mr. Elvis, you’re wearing that loved on look just nicely, if you’ll lemme say so.” she admired his marital blush and scratched shoulders as only a proud auntie could, “Miss Elaine, you best come outta ‘der, I got bagels and cream cheese, jus’ as you like.”

“Oh Mary, you didn’t!” Came Elaine’s moan of appreciation beneath the bedding and it was altogether too close to his pelvis for Elvis’ sanity, “You’re much too good to us, you know that?” Elaine wriggled till just her head peeked out and bestowed on Mary a smile of such adoration the lady forgot the ache in her arms from carrying the tray upstairs.

“Yeas, well, wouldn't do to have y’all’s dying of malnourishment.” she huffed bashfully patting Elvis’ beet red cheeks while unconsciously setting the trey in his stiff lap.

He groaned. In appreciation for the eggs and burnt bacon, Elaine had to presume.

“Don’t you take your fill again till you’ve taken your fill, you get what I mean?” she wagged her fingers at them, first at Elvis, then at his bride as if she was second guessing who here was the more likely instigator, the groom seemingly meek and the bride grinning altogether too widely than was proper. Delighted, Mary couldn’t help her matching one, “Eat up.” She nodded, backing away while eying them suspiciously, as if at any minute they might overturn her carefully prepared victuals and begin to maul eachother anew.

“Wouldn’t think of letting it get cold!” Elvis assured her adamantly and to prove his point, stuck a bagel into his bride's mouth before getting into the eggs himself.

Satisfied, Mary left them and shut the door. They heard when she picked up her cowbell and the retreating sound of her footsteps down the hall assured Elvis it was safe. He moved the platter off his lap as if it were scorching him, flinging the offending sheets off his erection and patting his thighs, jerking his chin at a wide eyed Elaine.

“I’m a very talented man, I’ll have ya know,” he told her as she settled in his lap, his chest pressed to her back, “I can feed and fill ya at the same time.”

“So,” she began genially as she wiggled him in and got comfy, sucking cream cheese off his fingers and taking advantage of his compromised blood flow, “Is Tinkerbell gonna my nickname?”

Elvis choked on his bacon, and proceeded to cough into a pillow case. “I’ve no idea what you're on about.” he denied.

“Hey,” she grinned at him without wavering, “if you can enjoy splitting me in half, I can enjoy a nickname that outs ya for bein’ a lil nasty about it, hmm?” and she chucked his chin.

She -she had a point, Elvis supposed. “Sure, Tink, whatever you say, Tink.” he droned.

Masterlist

Taglist

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

[forwhump]

a/n; 😛 I’m back already & I brought some sad introspection w me <3 kiss kiss

tw/cw: self harm, dehumanization

living weapon whumpee, captivity, caretaking

Silas is a violent man.

There’s no way around that and there’s no kinder way to describe it. Silas is violent. He’s dangerous and bloodthirsty and horrible. He’s a monster.

He’s quick to anger and he doesn’t have a lot of impulse control. Unpredictable, they call him, as they shackle and restrain him. Just in case. He’s usually kept on a pretty short leash.

Despite, there’s a soft, almost human part of Silas hidden so low even he hadn’t known it survived. Wren found it right away. Wren domesticated it.

Silas can’t even begin to describe the way he feels for Wren. Most of it is human — most of it is so soft and so warm and there’s so much of it that it feels like it might burst clean through his skin. Some of it, still, is monster, is that violent, horrible thing; it has teeth and talons and it would kill for Wren, it would die for him. It has, both. It will again.

Wren, for whatever reason, had seen right through everything grotesque and horrible about him; Wren had seen right through to the softest, most human parts and decided there was something redeemable there.

Fuck knows why, but he had. Silas doesn’t deserve the grace, and that’s just a matter of fact. But sometimes, sometimes it kind of stokes something in his chest, something that isn’t entirely human but not entirely monster, either, and it wants him to do better. Be better. Be somebody worthy of Wren.

Sometimes it just makes him sick.

Right now, Silas can’t sleep because it’s making him sick.

It’s a bizarre, almost panicky sort of feeling that churns his stomach in time. He looks down at Wren, sprawled over his chest as he sleeps. Silas is a massive machine, and they don’t both practically fit in Wren’s bed together — Silas doesn’t fit at all, as a matter of fact, but Wren doesn’t sleep if he’s by himself, so they make it work.

Usually, Silas could lay there for hours and watch him. He might be a broken record but it bears repeating — Wren is beautiful. Wren is so beautiful Silas is both enchanted and kind of creeped out by him. Tonight, it’s their juxtaposition that makes it hard to look at him. He looks away, at Wren’s hand on his side, and it’s just as jarring; Wren’s soft, pale skin and Silas’ scabs and scarring.

Wren sees through him and he trusts him. He trusts Silas so implicitly he sleeps on his chest. But should he? And it’s making Silas sick. He tried to clean up once he’d gotten back to the unit but there’s still blood under his fingernails. He’d peeled a soldier’s face back with his teeth and he can still taste it if he focuses hard enough.

No matter how soft or warm Wren makes him feel — is there any redeeming something like that? Is there enough love in the world?

Silas is careful but Wren is small and it’s a pretty small effort to lift him up, off his chest, and onto the mattress as he slides out from under him. His hands are shaking, and he curls them into fists as he plods from Wren’s room and into the kitchen.

The water doesn’t run hot, but it runs warmer than it does in the bathroom and he turns it up as high as it will allow. He only has a washcloth, but Silas is strong and he’s stubborn. He isn’t sure how long he stands there, but he keeps his hands beneath the water and scrubs them into raw, bleeding meat. He digs too far beneath his fingernails and breaks some of them off.

Blood splatters the basin of the sink and he kind of loses himself in it. He scrubs his wrists raw, his forearms, starts raking the washcloth and his broken fingernails through the flesh of his forearm.

Blood splatters the countertop and his feet, wet and hot through his socks. He accidentally peels open a row of stitches in his elbow and the bleeding is profuse.

He’s standing in a small pool of it when Wren’s voice says, behind him, “Silas?”

It’s the middle of the night but they don’t get the privilege of darkness outside of their rooms. The lights in the kitchen are bright and fluorescent and blood glimmers on the floor, the counter, the sink, Silas’ arms, his chest, his —

He doesn’t turn but his shoulders stiffen, caught.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wren asks his back.

“Washing my hands,” Silas says.

Wren’s footsteps cross the kitchen and Silas stiffens a little more. A small hand finds one of his arms, leaking and wet with blood, and he doesn’t turn him so much as he leads and Silas follows, despite himself.

“What the fuck?” He snaps, and Silas flinches. “What are you doing?”

“Washing —“ Silas starts and Wren snatches the washcloth out of his hands. It makes a really gross, wet sound when he throws it into the sink.

He points out of the kitchen, back into the corridor. “Go.”

“I’m —“

“Go,” he snaps.

Chastised, Silas plods back out of the kitchen, down the hall, back to Wren’s bedroom. He leaves behind him a trail of bloody footprints and he drips blood onto the concrete the whole way.

Wren follows him and swings the door shut with a sound that’s too loud for the middle of the night and a flourish that means Silas is in trouble.

Which sucks, because Silas was trying. He just wanted clean hands. He just wanted clean hands but Silas doesn’t know how to touch without drawing blood. Silas isn’t a gentle man.

He sits on the edge of Wren’s bed, and Wren doesn’t look at him as he piles washcloths and gauze onto the mattress beside him. He pins up his hair, and he still doesn’t look at Silas so Silas watches him do it and it makes his throat feel kinda tight. He’s so beautiful, the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones, and Silas feels big and brutish and stupid, bleeding on his sheets.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Wren pushes his face away, irritated, before he holds out a hand, expectant. Silas holds out his arm and Wren won’t look at him, but he’s painfully gentle as he takes Silas’ hand and gently dabs clean the raw, oozing meat.

His blood is on Wren’s hands.

His filthy fuckin’ blood is on Wren’s hands.

He pulls his arm away. Wren tries to hold him still, and normally, Silas would let him. Silas would pretend like Wren actually has the strength to maneuver him, if he so desires. But he’s bleeding on Wren’s sheets and Wren’s hands and he’d woken him up to bleed; Wren, who already sleeps so little; Wren, who deserves so much more than this place and this life, who deserves so much more than anything Silas will ever be able to give him.

“Silas,” Wren says, impatient.

“I’ll do it,” he says, reaching for the washcloth.

Wren quickly holds it out of reach and says, “I’m not doing this with you right now. Put your fucking hand down.”

“No,” Silas says, and one of Wren’s eyebrows twitches.

“I swear,” Wren warns, “Silas —“

“I don’t think you should touch me,” Silas says.

It’s obviously not what Wren was expecting him to say because he stops entirely. Blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

Silas shakes his head slowly. “I’m filthy, Wren,” he says, “and I don’t think —“

“Oh my fucking god,” he says, and snorts. “Shut up.”

“What?” Silas protests. “I —“

“Zip it,” Wren says, and takes his wrist with force.

This time, Silas lets him do it. He watches Wren clean and bandage his hands, his arms, and he watches as he bleeds over Wren’s fingers, and Wren won’t look at him again.

As he smooths the last bandage over the inside of Silas’ elbow, over the reopened wound he’s so gently superglued together, he still doesn’t look at him. But he finally says, “what the fuck were you thinking?”

Silas looks away. “I had blood under my nails,” he admits, “and I didn’t wanna touch you with blood on my hands.”

With a sound like a sigh, Wren deflates. He curls his fingers around the crook of Silas’ elbow, pressing his face to his shoulder.

Silas leans his cheek against his hair and admits softly, “but I think I might just have blood on my hands, Wren. I don’t think I can help it.”

“I know,” Wren tells him softly, and lifts his head to look up at him again. He touches his cheek, achingly gently. “Silas, I know.”

Silas leans into his touch, turning his head to brush a kiss across his fingers, and he wants to say, don’t you want more for yourself than that?, but he can’t. He swallows, and his throat clicks.

“I wish I could help it,” he murmurs against his skin.

Wren brushes his fingertips across Silas’ cheekbone and murmurs, “I know.”

Silas reaches out to him slowly, and Wren doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around him, from pulling him into his chest, despite himself. Silas has a selfish streak he can’t deny.

“I don’t care, Silas,” Wren tells him softly, “if there’s blood on your hands.”

You should, Silas wants to say, but he doesn’t say anything. Selfishly, he holds Wren for a very long time.

[bts-0t-7]

So What? | MYG | Chapter 12

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader 

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

Chapter Warnings: Explicit Language 

WC: 2K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar @bontensbabygirl @codeinebelle @ldysmfrst @idkjustlovingbts

A/N: Seokjin is too smart for his own good in this chapter, sir is piecing everything together without piecing! Jin is literally giving advice - older brother advice. Hehehehhee… DO NOT COME FOR ME AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER PLEASE - 

< Prev. Series Masterlist. Next > 

Seokjin knew talking to you now would be useless so all he did was listen intently to any abnormalities in the bathroom and when you were finally done, he carefully dried your hair.

“Let’s go to bed.” You refused to move. Seokjin turned back to you. “Are you hungry?” You nodded. “Okay, I have some leftover dinner, let’s go eat.”

You trudged behind him as the both of you walked out to the kitchen. Seokjin took an extra set of utensils and some rice, placing it in front of you. “Let’s eat. Dinner today is braised pork made by - obviously yours truly - and kimchi.” Jin ruffled your hair. “Not much, but just enough.” 

You nodded and dug in. As Jin watched you eat, it reminded him of how you were in your middle school days when people bullied you for not being just like them. You constantly came over - not caring for the long distance between your school and his home - and cried to him. Back then, you were young, and couldn’t understand why Eomma*1 and Appa*2 aren’t there, having to live in the dormitory instead of come home to Oppa*3. As you grew older, you understood, learning to stand strong by yourself as well. 

However, dongsaeng*4 is still dongsaeng. You were still his little sister and he still had a responsibility over you no matter how old you were. It hurts to see you in pain. Seokjin no longer had the appetite to eat, he just watched you gobble down the food, eyes rimming with a new wave of unshed tears. 

Once you were done, he picked up the dishes and placed them in the sink, leading you back to the bedroom. 

“Oppa, I’ll was the dishes -” 

Seokjin was quick to stop you with a soft hold on your shoulders. “Oppa will do the dishes tomorrow morning. Let’s go to bed now.” Seokjin could see the hesitancy in your eyes. So he said, “Oppa is tireddd,” he whined. “Would you cuddle with your, big brother?”

You sighed and nodded, losing the battle between mind and body. 

You woke up to a wave of pounding headaches. Your face felt puffy and your eyes sore. You sighed, remembering why you ended up in your brother’s home. Slowly, you got out of bed and did your morning routine. Seokjin kept quite a few of your things in his house, knowing that more times than not, you’ll come home with him after work. 

Before Yoongi, you spent more time with your brother than in your own house. So, when you started living on your own, Seokjin had kept a few of your stuff in his house, claiming that you’d need them when you were to come over again. This leads you here now, looking at the bottles of skincare that sit on the countertop of his washroom basin.

Yoongi.

Just his name sends a wave of agony to your heart. He may no longer want you and by the end of today, he will most probably be deemed as a free hybrid. There is no need for you in his life any longer. You felt a fresh wave of tears brimming at your eyelids and you tilted your head back, frantically blinking to stop them from falling. 

You were brought out of your self-wallowing when you heard a knock on the washroom door. “Y/N? You in there?” Soekjin called out. 

You took a deep breath. Your brother didn’t need to know that you were about to break down in his washroom. “Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

“Okay. Lunch is on the table, come after you’re done!”

“Okay!” You replied back, quickly finishing your routine and putting on your clothes. You’ll put on your makeup after lunch. 

You exited the bedroom with a deep breath. You were going to make it through today like yesterday didn’t happen and cry tomorrow. You were not going to let Yoongi cloud your judgment for the verdict hearing later. And no matter how much he doesn’t want you, if the verdict pleads that Robbison is not guilty, you are going to fight tooth and nail to ensure that Yoongi and the other hybrids get their spot in this cruel world. 

“Y/N, good to see you’re not crying,” Seokjin said with his mouth full of rice. 

“And I see Oppa still talking with his mouth full of food.” You shot back, sending Seokjin into a bellowing laughter. 

“Good one.” 

The both of you ate lunch together in front of the television, letting the narrator for the show fill over the stiffening silence in the house. As you stood over the sink to wash the dishes and Seokjin stood beside you to dry them, he suddenly said, “To a certain extent, I don’t know what happened. But Y/N, it is not healthy to keep emotions stored away like this. It doesn’t matter what society views you as. Perception is key. There is no right from wrong when one views it from a certain perspective.” Seokjin bent down to store the plates in their respective places. “We both know the percentage of winning this case. Are you ready to let Yoongi go? Can you let him go?”

You stared at your brother.

“You always put on this facade when we go out, when you’re with friends, working, studying, I have seen it.” Seokjin sighed and leaned against the counter. “But I’d like to tell you, when you’re home, whether with me or any other person, let it down. It is important to take a break. I literally changed your diapers when you were a baby,” He snickered. “I’ve seen you grow up when Eomma and Appa aren’t here. I’ve been through your odd times with you. I don’t care if you feel the need to hide from others but I hope you won’t hide from me any longer.”

Seokjin was hardly ever so serious. He has always been the more carefree, go-with-the-flow type of person. There were only a handful of times you’ve seen him so serious - many of the times is when you come home from school with a bad report card or when he gets a call from the school stating you skipped class. 

“But Oppa, it hurts, that’s why-”

“Everything hurts, my dear,” Seokjin stated frankly. “In this world, everything hurts. It is only when we grow used to the hurting that we don’t feel the pain any longer. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there - it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t make you bleed.”

Of course, the course of living and finding meaning will never be easy. It was never easy for a newborn to walk, so it will never be easy for an adult to navigate the world. It takes time, patience, and learning - one step at a time.

And for the second time in the past 24 hours, you crashed into your brother, crying into his hold. 

Seokjin caressed your hair, muttering words of comfort. The both of you ended up cuddling on the couch for the next few hours before rushing out of the house in a fit of laughter when Hosoek called and asked, “Where the fuck are you guys? I said to come two hours early! You’re both really late!” 

The both of you had then sprinted to change and grab everything you could, running down to the car. “And what the hell happened yesterday? Yoongi is a mess!” 

Your heart ached at the thought of Yoongi being hurt, the worry making Hoseok’s berating go right over your head. Worried was probably not the right word in the dictionary to use when you reached the courthouse, spare ten minutes before the verdict hearing begins.

You saw many familiar and unfamiliar ones. As per usual, all the hybrids testifying sat in front of their respective lawyer and owners. You had been squished between Jin and Jimin again, this time Jimin brought Ji-Hyun along. She leaned over her husband’s lap, holding your hand as she comforted, “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Jimin squinted his eyes at you. “The talk did not go well, did it?” 

You shook your head. 

“Yeah, that’s visible. You looked like you cried and ocean and our dearest Yoongi over there,” He pointed to the stands, “Look like a fricking wreck, I’m not even kidding. He looked so horrible when Hoseok came in that I thought he was sick.” 

“Cried himself sick probably,” Ji-Hyun said. “His eyes are red and his tail is constantly tucked between his legs, ears pressed down.”

Right there, you felt bad. Really, really bad. You should’ve just told him after the verdict. You didn’t have time to think of any more ‘what ifs’ when the judge came in, making everybody stand and the air in the room immediately pulsated with anticipation and fear. 

“With L/N Y/N-ssi’s hold over Min Yoongi-ssi, from the court, he is given two choices. One, Min Yoongi-ssi is allowed the title of a free hybrid by the State of Law and Hybrid Assosciation, under the thirteenth segment of the fourth amendment of the Hyrbid Rights Acts, that he is given the free will to do as he wishes and will not be held against him. Two, he is allowed to retain the hold that L/N Y/N-ssi’s over him and remain a taken hybrid.”

Y/N’s heart cracked little by little when she heard the verdict. You knew what was going to happen, Seokjin asked you earlier as well. 

You knew that the court provided him choices but your overthinking brain just thinks of the worst. No, no, you knew you weren’t ready to let him go. Heart cracking at the verdict, you held in your emotions. Seokjin had told you earlier - asked you. 

You so desperately wanted Yoongi to turn around and look at you, even if it’s just the side eye. Whether his eyes are full of hate or nothing at all, you don’t care. You just wanted him to look at you. 

But he didn’t. Not once did he turn around and meet your eyes. After the hearing, he and all the other hybrids left the room, escorted by a group of lawyers and bodyguards. You wanted to go to him, feet moving on their own accord until Hoseok stopped you. “Y/N, you’re not allowed to follow. Only the hybrids and their lawyers.” You started to fuss. 

“Y/N, come,” Seokjin called out to you. 

“They’re just signing some papers, don’t worry. Namjoon will make sure that what he signs is right.” Hoseok tried to calm you. 

You tried to stay strong - you truly tried - but you couldn’t help the tears that started to flow down your cheeks. You couldn’t even give Yoongi a proper goodbye. But would Yoongi even want you to? After the way ‘the talk’ ended last afternoon, all you could do was watch Yoongi’s back grow further and further from you. You turned your head into your brother’s embrace, ignoring looks of sorrow from all others. 

Seokjin carefully leads you out of the courthouse, taking the other exit to ensure that you won’t be bombarded with cameras and microphones in your faces. You weren’t ready to give statements in your state anyway. You were silent throughout the ride home, only telling Seokjin to drop you off at your house. 

It was only when you entered the silence did it fully hit you. Yoongi may be a free hybrid by now, and want nothing to do with you. He could do whatever he wanted and didn’t need you tying him down. You trudged to your bathroom, stripping as you walked in, finally letting yourself cry at the final goodbye you will never give. 

Notes: *1 Eomma refers to mother in Korean. *2 Appa refers to father in Korean.  *3 Oppa refers to an older brother in Korean (female saying). Males call their older brothers ‘hyung’.  *4 Dongsaeng refers to younger siblings in Korean. 

[1-800-deactivatednearu]

EMESIS BLUE: The Importance of Colour Coordination before You Go Swangin through Hell

analysis under read more

keep in mind that this features screenshots from the sfm itself and therefore contains . what happened to the tags on this post ??? open at your own discretion

Blu(e)

[I.D.: 2 screenshots of Emesis Blue, in establishing shots of the introductions of Scout and Medic and Spy and Soldier.

In the first, Scout sits on an examination table, and Medic is looking at his teeth. The scene is cast in blue light. (3:20)

In the second, Soldier sits in Spy's car, cigarette lit and revolver drawn as he looks at something past the camera. The door is open behind him, Spy leaning in. the scene is blue with yellow light. (6:04) /end I.D.]

The SFM first establishes the world with not only exclusively BLU mercenaries, but also matching blue lighting. Blue is loyalty and calmness, blue is our status quo, blue is emesis.

Actually, why is the title of this SFM "Throwing Up Blue." Should your medication be doing that ??

[I.D.: Archibald holds a revolver, Spy behind him. Against the wall in front of them are 3 BLU mercenaries with bags over their head. The scene is cast in blue lighting. /end I.D.]

Y'know. Loyalty. Dependability. Nothing a little bit of treason can't do! :)

My belief of blue symbolizing status quo largely comes from Archibald as the BLU civilian model. We come to understand that he represents some sort of authority figure, pulling the strings behind the scenes. They pulled the mercs off death row if only so they don't have to find ethical work, and then introduced respawns to avoid hiring new ones! He pulled whatever happened in the above screenshot with virtually no repercussions! Normal things.

Red

All this about BLU, how's the RED team?

[I.D.: The zombified RED Scout, Heavy, Solder, and Engineer, as seen in the gun stash. (46:57) /end I.D.]

Maybe when the horror is about the respawn machine... it doesn't bring back mercenaries too great...

The RED mercenaries are the 1% that came back wrong from respawn--way more common than it sounds when you consider how much people die in your average game, nevermind 2fort--that come back wrong from the respawn.

At least I'd hope they want us to come to the conclusion that red = respawn.

[I.D.: Red backlit sign reading "RESPAWN" (1:01:46) and the respawn command terminal text in red (1:02:35). /end I.D.]

"Respawn" has stopped looking like a word to me at this point.

Point stands: scary red technology is scary and red.

[I.D.: 2 screenshots. First is of Dell, the engineer in a red suit and greying hair, stands with both hands on a red bar countertop. Behind him is a wall of unlabelled red bottles. (59:49)

Second depicts Medic in the red bathroom of the bar. He stands with both hands on the sink basin, facing a mirror. (1:44:14) /end I.D.]

In both scenes, a character is later revealed to be dead. In both scenes, we also get a The Shining reference!

Didn't watch the movie, can't tell you nothing about what that means.

Red is closely tied with death and the afterlife--the respawn, in all its wretched glory. In all its gory. Sorry. And in their death, they go to red rooms, as if their souls are still trapped in the red light of the respawn.

[I.D.: 2 screenshots. First is of Medic and Soldier, in Archibald's presentation room. Medic is covered in blood and leaning on an open door for support. Soldier holds a shotgun. They both look down on an off-screen zombified Sniper. (1:20:17)

Medic and Soldier again, this time playing Russian Roulette with Spy. Medic, bloodied and holding a revolver under his chin, looks to Soldier. The scene is primarily blue, with a red light cast on Medic. (1:23:14) /end I.D.]

I'm not saying Medic is disproportionately soaked in blood, but. Just look at the guy. Now look at Soldier. (Okay, maybe a little unfair considering how unscathed Soldier is. Physically.)

Throughout the SFM, Medic becomes less blue, removing his uniform after his first death and then simply becoming so blood soaked he starts sliding from reading as blue to reading as red. He's transitioning! Happy pride!

A Tangent on Red v. Blu

The focus of this tangent is to argue that there is nuance in red and blue, and not necessarily a "good" and "evil" colour.

I feel it is important to not portray one side as good and the other as evil, especially in the case of Medic, especially when what could be read as hallucination sequences are cast in red light. Please do not portray real life mental illnesses as dangerous. Please do not villainise the act of taking medication. Thank you. <3

The inclusion of Scout and Archibald on the same team, as well as Demoman and ... well, the rest of RED, all goes to show that there is no one moral to take away from one colour.

On a more unimportant note, having polarizing, absolute views of morality makes analysis a pain.

[I.D.: Zed and Maynard Conagher. They are cast in both red and blue light, their actual outfit colouration unclear. (25:57) /end I.D.]

Like as seen in here, colour is no measure of morality. They actually move frequently between red and blue lighting! I doubt anyone is in a hurry to even argue that Redmond or Blutarch are the correct one of the two. I don't even know them apart, honestly. This is TF2. The game is about two teams indefinitely fighting stupid wars for stupid prizes.

Black

[I.D.: Nearing the end of Archibald's funeral, when Medic just burst from the coffin and shot Spy. Soldier sits between the coffin and the podium in a wheelchair. There is a red line of blood on the wall. (1:38:50) /end I.D.]

It might be redundant to point this out at a funeral, but here we go anyways: black is the traditional colour of mourning in the West. Would most definitely be wildly inappropriate to walk into a funeral in bright reds and blues.

Which no one would do ever.

After all this time, death as a finality is almost surreal. Soldier got shot, like, three times, and he's still fine! Spy set himself on fire and then rolled directly into sewer water, and he's still fine! (Was. He was still fine.) Medic. You're telling me it took one bullet to the face to kill Spy?

Yea. Lol. Lmao, even.

I feel the most important costume change would actually be Medic's. No white on him, unless you count the way he was drained of all blood in between dying again and coming back again. He's a dead man walking with a score to even. He even hid in a coffin.

[I.D.: Medic standing in the entrance of the bar. He wears a black tie and matching suspenders. (1:43:13) /end i.d.]

We also get to see his outfit change post-hijacking of ambulance. Besides obscuring his time of death--because, seriously, when did this man die??--it further cements the significance of black.

It all lies in effort: if black didn't matter, reuse assets.

He dressed up nice! Would it hurt to also call attention how he looks full of blood? Medic looks alive and well for a dead man.

[I.D.: The black telephones seen throughout the SFM: the telephone in Scout's house when he hears his own voice played back (11:58), Medic holding an unplugged phone with intent to strangle Maynard Conagher (30:18), the round table of skeletons seated in front of black telephones (1:03:18), Pyro answering the phone during their interrogation with Spy (1:06:24), Archibald speaking on a payphone (1:16:30), and Maynard pulling a telephone from under the counter at the bar (1:44:28). /end I.D.]

This is how I realize there is more than one model used for the phones (rotary and touch tone, the latter more commonly appearing)! That's fun! :D

Anyways, the phones highlight a cyclical nature of life and violence and death and life again. No, this isn't poetic, this is just your average game of 2fort.

When we first are introduced to the imagery of phones, we learn about them through ominous recordings of previous dialogue, creating a literal cycle of recording conversations and then replaying them over phone calls, drawing them all to the Conagher Slaughterhouse. (Or just kidnapping them, in Scout's case.)

We actually have an outlier to these black telephones!

[I.D.: Spy and Soldier investigating Medic's office, just as his blue telephone rings (21:03) /end I.D.]

The lighting here is clear enough to definitely tell it's blue. I despise Medic and his interior design choices. This may indicate that the trend is not related to colours as much as it is related to the telephone itself, but I'm not transferring any more image sets again. Headache it be.

Like many of the other telephones seen in this SFM, it's also a touch tone telephone!

But how about after they all enter the Conagher Slaughterhouse? We don't hear many conversations in their entirety, nor do we have the full story to them. It's hard to draw conclusions without context.

Speaking of cycles...

[I.D.: Scout and Medic in Medic's office. The box of VHS tapes is tipped over and scattered across the floor. (4:28) /end I.D.

Scout, as doomed by the narrative!

As much as Medic tried, he was not able to save him, not in the present, not in the future.

The VHS is the only physical proof of a future Medic's failure to protect a past Scout.

M (1931), a VHS that needs to be rewound in order to play. His rotary phone that needs to be spun back and forth in order to enter to dial a number. The replay button of the YouTube video.

It's eternity in there!

[ceramiccity]

Modern Bathroom Sink Design

pink terrazzo bathroom - Contemporary bathroom with dual pink basins, terrazzo countertop, and unique mirror with circular light. Follow Ceramic City on Tumblr Source: https://www.pinterest.com/theceramiccity/

[omies-odd-writing-spot]

Lifeboat 06 Store

[full chapter in link]

Normally Sesa would not linger too long in town. A combination of wanting a quiet place and the realization that it would be wise to get Lana some air, had her taking up Asin’s offer to use the restroom in the back. 

To be honest Sesa was more than a little impressed with the room. It had two sections, one for washing up in a basin, another section for where you did business around a half walled section. The woman paused, standing still and listening before confirming that she was alone.

The little window was covered by one of those nice, almost full fancy knitting… lace? That was the word, lace weave? It made an interesting current that was light looking.

Sesa took a deep breath, setting the small towels she had been lent on the counter. Pulling the font of her shirt down and out, peering down into her under shirt, “Lana?”

The little bitta blinked up at her, looking to be if not asleep, had been zoned out and unforced. Lana did not really react at first to being lifted up and out, but small arms gripped tight to Sesa’s fingers. Now looking much more awake she was slowly lowering the fairy down to the almost smooth countertop to the left of the sink.

“Are you okay?” Sesa worried, watching the tiny being sit on the side of her hand, taking deep breaths. 

“Just a little warm,” Lana said as she blinked around, then again but slower and looking upwards. Taking in the room and looked, almost seasick? “Oh…gods this is…this is strange… everything is so big…”

Sesa glanced around the small room then carefully cupped her free left hand down half over Lana. “Keep taking deep breaths, but slowly bitta. You look seasick.”

“I think it's vertigo.” Lana said, her voice dropping. From the consent movement with not a lot of anything to see, and the constant heat. Now being still for the most part, and seeing everything so massive… It was making the tiny human heady and not feeling well. “Is there water for drinking?”

“Yeah… ah,” Sesa paused, before the giant woman reached for the smaller of the two towels, shaking it out after carefully making sure Lana was sitting on the counter. Making it not really a cave, but an arched section over her so the Bitta had a bit of a buffer from seeing the small room. Or really massive to her scale of things. 

The woman patted down her pockets, finding the small bottle of cooking oil she was given by the store owner. Twisting off the cap and set the bottle farther back towards the wall and then reached for the sink. A large, more purple tinted glass bowl that sat up on the counter instead of inset into it. A simple spigot for water was arched into the bowl and there was running water. 

Sesa offered the cap to the tiny girl…woman. Smiling despite herself at feeling minuscule hands gripped her fingers for balance before taking the cap and sitting back in the half cavern of towel. The cap was now sitting in Lana's lap like a big mixing bowl.

“Thank you.”

“I'm going to leave you here for a minute,” Sesa pointed to the half wall that blocked off a corner of the room. “I need to, ah, well I'll be busy for a minute.”

Lana giggled, looking down and carefully scooting back into her space. “It's a busy room after all. It didn't look like there was a bathroom on the boat.” 

“No, not anything easy for me at least,” Sesa agreed as she shrugged off her vest, careful to fold it on the other side of the counter. Making sure not to drop anything in the pockets. “Be right back.” 

Lana waved a bit to show she heard, focusing on getting an awkward few sips. Just sitting and focusing on rehydrating, then using a flexible corner of the cloth to dip in the water. Try to clean up as much as she could before Sesa came back. Lana ended up laying on the cool, solid countertop, head resting on a part of the cloth. Thankfully the big cloth was holding its arched fold and not dropping down on Lana.

Even when the semi distant sound of thundering and the vibrations of footsteps signaled that Sesa was coming back. Only Lana was not disturbed as the giant woman was washing her hands. Thankfully she seemed to be taking a good half minute to do so. 

“Feel better?” Sesa asked in a soft voice. As much not to be overheard as to hopefully not scare the Bitta.

“Yeah, it's nice and cool.” Lana said, at first not moving and as she was not disturbed. The world was slowly settling down from tilting here and there like she had been in the lifeboat or on Sesa.

Hearing fabric move and the water again, Lana rolled over slowly and pushed herself up to blink outside of the cloth cavern. Hazel eyes widened as Lana got her first real unhindered look at the giant. Just the upper half of Sesa was really visible. With that green long sleeve off now she was in what must be her people's version of a tank top, though a lighter green shade.

Maybe if this had not been so strange, or if the size scale was alike… matching? 

Lana might have tried an awkward flirt. She could only stare right now in a mix of awe and some worry. That was just solid muscle over Sesa's frame, hell she could see the giant's abbs and… and a rib?

All at once, Lana realized she saw no fat really on Sesa with the distance. Very little on her face, and what small curve of the stomach that she had must just be from what Sesa ate when fishing. She was using a wet corner of the other cloth, hand towel, to clean around her neck, chest and shoulders. 

Lana could actually see that Sesa had darker brown hair that was pulled back into a tight braid and then wrapped around her head. The golden eyes unfocused partly as Sesa now used the dry side of her cloth over her chest. Lana watched the muscles of Sesa's exposed arms, then just focused on the copper skin and realized it was not a pattern she was seeing, but scars. A lot of them, both what looked like a few layers of animal bites and some too-clean lines. 

What was Sesa's history? There looked like more pale scarring going to her shoulders, and under the hem of the tank top before it was tucked in. Sesa pulled her long sleeve back on, and then the vest before looking down. Golden eyes blinked down at Lana as Sesa was buttoning up the shirt, though not as much as before. Leaving a few undone at the top.

“Hopefully this will help with air flow for you?” Sesa asked as she awkwardly fussed with her clothes as if not used to it, and then froze. A thought clearly having just occurred to her as Sesa looked at the wall she had stepped behind. “Oh, gods, I…do you need to go too?”

Lana blinked, almost innocently up at the giant. Then startled as she understood belatedly, “Ah… well, that would be nice… I've been stuck with a bucket in the lifeboat. Is there anything that could work for me? Everything is sized for you.”

Sesa paused, looking all around before peering into the sink bowl.

“Oh dear.” Lana muttered, then hid her face as she realized this was about to get awkward again.

[oseasons]

Designer Bathroom Sink Basin Countertop at OSeasons

Your bathroom will look beautiful and functional with a Bathroom Sink Basin Countertop. It has a very stylish appearance and is very trendy. Ceramic is used for its construction, and its sleek, modern design adds to its appeal. We offer a wide variety of bathroom sink basin countertops at OSeasons. Choose from a variety of colors and finishes to match your bathroom décor. It is easy to install and maintain the Bathroom Sink Basin Countertop. Your bathroom will look brand new after installing it. It is also very durable, so you can be sure it will last for many years to come. All the products of OSeasons are made of high quality and if you are not satisfied with your purchase? We offer a full Refund within 28 days. Visit: https://oseasons.com/ for our new collections.

[m4gp13]

Day 2: Soulmates / Games

Supdercalifragilisticexpialidoscious (Al/the eldritch personification of Al's powers) X Ethan

Word count - 2200

@them-awesome-rarepairs

-

“What the fuck kind of game are you playing?” Alabaster demanded of the bathroom mirror. It gleamed under the fluorescent light of the flickering bulb in the ensuite bathroom of his quarters aboard the Princess Andromeda and he gripped the basin of the sink while he waited for its answer. Anyone walking in on him would have assumed he was crazy or going through some classic teenage self-hatred but Al knew what this was. He saw the small smirk quirk up the lips of his reflection, contrasting the pursed frown on his own face. He saw the luminous glint flash in its eyes that he knew was absent in his own. And he heard the voice that would have sounded so foreign spilling from between his lips.

“What ever are you talking about?” the reflection, this strange other Al, said. Its voice was so smooth and its tone so soft. Like a calm surface hiding a riptide below.

“Don’t act coy with me.” Al pointed an accusatory finger at the mirror. His reflection had its hands in its pockets. “You think I haven’t noticed? The odd blank spaces in my memories, blacking out at random only to come to somewhere else hours later, not to mention people talking to me about conversations I have no recollection of participating in!”

“So,” the other Al in the mirror tilted its head to the side as it looked at him like a cat looked at a bird under its paw, “What is it you’re accusing me of exactly?”

Al slammed his fists down on the countertop hard enough to rattle the glasses. “Stop hijacking my body to fuck with my social life!”

“Our body,” it corrected. Its face fractioned into shards between the lines webbing out over the mirror from the crater in its epicentre. Al drew his trembling fist back, ignoring the flecks of blood on his knuckles, and glowered.

“You seem to have a very overinflated sense of your place in this arrangement,” Al spat. “You are not me, okay? You belong to me. I’m the one in charge here.”

A smirk sliced up its face, further distorting the image of himself into an unrecognisable creature formed from jigsaw pieces in the glass. “Then fix the mirror,” it said. Al stilled. “If you’re the one in charge, if I’m simply a resource you call upon and not an entity myself, fix the mirror.”

Al clenched his hands into fists. “Fine,” he bit out. Cracking his knuckles, he extended one hand to the mirror and touched its surface with the tips of his fingers. Magic was a part of him, just like the blood running through his veins or the skeletal scaffolding holding him up. And just like his blood and bones, he owned his magic. It existed to serve him. So why the fuck couldn’t he access it now?

The other Al’s lilting chuckles infuriated him and he found his nails digging into the surface. “Having trouble?” it asked.

“Shut up!”

A knock rapped on the door to his room and Al scampered backwards, almost tripping into the shower behind him. “Al!” someone called from the hallway outside. Not someone. Ethan. Dammit. “Can we talk?”

He opened his mouth to speak but the call of, “Come in!” was not his own words. He clamped his mouth shut before the other Al could fill it with more nonsense. The door clicked open as Ethan entered the room and knew well enough to close it behind him. His eye scanned the room, the sheets lying in a heap on the bed, the paperwork strewn over the surfaces and the piles of clothes dumped on the floor. Al shoved himself out of the bathroom before Ethan could notice the broken mirror, closing the door behind him. So soon after talking to the other Al, he wanted his lieutenant as far away from him as possible but that wasn’t really an option for him. “How can I help you?” he asked, shoving his bloodied hand in his pocket.

Ethan looked over at him with a tight frown. He stood rigid amidst the chaos around him and was a solid block of black and inky plum fabric that stood out starkly against the vibrant patterns and bright greens Al decorated his room with. “I just wanted to figure something out with you,” he said, his tone tightly clipped in a way that made Al’s chest seize up and the other Al sent a fluttering of humour through him. Without a mirror to project the figure onto, its communication with him was entirely internal.

“Figure what out?” he asked. Ethan closed his eye and took a deep breath. When he looked back at Al, he pinned him under some hybrid of his professional lieutenant stare and his exasperated friend look. Al cringed under its weight.

“Whatever’s going on with us,” Ethan said.

“Us?” Al repeated dumbly. His stomach lurched with dread and a sickening rumble of pleasure from the entity made him even more sure of where this was going.

“Yes, us,” Ethan managed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You and I. This.” He motioned a hand between them. “Sometimes when you’re talking with me you act so . . . purposeful and forward and sweet and it’s like we are something but then other times you keep me at arm's length and act so closed off and clinical with me as if we’re just a General and his Lieutenant and that’s all we’ve ever been and all we ever will be but other times you’re being all chummy and pally and we’re bumping shoulders like we’re kids again and I never know which one I’m going to get or why.” He took another deep breath, trying to steady himself after his rambling speech, but Al could see the subtle way his chest trembled. “I just want to know why you’re always so mercurial with me.”

Well, you see, my powers have manifested as a separate consciousness inside my mind and it sometimes likes to fucking possess me, just a quick fyi, he thought to himself, biting the inside of his mouth to suppress a grin he wasn’t sure belonged to him or the other guy. “It’s not something I can easily explain,” he ground out, careful to keep his voice in a firm grip so the other Al couldn’t say something abhorrent enough to hang, draw and quarter the fragile relationship that was left between him and Ethan. After all the damage that thing had already done to it, his fears weren’t unfounded.

“Then try,” Ethan urged him. “Just give me something so I can have some kind of an understanding.”

“I can’t.” It hurt, by the gods did it hurt, to say no to Ethan, even when he wasn’t so desperately pleading for so reasonable a request. But this just wasn’t something Al could tell him. Ethan opened his mouth to speak but Al couldn’t hear him. Not over the other voice filling his head.

Of course you can, the thing inside of him crooned. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind having both of us around. After all, it was my flirting he was so receptive to.

“Shut up!”

“Excuse me?” With a jolt of horror, Al looked up to see Ethan staring at him with his eye wide in stupefied bewilderment.

“No!” He jerked forward a step. “I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what the fuck did you mean?” Al opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. He didn’t have anything to give. It was a knife in his heart and the dejected look on Ethan’s face twisted it in deeper.

“See?” he said. “This is what I’m talking about. This morning you walked me to the mess hall and spent all of breakfast talking to me about weekend plans and what a great job I did during my last quest.” Al cringed to himself while the entity beamed in his chest. “Then later on in the day, you acted like that conversation didn’t happen and swore you had no idea what I was talking about when I brought up the plans you made.” In his pocket, Al’s bloody fist was trembling. He kept his head down and refused to meet Ethan’s gaze. “And now you’re–you’re this!”

“I don’t know what you want from me!” he yelled, fuelled by a sudden surge of desperation.

“Consistency!” Ethan bit back. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m talking to two different people with you!” Al clamped his hands over his mouth to muffle the laughter the entity tried to force out of him. All he did was compress it into a snort that might have gone down worse than a laugh would have. Ethan crossed his arms. “Is this funny to you?”

“No!” he blurted.

“Really?” Ethan demanded. “Because I’m starting to get the feeling that this is all just some game of yours and let me tell you, I am sick of being a player in it!” Ethan turned on his heel to march out of the room.

“Wait!” Al shot forward and just managed to catch Ethan’s wrist in his hands. The other boy whipped around to face him with the fires of the Phlegethon burning his eye but something softened in his gaze. Just as well, Al probably wouldn’t have survived the encounter otherwise. “Please, just hear me out,” he begged when he was sure Ethan wasn’t about to vaporise him.

His rigid demeanour softened and he stepped down from the stance he’d been poised to spring from, nodding his head almost imperceptibly. He made no pool to tug his wrist free.

The other Al watched from within him, humour rippling from its presence as Al struggled to find something to say. “I’ve got a lot going on,” he eventually landed on. “Hecate kid things. I . . . My powers have somewhat been escaping me as of late, and trying to control them is an effort and a half.”

“Right.” Ethan’s shoulders lowered, not quite a slump, but Al was going to take it as a good sign. Ethan knew what his powers were capable of, the distortions of perception and the disregard for reality. He knew the toll they could take sometimes. He knew Al better than pretty much anyone. Better than even the echo of his own soul tormenting him from the inside. It snorted at the accusation.

Al continued his plea. “I know it’s not ideal and I know I’m probably more trouble than I’m worth but just know that I am not doing this on purpose.” He let go of Ethan’s wrist and let his hands fall limp at his sides, palms turned out as if in a meek show of surrender. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I am working on fixing this.”

Ethan sighed gently and gave a shallow nod with his eye half closed. “You should talk to your mother about this,” he murmured, meeting Al’s eyes with a look of genuine remorse.

He let a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. “I will.”

Taking a step back towards the door, Ethan cleared his throat and indicated to Al’s hand. “And you should probably get that checked out.”

Al glanced down and alleviated his confusion when he saw the ruby speckles decorating his knuckles that he forgot he had so recently rammed into a mirror. “Oh, yeah,” he said as an embarrassed flush warmed his face. “I’ll do that too.”

Ethan pursed his lips in a tight smile and gave Al a brief wave before leaving the room.

See? The entity said, immediately wiping the smile off Al’s face in place of a drooping frown. That wasn’t so bad.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Al fell back onto his bed. “Can you not talk,” he groaned, “For a minimum of five fucking minutes?”

You love my chat.

“I really don’t.”

He loves my chat.

If it had a body for Al to look at or another mirror to project itself onto, Al would have been glaring daggers at it. “Leave him out of this.”

I can’t. Al could have sworn he felt it shrug.

“Why the hell not?” he demanded, some of the bite from his voice was reduced thanks to his exhaustion. One could only deal with that thing for so long at a time.

Because we’re the same, it said with a conversational airiness that made Al wish it had a neck for him to strangle. I am you and you are me. Whatever you’re obsessed with, I love it too. We’re soulmates that way.

“Don’t ever call yourself my soulmate ever again.”

One of those ‘ever’s was redundant. Al ignored that part.

Face it, kid, it crooned as if with an audible grin, If you want me to leave him alone, you’ll have to first. It had the nerve to chuckle. And we both know that isn’t going to happen. Its presence curled up in Al’s chest like a python constricting its prey and though he knew this was all in his head, he swore he was struggling to breathe. I have a feeling we’ll be playing this game for a very long time.

-

[tipsypenguin31]

So I haven’t done AU’s since I was in middle school. When I reached high school I stopped doing them cause I personally don’t care for them. But I had this dream the other night where Mihawk was mad at me and he was scolding  me inside a Taco Bell. Idk. Dreams are fucking weird. So weird that I just had to share it with y’all. 💚

Word Count: 913

TW: There is implied smut. But nothing in graphic detail. 

Summary: 

Mihawk and Amaris had been arguing for the past couple of days. About what exactly? Who the hell knows anymore. 

Hell Taco 

Yesterday it was about him leaving his boots haphazardly outside the coat closet. He just couldn’t bring himself to take the extra few seconds to place them in there.

Then not even an hour later when he changed out of his shirt to go to dinner, instead of throwing it into the hamper, where did he throw it? Right beside the hamper. The lid was wide open. 

Amaris bit her tongue and held her frustration, that was until she walked into the bathroom this morning. 

There in the sink. Was Mihawk’s beard trimmings. Spread about the basin and countertop like confetti. 

She loved that he kept up with his appearance and such. But would it kill him to clean up? 

She begrudgingly cleaned up his mess….again. Then stomped into the living room, where Mihawk was sitting on the couch. The news on the tv, while also reading the news on his phone. 

That was another thing that pissed her off. He was always on that damn phone. 

She was sick of it. So she brought it to his attention. Which led into an argument that led into him storming out of the apartment. 

Sitting at one of the high top tables in front of the window. Amaris sends a text to Mihawk.

*I thought you said to meet you here at 1:30?  Where are you? *  

She hadn’t heard from him the rest of the morning after he walked out. She heard his motorcycle start and heard him pull out of the parking lot. Then at around noon she received his olive branch.

He sent her a text, asking if she was hungry and wanted to grab lunch. Of course, the only way she was going to agree is if she picked the place. 

*Of course. As long as it’s not something nauseating*

*And what do you consider nauseating?*

*You know exactly what I mean, darling.* 

She chuckles. She does know what he means. But she could care less. 

*Be ready in five minutes, i’ll pick you up* 

*No. I’ll walk.*

*Amaris….* 

She didn’t feel like wearing pants and a jacket. The weather was scorching today. Plus the place she wanted to eat at was within walking distance from their apartment. 

*Mihawk. It’s too hot. I really do not want to wear pants today.* 

*I just told you nothing nauseating.* 

*You either agree with Taco bell. Or I can just stay pissed off at home. At least i’ll be in the a/c* She knew she was coming off as a brat to him, when in reality, she was growing more and more irritated with him.  

*Well?*

*Fine. Be there at 1:30. I love you.*

*I love you too.* 

Now here she was. The clock read 2:15 and still no Mihawk. She knew he hadn’t gotten into a wreck, cause if he had she would have gotten an alert. When she goes to send another text to him, she hears him pull into the parking lot. 

About damn time. She gets up from her seat and heads out to meet him. Still sitting on the bike, Mihawk removes his gloves and helmet then runs a hand through his hair. 

“What took you so lo-” He pulls her down to sit on his lap. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand holding the back of her neck. He pushes her face in close. Nose to nose. 

“Do you know how badly, I want to take you into that bathroom and have my way with you.” He takes her into a deep, anger filled kiss. 

Amaris lets out a whimper when Mihawk pulls away. 

“I’ll keep having my way with you, well after you’ve cummed.” He drags his lips along her jawline, then down to her neck where alternates from kissing and nipping. 

She was driving him insane. Though he knows he is in the wrong for all the things she was nagging about, that still didn’t warrant the attitude she was giving him. He places one last kiss on her neck before moving back and nipping her earlobe. 

“I won’t stop until I feel your body shake from overstimulation, tears in your eyes and you’re alternating between apologizing and begging for me to stop.” 

Keeping his arm firmly wrapped around her waist. He releases the back of her neck and pulls his face away. 

Amaris looks into his eyes, her lips going into a playful smile. The thought of Mihawk slamming into her up against the wall of the bathroom, her moans and screams being heard by the employees turned her on. 

“Well, I'm glad I wore a sundress today. Though I thought you found this place nauseating?”

In his frustrated state he hadn’t noticed what she was wearing. 

When he looked her over, he saw she was wearing the infamous sundress that she had bought on their trip to Italy last summer. 

“You are making this very difficult to stay frustrated with you, Amaris. You know I cannot control myself when I see you in this dress.” 

The heat in her core explodes at the memories that had occurred after she bought the dress. With a mischievous smile on her face, Amaris leans in close to whisper in his ear. 

“Then don’t…..take me home and have your way with me..” 

She kisses his cheek and then whispers in his ear again

“Afterwards, you’re treating me to a romantic dinner of, Dr. pepper and a quesadilla” 

[maryfassfactory]

100% acrylic solid surface products factory in Türkiye Bathroom sink / solid surface basin / solid surface sinks / solid surface countertops / freestanding basin manufacturer in turkey from 2007 #solidsurface #corian #coriancountertops #kitchencountertops #bathroomdesign #sanitaryware #showerpan #showertray #hoteldesign #tophotelprojects #interiordesign #interiordesigninspo #interiordesignersofinsta #interiordesignideas #interiordesinger #construction #residentaldesign #hospitalitydesign #hospitalityindustry #architectdesign #kitchenisland #kitchencabinets #kitcheninspo #kitcheninteriors #modernkitchen #dreamkitchen #homekitchen #thedelightofdecor #kitchendesignideas #coriandesign http://www.maryfass.com @bathroom_decor @bathroom__decors @_home_interiors_ @_homeidea @__home__decors corian basin , solid surface sink factory , solid surface freestanding basin manufacturer , solid surface sheet factory , solid surface countertop producer , solid surface shower tray manufacturer , stone resin manufacturer , stone resin shower pan manufacturer , stone resin shower tray manufacturer , artificial stone products factory , artificial stone shower tray manufacturer (at İstanbul Turkey) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoNSS_7ttI_/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[apl-apollo]

Simple Tips to Install a Bathroom Tap/Faucets

Installing new bathroom taps or faucets can upgrade the look and functionality of your space. Although installing new faucets in the bathroom may be daunting, it becomes a DIY home improvement that you can easily handle with the right tools and following the right procedure. For instance, here's a simple guide that will help you install bathroom faucets most effectively:

Step 1: Gather Your Tools

Prepare in advance when installing by making sure you have the following tools and materials beforehand:

Adjustable wrench

Basin wrench

Plumber's tape

A bucket or towel for catching excess water

Silicone sealant

Preparing everything will save you time and make the task much easier.

Step 2: Shut Off the Water Supply

Before you begin, turn off the water supply so there will be no spurts or leaks. To do this, switch those valves to the right. Then, open the existing tap to drain residual water from the pipes.

Step 3: Removing the Old Tap/Faucet

Loosen the nuts holding the old tap by utilizing an adjustable or basin wrench.  Remove all the mounting parts and the old tap from its position, and clean the mounting area where the new tap is to be placed. This eliminates any possibility of a worse seal and fit for the new fixture.

Step 4: Installing the New Bathroom Faucet

Attach the new faucet to the sink or countertop. Most modern faucets come with a rubber gasket or O-ring to seal the tap from any water leaking underneath. If your faucet seller hasn't supplied you with this product, you must apply a thin layer of silicone sealant around the base.

Step 5: Connect Water Supply Lines

Wrap the plumber's tape around the threads of the faucet's inlet connections to ensure a watertight seal. Connect the water supply lines to the faucet and hand-tighten the nuts with a wrench for an additional quarter turn.

Step 6: Check for Leaks

Turn on the water slowly to verify the connections. Open the tap while checking for leaks at the base and under the sink. Any dripping you find calls for the connections to be tightened until the dripping stops.

Step 7: Finishing Touches

After the installation is complete and leak-free, wipe off excess sealant from around the base of the faucet. Turn on the faucet to test for good functionality and constant water pressure.

Installing new bathroom faucets or taps is one of the easier DIY activities that can be quite transforming, in both looks and functionality, in your bathroom. The following steps will help you achieve professional results without the help of a plumber. APL Apollo makes classy and reliable bathroom fittings that easily go along with different designs and personal preferences, in case, you are looking for good-quality, durable options.

Follow us on:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/APLAPOLLO

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_VuCZ7Nr4VsfoS81V063Ig?view_as=subscriber

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/apl_apollo/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ApolloPipes

LinkedIn: https://in.linkedin.com/company/apollo-pipes-ltd

Website: https://www.apollopipes.com/