#The Trouble With Tink

[theblorboscalledtheturtles]

2000s kids book franchises

[sakuraswordly]

Music Background Play: Where the Sunbeams Play

Knowledge 18.1

Return to Never Land (or Peter Pan in Disney's Return to Never Land) is a 2002 animated film sequel to the 1953 film produced by the Walt Disney Television Animation in Sydney, Australia and released by Walt Disney Pictures and Buena Vista Pictures Distribution. The original "Return to Neverland" VHS & DVD was released on August 20, 2002. It included digitally animated sequences and an all-new voice cast. Return to Never Land was re-released on a Pixie-Powered Edition DVD on November 27, 2007.

Plot: In London during World War II, this is the story of Wendy's daughter, Jane, who is kidnapped by Captain Hook and Peter Pan must come to the rescue.

Source Information: disneyfairies/Peter_Pan

In The Trouble With Tink (2006), Peter Pan pretended to mistake Tinker Bell and Terence for butterflies and made as if he were going to catch them and put them in his butterfly collection. Peter thought the prank was extremely funny, but neither Tink nor Terence shared the sentiment. However, giving back Tinker Bell's spare hammer made her think much more fondly of him again, and she promised to visit him again. According to the book, Peter has "the eagerness of a puppy, the cleverness of a fox, and the freedom of a lark - all rolled into one spry, redheaded boy."

Peter in Tink North of Never Land

[mozillasticks]

These guys are inseparable lol

[eddiesxangel]

I Do Believe In Fairies | E.M

Cw: Halloween party, reader is dressed as Tinkerbell, alcohol, anxiety, blood, fluff, meet-cute, 1.7k words.

An: this is a repost, not a lot of people saw it the first time so hopefully you enjoy 🧚

Your anxiety flourished as you walked into the dimly lit room at the back of the restaurant. Your boss was hosting her annual Halloween party, and you came alone because your work friends were meeting you there. They had planned a group costume, but you didn’t have time to go shopping, so you settled on your usual Tinkerbell.

As you scanned the room for your friends, you noticed you hadn’t seen anyone out of costume. Even the bar staff were dressed as mad scientists so that settled your nerves. You always felt weird about appearing in places overdressed or worried you would bring more attention to yourself than needed. To say you did not like to stand out from the crowd was an understatement.

Surprisingly, the night has been going well. There have been no embarrassing qualms like your wings getting stuck on someone’s face or you tripping over your heels. Your boss was in a great mood, and your mood lifted once your friends arrived and a few drinks had been consumed.

A few hours into the party, you were chatting with your friends, and they quickly excused themselves to get more food. You turn around because you don’t know what to do while waiting, and an unfamiliar but handsome face approaches you.

"Hi, I’m Eddie." He smiles.

“Hi, I’m Tinkerbell,” you giggle

“The Tinkerbell? No way.” he raises his hand to his heart and pretends to stumble back. You noticed his fingers were adorned with tattoos and plenty of silver metal rings.

“What are you supposed to be? A waiter?” You giggled, flicking his black apron wrapped around his waist, which held a notepad and pen sticking out of the pocket.

He was dressed in a sleek black button-up shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up, paired with well-fitted black dress pants and matching shoes. Around his waist, he wore a neatly tied black apron. His hair was neatly pulled back into a low bun, and his most striking feature was his incredibly large brown eyes that seemed to draw you in.

“Uh-yea? So can I get you anything? Another champagne?” He smirked.

“Very committed to the role, I see,” you state as a matter of factly, twirling your empty glass.

"Another champagne coming right up." Eddie gives you a wink and walks away.

“Hey, I’ve never seen him before. He in marketing or something?” Your friend dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo comes back and hands you a bread roll.

“I don’t know, but he’s so cute,” you whisper back.

A few minutes later, Eddie returns with your drink

“One champagne for Tink.” You quickly turn your shoulders and see Eddie, but your wings knock the glass out of his grip.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You quickly squat as much as your tiny green dress and heels will let you so you can pick up the bigger pieces of glass.

“Do you know where the staff are? I haven’t seen anyone all night. We need a mop and a broom,” you say frantically, holding broken glass in your hands.

“It’s okay, Tinkerbell. I’ll be right back; don’t move.” Eddie ran off to the back to grab the broom from the supply closet and a paper bag from the kitchen, and you continued to pick up the pieces of glass.

When he returned, you held your thumb, bouncing repeatedly like you had cut yourself.

“Fuck” you whispered under your breath. You cut your thumb.

“Here,” you look up to see Eddie holding out a bag to put the glass in and a broom in the other.

“How did you find this? Why didn’t you find someone that works here? Won’t you get in trouble?” you were rambling, and your thumb was in pain.

“Sweetheart, I work here.” He takes your hand to examine your thumb.

“What? But you-” he gently took your wrist and weaved you through the sea of monsters, witches and mummies until you got to a door that said Staff Only

“Am I allowed back here? I don’t want to get you in trouble?” you worried.

“Calm down, Tink. My middle name is Trouble. Let me help you,” he said calmly and collectedly. Being near him made you feel calm yet anxious at the same time.

“I’m sorry, but I thought you were in a costume...” You shake your head as he closes the door behind you.

The single washroom was very quiet, much more intimate than the loud, boisterous party room.

As you turned to face him, you noticed the lighting was much better in this spot. In contrast to the dimly lit party room, you could now clearly make out his features. His face was clean-shaven, with a hint of a 5 o'clock shadow starting to form. His jawline was defined, and his lips were full. You were so engrossed in admiring his features that you didn't even realize he had moved and was now standing beside you at the sink.

“Don’t sweat it, babe,” he smirked, turning on the faucet and guiding your hand under the water. You winced at the cold water hitting your open skin, and Eddie apologized. He grabbed a paper towel, and you wiped your wound as he unwrapped a bandaid.

“Thumb,” he asked, and you stuck it out like you were giving him a thumbs up. He wraps your thumb with concentration, his tongue peeking out as his eyes focus on your finger. He unexpectedly kisses it. “There. Good as new.”

“So how do I contact your boss to inform them about the excellent customer service?” You awkwardly giggle.

“Shit, I’m sorry, you’re uh, you’re just adorable, and I don’t know what came over me” he took a step back.

“I think you’re cute, too.” you look down bashfully

Eddie sighed with relief.

“Why don't you give me your number so I can ask you for a proper date?" He smirks.

You pass him your phone so he can enter his contact info.

A loud bang on the other side of the door startled you, and you jumped.

“Come in, Ed. We are drowning out here; get her number already, and let’s go,” his friend yells. Eddie hands you back your phone and swings open the door. Eddie's coworker is standing on the other side dressed as a pirate.

“Jesus Christ, man, we’re on the clock,” the one-eyed pirate whispers under his breath

“It wasn’t like that man; she cut her thumb, and I was-” You didn’t hear the rest because they both walked further away.

You chased after them out of the staff bathroom, not wanting to get into trouble and made your way back to the party

“Where did you sneak off to? Your friend, dressed as Shaggy, wiggled his brows at you.

“Oh, uh, cut my hand in the broken glass.” You lift your hand to show them your bandaid-clad thumb.

“Yeah, you cut your thumb,” he air quotes and laughs.

You playfully roll your eyes, and your phone chimes, so you glance at it.

Lost boy: Hey Tink, sorry I had to run off. Got kidnapped by the evil pirates. Hopefully, you’ll be able to save me with that magical fairy dust and find me after my shift. 😉

[ikkosu]

TO LIVE, AND TO SERVE

part one

(tfo. sentinel x gn.miner.reader )

spoilers! just in case. nothing plot heavy spoilers but yk just in case.

one, two, three

CHAINS clinked against the ground. Ones, you realize that were yours as you try to lift up your pedes, only for it to stop short a few centimeters high and drag back down again with a hackle. Alright, so you're shackled. Easy, just flip over and see where I am.

You tried. Tried. To flip over, but all you could manage was a wiggle and that's just about it. Your servos were chained to your back. And your neck was sore bent at a position for so long. The ground was grimy and dark and your cheek — Primus it was sore —was pressed against the floor.

Where am I?

A migraine pulsed behind your optics, coupled with a familiar faint ache thrumming from your abdomen, freshly sore.

Oh, right.

A kick to the shin and one to the helm. A blur of colors. Then, a throttle. Darkwing, you grimaced. You should've known better than to play hero and help. A creak sounded, hinges of a metal door opening and your neck strained from frantic ways of trying to look over your shoulder.

—Proved futile.

"Oh, you don't have to run." A voice echoed, a cave-like resonance that trilled and bounced off the walls of the cell. "I've already made sure that you couldn't."

The shadow stretched across the floor. It became larger, molding in size. Into shape. You try to speak, but all that came out were incoherent slurs of sentences. Each one increased with panic. Intake, slack, faceplate numb. And that, to your unfortunate demise, amused the Prime.

"No worries, though, Airachnid's venom aren't usually that fatal. Well, usually. But this time I advised, and I'm glad she listened, to use her lesser death-inducing ones. Ones that take an instant. Its a bit of a mess when anomalies die."

His pedes stopped beside your helm. "And you know that... don't, you?" Another babble from you made him laugh. "Hah. You look ridiculous. Here, allow me."

A harsh tug on your back flipped you over and you grunted, finally able to relish some light from the ceiling. Sentinel prime loomed above you, a grin on his face.

Oh, Primus.

You never thought this was how you'd meet your beloved Prime. Besides, any other way would result your spark snuffed and churned into energon. The ache in your abdomen pierced into a searing pain. You winced.

"You know what that is? Its a kind of paralysis that only affects your body, not your helm." He tapped your forehead.

Tink.

Tink.

"Your mind still works. You can think, you can feel. I can see your optics are still bright." He tips his helm, curiously amused. " Still got that little fire in you, huh. And you're scared. You're scared, yes?"

Silence. You only stared back, chassis pumped with andrenaline. What else you were suppose to say, blegh blegh blegh?

" Silly me. Blink twice if you're scared."

You blinked once.

"Oh?"

Then another slow blink.

"That's what I thought. Now," he knelt beside your helm. The tight smile on his face was nothing genial. " What did I tell you about miners going around creating troubles for me to fix. "

Sir! It wasn't what it was! You rustled, moving you mouth. Nothing came out. Whether Sentinel was aware of the incident or not, it seemed he chose to ignore the possibility that you might be right.

" Not only you defied a supervisor, you also kicked him and destroyed — let me see," He tapped your cheek, tink tink tink, optics to the ceiling, thinking. "Oh yes, almost blew up crates worth of decades use. Injured five of my gaurds. Many more, probably. And, why is that? To make a point nobody will understand. To make a point that's virtually worthless?"

You shook your head.

We couldn't go on any longer. Sir, please.

We are free.

We need to be free.

"Your little speech was adorable. That mineer you saved, oh how melodramatic. Unfortunately like you, he's not going to have the opportunity of choosing his punishment."

Your optics widened and you froze. That look on your face seemed to please him and he lunged forward. You choked as he grabbed your face, pulling your head up to his level.

"It's a shame." He crooned. " You miners are so delicate. Its a miracle you managed this much through the mines already." The other servo grabbed your throat. He sighed, and tightened both grips.

The accumulating andrenaline allowed you to kick below in panic. The venom was dissapating. You feel a little pulse in your pedes, as well as the sensors blooming back on your digits.

"Now, I'll give you two options" He leaned closer. "And I'll only say this once. You can serve Cybertron and it's people — or,"

The servo clutching your throat released and glided down, down and lower...

" Or, you can serve me. Your Prime. Your leader — What will that be?"

Your optics flickered, staring back into his blue ones.

You faintly reminisced bumping into a miner on the street while heading down to the main square of iacon. You've just had your pay, a few hundred shanix clutched in your servos and the collision smeared them across the ground. Frantic, you tried to pick them up, ignoring the several laughters from the bots above — and the miner did too. They were just like you, except...

"Here," They said.

You look up.

They were pretty. Well kempt. A gentle smile on their face. Their platings were shiny, glossy. Without a scratch.

You were confused.

They were just like you. No cogs. No nothing.

"Oh, you're at a different sector, then?" You remember asking.

The miner blinked and frown, chagrined as he handed the last slip of shanix and looked away. You couldn't asked more. A mech with gleaming gold platings dragged them away.

The last look he gave was a somber look before looking ahead. Never back.

You remember being confused. A little irritated at such a display the senator took them away.

But, now. Now, it all made sense.

Is that what it was?

A toy for them to play with?

"I'll...serve....you...." You croaked out.

But even so, at least you're able to live.

"Good mech."

[weneeya]

i love your geto fics smm! 🫶

I was tinking about reader being the shy and quiet type of girl but is very talkative when it comes to geto (her close friend) which geto loves because he loves hearing her voice and the facial expressions she makes. One time she was talking to geto, blabbering something about her day then geto just stares at her reader misunderstands it and thought he's getting bored/annoyed by all of her talking so she stops talking then geto's like "why'd you stop, i wanted to hear your voice"

keep talking w/ geto m.list | rules

note. thank u sm omg I'm always so happy when people say they love my work I could cry <3 I hope you'll love this one just as much!

You weren’t really known for being a talkative person. In fact, you were quite the opposite. You were a shy girl that was pretty discreet most of the time. Except with one person in particular : Geto Suguru. He was your closest friend ; you didn’t say best friend because you didn’t really like this word. When it was Suguru, you could speak for hours without getting out of things to say. 

Suguru loved it. He loved how you were like this only with him. His voice was like a soft melody to his ears and he thought that he could listen to you ranting all day long without a problem. The facial expressions you had when you were talking about anything were probably his favorite thing. You were so expressive with him and it made you even cuter than usual. 

Today wasn’t different. You were both sitting at a cafe, and you were the one doing all the conversation, as always. It wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to say, it was just that you seemed to have so much to say and yet so little time. He couldn’t stop you when you were like this, and he didn’t want to. 

You were talking about your day, more specifically your morning that had been pretty awful. You had a lot of trouble, like fate wasn’t against you, so you were clearly venting to Suguru. He was simply looking at you without saying anything, almost like he wasn’t listening to you. His eyes were glued to your face, moving from your eyes to your lips. 

You stopped yourself in your complaint, a lot of thoughts coming into your mind. What if you were bothering him? What if he finally had enough of listening to you? You started to worry, playing with your fingers on the table without speaking anymore. Suguru realized quickly that you weren’t speaking anymore, almost immediately in fact. 

“Why did you stop? I wanted to hear your voice more,” he said. You raised your eyes at him again, a furious blush all over your face. Did he really just say that? You must have heard it unwell, it couldn’t be otherwise. You were ready to say something when he grabbed your hand with no hesitation. 

“Come on, tell me more.” A soft smile appeared on his lips, and you quickly looked away. You never realized how intense his gaze was before. You could feel it on you even when you weren’t looking at him. You cleared your throat, searching for your words and what you were previously saying. 

Still with your hand between his, Suguru put his cheek into his free hand, looking back at your face. His fingers were playing with yours, and he was watching your lips moving and trembling slightly as you were losing your words even more. Since when did you feel this way for your closest friend? You never realized before today. 

You never hesitated again with Suguru, because he always showed you how much he loved your voice, in every circumstance.

suguru ily sm pls come back to save the world and our lives

[monzabee]

déjà vu (beyoncé’s version) – ln4

masterlist

Summary: The one where a bad prank leads to you and Lando exploring an option you thought was not an option.

Pairing: lando norris x bestfriend!reader (nicknamed Tink)

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: smut elements but no actual smut, cursing, pining and of course fluff!

Request: “Haiiii. I love your style of writing Lando and feel like you would 100% do a request justice to scratch the itch in my brain Reader and him have been childhood friends, mutual pining with some sexual tension but never crossed lines other than a new years kiss with friends etc. So reader ends up training and qualifying as a physio/masseuse and travelling with Lando bc fun besties on tour together yay! Thinking she ends up getting to know his body really well from that and has to massage some intimate area- tension builds blah. They have a cosy night in together after front row quali to prep for the race, face masks cuddles bc really physically comfortable together and then some confessions happen. After this going out to celebrate home race (not jinxing tomorrow!!) and reader ends up dancing with another driver, Lando gets jealous fully opens up and they go home together (as much detail on that as you feel comfortable with) No probs if it’s something you don’t feel inspired to write! Pls continue writing whatever you love because I love to read your stuff!!”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! am i back after a literal month of no fics?? i hope so!! thank you so much for being patient with me you guysi i appreciate it, and i just want to say that this was the first time i wrote for lando (and you can definitely thank @userlando and her lando brainrot posts for that) and i’m kind of obsessed!! so as always, thank you to the anon for the request, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Being friends with Lando has resulted in both of you getting in trouble way too many times, you realise. The most recent case? The both of you ended up in a supply closet nearby the Aston Martin hospitality, hiding from a very, very, angry Spaniard. The close proximity and the limited space wouldn’t have been a big issue, for if Lando wasn’t looking at you with that look in his eyes. Under normal other circumstances, your reaction would’ve been much more different to the one you give him now – which is a glare that shows him you are not happy with the situation the both of you are in.

You’re about to scold him, but the words on your tongue quickly die as he presses his index finger to your lips. “I know you’re about to yell at me,” he whispers as he tries to keep his voice as low as possible, “but I really don’t want to be found right now.”

“Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before, you bloody idiot.” You hiss while slapping his hand away, which wins you a mock pout in return. “Why would you play that song every time he walked into a room?”

“It’s his name,” Lando tries to reason, “I thought he’d be used to it by now!”

Here’s the sitch. Lando, being the absolute prankster he is, decided to play ‘Fernando’ every time his former teammate entered into a room that morning – which resulted in the Spaniard becoming more and more annoyed with him until he snapped and Lando had to find himself a hiding place. How did you get roped into this, you may ask? You have absolutely no idea, other than your best friend dragging you into a nearby storage closet as you were walking back to the McLaren hospitality after meeting up with some of your friends for a cup of coffee. And now? The two of you are stuck inside a closet which is obviously too small for you both, and Lando has to bend his neck in an uncomfortable position.

“Lando,” you whisper in an attempt to keep your voice down, “don’t bend your head like that, you’ll strain something.”

“Well it’s not exactly comfortable, Tink.” He grimaces as one of the shelves hit his neck, which causes him to let out a low groan.

Ignoring the nickname he’s used for years, you motion him to move lower. “Just– let me see, okay?”

He begrudgingly nods as he bends his body towards you to accommodate you. You let your fingers run across his skin to find any knots along his shoulders. He lets out another low groan, but this one is more appreciative as you work some of the knots your fingers end up finding.

You watch as Lando’s expression changes from painful discomfort to relief as your fingers work their magic on his tense muscles. For a brief moment, it's just the two of you in the confined space, and you almost get lost in the comfortable silence. “Feels good,” Lando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “I swear you have magic hands or something.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, “I just know your body, Lando.” After realising the words that come out of your mouth, your face flushes with embarrassment at the unintended implication of your words and you scramble to add, “Not like that, I didn’t mean–”

He smirks playfully, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Oh, really? My body, huh? You think about my body often?” he teases, his hands squeezing your waist – and being lost in the moment, you don’t even know how they ended up there.

Your cheeks grow even hotter, and you feel your heart rate quicken. “No, that's not what I meant,” you stammer, trying to regain your composure, “and you know it’s basically my job to think about, you know?”

The mischievous glint in his eyes shine brightly as he decides to play dumb, “To think about what, baby?”

Your heart skips a beat at his teasing, and you can't help but let out a small laugh, trying to hide your embarrassment. “Don't be ridiculous, Lando,” you retort, trying to act cool despite the butterflies in your stomach. “I meant knowing your body like an expert, considering the fact that you pull a muscle every time you decide to do a physical activity.”

He chuckles, and his hands, still resting on your waist, give you a playful squeeze. "Sure, sure, Tink," he replies, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "But let's be honest, it's not just my body you know well. You practically read my mind too."

You roll your eyes, trying to playfully push him away. "Oh, please. You're not that hard to figure out."

Lando leans in a little closer, his grin still evident. "Is that so? Then tell me, oh expert of Lando Norris, what am I thinking right now?"

You raise an eyebrow, not falling for his trick. "You're probably thinking that you got away with the Fernando prank and now you owe me big time, your brain is empty most of the time."

He smirks, impressed by your response. "You're good, Tink. But you're right, I do owe you one. What can I do to make it up to you?"

You pause, the closeness between the two of you making it difficult to think clearly. "Well, for starters, maybe you can stop dragging me into your pranks and getting us into trouble," you suggest with a hint of a smile. “And I don’t know, maybe take pole for me, you know?”

As the playful banter continues, you both seem to forget about the predicament you're in. The confined space of the closet no longer feels suffocating; instead, it becomes a haven for shared laughter and camaraderie.

Just as the two of you are lost in the moment, the closet door suddenly opens, and you both freeze. The angry Spaniard stands before you once again, but this time, his expression has softened, seeing you and Lando in a surprisingly intimate moment.

"Am I interrupting something?" Fernando asks, his tone amused.

Your face turns beet red, and Lando lets out a nervous chuckle. "Oh, hey there. Just having a chat, you know."

But Fernando raises an eyebrow, still looking amused. "In a supply closet?"

You and Lando exchange a sheepish glance, realizing how the situation must appear to Fernando. "Well, we kind of got caught up in the moment," you admit, hoping he doesn't read too much into it.

Fernando chuckles, and there's a warm glint in his eyes. "I see. Well, it's none of my business, but you might want to find a less cramped place to chat next time."

You nod in agreement, grateful that Fernando seems to be taking the situation lightly. "You're right. We'll keep that in mind," you say, trying to sound casual.

Lando adds with a grin, "Yeah, and we promise not to play 'Fernando' every time you enter a room from now on." But he’s quick to correct himself when you give him a glare, “I promise not to play 'Fernando' every time you enter a room from now on."

Fernando chuckles again, seemingly amused by the whole ordeal. "I'd appreciate that. Anyway, carry on. I won't keep you two any longer."

As he walks away, you let out a sigh of relief. "That could have been a lot worse," you say, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

"Yeah, we got lucky," Lando agrees, giving you a playful nudge. "But you know what they say, Tink, nothing like a bit of closet bonding to strengthen a friendship."

You roll your eyes at his playful banter, but there's a fondness in your heart as you look at him. "You're incorrigible, Lando Norris."

He grins, "You love it, though."

You can't help but smile, knowing he's right. “Come on,” you say, “you have a quali to attend.”

The tension from the qualifying session had left you on edge, your heart pounding with every lap, and your nerves had gotten the better of you, leading to some slightly bloody nails from biting them in anticipation. But all that anxiety melts away when you see Lando step out of the car, grinning ear to ear. As soon as he catches sight of you, he opens his arms, and you don't hesitate for a moment. You rush into his embrace, holding him tightly, relieved that he's safe and thrilled that he performed so well.

"You were amazing out there!" you exclaim, unable to hide the pride in your voice. "P2, front row! That's incredible!"

Lando chuckles, his arms still wrapped around you. "I don’t know how we did it!"

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, your heart swelling with admiration for your best friend. "I never doubted you for a second," you say earnestly.

His grin widens, and he playfully ruffles your hair. "I know you didn't. Seems like you’re my lucky charm, hm?"

“You know what that means?” You ask him return, a playful smirk on your lips.

His answer comes quickly, and his look seems to reflect your own, “Pizza and a movie?”

Your reply is just as enthusiastic as you throw your arms around him and give him a big smile, “Pizza and a movie, baby!”

Eventually, you manage to escape the whole hustle and bustle of the circuit, and you and Lando find yourselves back at the hotel, with you on the couch trying to find something to watch and him deciding to take a quick shower after the stressful day of qualifying. After a few minutes, you hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. You smile to yourself, glad that Lando is taking some time to relax after such a demanding day. As you wait for him to finish, you finally settle on a movie to watch with a small grin on your face, clearly pleased with your choice. Just as you're about to start the movie, you hear the bathroom door open, and Lando emerges, looking refreshed and relaxed.

After he gets the pizza box out of the oven, he walks over to the couch, wearing sweatpants instead of his jeans, and flops down next to you. "That shower was exactly what I needed," he says with a contented sigh.

You chuckle, glancing at him, while also trying to actively ignore the fact that he’s wearing grey sweatpants. "Feeling better now?"

"Definitely," he replies, flashing you a grin. "So, what are we watching?"

“Mamma Mia,” you scoff, “of course.”

“A classic, nice.” He nods in understanding, extending the pizza box to you for you to take a slice. “It’s still warm.”

You wordlessly grab a slice and pass the box back to Lando as you settle in your seat, ready to focus on your choice of movie. The comfortable silence between you feels familiar, like the unspoken language of best friends who have shared countless memories and moments together. Throughout the movie, you can't help but notice Lando's occasional stolen glances at you, and you find yourself stealing glances right back. He even winks at you with that boyish grin every time he catches you staring at him, making you giggle as you quickly turn your attention back onto the screen. You somehow find yourself sprawled out on the couch once the pizza box is emptied and discarded, and it’s harder for you to keep your eyes open. With your head on Lando’s lap, he plays with the ends of your hair as the two of you try to keep your attention on the screen.

‘Try,’ being the operative word here, since Lando realises that you end up falling asleep in the middle of the movie where Sophie realises all of the men she invited to the wedding thinks they are her father, and though he finds some kind of comfort in the chaos knowing that it will get resolved eventually, he can’t help but take his role as a makeshift human pillow very seriously. As the movie continues playing, Lando tries his best not to disturb your peaceful slumber. He leans back against the couch, adjusting his position so you can rest more comfortably on his lap while also trying so hard to not wake you up. He can't help but smile to himself as he plays with your hair, finding himself mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathe.

With a sudden realisation that maybe it is not the best thing to stare at you while you sleep, he tries to occupy himself with something on his phone while also trying to keep still so that you don’t wake up. However, the text thread between him and Max quickly makes him realise that the thoughts that he tries so hard to keep away. He never gave himself the opportunity to think about the two of you that way, he supposes. Not that it would be weird or anything, but in his mind, he’d seen, and been in, far too many relationships form and de-form to know that not all is permanent when it comes to relationships and it’s also not something he’d want to risk when it comes to you. Although the unwarranted thoughts of the two of you together, as a couple, have been haunting him for the past couple of months, he did a great job of sending them away and finding something else to focus on – up until now, that is. And now that he’s pictured the two of you together, holding hands in the streets of Monaco, going on dates, doing more than what ‘best friends’ are meant to do, it doesn’t seem that daunting to give it a try.   

He carefully shifts you onto his lap with gentle movements, surprised that you don’t wake up and also trying to figure out the best way to wake you up without startling you. As he gently brushes your cheek, your eyes flutter open, and you look up at him with a sleepy smile. "Did I miss the end of the movie?" you ask, your voice still heavy with sleep.

Lando chuckles, shaking his head, but not stilling the movement of his hand. “No, we just finished. You fell asleep somewhere in the middle.”

You sit up slightly, rubbing your eyes with a small yawn. “I'm sorry,” you say, sounding apologetic.

“No need to apologise,” he assures you, his thumb caressing your cheek. “You looked adorable sleeping, Tink.”

Your cheeks flush slightly, and you give him a playful nudge. “Stop teasing me.”

Lando grins, but there's a tenderness in his eyes as he looks at you. “I'm not teasing, Tink. I mean it. You always look adorable, no matter what you're doing.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his sincere compliment, and you can't help but smile back. “Thank you,” you say softly, feeling a warmth spreading through you, “I, uh, I should probably go to my room and let you sleep.”

“What? No, you don’t have to go.” Lando’s eyebrows furrow on their own, “I mean, you could stay over, it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

You give him an unsure look, “I don’t know, Lando, you have a race tomorrow.”

“And we’ll sleep,” he shrugs, “the name ‘sleepover’ implies that, baby.”

You end up giving in and nodding, albeit a little hesitant. "Alright, I'll stay over."

Lando's face lights up with a bright smile, clearly pleased with your decision. "Great! It'll be fun, just like old times."

You chuckle softly. "Yeah, just like old times."

And you’d expect it to feel like the old times, because the two of you said it would be like the old times – the times where you’d spend the night over at his house because his mother picked you up and you didn’t want the playtime to be over. But instead of the excitement of a prolonged play date with your best friend, you find yourself anxious in the hotel bathroom over the fact that it’s him out there, and there is no way that he is not aware of the way you feel about him. You take a moment to compose yourself, splashing some cold water on your face to calm your nerves. This situation is new territory for both of you, and you don't want anything to ruin the friendship the two of you have. When you eventually make your way out of the bathroom, you desperately want to go back in, feeling undoubtedly exposed under Lando’s burning gaze.

“What?” You ask, your voice coming off weaker than you hoped, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

It takes a minute for him to answer you, mainly because of the fact that poor Lando is having a brain malfunction at the sight of you in his shirt – which he gave it to you because it was the only logical option for sleepwear, you know? Suddenly regretting his possessive streak, he attempts to clear his throat, “Nothing, you look good in my clothes.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you try not to let yourself become reduced to a blubbering mess, “Oh, well thank you. It’s yours,” after a brief moment of realisation you quickly add, “but you already knew that.”

“Tink,” he calls out, snapping you out of whatever embarrassed state you’re in, and your eyes quickly snap to his. “Come here,” he pleads as he extends one of his towards you, he’s quick to draw you into his arms – and just like that, you find yourself straddling your best friend.

“This is crazy,” you whisper as Lando grabs you by the waist to still your movements as you try to find a comfortable position while not realising just how uncomfortable it becomes for him.

“It doesn’t have to be,” his whisper is just as soft as yours as he looks up to you, “we don’t have to make it weird.”

A compromise, you’ll take it. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” As much as you hate it when he replies to your questions with his own, you nod your head with a sheepish look on your face, though it doesn’t satisfy Lando as a valid answer. “I need you to say it, baby.”

You answer comes of in an instant. “I do, please.”

“Such good manners,” he mumbles while giving you that boyish grin you love oh so much. When he catches biting the corner of your lip, you’re broken out of your daydream by his thumb pulling your lip free. “Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself,” his thumb caresses the side of your lip, “that’s my job, anyway.”

Your cheeks flush at his playful comment, and you can't help but smile at his words. "Your job, huh?" you tease, feeling the tension in the air starting to dissipate.

Lando chuckles, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your waist. "Among other things," he replies with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Before you give yourself the opportunity to overthink, you lean in and press a soft kiss to Lando’s lips – it’s only a peck, a hesitant one at that, but not completely uncharted territory when you think about it. The two of you have shared kisses before, at Christmas or New Year’s at midnight, but somehow this simple peck feels different than any of those other occasions. Lando doesn’t rush you. He’s a patient man after all, and he knows that the feelings he has for you are reciprocated by the feelings you have for him. So when you look him with widened eyes, he gives you a soft smile and it does wonders to calm your nerves. It doesn’t take you long to press your lips against his once again, but this time the kiss is deeper, more passionate, and filled with the unspoken words that have lingered between you for too long.

It starts off with another peck, but this time you take the initiative to deepen the kiss, and the appreciative groan that leaves Lando’s lips makes you feel butterflies in your stomach. His hands move from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, while yours tangle in his hair, revelling in the softness of his curls – and the fact that all of this feels almost familiar in some kind of a way. He’s not shy as he lets his tongue explore your mouth, in fact, he encourages you to do the same. It’s a messy kiss filled with colliding tongues and mixed breaths, and the hands that were on your waist one moment are now on your hips, encouraging their slow movement against his groin. It’s not a subtle build-up for any of you, either. It a matter of seconds, you find yourself dry-humping your childhood best friend in his hotel room, and in a couple more, both of you are whimpering into the kiss.

You’re both out of breath and breathing deeply as you rest your forehead against Lando’s. Thankfully, his hands continue to guide your hips as their movement get more and more erratic, and you him groan out, “Slow down, baby.”

You let out an objective whimper in return, whispering out a weak, “No.”

“No?” Lando repeats, his breath hitting your exposed neck in a light chuckle, “Do you want to come?”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, letting your hands grab handfuls of his hair, “but you can’t fuck me.”

The whine that comes from your lips can only be described as bratty when Lando forces your hips to cease their movements, raising an eyebrow at you as he grumbles, “Excuse me?”

“You can’t fuck me, Lando.” You mumble, trying to move your hips again, but his hold is too powerful against your attempts. “At least not tonight.”

“And why is that, Tink?” He takes in your wide eyes and shuddering breath in, thinking he’d done something wrong, something you didn’t like. “You want to come, no?” He thinks at that moment, as you give him a nod with that dreamy and almost innocent look on your face, he could die and he’d be happy with where his life has led him, but he gives you a confused look, “Then what is the problem?”

“Um, you have a race tomorrow,” you explain as your fingers gently slide down to meet at the nape of his neck, “I don’t want to jinx anything.”

As a respond to your words, Lando gives you a look of disbelief, “You don’t want to jinx me having a good race,” he mumbles.

You give him another nod, “Are you mad at me?”

 “Am I mad at you?” Lando repeats the question, and he flips the two of you over in a smooth motion so that you're lying on the bed with him hovering above you, his eyes locked onto yours. “Answer the question for me, will you?”

You take a moment to catch your breath, your heart racing as you meet his intense gaze. “No,” you reply softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. “Why would you be mad at me?”

Lando's lips curve into a playful smile as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “See?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours, “Good girl.” As he moves down your body, you let out a protesting sound, but he quickly shushes you as he positions himself between your legs. “I’m going to make you come, and you’re not talking to Micheal Italiano ever again.” He taps the side of your hips to signal you to raise them up as he carefully takes off your underwear and then murmurs to himself, “Pretty girl, too.”

With a blush which is quickly spreading onto your cheeks and neck, you raise yourself onto your elbows as you watch him give you the do-over. “Lando,” you plead.

“Oh baby, you're wet,” he teases, “don’t worry, though, I’ll help you with that.” He also gives you a look while grabbing both of your thighs, “And the shirt fucking stays on.”

After the events of the previous night with Lando working wonders between your legs for the remainder of the night, he honestly didn’t expect to start the morning with you returning the favour. Alas there you were, between his legs, with sleepy eyes and an innocent smile as if you hadn’t just given him the best blowjob of his life. And as the two of you make your way along the paddock, he wishes he was back in his hotel room with you in his arms. You try your best to distract him from overthinking everything and costing himself the race, and Lando is aware of what you’re trying to do – though that doesn’t mean you succeed completely.

You can tell by the small frown of eyebrows that he is lost inside his head, probably double guessing every aspect of the strategy his team debriefed him about this morning. With a deep inhale, you give his hand a small squeeze, halting your movements to stop him alongside you. “Hey,” you call out gently, “you’re going to be amazing out there, okay? You have nothing to worry about.”

“I know, it’s just the pressure is getting to me.” You watch him sigh, closing his eyes for a moment to regroup his thoughts, “I’ll be fine before I go in the car, I promise.”

You nod, giving him an encouraging smile, “I know you will. After all, you feel the–”

“Need for speed.” He completes the sentence without thinking, which makes the two of share a short laughter. “Thanks, Tink.”

“You’re welcome,” lifting yourself up on your tiptoes, you give him a soft peck on his lips, “I’ll watch the race with your dad, okay?” You chuckle at his reaction when he lets out a prolonged groan, “What?”

“He’s going to make fun of us, big time.” He says, rolling his eyes.

“Go,” you say in between laughter, “don’t be late and for the love of God, be careful!”

Lando chuckles at your playful warning, giving you a mock salute. “Yes, ma'am!”

It doesn’t take long for you to find Adam, who gives you a knowing look, in the sea of spectators in the McLaren garage. And as the race begins, you and Adam stand side by side, your eyes fixed on the track where the race is unfolding. The first four laps as the Lando leads the race makes your heart beat so hard, you can practically feel the excitement coursing through your veins. Each turn and straightaway that Lando navigates flawlessly adds to the anticipation building in the air. Even when he returns to his original position, you’re on the edge, praying to whatever deity up there for him to finish this race without and incident. You’ve told him million times before that you don’t get F1 at all, you’ve always thought the adrenaline linked with the sport to be a negative feeling – too heavy, too much and definitely not something you want to feel every weekend. But in the moment that Lando passes the finishing line P2, you realise why people are so obsessed with this sport. Because when Lando crosses the finish line, you find yourself cheering as loudly as anyone else. The rush of emotions, once alien to you, now feels like a shared celebration of human achievement and dedication.

Lando is all smiles when he finally finds his way back to you, and he’s giving you a kiss the moment he has you back in his arms; celebrating with the team in the paddock was a whirlwind of emotions. As he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, his big smile is infectious.

So you’re honestly confused when he starts dragging you through the hallways of the club you went to for his celebrations with the rest of the team. The beat of the music playing back in the dancefloor echoes in the hallway as he leads you down the hall. The lights, the laughter, and the energy of the celebrations in the main area of the club are still audible, but you can only hear the muffled sounds of the celebration being held for him. “Lando,” in hopes of finally getting some answers, you say his name for the umpteenth time, but he just looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, “what’s wrong?”

He's silent as he wraps his arms around your waist and before you can repeat your question he buries his head in the crook of your neck. While you’re thinking about what could’ve caused his sudden need to be alone with you, he’s very glad that you’ve opted to wear sneakers tonight instead of heels.

“Baby,” you murmur, your fingers running through his curls in an attempt to bribe him, “tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.” His voice is muffled by your skin and you can feel the breath he exhales on your shoulder.

You purse your lips and give him a few moments for him to break on his own, but when he doesn’t, you sigh softly. “Something is wrong.”

He raises his head momentarily to give you an unamused look, then bury his head back into your neck, “I saw you and Oscar.”

“Yeah, we were talking about the race.” Your confirmation leaves you confused as he lets out a scoff, and you find yourself warily asking, “Is there something wrong with that?”

You hear him scoff again and then, “Well I didn’t particularly like it.”

You gently push him off of you as you try to look past his confused expression and pouted lips, “You didn’t like me talking to your teammate… about your race.”

“Well when you put it like that–”

“Lando he is two years younger than us, and he has a girlfriend you do realise that, don’t you?” Your hands rest on either side of your body on your hips as you give him a small grin, “You were jealous, weren’t you?”

His eyes widen as he nods, “Well yeah, Tink, I think that one was very much obvious when I dragged you here.”

“I mean,” you drawl, “it was kind of cute, you know?”

As his eyes narrow, Lando walks you backwards until you’re pressed up against the wall. “Well I am a cute person.”

“Oh yeah,” you let out a giggle, “the cutest.” Your fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt while you look up at him to meet his eyes, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should probably get back to the party?” He mumbles, his eyes drifting as he looks around the hall.

You fist the collar of his shirt as you raise yourself up on your tiptoes, your voice lowering down for only him to hear even if it’s a deserted hallway, “You don’t have a race tomorrow.”

His eyes come back down to meet yours, “Well yes, it’s Mond– oh,” it takes a moment for him to realise what you’ve meant, and you’re thrown over his shoulder in an instant.

“Wha– Lando put me down!” You shriek, “What are you doing?”

His voice is playful as he starts walking towards the back door of the club, “We are not leaving that hotel room for a few days.”  

It doesn’t take long for you to start laughing, “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs the opposite shoulder, “but I’m your idiot.”

The sincerity in his words catches you off guard, but you can’t help the small smile forming on your lips as you murmur, “Yeah, yeah you are.”

[sweet-luv-club]

✎ breastfeeding m! Kylar like he deserves ♡

. . . ˚✧.⊹ tags ⊹⁺. ೀ

2.5k words (wow im a horny bastard), informal writing, m! Kylar with cock, unprotected p in v sex, unrealistic sex, Kylar is a very submissive and pathetic (/affectionate) top, lactating pc from cow transformation, BIG GIANT TATAS and AFAB anatomy terms. u got coochie n it'll b called cunt and pussy but Kylar doesn't call u by either feminine terms or masculine terms so it's,,, gender-neutral reader-ish??

. . . ⋆ ꮺ˚⊹ notes ⊹ ༘˚

WHY BOTHER HAVING A BREAST MILK MECHANIC IF U CANT GIVE IT TO ANY OF THE LOVE INTERESTS... SMH VREL GET ON IT /LH also dis is a shoutout to da fellow transmascs like me that don't mind hvin big tatas 2 feed kylar <33 my first full fic i tink!! enjoy!!!

♡ ┆ u 2 are on a date at the park as usual. when u casually suggest it, his brain just stops working. his mouth hangs open and u have to shake him to snap him out of it. 

"uhh, haha, sorry, darling... c-could you repeat that?"

with a smirk, you do. you lean in and suggest going somewhere private so he could enjoy your milk directly from the source. all the blood in his cheeks rush to his cock almost immediately. he is so down bad for u, he's fucking floored u even suggested it.

♡ ┆ he gets more cocky, confident, and possessive during sex, but at this point, he's only squeezed your chest so far, not sure how he could even begin to explain himself. he’s seen u lactate when u cum, he just didnt know if it was overstepping a boundary to just dive in. its early into the relationship so he doesnt know if youre comfortable with that part of your bovine biology. hes a perv but hes also a polite boy!!  well... most of the time ♡ he couldnt just walk up to u and say i want ur milk babe, you deserve better than that, he just didnt know how to ask... so ofc he's over the moon you're the one who brought it up

♡ ┆ absolutely solidifies in his mind that you're an angel sent from heaven to protect him and love him

♡ ┆ he's a stinky little anime nerd /pos. pre-relationship, after you saved him from bullies, he draws u and ur cute fluffy cow ears and massive anime-like tits in all sorts of erotic ways. does all the hentai tropes. fists his needy, leaky cock at night to the drawings he's made of u. when you start dating, it was like he was walking on cloud 9 when you wanted to recreate some of his erotic drawings (bc ofc u pushed to see his sketchbook when he mentioned it was full of only u lol)

♡ ┆ cant go to the manor, kylar isnt comfy w that yet. cant be in pc’s bedroom, kylar doesnt even want a single chance of someone who knows you and lives with you to see u giving him milk, it's his and only his in sight, sound,,, and ofc taste. hed get jealous if other orphans u live with saw yall doing it, bc if they see he thinks theyre never gonna forget the sight..... which could lead 2 all sorts of trouble since they live with u and he doesnt. he wants it to only be his even in memory. PATHETIC /POS so yalls only option is a cheap-ass love hotel. maybe someday youll fuck somewhere nicer but this’ll have to do… not to mention kylar is thrumming w/ excitement. he’s fucking trembling at the mere thought of getting to taste your sweet milk, directly from your heavy chest which was always tempting him… PATHETIC /POS (1)

♡ ┆ at first, kylar cant get his bearings. he sits next to u on the bed, hands politely on his lap while his cock strains against his pants. hes strangely silent until u snap him out of it with a kiss on the cheek. “ah… d-darling, you don’t know how much this means to me.” he says in a shaky voice. you chuckle and slowly begin to lift your shirt, making sure to give him a show. the way your heavy tits laden with the milk he craves always looked like they were spilling out, your bra barely being able to hold them back never failed to do a number on kylar’s psyche. 

♡ ┆ ”c’mon, you’ve already seen me lactate. get me wet first, babe, then it’ll come out.” you tease as you unclasp your bra effortlessly and toss it to the side, your tits swaying with every movement you make. kylar is hypnotized. just a lot of spacing out in general until you two really get into it.

♡ ┆ your back is laid on the bed, and Kylar moves to get your pants and panties off. the sight never fails to make him breathless. he figures the quickest way to taste your sweet milk is to eat you out, so he does, very diligently. he dives in and devours your pussy like a man starved, he does this every time. he just can’t believe someone as perfect as you would willingly give yourself to him, and he wants to show his gratitude properly, always…

♡ ┆ this mf latches onto your cunt with an intense need and desperation. not only is he making his beloved feel good, he’s working to get your milk flowing as well… it makes him especially ravenous. licking up and sucking on your sensitive folds, using his hands to part your lips and plunge his tongue into you deeper… when you pat his fluffy, unkempt hair and moan… “fuuuuck yes, that’s it, good boy…” he goes absolutely ballistic in his brain. it goes w/o saying that he has a praise kink, loves giving and receiving it. he’s especially emboldened when he feels his head sandwiched between the softness of your thighs, he’s going delirious with need at this point, eyes all half-lidded and bleary, focused on nothing but lapping up the fluids your cunt makes. he's fucking groaning against your folds, can't get enough of your sweet taste. his cock is straining to be free right now, but your pleasure takes precedence.

♡ ┆ eventually, he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks hard, tongue swirling around it as he’s making you scream. “K-Kylar!!” it fills him with a sick thrill, like he’s letting all the strangers in this damn sleazy love hotel know that he’s the one making his darling cry out with pleasure. he pulls back for a moment, a string of saliva connecting between your cunt and his lips to smirk confidently at you. “that’s it, darling, let it all out.” he says, as he’s licking a broad stripe up your pussy, “let them all hear how much you love what i’m doing to you.”

♡ ┆ the moment he sees your tits drip with milk, he unlatches his mouth from your cunt with a soft pop, halting the intense suctions for now. his eyes sparkle with curiosity and hunger, seeing you laid out on the bed with your cheeks flushed, mouth hung agape from moaning so much just does something to his fucked up brain. he wastes no time capturing a nipple into his mouth and giving a hard suck, groaning when your milk hits his tastebuds. it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted…

♡ ┆ he kneads at your tit, trying to coax more and more milk out of you as your cow ears flicker atop your head. needless to say, he’s getting off on your moans, the taste of your creaminess, and the softness of your chest… he loves it. all of this, it’s only for him and him alone. he laminates your nipple with spit using his tongue, moaning as he drinks up every last drop. keeping a hand on your pussy, he gently bites down, making you yelp, yet he also felt your cunt twitch at the action… that gives him an idea for later. he shows love to your other breast, licking up all of the milk that had been dripping off to the side as his fingers rub at your pussy, the slick sounds making his head spin. his breaths are heavy and erratic as it fans over your exposed skin, adding a layer of eroticism from his desperation being conveyed this way. 

♡ ┆ finally… the moment he’d been waiting for. he releases his mouth and cups both of your heavy breasts, pressing them close together and sucking on both your nipples at the same time. wow… just like in his hentai mangas. the sensation makes you feel embarrassed, but you can’t deny how good it feels, either… as his fingers dig into your plush, large chest, he suckles, licks, and bites, doing anything to get more milk into his mouth again. some of it drips in between your chest, and it gives him a devious idea…

♡ ┆ he retreats for now, taking a finger to swipe up a drop of milk on his chin and lick it, a crazed hunger in his green eyes. he pulls down his pants and boxers… out comes his cock, blushed at the tip and leaky with pre-cum. “darling… would you be willing to hold up your chest for me, please?” he asks in a sweet voice, and you comply without question. you already knew what he was planning without him having to outright say it.

♡ ┆ he holds the sides of your breasts securely and moves up on the bed, positioning himself under your chest. you feel something hard underneath your boobs… and without further ado, Kylar thrusts his cock in. he moans so loud, breathing sooo heavily as he pistons his hips… he’s just in pure disbelief. the milk that had dripped between your chest earlier aids him in creating a slick passage between your pillowy tits. it takes him all his willpower to not immediately cum… which he inevitably fails. his cock splatters all over your chest, and a little bit gets on your face. “ah…!! i-oh no, i’m so sorry… i couldn’t help it, it just felt too good…” he pouts with a voice whinier than usual. you reassure him that it’s more than okay with a sultry smile, and you collect his cum with your fingers, licking it all up.

♡ ┆ the sight of you doing that of your own volition without him even asking to… grrr he’s going feral! and he realized you hadn’t cum once! that just won’t do. so while waiting for his cock to stiffen up again, he pulls out and lowers himself back down and thrusts a finger into your dripping entrance. he gets off on the sound of your moans, and he reaches down to take a nipple into his mouth again, the dual sensation of kylar’s suction and his finger curling inside you driving you mad. he establishes a rhythm with both actions, and it’s not long before he adds another finger into you, the squelching noises from your naughty pussy tempting him making his cock twitch back to life very quickly. as your inner walls tighten around his fingers, he searches desperately for your sweet spot while feverishly lapping up any milk from your breasts. and finally… he finds that one gummy mass inside you and just absolutely goes to town on it, making you cry out loudly. he reluctantly detached himself from your tit, and as his fingers were pressing down on your sweet spot, he held his hand firmly over your pubic mound, pressing down and quickening the pace of his fingers going in and out of you. it’s not long before you scream his name and cum on his fingers, soaking his hand in your precious nectar… not to mention your chest flowing with milk as well.

♡ ┆ he’s now hard again… and you take a moment to catch your breath. he’s too impatient this time, however, he wants to thrust into you now. you feel his cock press against your overly sensitive entrance but you manage to gently push him down onto the bed to take control of the situation. “ah ah ah. not so fast.  just came, ya horndog.” you tease lightly, while kylar groans and pouts. you reach down and press a kiss to his lips, your tongues meeting each other once again as they get entangled. you taste a hint of your own milk. kylar can feel your breasts pressing up against him, the weight making him get more needy and feverish with his kissing. his breath hitches when you start grinding your cunt onto him, tip of his cock leaking with cum onto his tummy as your pussy presses down on it. your hips buck back and forth on top of him as you take control, allowing yourself to rest while keeping kylar sated.

♡ ┆ when you’re finally ready to have sex, you teasingly bounce your cunt on the tip of his cock, and you see tears in his eyes. “pc- my love, come, on, let me in, pleasepleaseplease- ah!!” 

his babbling is interrupted by you finally giving him what he wants. as your velvety walls sink down onto him, threatening to overwhelm his senses, you press your breasts onto his face. “you know what to do.” you say with a flirtatious smirk. kylar immediately gets the memo, he’s been dying to do this since you first saved him. he latches onto your nipples and tugs down at your breasts while you start bouncing your pussy on his cock, the dual sensations driving you both mad.

♡ ┆ you’re expertly riding him as he whimpers helplessly beneath you, humping into him so hard the headboard slams into the wall from your passion. his mouth is overflowing with your milk like he wanted… his brain is just melting, much to your delight. your cow tail swishes behind you playfully as he grabs your plush hips and thrusts up into your movements, the sounds of your moans and wet slapping reverberating in the room. 

♡ ┆ the warmth and softness of your cunt makes him wanna cum again. poor boy… he was never good at lasting long. “kylar, hold yourself back right now or else i’m pulling myself off.” you tease, but he takes that to heart and whines in disappointment. “i’ll be good… i’ll be good, pc, i promise, just please dont, ah… leave me!” you smile at him. “i’m not leaving you dummy, ever.”

neuron activation time……. his eyes widen in disbelief as affection floods his heart. he grips your hips more firmly, thrusting up into you at such an animalistic pace that the poorly constructed bed almost sounds like it'll break. the plush of your ass bounces back on his lap, and it makes him grit his teeth trying to hold back. he has a fire in his eyes, as if his life’s whole purpose now was to make you cum on his cock. he bites down on a nipple like earlier and feels your cunt clench around him. he alternates between bites and hard sucks as his hips thrust desperately upward while you struggle to keep riding him. “that’s a promise, okay? dont! ever! leave! me!” he punctuates each word with a thrust deep into your womb, hell-bent on breeding you. 

♡ ┆ it’s not long before stars crowd around your eyes as you two climax together with your own loud moans, his semen flooding the depths of your warmth while your own cum coats his cock and drips down to his balls. your milk drips down your breasts again, and even though kylar is weak, he still manages to find it in himself to lick it up. as you catch your breaths, you two giggle conspiratorially, pressing your foreheads together and exchanging words of pure love and affection for one another… right before going back in for another round. you two rented out this room for an extended period of time, after all.

♡ ┆ now kylar takes whatever opportunity he can to bite and suck on your precious chest, pulling you in school closets or dark alleyways just so he can have a taste of your milk.

♡ ┆ ofc it’s not long until you both rent out a room at the hotel again, you going along with one of his crazy hentai recreations. it ends up with him on your lap and you, jerking off his sensitive cock, rubbing his pre-cum all over his shaft as he has his fill of your milk.

[princessmaybank]

New Message

Pairings: JJ x fem!bestfriend!xreader

Warnings: MDNI, unsolicited dick pic, sexting, mention of masterbation, making out, etc.

Summary: JJ woke Y/N up at early hours of the morning because he needed her help.

Authors Note: Enjoy! Let me know if I should write a part 2!

I woke up to the sound of my phone going off. I looked at the clock that sat next to my bed. It read 1:36am.

*1 New Message from Jayj <3*

JJ: Hey are you awake?

I groaned. What could my best friend possibly need at this time? Was he in trouble? Was he hurt? I had no idea.

Y/N: I am now. What's up are you okay??

I wasn't expecting an immediate response but that's what I got.

JJ: No I need your help

Y/N: What's wrong?? Do I need to come get you?

JJ: No but if you came over I wouldn't mind 😉

That is not the kind of response that you use when your friend thinks you are dying, well unless you are JJ Maybank.

Y/N: Okay then what do you need?? Why did you wake me up???

JJ: I'm hornyyyyy

A sudden redness shot to my cheeks. JJ definitely play flirted with his friends, including me but this takes the cake. Yes he was hot, yes I had a little crush on him, no I did not expect this.

Y/N: Uhm- why are you telling me this JJ?

JJ: Bc you're my best friend, and I've noticed the way you've been looking at me. You undress me with your eyes every time you see me

Somehow I was blushing even harder than before. How did he know? Before I could respond I heard my phone ding again.

JJ: I know you wanna see what I'm packing, you're at least a lil curious.

(Authors Note: MDNI!!! This is a RANDOM dick pic I found online. Please proceed at your own risk.)

I gasped. I wasn't entirely ready to see that, but I'm not gonna lie I did like it.

Y/N: JJ. You're my best friend, and don't you have a line of girls ready for you at all times?

JJ: I mean I guess, but none of them are you.

JJ WANTED ME?!?! OF ALL PEOPLE, MY BEST FRIEND WHO I HAVE HAD A CRUSH ON FOR A YEAR, WANTS ME?!?!

Y/N: What do you need from me JJ?

JJ: I need you to talk dirty to me please. I'll do anything.

I gave in so quickly. This could be the one chance I have with him.

Y/N: Are you touching yourself baby?

This was my first time talking like this so I had no idea what I was doing.

JJ: Just for you princess.

The thought of JJ touching himself to me and calling me princess got me extremely excited.

I couldn't stop my hand from creeping into my pants as I texted JJ back with my non-dominant hand.

Y/N: Mmm Jayj I can't stop thinking about your huge cock.

JJ: Oh fuck, please tell me you are touching yourself too.

I wasn't sure if I should lie or not.

Y/N: Of course I am after seeing you.

JJ: Good girl.

Fuck. Me. That is so hot, especially coming from him of all people.

Y/N: JJ I need you. I can't just do this by myself. I'm no good at dirty talk.

JJ: *Read 2:04 AM*

Oh no. He hates me now. He knew I wasn't experienced but he was always nice about that. This will be awkward to bring up at a later time.

About 10 minutes went by and I heard a *tink* on my window. I look over and see JJ sitting on my roof waving back at me. I eagerly opened my window and welcomed him in. Before I could get any words to leave my mouth his hands found my hips and his lips had found mine. He walked me backwards until my legs hit the edge of my bed. He laid me down and continued our deep kiss.

"Fuck you're so hot." He whispered in my ear after sucking on my soft spot. There would definitely be a mark on my neck for a little while. I blushed when I heard him call me that. No one has ever called me that. Then I started to get self conscious. "JJ...before we continue I want to know your intentions." "Y/N. I have been in love with you since the day we met. I was waiting for you for years. I realized you probably would never want me, so I started acting like a slut. But my intentions are to please you tonight and hopefully every night for the rest of our lives. Ya know if you let me ask you out." I couldn't stop the redness forming in my cheeks. I tried to put up a wall of confidence really fast. "Is that your way of asking Maybank? Or just what you say to all of your random hookups?" My eyebrow lifted as I stared into his gorgeous blue eyes. "Maybe it is, and I've never said that to anyone else, I cross my heart and hope to die." His eyes never left mine as he made the hand motions to go with his phrase. I trusted him. I trusted this man with my whole heart. I didn't say anything, I just attached my lips to his once again. This was going to be a long night and a good life.

(Authors Note: Let me know if you'd like a part two! I was going to write a whole sex scene but I thought this was already long enough.)

[vampirevatican]

Some Kenji Thoughts

because i don't have time to write a full fic yet, and i need to biblically analyze this man's character

he sees you across the club and it's with the song will he by joji playing. the music slowly comes in and he spots you just as the beat drops

kenji falling in love with you and it's all to the song sanctuary by joji, like picture the montage and that's the song

you being there to raise emi. you would've (i would've) stayed right by that little baby kaiju's side 24/7 feeding her fish, helping her use the bathroom and get to bed, teaching her little dances and something about this reminds kenji of his childhood and bond he has with his mom

ofc which leads to him stepping up a bit more and the bond with his dad happening a bit faster

angst where you just simply refuse to be loved but you're his whole world... first half movie kenji would've had so many arguments while post movie kenji would argue a bit less

riding on the back of his motorcycle

helping rebuild the penthouse or upgrade the countryside house

treating his injuries from baseball or his injuries from being ultraman

whenever he's struggling, depending on the severity levels, you either coddle him or go "poor little tink tink, oh boo hoo, life is so hard" and he has trouble because he's debating on being snarky back or just kissing you

kenji x independent but soft black woman. your determination, drive, confidence reminds him of his mom and it's something he loves about you. he loves how kind you can be but how you take no shit.

he loves how gentle you are with emi despite her being so much bigger and stronger than you. loves how you're part of his success now as a baseball star and giant superhero

kenji coming home after a long day and it's made better just by seeing you asleep in his bed, curled up, peaceful face... he falls in love all over again.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Hi! I found your house of mouse au pretty recently and I am LIVING FOR IT. And I wanted to ask... How do you think Miss Yuu's interactions with Peter Pan's characters would be like. I'm dieing for seeing how she would get along with Peter, Wendy, Jane, the lost boys Captain Hook and the pirates

Alright so my Yuu is actually kind of a mix of Wendy Darling (sweet, motherly, mature yet innocent, protective, a pacifist that will get angry/annoyed when the situation calls for it, loves children, very imaginative with a love for stories, etc) and Snow White (a forest nymph that has animals flocking to her, angelic singing voice, enjoys baking and acts of service, loves to tease and will put her foot down if things aren't right/up to standard, forgiving, feminine, sees the good in everyone but understands danger, etc)

So I see Wendy and Alice as like the quote-unquote 'leaders' of the younger Disney girls and those two definitely look up to Miss Yuu as an older sister. Since Wendy's mature for her age, she kind of sees Yuu as a sort of mentor(?) and has a lot of respect for her. The two of them especially love to tell stories to each other since they love fiction and magic and all that. She's not exactly part of the shipping war since she's so young and her idea of love is 'girl likes boy so girl kisses boy' but she is a huge romantic and does sigh happily whenever she sees Malleus act all prince-like with Yuu.

John and Michael (and the lost boys), like Wendy, look up to her as a big sister. she does entertain their adventurous spirit when she's with them and she cares for them deeply. The Darling brothers and their friends usually hang around with the other little boys though so she doesn't get much time with them - but they are 100% down to stand up for her if they see her in trouble.

I've answered an ask about Tink and Yuu's relationship before but to add on I think she was insanely jealous of the attention Yuu got from everyone else at first and then was hit by the Yuu charm after one (1) conversation with her where Yuu just gushed about her and praised her so know they're bffs.

Mr Smee dotes on her. Like Kronk and LeFou, he's a henchman that's not evil, he just cares for the villain. The pirates have accepted her as one of their own and since she loves hearing about their stories Hook and his men just love to hype themselves up. I don't really know what else to write.

Okay Peter, I think would first not like her because, well, girl. He does try to pull that whole 'girls talk too much', 'well, get on with it girl', 'wendy's enough' thing that he did with Wendy but Yuu was very quick to put a stop to it. He doesn't have any real strong feelings about her but he lives for chaos and chaos always follows her so he'll help her if it means causing annoyance to the villains/nrc boys.

Thanks for the ask ☺️

[sakuraswordly]

More pictures from The Trouble With Tink (2006) That I forget to add in Tsofph EP 18.1

Source: EP 18.1

My favorite profile on X.com(Or Twitter)

[mozillasticks]

Tink & trouble

[moodymisty]

death and reader but death is in his reaper form? Just some fluffy protective stuff. Love your work! :)

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: By the gods this request made me borderline feral. I LOVE big monsters having soft spots for their little humans. Also Death's reaper form is super... cool looking. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Summary: When Death reverts to his Reaper form when something goes to attack you, you then realize that you're stuck with this form until he manages to calm down.

Relationships: Death/Gn!Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Monster/human fluff, Time to nuzzle the Reaper

Word Count: 1918

Death looks over at you; The pale, sickly green glow of the various torches illuminating your skin, and sighs.

He regrets bringing you here, with every fiber of his being. The Realm of the Dead isn't for humans, it isn't for anything alive. Hell, even he isn't technically supposed to be here. He just holds the door, throws souls through. Figuratively speaking.

But humans and their ever all-encompassing curiosity will always seem to work against their better judgement. Your, better judgement.

Death looks back over, and notices you now staring at an old pot.

A burial urn, most likely. Why you find it so fascinating he could never guess. When you bend over to pick up a gold coin off the ground just in front of it is when he decides to interject- and stop you before you can pop the lid on some angry spirit and make this realm just a bit worse off.

"I never took you for a thief,"

He says, coming closer and grasping your wrist gently. The coin stays between your fingers as you look up at him.

"I wasn't taking it, I just wanted to see what was on it." Death squeezes your wrist in a way that forces you to relinquish the coin, and it drops into his other palm. He lets it fall to the floor and it bounces three times, each with a quieter tink.

"To these souls, that is stealing. Now quit touching every single thing in sight. We have a tomb to find." Hand dropping from your wrist, Death turns from you and begins walking away, having stopped you from whatever potentially dangerous thing you'd been fiddling with.

He still regrets taking you here even as you grasp his fingers, so you can attempt to keep up; Or slow his gait down.

But Death admits within his own mind, he doesn't dislike the company. Dust and Despair don't exactly provide the most interesting commentary, and your positive attitude is not unpleasant change to the dread and nihilism he's used to facing throughout the realms. He wouldn't be so apposed to you joining him, if this place wasn't constantly seeking to rend your soul from your body at every possible moment.

"For someone who's all 'I don't care what anyone thinks',"

You make a mocking tone of his voice when you refer to him, and Death glances down at you from the corner of his eye with a fair amount of disapproval. "You sure do love being all rules when I'm around."

Death does it to keep you safe, though he always finds his tongue tied whenever he tries to say that out loud. The only time he has, it came out as him being annoyed you always get into trouble, and he'd hated the way it made your face fall slightly. He'd spend the next while being softer to you just to make up for that slip up.

You let go of his hand, speeding up your pace just slightly in order to take a look around before the Horsemen has a chance to stop you from doing so.

"Back here."

You're not far away from him at all, maybe ten paces or so, looking over your shoulder. Your hand brushes against the wall as you curiously look at something you have no idea what to call.

"I'm barely away from you. Can I not look at anything?"

Humans and their encompassing curiosity, and their stubbornness.

You step closer to look at whatever has caught your interest, before you suddenly hear something.

Death reacts to it faster than you possibly can, instantly pulling Harvester off his back and forming it into it's long, single bladed form, and rushing towards you. You don't quite register what's happening as it passes by so quick, but you still step back to as he nearly slams right into you.

Once his body is blocking yours and whatever is coming has been cut off from making it's presumed way towards you, he moves forward to try and run his scythe right through it.

When you catch sight of it from around Death's arm, it's easy to see that it's a Lich, as he'd once called them. You scramble backwards out of the fray, wisely staying close to Death, but not enough so that you'll get hit by the back swing of a weapon. You know Death himself would never slip up that way, but you doubt the undead resident has the same overall care about your well-being. If anything, it seems to want to kill you outright, if the way it tries to swerve around Death towards you is any indication.

But the Reaper continues fighting with the Lich, slicing his blade through it's ghostly mockery of flesh. He makes sure to keep himself firmly inbetween you and it, knocking it onto the floor and sending the end of his scythe directly through it's chest. It lets out a ghasty wail as it struggles and grips the weapon to free itself from Death's pin, and you scurry backwards as it attempts to move again.

Perhaps you stirred something in your retreat, or maybe it was there the entire time and only now had decided to strike, but in his tunnel focus on the main threat Death hadn't noticed in his tunnel focus that there was a second and Lich, coming from behind you just as you hear Harvester get torn from the first Lich's chest and it's wail sharply ends as it's finally destroyed.

You yell for him when you turn around and see it, tripping over your own feet as the Lich comes right for you; Since Death had taken his brother's pistol back awhile ago, you have not a thing to defend yourself from it.

An arm instinctively raises up to protect yourself, but instead of getting hit, you see the glint of a massive reaper's scythe split the massive lich in twain. It lasts nowhere near as long as the previous one, and is torn asunder in moments. It barely had time to react, let alone try and attack you.

However, it feels that Harvester- or maybe the hands holding it- seem different than usual.

Following the trail up the pole you reach Death holding it; Or more accurately, The Reaper.

He yanks the curved blade of the scythe out from the creature's chest cavity, letting flop to the ground without so much as a whimper. It fades to dust with little fanfare shortly after. The blade however is still clean, not coated with blood like whenever he's fighting demons or angels.

You glance upwards towards his face, seeing the hood obscuring it all under a haze of void black. You can just barely see the outline of his face with what little hazy green torchlight is around.

It seems in his sudden fury over your being almost harmed or at worst killed he'd toppled over the edge, shedding the form you're most used to and becoming, this.

His head jerks around in fast, rapid motions, looking around for any other threats; As Harvester remains firmly lodged in his grip. You look around as well and when you don't spot a thing, you turn your focus to the Reaper.

"Hey... Death,"

This form seems to not have any sort of real mouth to speak with, the pallid skull lacking the ability to do so. He still looks at you with interest, watching as you speak with an almost uncomfortable amount of intensity.

"I'm fine, and there's nothing else to kill, so there isn't anything to worry about now."

You hesitantly reach for one of his hands, his fingers long and thin wrapped around the scythe's pole. The Reaper doesn't stop you, and you hear the shifting of fabric and clinking of metal as he watches you. But before you can touch his hand he moves to hoist Harvester onto his back, freeing them.

Those long, talon-like fingers reach for you and it takes a good bit of effort not to flinch away, and they brush over your body and even your hair; Slowly, and soft as if enjoying the sensation. Every time you think he's going to stop and pull away, he only shifts and continues to do what you only describe as petting. You can't think of a word that fits better, but also doesn't sound as demeaning.

It's odd, however. You never would've thought this version of Death would be so, touchy feely.

As if you weren't already confused enough, you hear an odd rattling noise come from him as you watch. If you had to describe it, you would use words like pleased rumble, or perhaps even purr.

He gets closer to you while he does it, the frayed edges of his long robe brushing against your skin and clothes. Both of his bony hands cup your jaw at one point, a bit rough but clearly trying to be gentle- and you look up at him in awe of the tenderness this creature, this other part of his soul, is showing you.

This is only the second time you've seen his Reaper form; The first had been when you were safely far out of the way of any conflict. He had regressed back to normal quickly denying you more than a few short glimpses, wherein now he seems quite firmly stuck.

You know that it's Death in there, so any fear you have stays firmly lodged in your throat before you swallow it down.

"You, did a good job back there. But I think the more talkative Death might want to come back now."

More talkative might be a bit of a hopeful statement. It is Death you are talking about.

The Reaper lets out an odd noise and one of his thumbs brushes over your lip, pulling it slightly wonky. You don't know if it's the sound of his breathing or bones beneath his cloak shifting, as you hear a soft rattling sound as he watches you.

You know this being is dangerous, but knowing that it's simply another part of Death manages to quell some of the fear in you.

When you move to take a step backwards the Reaper's grip quickly tightens and he makes a noise, covering any minute amount of space you might've moved. Then even more, and you can't help but gasp as his hooded face quickly dives in-

And begins nuzzling the side of your face.

Your hands grip handfuls of his tattered cloak, squeaking at the cold feeling of his bone and hood against your cheek.

Is this even really Death? The amount of outward affection in this motion alone makes you wonder. Perhaps him being in this form makes him more unabashed, almost more primal in some sort of way. It's not as if you're going to complain, hearing that odd purr-like noise rumble against your skin.

"Alright, since it doesn't seem like normal Death is gonna be back for a bit, can I at least sit down?"

The Reaper makes a noise almost like a hum, which you can neither discern if it's positive or negative. Either way, when you actually move to attempt to sit, the Reaper tightens his grip again. So you aren't going anywhere it seems, and must accept your fate as The Reaper's newfound comfort plushie as you lean your head back against his own pale skull.

Death will certainly love to hear about this when he's back to normal, for sure.

[his-lost-one]

my favourite hypothetical ouat au will always be one where pan/neverland also got cursed in season one bc the potential is just so juicy tbh, especially if the focus is on the cursed versions a lot

like first of all the lost boys as just some teenagers who cause trouble in storybrooke? that sounds so fun. i need to see the shenanigans pan would make felix cause !!! the pranks devin would play on their teachers !!! just in general all the bullshit they’d do xD

because i feel like most of that would just be harmless pranks, but sometimes the facade of what they were like on neverland would shine through when they’d take some pranks too far and there wouldn’t be any remorse - i mean, it’s pan, so duh - but you know?? that could be turned into something edgy so easily !!!

and maybe wendy would be in the same class as them and she’d like try to stay out of the guys’ way maybe out of self preservation or fear or just instinct from memories she doesn’t remember.

and maybe at the end of it all, they’d just be classmates during the curse. or maybe they would sense that something’s off, there’s more to all of this - just like when graham started remembering bits and pieces before he died. maybe pan would’ve expected all this and somehow implemented a way to get his memories back like rumple.

i mean imagine that- some random high school delinquent suddenly remembers that he’s a magical supervillain infamous across realms. the CHAOS potential. (and henry would be in so much danger lmao)

or maybe pan didn’t anticipate anything and so rumple has to live at least a few weeks or months just knowing that this random trouble making high school student is… well. you know. his dad lmao.

like that would throw off the whole dynamic in s1 so much. especially because i can imagine rumple almost assuming that pan knows (regardless if he actually does).

and then there’s tinkerbell. who would she be in storybrooke? what would her name be? maybe she’d be a former nun (*cough cough*) who then got a job at the school? or maybe she’d have a house somewhere in the woods, a bit away from the main part of town. maybe a bit like zelena’s farm house. i could imagine tink being an author and a loner. who would try to stay away from most people in town, but especially the nuns and mother superior.

maybe someone would ask her at some point why she’s not a nun anymore and like with others when asked about their curse past, she’d be surprised that she’s struggling to remember- it’s all fuzzy. she’s not sure. all she knows is… there was something with the mayor and then she was thrown out of the covenant. she barely even questions why she doesn’t remember.

and actually i want to get back to the lost boys + wendy. bc like to have them be students at storybrooke’s local high school as their cursed selves is one thing, but that’s not enough. where would they actually live? i was thinking, maybe in this au the nuns run a local orphanage and they all live there. obviously pan wouldn’t be happy there, so he’d cause even more trouble i think, but i think wendy would be even more miserable there. she probably doesn’t know why, but for some reason, she’s just always on edge and somewhat scared around pan and his “friends” (are they even friends??? who’s to say?). ofc it’d be because of their past on neverland but none of them would know that and idk. i just think it’d be a fun dynamic.

anyway- i feel like felix, devin and wendy would keep their own names in storybrooke, but idk what tink and pan would be called.

well. hm. maybe tink would get something something like Kelly Bell? kelly because green (which is what the blue fairy called her) and bell bc. yk. tinkerBELL. not exactly the most creative name, but it’s a start ig. idk- shdjjdkdjf

pan might get his name malcolm back and maybe he’d just be malcolm pan- even if that’s kinda a weird last name. or maybe pan and rumple’s cursed selves would be related just like their original selves, just in a different way ofc- so maybe he’d be malcolm gold? but then what would the relation actually be?

i think it’d be funny if it was just the other way around - like malcolm is mr gold’s “son” lmfao. rumple would be SO upset about that when he gets his memories back and it would honestly make the family tree even messier. or maybe it’d be left vague like malcolm is just some distant relative but beyond the name they have nothing in common? that would have potential too but it feels like a more distant idea so idk shdkbskfhf

and one more thing. rufio and hook would ofc not be there in storybrooke, since we all know that hook was with cora and rufio is presumed dead, but maybe they would be present in some cursed memories? like the lost boys have memories of a guy who used to be a classmate of theirs or even a friend called rufio who eventually died because of a one handed drunk driver lol. obviously when they’d get asked about the details no one would quite know, just like always with the curse. but snippets like that could be there. maybe pan would remember some sailor he talked to vaguely and maybe he’d even recognise hook, but he also couldn’t recall any details. also the sailor part would fit bc storybrooke does actually have docks and the like. idk i think the curse giving them such funky and fuzzy memories has potential too. especially if the timeline got changed even more so that maybe hook and cora end up in storybrooke before the curse is even broken. wouldn’t that be fun?

[therealslimshakespeare]

Hop to it Tink

Pairing: Thumper & Tink

Summary: As the mid 60’s consume Elvis with his ever more arduous film schedule and immersive hobby pursuits, Elaine crafts a friend out of a rival. For either spouse it’s not the ideal of way to cope with a lost child and estrangement, but the confusion that can occur from dumping any old thing into a wound to close it up is enough to bewilder the most grounded person. Much less a young girl like Elaine Presley who finds herself scrambling for a hint of girlhood as her five children and husband rely on her to keep it all afloat. Just as she’s going under, a pretty painted hand lifts her up.

Dedicated: to Ashley and Christi who both begged for this to be written and added so many details themselves that enriched it. Credit is also due to @prompted-wordsmith for the wicked suggestion of Benetint being used herein.

Warnings: sensuality, 18+, no outright smut but many mentioned offscreen acts, suggestiveness, this can be read as two girl friends or a little more, I tried to keep it nebulous as I imagine it would feel for Elaine herself in her exploration. a rather alarming emphasis on feet, pampering and painting toes and Elvis being overly into that, phone teasing, Larry being a little too psycho analytical over why Elvis and Elaine are having trouble after Jo, mentions of a stillborn, mentions of marital dissatisfaction, hinted male infidelity, hinted Polaroids and homemade spicy films, Elvis turning shit into being erotic that isn’t? That’s men for ya. And then just fun fluffy stuff with the kids but that’s no warning. I didn’t edit this really, I’m too tired, my apologies for any errors.

Requested: yes ✔️

Circa: 63-67

“Hey Tink?” Ann’s voice, always enviously soft even while sounding mischievous, asks abruptly in the middle of an hour long chat.

“Oh what now?” Elaine giggles into the gold phone Elvis has stashed on his nightstand, feeling silly to be sat on her bed in the middle of the afternoon, frittering it away with chatting and giggling to a friend.

That’s rather proof that Elaine needs it. Too much ‘strictly business’ in her life these days and Elaine knows if Elvis were here he’d be poking her forehead and making her fall back and put her feet up. She taps them on the floor instead, tap tap tapping her heeled boudoir slippers on the bed frame in a giddy tick as she waits for her friend to spring whatever wickedness is behind that tone of voice.

Her friend.

Elaine had hoped Ann would like her, be willing to be a buddy to THE Mrs. Presley but what they’ve got now is something she didn’t even think girls could have. It makes her view Elvis and his buddies more tolerantly, the stupid and goofy comradery she was starved for without even knowing it has slowly had its way with her in the form of Thumper and bike riding with Thumper and chatting with Thumper and kissing Thumper while Elvis writhed beneath them…so maybe it’s not like his mafia boys at all, but somehow it’s deeper despite the unorthodox beginnings and carnal undertones that seep in and out of it at whim.

“Whatcha got going on tomorrow night?” Ann asks at last, sounding altogether too nonchalant.

Elaine's heart pounds and she purses her lips, sensing a game here. She’s so like Elvis, this friend of hers, maybe that’s why Elaine gets butterflies in her belly at the chance to see and enjoy Ann, or when the telephone rings and it’s her sweet self sounding like she’s actually had to pace herself from calling Graceland when she knows full well Elvis isn’t home. She calls for Elaine, and something about that makes Elaine bite her nails and kick her feet.

“Oh not much, Jack and Jesse are trying the scuba gear in the pool right now,” Elaine sighs, “and if they don’t die tonight I suppose I’ll be here tomorrow making sure they’re still breathing and fixing sandwiches and seeing to it that Ella’s got her puppy ready for the show.” she waits a beat and adds, “You know full well he isn’t gonna be home.”

“Who?” Ann asks with overacted ditziness.

“Him.” Elaine rolls her eyes, “At least another five days away, stupid Arizonan weather has decided to rain and there has to be reshoots.”

She can hear Thumper humm on the other line with something that’s more contemplative than compassionate for Elaine’s empty bed. “How’re your toes?” she asks.

Elaine peers over the fluffy slipper tops and the profusion of lime green feathers adorning the slippers, “Decent, but they’ll need to be redone before he gets back.”

“Red?”

“French tip.”

“Hmm, Pink next, I think?” Thumper says.

“Yeah alright.” Elaine bites her lip and makes herself stop or else they’ll start peeling and need more Vaseline.

“I have to be in LA day after tomorrow. And I have a flight tomorrow morning. It stops in Memphis.”

“How nice.” Elaine murmurs, pulling on her lip now, slightly better than biting, she supposes, and it hides her grin from the gal a thousand miles away in New York.

“Yes, I thought so.” Ann agrees.

“And it’s such a long flight, New York to LA.” Elaine coos, “You’d get cramp if you didn’t break it up, can’t have you holed up like that, unable to walk out the shakes.”

“No, you wouldn’t want it for me, would you?” Ann babifies her tone and Elaine does fall back into the covers grinning stupidly up at Elvis’ ugly harem lamp above her.

“No, no I wouldn’t dream of it.” Elaine swears, “You just come by Graceland, stay the night, stretch your legs a bit, fill your belly, let me curl your hair.”

“And we can talk about boys.” Thumper agrees, like that’s her return currency for good southern hospitality…and it sorta is.

These nights when she stays, they’re something sweet and young and silly like Elaine hasn’t had in years. Never once herself in full since she married, losing all friends who knew her before Elvis, collecting folks who knew Elvis long before her, and a snazzy supply of darling children whose most stimulating conversations are about tricycles and losing a new tooth -Elaine is a little starved.

And Elvis -well, as Tink, she's his best friend, without doubt, and he is hers. But she’s also his wife, his woman and his home and his ballast and his doll and his lover and his mama and his ideal. So many roles. What she can’t talk to Elvis about is only relegated to one topic.

Elvis himself.

And such a man, a force more than a man at times, oh it needs an outlet and somehow the Mafia wives and even Betsy Blue Eyes Harrison with her discreet goodness and friendship can’t speak of what Elaine wants to speak about. A body can only go so long without bragging a little about what they’ve got, and when what you’ve got is a national heartthrob and the most famous man on earth -secrets about earth shaking ardor that rivals cataclysmic tempers, well, sometimes Elaine wants to speak of it. Or, rather, about the parts that make her love it, look forward to another day full of it. The little things that she can’t trust anyone else to know or love or see kindly.

Except for Thumper. Thumper -who has already admitted to loving him the same way, seeing him the same, living for him similarly. It’s the oddest consolation, and stranger still that his wandering eye gave it to her, but Elaine will take it.

“Yes, we could talk about boys.” Elaine agrees with Thumper, both knowing that when they say boys, they mean boys such as Naughty, Widdle Fella, Elvis Presley and The Memphis Flash.

Tomorrow comes and her sons are alive and hardly stripped out of their swimsuits to sleep before getting back in them and plunging to the depths of the swimming pool with metal tanks on their back and masks on their faces. She can’t bear to watch, looks like a perfect way to die at home, and so she stays inside and helps Ella groom her puppy for the pageant and Rosalee has an embroidered collar that needs help with fastening the buckle -she did the stitching herself- and although she hasn’t seen Daisy in hours, that wasn’t unusual.

In the afternoon she sends a car to the airport, Marty grins at her wildly and she gives him the old eyebrow before taking herself to her bedroom as the hour nears and going through a rather worn routine that still pleases her like when it was new.

The sound of the big door suctioning through the house can be heard upstairs, as can the chorus of children screaming “Aunt Tamale!” and Elaine knows it’s time to make an appearance.

Ann braces to a squat with her bag dropped beside her as a tidal wave of Presley children launch themselves at her over the foyer floor, tackling and clinging and squeezing vehemently with grinning, beautiful faces. Three are wiry, chlorinated and shirtless. It takes a moment for Ann to realize one is Daisy and that no, they’ve not made a third son since she saw them last. Jack’s golden hair has gotten darker and that’s heartbreaking but at least his dimples are deeper than ever and Jesse is just as sweet and courteously loving as always with Ella tagged behind with a wet doggie that Ann takes in her arms and let’s lick her face and Rosalee had a sketch to show her of what looked like a deformed couch but was most likely intended to be her beloved daddy’s profile and -

Oh Elaine.

Always one to make an entrance, to set the tone of a good game. She looks perfectly at home leaning against an upper bannister while observing the hubbub from above, with sheer navy cascading around her like a thundercloud and her hair tousled to perfection. Young Elvis’ portrait yearns behind her on the wall and Ann smiles at the rightness of it.

She waits till her children loosen the gambit just a little before wafting down the stairs in a tulle blur of long limbs and soft focused curves and she throws her arms around Ann and her sensible, tweed traveling suit.

“Thumper, I’ve missed you!” She’s no icy Madame in her own home, sweet Elaine, her porcelain face and macabre loungewear aside, she is warm and glowing in the rays of a waning day’s sun and Ann clings a little longer, arms around her neck and giving flesh beneath her hands, feeling oddly at home in this foyer.

“Missed you, too.”

The sleepovers always start with evenings like this. There’s playing with the kids and dinner, they may end up in the pool, they may end up watching home movies to show her what she’s missed since last visit. Perhaps there’s a new golf cart to try to flip on its top. But when bedtime comes, Thumper is a loving taskmaster, insisting everyone get to their respective rooms, starting the process thirty minutes early so that there can be as much dithering and “one more chapter” as can be and still get the kids conked out at a decent hour. Rosalee is allowed to stay and use the phone to talk to Elvis till 10:30 and in the meantime Thumper conducts tooth brushing competitions and Elaine sorts out breakfast plans with Mary.

And then it’s time for bedtime, and where Elaine might waiver about being so selfish as to deny her kids the little tiny bit of girlhood she’s carved for herself this evening, Ann has no qualms guarding that for her and summarily cleans out the big king bed of progeny.

Only little Jack is occasionally allowed to stay.

Weaned, or so Elaine swears but Anna has doubts, the kid is golden and soft and lanky like all little five year olds should be, and blessed with an unerring accuracy in beaming and scowling at the right times to get exactly what he wants. In short, he is Elvis come again in a tiny, button nosed, rosebud lipped cherub with sweaty curls begging to be pushed off his forehead by a loving hand and of course it’s half the delight to let the little fella stay and camp on the bed when they read their tabloids to each other, watching him laughing maniacally along with them at rumors about themselves that Jack doesn’t even understand.

Jack is also excellently skilled at wedging the foam pads between their toes when it’s pedicure time, allowing Elaine and Ann to bask back in matching boudoir chairs with their feet propped up on the matching stools Elvis got. Pink stain pouring over little round stools for when he wants to haul one up and chat to his wife while she applies her lashes. Jack insists on wedging the foam between their toes himself and sometimes tries his hand at painting with varying catastrophic results.

“Heyar, i’s wight heyer.” Jack’s little drawl still butchers Elaine’s diligent elocution lessons but both women fawn over him regardless when he passes them a roller they had planned on using later -not anymore- they drop the sectioned hair in process and start again with the one he gives them.

“He’s really precious, isn’t he?” Ann sighs once, staring down at him where he finally passed out between them, soft, chubby knees he got from his daddy bent askew and long fingered hands for a child tucked beneath a milk fat cheek.

“I don’t think I’d have made it without him.” Elaine admitted once and when Thumper gave her a searching look she went on, “Before there was you, there was just him. And when everyone else was ready to be happy again after Jo, he never minded when I’d take him to a room to nurse him and -“ she trail off, face lit warm by the harem lamp’s multi gemmed glow and the golden bedding around them, dark hair pinned up in rollers to show how young her face really is without paint and artifice, “-I even remember once being in Elvis’ trailer on set, right after and it was like every kid who cried around me-my body would respond and let down more and I-I didn’t have a baby for it. Except for baby Jack, and I remember sitting in that hot trailer on the lot while all the kids were out with Elvis touring the set and I was…crying.”

“Of course you were.” Ann snuggles closer, reaches over Jack’s little form to squeeze Elaine’s arm.

“I was sobbing my eyes out, actually.” Elaine admits with a shy turn of her head towards the padded headboard, “While he nursed. And then I felt his chubby little hand, all clumsy and sweaty, wiping them off without ever breaking his latch on the nipple. Wiping the tears off my cheeks.” She clarifies, “I didn’t know a baby could be so loving in the way I needed, and I’ve been close before, Jesse was my world I swear, and Ella is like watching myself again. But -his dimples pop when he gives that crooked grin and he won’t even let go of the latch, just a little…” she mimics his grin with her thumb in her mouth Ann laughs at the sight.

She laughs at the things Elaine finds funny and and she gets why Elaine loves what she loves. And night after sleepover night, Elaine finds herself admitting more and more and gets back an earful in return. It makes her giddy and makes her kick her feet when she picks up the ringing phone and hears her friend on the other line.

“I think I need to freshen up my hair.” Elaine will sigh into the receiver.

“I like how you’re growing it out, less structured, it’s younger!” Ann will agree before adding just as emphatically, “Just needs a little trim and some styling. I can come Thursday.”

One such Thursday in ‘64 Tink came out of the bathroom with tin foil in her hair and scared giddiness in her smile.

“I’ve got a surprise for ya,when you get back, Naughty.” Elaine told Elvis on the phone, forcing herself not to bite her nail in anticipation and ruin the new coat of polish.

The surprise had been an auburn haired wife.

Elvis noticed the effects of the sleepovers himself, beyond the wild sight of auburn hair, even as he looked at them askew and with a confused belligerence about fun being had without him, and many a demand regarding “what sorta fun are ya having? You’re my wife, dammit!”

His logic that ‘it don’t count if its two girls’ when excusing a night of the three of them rolling in Ann's rough cotton sheets as soon as Viva Las Vegas wrapped, didn’t hold up now. Now it very much did count that they were two little girls. Two unsupervised little girls and he was relieved when Jack stayed with them, but less so when he heard from Jack that they painted their piggies and arm wrestled in their nighties.

Elaine legitimately enjoyed grappling on the fluffy white carpet of the music room floor after ice cream had been served and wiped from childrens’ chins. It was something she tried with Elvis and never managed to win except by clinging to his back like a limpet, and even then he’d win by crushing her into the pile with his weight.

But with Ann she could tussle and strain and keep up some of that old verve that had once had her nailing softball practice in high school and currently crushing Vernon at tennis. No one in the Memphis mafia was allowed to tackle her or ought else when games were played on the lawn and no amount of flattery convinced Elaine of competency she had not exercised in years. Thumper provided just such a foil and Elaine found herself winning and losing with a clean conscience and sore body time after time, children applauding at either result.

She felt a little wild, like she had when Elvis brought the three of them together that first night, pacifying her qualms about the rightness of it as only he and his unfailing logic could do. But these days she was less and less burdened by rules or even expectation, it was her own house, her own life and if Elvis Presley had cracked open the door on hotel sheets, then Elaine saw little blame to be garnered from stepping over the threshold and creating a little world for herself that made her feel more than used up and unsellable. A “fact” Colonel Parker and the family Enterprise winced over daily. She could shut herself up in Graceland or Palm Springs and see to it that her children got an education, her husband's favored meals were served when he deigned to come home and her sanity was somewhat in place for it all by any means possible.

Elvis, for his own part, knew damn well he’d invited in whatever wild spirit of independent merrymaking Elaine now partook of. He also trusted her implicitly to keep it under wraps within the halls of their house, to indulge respectably and set a good example for his children.

It was undeniable, since her friendship with Ann began, she was looking younger, happier and more content than he’d seen her since before the tragedy, before Jo.

And Elvis cared mostly about that.

And in the way of those who do not know how to comfort others regarding a tragedy that they themselves have not recovered from, he found himself making concessions and negotiations, a bit of “so long as I can keep this, you can have that” sort of bargaining.

The ‘this’ and ‘that’ were never quite verbalized, but it was understood in that miserable harmony of married couples that he’d keep his women and his crowd of unedifying friends and employees so long as she might have household stability and a certain license to be a nutcase. Perhaps it would buy him and Larry time to figure out whatever fucked up Retrograde or inner chakra was keeping him from being able to bodily make love to his wife in the traditional way.

Larry swore he was only scared to make another child and lose it, hence why his wife remained hypothetically attractive but he could not complete his attraction carnally.

Elvis thought Larry should stick his head in the wood chipper for such a simple answer, there’s no way in hell that’s all there is to it and yet it likely was and Elvis couldn’t quite manage to accept that. Accept that he was still grieving. It wasn’t an option really. Not with everything else going on, all the different ways he was needed and wanted elsewhere, and not with the way Elaine swore she was fine until he could figure it out, so long as he loved her and was there for their kids.

Which he is. And when he’s not, Ann’s there. And Dodger. Or Marlon -on Daisy’s insistence. Or the whole damn nation.

So, much as the current order of things rankled Elvis, perhaps out of some suppressed awareness of his own role in it, ultimately having his Happy Tink back was his greatest wish.

And if it made Thumper happy as well? -goodness, it was a better end than most dalliances could boast.

But it was hard being a little sidelined, and when Charlie pointed out that Elaine must feel similarly about his flings and his fellas, Elvis wasn’t sure what the hell he was on about as Elaine was very much incorporated in both, as much as she liked to be. She just liked to be less and less and that was on her. Charlie still suggested he tell her how he felt about it.

But then Tink beat him to it.

He was laying there in bed, at Graceland, at some pitch black early morning hour one time, with five sleeping children scattered in their bed, when she told him she didn’t mean to make him feel lonely. It was all Elvis needed to hear. That she knew she was doing that, and if she knew it, then he knew that before long she’d find a remedy. He just needed to be a little more patient.

Which wasn’t his forte but Tink was quick and ingenious and once she’d come up with how to help, he just about wished she never had. The cure was as cruel as it was mouthwatering.

Elvis was in his trailer one day, on a movie set as Elvis was most days this year, and had spared some time from shooting due to another department needing to sort something out. The something didn’t matter, what did matter was that he got to sit in his trailer with his friends earlier than usual for an evening, put on his helmet and watch the game. And then his team won. Which, in the raucous, bottle clinking, cigar lighting jubilation of celebrating such a win, had him almost missing the ringing of the telephone he had wired in.

Only the Colonel and Graceland and little blonde Shirley from last movie set had his number and so Elvis scrambled over his red sofa cushions, threw off his helmet and leaned over to pick the phone up, hollering, “H’allo?” into the receiver while chopping at his throat with his hand in a demand for silence from his boys.

“Naughty?”

“Why, if it ain’t my pwecious baby wife.” he cooed with a sappy grin on his face, happily flipping on his back in the cushions, all being right with the world with his girl’s voice in his ear and his team in the playoffs.

“How’re you doin’ baby?” she asked him sweetly, and he could hear her settling into the sheets, the rustle couldn’t be from the kitchen.

He kicked his feet up above his head and propped them against the wall, “Pretty damn good, you watch the game?”

“Jesse and Thumper gave me a play by play.” she informed him.

“What were you cookin’?”

“Dumplings. Couldn’t step away.”

“Aww.” he knew it had to be something precious and easily burned to keep her from watching. “And now?”

“Now I’m petting Whiskers.” she informed him.

Their cat. “I trust Annie ain’t pettin’ any kitties of mine, is she?” he mumbled in a discreet little growl, cupping the phone to his mouth.

Joe glanced over anyway. Elvis found the toe of his boot tapping a jittery rhythm against the trailer wall and as annoying as he found it himself, he couldn’t stop. He felt nervous, oddly, like when he used to call Elaine from Germany, way back when before she’d joined him. Back when he wasn’t sure he knew her fully. She kept him on his toes and he liked that, it made his blood rush and satiated his natural eagerness for newness -but oh how he wondered sometimes how she always dredged up this newness. If he knew her, really knew her would -would she keep being so surprising?

Fuck. Maybe Larry was right, maybe he needed to pop a pill like an old fart and get it on with her, get it outta his system.

Where were they? Oh, cats. And Ann.

“Elvis, c’mon, really.” Elaine chided with a giggle, “Ann is setting up the pedicures.”

“Oh.” Elvis sucked in a breath at the way such a reassurance sent the blood from his panicked brain to his jealous heart and then melting down like molten desire right between his legs. He flexed his belly and gnawed on his thumbnail. “Oh yeah?” he tried again and sounded so damn wrecked that every friend in the place looked at him as if he’d just put on a porno. “Y’all paintin’ your piggies? Mmm? Pink, yeah? Fuck’meee.”

“Mhmm, well, she hasn’t gotten to painting yet.” Elaine expounded with a sigh, “She’s oiling them up, I’ve had to endure a fifteen minute sermon on dry cuticles, Elvis, and now she’s squeezing and rubbing my poor piggies till they’re tingly-“

“Laney!“ he hollered as if she dropped a 2x4 on his own toes and the guys crowded in, a mixture of mockery and interest on their faces. Elvis spread a hand out on his chest to regulate his breathing and cursed at the realization that his wife wasn’t the slightest bit clueless as to what she was doing. “Oh Laney, what -what’s she usin’ to oil ya?” he begged to know, his nose breathing deeply as if he could guess it a thousand miles away.

“Baby oil, Elvis,” Elaine sounds so earnest in his ear, “I told her you don’t let me use nothin’ else on them.”

“Good girl.” he growled after realizing she couldn’t see his decisive nod of approval at her obedience.

“Oooh” he hears her breathe in his ear and startles up from the couch in a little flail that has no destination save that he heard his wife moan and it requires some expenditure of energy from him or he’ll go nuts laying here imagining her in her babydoll nighty, her pretty little bare toes getting oiled up by Annie.

“Tink, what she doin’ to yous, Tink?” he demands urgently, and the guys crowd closer, Elvis tugs at his pant leg and knows it’s futile, his rock hard dick is trapped in Edith’s well tailored trousers and all he can do is bring his feet off the wall and spread as much as he can.

“S-she’s rubbing my arch.” Elaine tells him, “I was wearing those pretty little white heels all days, the white ones you got me.” she reminds him and he smiles at the visual of her clicking through their home.

“She makin’ ya feel good?” he prompts his eyes glossy and far away from his gaudy trailer and the smell of cigar smoke. “Rubbin’ the sore right out?”

“Yeah, yeah feels good.” She slurs.

He can just picture her all puddled and lax and slippery- “Hers all gooey?” he hopes, running a hand over his belly that keeps flexing and quivering like little Elvis is deep in cunt.

Elaine on the other end of the line smirks at the shift in his tone, gone entirely from jealousy to fanciful imaginings that are far, far beyond anything she’s indulging in but somehow it’s terribly exciting to know what he’s thinking, to lure him in and have only his own, nasty, boyish mind to blame for the misfire. She winks down at Thumper who truly is doing a remarkable job on those sore arches and gives another little moan. “Yeah, yeah I could fall outta bed I’m so gooey.”

She hears the shuddering breath he takes and can imagine him, crisp slacks and ruffled pompadour, laying on his back against velvet red cushions, legs splayed in a pantomime of dying and his lackeys gathered around like a sleazy last supper.

“I think we’ve really got his motor thrumming, Thumper.” she feels safe enough to giggle and hears Elvis give only a heart rending:

“Goddamn, whyyyy!” over the phone in reply.

“Need a defibrillator, boss?” she can hear Marty ask him and hears only petulant moaning about needing a wife in reply.

It did the trick, or at least, part of the trick. The trick of making the Presley’s feel connected to each other again and Larry agreed that it was good, a good step towards normality even if it was a little polyamorous and crowded for a typical marriage. Such phone calls made Elvis feel included and Elaine nearly re-besotted with a man who, when on the other end of a phone line and thousands of miles away, sounded desperate and devoted, something her wifely self hadn't felt from him in a little while.

Elvis brought home amongst his many gifts a couple of new cameras, and having taught Jesse how to use the still one, paid his son five dollars for each documented arm wrestle and diving contest. How he paid his wife for each documented lingerie try-on and manicure session was never revealed but her shoe box of pastel gauzy Polaroids suggested the compensation was ample incentive. How Tink paid Thumper was anyone's guess and no one’s knowledge. Maybe it was that Cartier diamond set she wore to a premiere the following week.

It was a natural graduation of events that Elvis should, being at home during one of Thumper’s convenient memphian layovers, be a camera wielding witness to one of these night time pamperings. They politely ignored him and his bright lights that beamed on their little haven in front of the dresser, pink satin chairs aglow and their faces almost angelically washed out on the film. That night, Elaine’s hair was restored to a deep chocolate color, Ann’s outfit for her next premiere was chosen and the silk pajama’s Elvis donned for the evening had to be discarded.

The camera wielding didn’t stop there, when Thumper was brought down to Circle G Ranch, an entire production was made, the only picture film Elvis Presley ever fully produced and directed and costumed in the 1960’s -and it was full of subtext, straw, piglets, bare skin and harmed vegetables. But it occurred over an slippery, sweaty, pungent afternoon and was not a sleepover and so has no place being detailed in this chapter.

What does deserve a place here is the great Tink and Thumper adventure with Benetint that happened about a year into this charming, girlish, sleepover habit.

They’d bought matching nighties you see, sheer with a gingham print. Yet, when going to photograph their charming selves in them, they found the rosiness lacking -or at least, Thumper thought it could be improved. The printed fabric was to blame for the faded-nipple effect but was too adorably bucolic to be abandoned entirely. So, after a foray into the smokey backstages of some Vegas showrooms, Ann arrived one day in Palm Springs with her sundry gifts for the children, and tucked into her purse, was an uninspiring little bottle of something that could easily have been mistaken for nail polish.

Sitting cross legged on the vanity, Elaine soon learned it was anything but.

It was too quiet in the bathroom, just their huffed breaths and the squeak of the lid unscrewing. Even before the icy chill flicked over her skin she felt her arms break out in gooseflesh and she sucked in a breath, bracing for the tickle. Elvis had done this, to her belly, that first time she’d grown his children and her belly rent apart with a lightning bolt down its middle.

It had felt loving then, kindhearted and boyish.

Ann crouching to bosom level, flicking the little brush with its smelly mixture across her pert nipples, breath ghosting against the red blush of Elaine’s breast, silk pooling useless off her shoulders -this was different, oddly so. Somehow more intimate than when a man, or what Elaine knew of men, did it. Here was no pleasurable usage to brace for, only girlish admiration and a charming lack of regard for ought else but this, this single, charged, shivering moment.

Elaine could see Ann’s dark roots from up above. She wanted to pull that thin bottom lip of hers and snap it back against her teeth. Feeling useless sitting getting adorned so soberly, Elaine swiped the hair falling into her friend’s eyes, up and off her brow and into the buoyant coif that chasing the children had already half dismantled.

It made Ann drop her brush. “I wasn’t expecting-“ she fumbled.

She went back to it, such warmth so close and Elaine watched with a confused heart as Ann swirled the icy slick once more over the outer ring of a babe abused areola, taking her bleeding little rosebuds and making them into dark cherries.

“How do they look?” Elaine asked Thumper as Ann stood at a little distance in the large bathroom, eyeing up her art with her absurd little brush raised, a consummate artist and a distracted friend.

“You look like I imagined.” Ann replied as if without thinking before her face colored the shade of the pink rug and she must roll her eyes in an effort to sabotage the escaped sentiment.

“Imagined when?” Elaine asked, leaning forward on the counter, not bothering to cover up as it would only smear, perhaps some part of her knew without consulting the mirror the image that she made.

A dark haired vixen with the body of an ivory cello, leaning forward with those creamy mounds topped like Shirley Temples with their little ornaments.

-knowing yet curious, hungry yet soft.

Ann swallowed hard and thought about the end of all this that Elaine had once predicted in the beginning, an end that was all wedding veils and bouquets and everlasting vows with some fella Ann was supposed to find and love since Elvis wasn’t available. Elaine swore it would come and Ann had hoped she’d been right. The idea sickens her lately, thinking of somehow there being some other best friend, someone else to flick bath water at and ogle in their silk pajamas, someone else to have her heart lurch over when the children crawl atop them and the motorbikes thrum beneath them. The more successful she got the more she wanted this.

Just this.

“When he used to talk about you.” she admits her imaginings had been detailed and flattering for the wife of the man she once lay beside. Not even in dreams of wildest jealousy and unfair slight could Elaine be anything but something Ann craved to know and be known by. “I-I dreamed of being stabbed by you.”

Ann had woken up flaming with desire from those nightmares. Pretty Elaine Presley coming alive from the front of a newspapers and screaming “traitor!” hacking at Ann’s broken little heart with a pie server. Only for Elaine to end up being kind, lonely and a bit of a tease.

“Why’re you crying?” Elaine asked softly, finally slipping off her marble perch and taking Ann’s chin in her hand firmly.

“I’m going to miss this.” she muttered miserably in realization of the overseas tours next year and the boys she entertained but didn’t like enough to trust with a single secret and the way Marlon was around here too often lately. “And you know too much of me.” she hit Elaine’s arm playfully.

The grip on her chin jerked in retaliation. “I’ve been worried. You’re getting famous.” Elaine admitted, and the way she referenced fame was if it was a cancer.

“But I can come here, right?”

“Always.”

“Even if I’m married?”

Elaine looked a little surprised and questioning and when Ann shook her head in the negative to being currently engaged she lightened again, “Especially if you’re married. Married women go mad without some woman to talk to about being married.”

“You’re some woman.” Ann purred because Elaine Presley was stood too near with her pale soft breasts brushing Ann’s arm.

“You could be too, if you’d let me paint you.” Elaine dug the bottle out of Ann’s chilled fingers and went back to the sink, her reflection showing the heightened color crawling down her neck. “Get over here Thumper.” she snapped her fingers and Ann slinked up on the counter like a condescending house cat. “Am I to paint over chiffon?” Elaine stared at the still tied nightdress unimpressed until Ann was forced to fling it open - to her credit, not without adding much pizzaz to the whole thing with a high kick that only barely missed Elaine's face and a haughty toss of her head.

Her act petered out with a shy chuckle that faded into fully nothing.

“You’re very pretty.” Elaine whispered as she stood frozen in front of her in a ready stance, bottle clutched and tiny brush brandished, looking like a juvenile boy trying to recall his father’s tips on how to flatter. “But, then - you know that, I suppose.”

“I’m cold.” Ann whispered, her eyes darting to the side.

“Oh, yes,” Elaine was suddenly in motion, stepping nearer with clear eyes, “this makes it worse. Trust me. I’ll be fast, I swear.”

“It’s fine.” Ann breathed and then promptly forgot how.

As if in slow motion she watched Elaine crouching to better see her work, and her pretty hand burdened with all of Elvis’ shiny spherical gifts descended until it made contact on her bare nipple.

“Oh Elaine.” Ann enunciated through a gasp, her hands that had been listlessly sitting on the countertop curled over the edge of the marble, gripping tight.

“Cold isn’t it?” Elaine murmured again, her hand coming to rest beside her work in direct opposition to the cold paint. Firm, steadying, warm flesh on her sternum made Ann tremble, she watched Elaine‘s eyes flick up to meet hers, an odd sort of edge and command in them she’d never seen before.

Or. Rather, she had, but only ever with Elvis, only ever directing that look to him.

“He did this to me once.” Elaine told her, voice gone deep and then another stroke of the brush. “Not my nipples -it was my belly.”

“Captain Marvel.” Ann huffed a laugh, recalling the way he’d made her trace the bolt on his wife their first night, eager as a boy who’d discovered magic.

“Captain Marvel is telling you to hold still, missy.” Elaine chided her wiggling friend and Ann felt a flush all over.

“I’m just breathing.”

“Hard.” Elaine snarked, staring down at Ann’s heaving chest with a sardonic brow.

The intensity of that gaze was too much.

“It’s too much.” Ann said it in defense and Elaine’s eyes fluttered up to meet hers, her whole body straightening.

“For you too?” Elaine begged tremulously and Ann felt a rush of connection at her vulnerability.

“For me too.” she nodded.

“Gosh.” Elaine exclaimed, startled but making no move to flee, she just stayed there, hemming Ann in on the countertop and studying her face like it was the dearest thing.

“This isn’t making it better.” Ann whined as she felt that beautiful face near hers -the thunk of Elaine’s forehead against her own soon followed.

She felt her hands hold her waist gently like a dozen lovers had before and none felt as tender as this.

“You know the thing about fame is,” spearmint wafted over Ann’s face and she closed her eyes to listen to Elaine’s soft, pondering drawl, “it's held up all those years as the thing that’ll make everything all right. When the only thing that makes things even slightly bearable is a friend who knows what you're talking about. If you ever get tired, Annie, of being known for all the wrong reasons, you just come on back. We’ll always find something of us here, I know it.”

Elaine’s thumbs played across freckled skin like dainty wipers on Ann’s cheeks, swiping off one tear after another into her dyed hairline and one mere jut of Ann’s set chin brought the lower half of their faces together.

plush, warm, minty, sticky, glossy, brushing, lilting

-turn aside.

“Do you wanna -the camera, Tink?”

“No.” Mrs. Presley answered honestly as she stepped back, a little tremble in her voice, “Not tonight. I think -perhaps I, perhaps we, should call Elvis.” Elaine stared off into the adjoining bedroom with swimming eyes, their little project once undertaken for his gaze had suddenly become too intimate to be shared, even with him, even as dried ink on a glossy Polaroid weeks from now, “And maybe bring in Jack, he looked restless.”

“Oh yes.” Ann cheered and it was weak, snotty, hoarse little lie. But it was for Elaine. Anything for Elaine. “Let’s.” she agreed.

—Yes. Bring in Jack, why don’t you? And Elvis and Marlon and your charities and your causes and when it gets too crowded with just us two, bring in the whole nation!—

Ann willed the puddling tears away from the rim of her eyes, it wasn’t fair how a woman so immune to jealousy as Elaine Presley could spark so much in others.

“I bet Jack will be up to my shoulder by the time I get back from tour.” Ann joked as they crept down the hall to their boy’s bedroom, “And Jesse will break my heart with your face on a teenager's runty little body.”

It was a promise. To be back.

And come back in good spirits and with good intent. To take as much as was offered, be happy with it. Just as she knew if she herself showed up tomorrow with a husband, Elaine would be as ecstatic as if it were her own dream come true.

Some friends really do just love you enough that way. And that had to be enough.

Tags, if you’d like to be added just drop a comment to that effect below. I don’t bite and I do adore feedback, I run off of even the slightest scream from you. I appreciate you all and hope you enjoyed this. Xoxo marina

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