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therealslimshakespeare · 1 year ago

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Sarge & lil Mama: Wouldn’t it be Nice?

Fully co-authored with: @ab4eva 🤍

Summary: In between shooting movies and topping charts, Elvis Presley takes his young family to the California beach for some hard earned frolicking, nothing extraordinary occurs, but then again, extra and ordinary are words redefined since Elaine gave him five children under the age of five.

Date: 1962, Summertime

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: PG13- The accidental destruction of a child’s sandcastle, breastfeeding toddler, talk of being uncircumcised (including by children + children being aware of it), use of several nicknames for a man’s member, someone’s hair accidentally being set fire to, language, a minor injury involving sand in the foreskin + lots of talk about it (including by children) + treatment of the injury by uncommon methods while children are present (but not directly involved), Elvis being a big baby, Rosalee being distraught about her daddy’s injury, a child willfully acquiring a knife and threatening to cut off fathers member (more wholesome than it sounds) but has it taken away before anything can happen, parents kissing while children are present.

Jerry thought the day had been going quite well. Beach days were supposed to be carefree and rollicking and generally a time to let loose and soak up salt spray tranquility, and today had been correspondingly mellow. Or at least, everyone tried their best, a break from those back to back Wallis pictures doing wonders for EP and giving him a chance to take the kids to see the ocean for the first time, or the first time that some of them can remember .

It gave the day both a heavy amount of purpose and a giddy sense of long sought freedom. Away from the hustle and bustle of Hollywood, nestled between the Santa Monica Mountains and the cliffs of Pacific Palisades, sits a beach so serene and beautiful you’d think you were a thousand miles from nowhere instead of a stone’s throw away from the City of Angels. Miles of smooth, sandy shoreline and calm ocean waves, not to mention the virtually non-existent crowd, made it the ideal spot for their getaway. They would have space, and privacy, away from the prying eyes and curious shutterbugs that seemed to follow their little gang wherever they went.

They had a good little headquarters set up on the sand, a sandpit and bonfire beginning to be used for the evening’s meal of s’mores and hot dogs, a half a dozen umbrellas erected and a carpet of towels. Often they held a dozing child, nestled in a nest of cotton stripes when their little bodies couldn’t keep up with the games so vigorously played on at the water's edge. An hour ago Elvis had been there himself, laid out and snoozing next to Rosalee, his face in the shade but the entire rest of him in the sun’s full glare, clad in a wispy muslin shirt that had a penchant for riding up his belly with each gust of wind and tiny red shorts that he’d swiped from Edith Head’s costuming department after the latest film had wrapped.

“Those’ll make for some crazy tan lines.” Billy had remarked about it to Elaine while grabbing a beer from the cooler.

She’d just hummed dreamily while watching the way her man and their baby’s breath synced up, the little girl not even a third as long as his lanky frame, positioned in a L, her pasty baby skin in full shadow from the summer sun.

The cat nap had revived Elvis immensely and he was back at it within an hour, playing football with the boys while Elaine floated between her children, one minute collecting shells with Ella and Rosalee, the next inspecting a tiny crab Jackson had found. Jack, as his family called him, was intrigued by sea creatures and creatures in general, so he happily set about running from one thing to the next, crouching down to study a jellyfish that had washed ashore or gently returning a live sand dollar back to the water. At the ripe age of four years old, Jesse considered himself one of the guys, and was allowed, begrudgingly by some, to take part in the football game. Elvis had taught him how to throw a football almost as soon as he could walk, he’d been obsessed with any sort of ball since before he could talk and so was a natural. And Daisy Mae? For once she was sat quietly by herself, plastic buckets and pails all lined up in a row, diligently building a sandcastle..

It had three turrets so far, and an outer courtyard like the real life castle mama had driven them all to see when in Germany. Jesse had insisted that Daisy only recalled it from pictures and not memory, as she had been “just a baby” but she insisted she did. And to prove her point she was creating its layout with painstaking accuracy. Unless Elaine was greatly mistaken, Daisy’s little sand edifice bore a more striking resemblance to an illustration in Scribner’s edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, but she would be the first and staunchest defender if asked that the wet mounds resembled Lichtenstein Castle.

It made what happened next even worse as Elaine and Aunt Betsy watched as if in slow motion horror as a cataclysmic catastrophe of toddler sized proportions unfolded as the ball game spread and spread across the white sands. It wasn’t that Uncle Rex was trying to trample on Daisy’s masterpiece, but Elvis threw a Hail Mary pass, farther than even he thought possible, and the next thing anyone knew Rex was skidding to a stop with one foot in the moat and the other on a turret, his team cheering with wild abandon because he’d caught the ball. A high-pitched wail pierced the air, drowning out the gulls and the waves, startling them all.

Uncle Rex’s kindly and sun tanned face turned a little sickly pale upon looking down and noticing that while little Daisy Mae did not look to be in any mortal danger, she was glaring at his foot through a cascade of tears as if it were the cause of all human woe. Then he noticed the turret, the moat, what was probably a stable for horsies in back and the stack of plastic shovels and molds beside it that all bore witness to the four year old’s painstaking efforts. All of it demolished with a misplaced foot and when Rex looked up and saw Elvis running over to ascertain the cause of his child’s grief, Rex coulda swore his wide-receiver days were over.

In an instant, Elvis had scooped Daisy Mae up in his arms, her tears soaking the shoulder of his thin shirt as he patted her back soothingly, swaying gently from side to side and murmuring softly in her ear. Being a father was second nature to him at this point, he had perfected all of the little rituals and responsibilities that came with having so many children all under the age of five. At the same time, he was holding her close and checking to make sure she wasn’t hurt, smoothing the fine hair that floated in a halo around her head and running his hands over her tiny limbs.

“Aww now darlin’ it’s alright, it’s alright, Uncle Rex is awfully sorry,” he soothed her the best he could once hearing her bawling complaint, “he’s awfully sorry, didn’t mean to, such a pretty castle ya got here. So pretty, he’d never mean to do it and he feels sick about it.”

“Just sick.” Rex agreed vehemently, dropping to his knees on the sand beside Elvis and his child, careful to choose an undeveloped patch of sand from which to properly apologize, “I’m ever so sorry, Daisy dear.”

It was typical Daisy fashion for words to be cheap and the devastation of her afternoon’s work a soul scarring affair, and while her daddy’s arms and sweet words were soothing, at least a little, there remained a bitterly painful sense of loss in her little chest that nothing was ever again going to remedy or fill that void.

That is untill Jesse piped up softly at her side after surveying the damage, “Daisy, was this goin’ to be where they keep the wolves?”

Lichtenstein Castle had an large menagerie in back where it’s first Saxon overlord kept the native beasts for gruesome purposes Elaine did not expound to the children about. Seemingly forgetting his insistence that Daisy did not recall the place from memory alone, Jesse was intrigued by the design and after asking her she finally pulled her face out of her daddy’s shoulder to give her big brother a sniffling nod and very pointedly emphasized:

“S’posed to be.” For it would never be now and never could be again, for all her mortal dreams had been dashed by Uncle Rex’s foot.

“We can help finish it!” Jesse insisted. “Look here, Daisy, this shovel is the perfect thing to fix the wolf pen, just needs a bit of sand scooped out is all and it’ll be good as new!” He dropped to his hands and knees and got to work, carefully scooping out sand and water, shoring up the walls as he went. Daisy observed him watchfully from the safety of her father’s arms, hiccuping a little every now and then. Elvis gently swiped the tears from her reddened cheeks, kissing her forehead gently and whispering to her, “Whatdya reckon, Daisy Maisey? Think we can get this ol’ castle fixed up? Uncle Rex and I know a thing or two ‘bout buildin’ things, don’t we now, Rex?” He nodded knowingly to Rex above Daisy’s head, giving him the go ahead to speak up.

“Oh sure we do, I’ve been known to build a sandcastle as tall as your daddy before, ain’t that right, Elvis?” He hunched down beside the duo, eye to eye with Daisy to plead his case. “I’ll even make ya some pretty vines to hang down the side outta seaweed, would ya like that?” Daisy eyed him warily before nodding her head slowly and stating with a great deal of gravity, “Lick-en-stine Castle doesn’t have vines that hang down…but it has trees that grow on the side.” Her small concession was all the affirmation Rex needed to plop himself down properly, grabbing a pail and filling it with sand, talking to the little girl the whole while, regaling her with his favorite parts of the castle he had visited while in Germany.

“What’s going on down there?” Up at Beach HQ under the umbrellas, Elaine asked Aunt Betsy for an update on the toddler crises as she tried to discreetly nurse a rather lanky Jack under a towel he was insistent on throwing off.

He was perhaps getting too old for this, Elaine had to admit, but her milk hadn’t stopped, and she didn’t have another baby yet. “They’re all over the place.” She snickered at the sight of them, as much of them as she could make out which was mostly when they went to the water's edge and scurried back again with refilled buckets.

They weren’t that far off down the beach but Betsy was always nearsighted and so she held the binoculars Rex had brought for whale watching and trained it on the group of men down there hovering and packing and molding sand and fetching water like a great army of ants. Anywhere Daisy beckoned was attended to by a member of the Mafia, with Jesse as her most dedicated foremen, while it appeared that Rex had been entrusted with wreathing the front pillars with garlands of seaweed that he received from further up in the assembly line where Elvis was braiding the slimy stuff with dedicated perseverance and the help of Rosalee’s tiny fingers. Rex and Betsy’s son, Sam, happy and carefree and practically one of the Presley kids himself, plopped down beside Rosalee, far more interested in watching her work than doing any work himself.

“Your man has got the boys rebuilding it.” Betsy summarized with an amused smirk. “Only Elvis could wrangle a group of grown men into building a sandcastle for a three year old…and with such authority. He really did learn a thing or two in the army, didn’t he?”

Elaine smiled softly to herself and held out a hand for the binoculars to better see the little group at the water’s edge. She wasn’t at all prepared for the sight of her husband, tiny red swim shorts and wind-blown hair, breath-taking in his command of an army all his own, pointing and inspecting and generally being an adorable menace for the benefit of his girl. Her darling children were running to and fro with buckets and shovels, laughing and screaming, while Daisy sat like a queen in the midst of them all, the real commanding officer and Elvis only her obedient second. That girl had had her daddy at her command ever since the day she was born.

Jack was roused from his cozy stupor at Elaine’s breast by all of the noise, letting her nipple go with a soft pop and turning his head to the commotion. A lackadaisical learner, Jack’s favored vocabulary consisted mostly of “mama” and food items at this point in his life and having stuffed himself with milk, he proved he was his father’s son by looking away from the sand architects down at the beach and asking her hopefully,

“Cat’sup?”

By that he meant the hotdogs intended for the bonfire but his favorite ingredient in them was ketchup and so they were referred to by it accordingly.

“You can’t possibly be hungry, little man.” She laughed, poking his distended, milk full belly and making him laugh until he hiccuped and that dimple of his dug deep.

“Cat’sup.” Jack persisted, cheeks in full grin and he bonked his soft button nose to Elaine's, holding their faces together with clammy little hands. “Caaaat’suuup.”

“Well, ya heard him,” she giggled to Betsy. “The man of the place says he’s hungry.”

“I don’t blame him one bit. I’m a little hungry myself,” Betsy said, rubbing her pregnant belly and winking at Jack. “What do ya think, Jacky boy, should we get lunch ready?”

Elaine and Betsy set about preparing lunch, knowing the troops would be ready to feast when they finished with all their hard work. There wasn’t much to do, as roasted hotdogs and potato chips were the beginning and end of it, with s’mores for dessert, but they laid everything out on the card table that Betsy had brought, stacking skewers and buns, stoking the burn pit to a good blaze.

The sandcastle crew were just about done shoring up their renovations, much to Daisy’s satisfaction and glee, when the smell of the bonfire wafted down shore, making their tummies suddenly grumble, the promise of sustenance close at hand. The whole gaggle of them made their way towards Beach HQ, and chattering excitedly, descended upon the food like a pack of hungry wolves set free from Lichtenstein Castle.

After the hot dogs had been roasted and consumed, the s’mores fixins were brought out, much to the gathered children’s delight. With the concentration and patience befitting a much older child, Jesse slowly turned his marshmallow over the low flames, just like his daddy taught him. Slow and steady, until it starts to grow and puff up, turning a lovely golden color. It was almost there, almost ready to be popped onto a graham cracker and smooshed with chocolate, a melty, delicious, sugary mess. But then the inevitable happened, because no matter how careful and how meticulous you are when roasting marshmallows, at least one or two, three or four even, are bound to catch fire. It happens in a flash, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Waving it back and forth, though, that will surely put the flame out, right?

This is Jesse’s thinking at least, as his eyes grow big and he inhales a breath, intending to blow out the flaming marshmallow that is too far gone to save. He waves it back and forth, frantically, the tiny blaze only growing bigger by the second. Those gathered around the campfire watch almost in slow motion as the mallow launches off of Jesse’s stick, flying through the air with the greatest of ease, and lands with a plop on poor Jerry’s beautiful blonde mop of hair.

“Holy shi-“

“Uhem!”

“Somebody put it out!”

“No, no, not the marshmallow, forget the marshmallow, his hair! Get his hair put out!”

It’s absolute pandemonium then as Jerry tries to pat out the flames but only succeeds in yelping as the fire singes his hands, the same goes for Charlie and Billy as they try to bat it out and Elaine and Betsy are no help at all, lost to giggles and trying to make sure no more marshmallows get catapulted off sticks.

“Dunk him in the ocean!” Elaine suggests the obvious and suddenly Jerry is resistant to all help.

“No, no, just, just hand me some water or somethin-“ he backs away from the encouraging hands of his friends.

“There’s a giant body of water right behind ya.” Elvis laughs the same hiccuping laugh that Jack has.

“The salt will ruin my flow, man!” Jerry begs for him to understand and Elaine watches as her peacock of a husband has a compassionate epiphany for him.

It’s no time for vanity, the smoldering sticky bomb in his hair is singeing and casting a nauseating stench over the dessert.

“Jerry, just stick your dumb head in God’s teacup, man.” Charlie coaxes him towards the ocean.

“You’re gonna lose more than your flow if ya don’t.” Elaine predicts as she watches those blonde locks begin to frazzle.

She can tell it spooks him but it’s not enough and in the end they have some free entertainment with their s’mores, watching Billy and Rex dunk their unwilling buddy into the waves. Before Elaine can remind him to swallow his last bite, Jesse is off down the beach and into the waves himself, body surfing like his daddy taught him with an alarming lack of caution. It makes even Elvis nervous and with a sticky peck to her lips in thanks for the meal, her husband discards his shirt and jogs after their son.

The diaspora affects all and soon the bonfire occupants have dispersed, each to their own little endeavors again as the sun begins to dip towards the westerly horizon. There’s frisbee’s being thrown now, higher up the beach and well away from any sandcastles, and it gets quite competitive as the kids are happily intent on burying Betsy and Elaine. The mermaid tails requested by each take additional time to craft and part way through Jesse becomes too restless to mold sand any longer and with tentative steps makes his way back to the towel fort under the umbrella and pulls the family’s famed new Polaroid camera from inside Elaine’s diaper bag.

“Mama, can I?” he hollers, careful to wipe his sandy fingers off on the towel after he notices them near the lens.

“Sure, darlin,” she grins from her sand casement, “Rosa baby, can ya pull my hair back a little for mama? It’s gettin’ in my mouth, thank ya baby.”

“Alright,” Jesse appears before them all knobby knees and tanned little legs beneath his shorts, looking for all the world like a collectible sized Elvis doll, “gimme your best smile ladies!” he imitates his father’s tone so well that Betsy let’s out an ungainly snort alongside her shocked laugh.

“I want a mermaid tail!” Ella, usually so very selfless for so young a child, lets slip her needs with a wobbly lip and yearning eyes.

“Of course you do!” Elaine murmurs, nodding her head to the side, “Lay down beside mama, sweetie. Y’all got enough muscles for one more, right?” she eggs on her boys and Jesse springs to action for his twin maybe a little too fast: “No, Jesse, the camera -don’t, not on the sand! -oh well.”

It’s just money, Elaine realizes, as Jesse’s guilty face waits for her verdict on the Polaroid camera face first in the sand. Luckily her husband makes a whole lotta the yummy green stuff.

“It’s fine, darling,” she insists and the colony of worker bees sets in motion again until Ella has a tiny little tail to match mama’s.

After an hour in this full body cast Elaine ventures with an unassuming tone, “Do y’all need me to get you anything? Y’all hungry again?”

“Yeah, I think there are more graham crackers left over?” Betsy adds to it, a terrible itch on her shin hardly able to be tolerated any longer as her hands are pinned to her sides.

“No, we’re good,” Daisy replies serenely.

“Ya sure?” Betsy’s face shows alarm at the prospect of not being released.

“Yeah.”

Elaine smirks and leans into the sandy hair petting Jack is lavishing on her, “How long do you reckon mermaids last after they get tossed ashore?” she asks Betsy.

“With those men as the sailors?” She rejoins, wryly nodding at the group of full grown men body smashing each other in pursuit of the frisbee, “An hour max.”

Elaine snickers and settles for waiting until someone wants to be carried into the waves before breaking out of her meticulously crafted tail. She doesn’t have to wait long before unforeseen circumstances arise that require her attention. With that sixth sense that motherhood has given her, she senses an injury in the frisbee players even before the concerning hush alerts her to a downed man.

“Ow goddamnit! Ow, ow, owww!” The last thing anyone had seen was Elvis diving for the frisbee with ease, his long and tan athletic form sure in its ability. And now here he was, rolling around in the sand, clutching his groin through his tiny, red shorts and moaning like he’d been shot.

“What is it Daddy? What’s wrong?” Little Jesse is at his father’s side in an instant, dropping to his knees on the sand next to Elvis, his sharp, intuitive eyes assessing the situation like a triage doctor on the battlefield. He takes in Elvis’s hands covering his privates and understands what’s happened, in the way that men always understand when that delicate part of them has been injured, like a sixth sense. “Is it your nozzle, papa? Is it hurt?”

“I think I’ve got sand in my…” Elvis grits out, before blushing deeply and coughing, too embarrassed to go on. Jesse stares at him, eyebrows drawn together, a puzzled look on his little boy face, trying to decipher his father’s unspoken meaning. He looks from Elvis’s face down to where his hands are pressing at his shorts and back up again, a look of recognition dawning.

“In your scarf, papa?” Jesse whispers loudly, the way a little child thinks they’re being discreet but really they’re just announcing your business for the whole world to hear.

Elvis hears the snickers of the gathered men at this and through his pain manages to give them a hard stare, withering in its ability to shut them up immediately, their eyes pointedly looking anywhere but at the situation unfolding before them, though they can’t help their drifting gazes that settle back on the man himself. Jesse’s little boy fascination with his father’s “nozzle” that wore a “little scarf” came from the fact that he himself didn’t have one. There had been no way in hell that Elvis Presley would let any sons of his grow up being teased and tormented in every locker or shower room they found themselves in for the rest of their lives. He had been through so much hazing and shame in his lifetime due to his uncut self that he was insistent with Elaine when Jesse was born that he be circumcised.

Elaine had been torn, and a little bit saddened, by this decision. She had wanted her boys to resemble their father in this aspect, had wanted them to be able to see themselves in Elvis in this most intimate way. But she knew there would be no arguing her point with him, this was one concession she had no choice in. She understood his shame, his embarrassment, but that didn’t mean she had to agree with it. Her man was perfect in every way, this one included. So she had merely tilted her head to the side and given him a gentle, searching look, her brown eyes meeting his scared blue ones, before nodding once and agreeing to his decree.

And so it was that when Elvis taught his little sons how to aim just so in the toilet, or when they went camping and had to use the bathroom in the woods, or when they saw him getting out of the shower every now and again, they were sorely disappointed that their “little men” didn’t have a scarf like their daddy’s did.

Such was Jesse’s preoccupation with making sure that Elvis and his little scarf were ok. Elvis hisses as he shifts his position in the sand, trying to sit up, every move he makes jostling more sand to fall out of his tiny shorts.

Jerry rolls his eyes behind his aviator shades and drawls, “Want me to carry ya to mama, EP?”

“Help me up, dammit, and wipe that look off your face, Schilling. Do you have a nozzle with a little scarf? No? Then I don’t wanna hear it,” Elvis spits out venomously, hissing again as Jerry pulls him up by the hand, throwing Elvis’s arm around him as Jesse rather comically supports him on the other side, his daddy’s hand resting heavily on the little boy’s shoulder. A truly absurd amount of sand falls out of Elvis’s tiny shorts as he stands and Jerry has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Distracted by all the commotion, Jack leaves the seashells he’d been collecting, running over to see what all the commotion was about.

“Elbis’ wocket owie?” Jack asks his daddy who he refuses to call by his proper title, taking a sandy thumb out of his mouth as he casually observes the trio making their way delicately across the beach to headquarters. Ever their curious child, by talking age Jack was obsessed with NASA and everything to do with space. He had settled on calling his little man “rocket,” a decision his father was sure he would come to regret in a couple of decades. But as he could tell that Jack wouldn’t be persuaded against it, he had sighed with fondness, ruffling the little rascal’s hair and saying, “Ok, my boy. I see I ain’t gonna change your mind on this one.” Elaine had watched all of this from the darkened hallway in Graceland, biting her lip and trying not to smile, as her three men stood in the bathroom, discussing men things. Jesse was already making blast-off jokes about it, something he would no doubt continue to do for the rest of their lives.

“Oh now, what’s all the fuss about, hmm?” Elaine, having broken out of her mermaid tail at the first sign of distress down the beach, looks over her cat-eye sunglasses at the group slowly making their way towards her. Her motherly instincts kick in as she evaluates the situation with sharp eyes, taking in her husband’s disheveled and slightly embarrassed state - noting with some concern the pained grimace running from his furrowed brow to his twisted mouth, the look of pure concern on her son’s face as he peers up at his father and the barely concealed amusement that Jerry’s trying hard to reign in. Elvis is limping like his leg’s been shot clean off, and she can’t quite make out where the injury lies. There’s no blood, no bruise, no showing bone…she runs through all of these possibilities in a matter of seconds, still puzzled by the time she meets them halfway down the beach.

“Elvis, what’s wrong?” she asks again as she meets them up the beach and takes in Schilling's straight face but bouncing shoulders and Elvis’ teeth gritted glare at his friend. “What’s broken?” Elaine throws her hands up in encouraging exasperation at the mute trio and it’s Jesse who has the composure to break the dire news to his mother in grave, childish tones,

“Daddy’s nozzle is broken.” Jesse tells her and for a split second Elvis can see the identical expression on both Elaine and Jesse’s faces, that alarmed and incredulous mix that makes the beginning third of their eyebrows point upwards briefly in a way that blows out of the water any theories about Jesse being his daddy’s copy. He’s a pure blend of both parents and Elvis thinks that the boy having his mama’s expressions makes him somehow fonder for the almost womanish amounts of fretting his young son already indulges in.

“Broken?” Elaine repeats and she’s already gathered enough comfort for Schilling’s mirth to figure that this isn’t life threatening, pulling down her shades again she ducks to meet Elvis’ eyes and mutters for only him to hear, “Really, honey? We’ve talked about you runnin’ round with a stiffy.”

“It ain’t broke or stiff!” Elvis replies with vehemence driven by pain, “There’s a beach worth of sand down my drawers and all up in my…business!”

“Oh.” Elaine’s mouth trembles in a way that closely resembles Jerry’s suppressed attempts and that’s just great, Elvis thinks, Elaine finds him and his scarf full of sand funny and maybe he will too in a few months when this gets to be a bonfire story but right now it feels like fire in his drawers.

“Woman, I’m in agony over here!” Elvis cries and his wife composes her face with credible ease and looks down to the offending red shorts with eyes intent to solve the issue.

“Do somethin’ mama!” Jesse urges, mimicking his father’s faith that Elaine can work miracles on big or little men.

“Umm ok, yeah of course I-“ she starts to fret herself as she looks around at their entourage, most of whom are starting to take notice of the boss being injured. “Can’t you just -wade out there and rinse the sand out?” She misunderstands exactly how intricate the issue is. “Just pull the legs out a little and…shimmy in the water..”

“I could barely walk to you!” Elvis eyes are wide as saucers and he looks like a hurt child for all that his masculine body is on full display to dissuade her gut instincts.

“Yeah, uh, Boss Lady, it’s like -up, UP his …scarf.” Jerry helps out in his staple, sardonic drawl.

“And it hurts?!” Elaine looks flabbergasted and Elvis gives her one last pained and withering look of incredulity before she shapes up into the doting little caregiver Elvis has molded her into, “Oh Mopey, no, oh dear, I’ll fix it, I-I’ll find a way. We need these folks distracted -Jerry?”

“What am I supposed to do about a dick injury?” Jerry asks, offended at the notion he’d know anything about dicks.

Elaine’s eyebrow quirks in appreciation for Jerry and his staunch idiocy. “I need to rinse the poor thing!” she hisses, “And I need some privacy from our folks while I’m at it.”

“Yeah, she needs to rinse it!” Elvis repeats in a small voice that’s very hopeful and very needy and Elaine slips her hand around his bronzed wrist to keep her husband from fully floating away.

“Elvis, come on honey, just a little further to the blanket fort,” she urges him and he throws his arm around her sun kissed shoulders and hobbles to HQ with unsuppressed little whines at each step that Elaine shouldn’t find so cute but she can’t help it when he turns into a big baby for her.

“What’s wrong with daddy?” Rosalee demands with terror in her eyes and predictably Sam Harrison and Daisy Mae are right on her heels.

“He’s got a boo boo and I’ve gotta rinse it out.” Elaine hushes the brewing hysteria as gently as she can, and even Elvis gives his girl a weak thumbs up of assurance as he drops to his knees on the sand and tugs at the tight pant leg of his shorts. “Like how we gotta rinse your cuts with antiseptic when you scrape your knees, ya know?” Elaine explains patiently while thinking up a plan, “But daddy’s owie is higher up. And I need your help, Rosa sweets. I need y’all to make a blanket wall for me, can ya do that? Get your brother and sisters and hold hands with your towels?”

The words are barely out of Elaine’s mouth before little Sam Harrison seizes his chance and grabs hold of Rosalee’s hand, the essential towel forgotten. The little chestnut haired cutie stares at his forwardness with typical childish surprise before looking to her daddy to see if he’s gonna kill Sam for such an assumption. Elvis is staring at the wide blue sky with gritted teeth and so he missed both the interaction and the way Sam’s mother Betsy comes over and asks after the plan -which Elaine relays with unapologetic diction but pink cheeks. Soon they’ve got a fine little semi circle made with the kids facing outwards and their towels held between them, giggling like it’s a competition of who can keep the most soldierly posture, the felled umbrella doing the work of three in the gap.

Somewhat sheltered for her delicate work, Elaine crawls over her prostate husband and takes in his puckered eyebrows and the trusting set of his blue eyes as he waits for her to fix him. Fix him, oh it’s so silly, she thinks, he’s so silly and she loves him so much and can’t believe she’s humoring a grown man in this stupid fit of whimpishness. Then again, maybe it does hurt.

“I shoulda made ya walk to the ocean like we did Jerry and his hair,” she sighs over him and his eyebrows knit together, further aggrieved at the mere suggestion of him putting in such effort when he’s so dreadfully wounded.

“Mama I’s hurtin,” Elvis objects and his sad glare is the same as Jack’s and somehow she’s gone from angel to being in deep trouble with a grown brat -and Elaine never got taught how to deal with such a phenom, in her own experience it’s best to just kiss it better.

But Elaine was always one to be been torn between doing what’s best and doing what’s asked of her. “My poor pretty baby.” she coos to him and places a wet peck to his plump lips and Elvis pitifully puckers them to receive it as he is still petulant, the praise has him only slightly pacified. “Lemme just grab-“ Elaine ignores the nearby canteen, it’s empty anyway, and instead sneakily reaches into the cooler and snags a Coke bottle. It’s chilled even though the ice has melted throughout the day.

“Here Butnin, open up,” she murmurs and Elvis unscrews his eyes enough to see her lighting a cigar for him and drawing on it with the faded paint of her lips before pressing it to his. The familiar taste and warm rush of the nicotine soothes him and he lays his head back on the towel, expecting her to present that Coke she’s grabbed for him to taste as soon as she uncaps it.

The sky is impossibly blue above him without a cloud in sight and at the edges of the horizon it’s turning violet as the sun wanes, and if he holds very still the burning down south calms enough for Elvis to appreciate the breeze and the feel of Tink fussing over him. Jack’s been getting more than his fair share of doting from her and while Elvis would never fake an injury or embellish it’s severity, when God fells a man it’s his due for a woman to fuss over him.

Drawing on his cigar, Elvis feels her hands stretching out the leg hole of his shorts and gingerly Elaine’s hands creep up his thigh and beyond those golden tan lines. She finds him where he’s tucked himself to the side, soft and floppy in its silliest state, and takes greater care with her hold in him when Elvis hisses,

“Careful woman, it’s burnin’ like hellfire, don’t need your maulin’ on top of it.”

“Sowwy, so sowwy baby,” she simpers as she tries to carefully pull the floppy worm that is a man’s flaccid penis out of his very elastic leg hole. There’s nothing quite as absurdly unimpressive or cute as a soft cock when it’s in repose. A cock with a tan little scarf tugged round its pink head like a nugget bundled freshly in a towel after a bath is doubly so, and Elaine can’t help the grin splitting her face as the comedic aspect of her duty comes to the fore. “We’re gonna fix hims up, Butnin, yes we is,” she whispers as the cigar smoke burns her nose and she gives a furtive glance the sunburned backs of the kids who are still busy competing at being dutiful with the shield wall while the adults pack up the condiments and leftovers at a distance.

Letting his cock lay heavily on his thigh, Elaine deftly pops the top off the Coke and wedges it between her thighs at the ready before gently cradling little Elvis in her palm. She is quite certain she hears her strapping young husband sniffle as she does so. It’s more of a production than one might think, to pull back the foreskin on a soft cock, but Elaine has played enough with her man in every stage of arousal that she is able to uncover the tip with some ease, and the next little bit with only some trouble.

“Goddamn it, Tink, that hurts!” Elvis pleads as he bites at his lip, gripping handfuls of sand, and she pets his bare belly soothingly, knowing he might be childish but the poor man is sensitive.

“I’s gotta gets to him, Naughty,” she says, loath to make it worse but now she’s looking, the dear, chubby little thing really does look a bit raw. “Let mamas take care of ya, hold still an’ it’ll be over soon, pretty baby.”

“Hurts worse t-than breaking a bone, o-o-r a virgin f-or-” her pretty baby informs her of this in a growl that’s not aimed at her but at the situation, nonetheless Elaine doesn’t appreciate the cadence or the subject matter so near her children and picks up the bottle as he goes on pouring out his woes to the sky, “-hell I’d wager a couple grand it’s worse than childbirth! -WHAT THE HELL TINK?”

Elaine tips the Coke and spills it onto his unsuspecting member, thumbing back the foreskin with practiced ease as the bubbles fizz in a caramel dance on top of his little head and pool in his slit before running down to his thigh.

“Hellfire woman that’s ice cold!” Elvis screeches around his cigar with his voice gone up two octaves at least and the harmless appendage in her hand shrinks like a miracle lab specimen. It makes her giggle.

“You said it was burnin’?” she reminds questioningly and she looks so earnestly confused at her wrong doing when Elvis goes to give her the stink eye that he can’t quite manage it, it’s an honest mistake a silly little gal without a cock would easily make. What he doesn’t so easily condone is the way she’s still dribbling the soda over him and trying to swish the sand off with her thumb like it’s a wiper on a windshield.

“Y-yeah I did,” he accepts and crunches partway up to watch and correct her ministrations, his lean belly crumpling up like a washboard and shimmering from the Coke, Elaine licks her lips in longing that can’t be indulged in with a crowd of kids nearby. “But in no world does that mean Coke on a pecker, Laney.”

“Is daddy gonna live?” Rosalee asks tentatively from her distance away and Sam squeezes her hand in either solidarity or hopes she’ll stop being preoccupied during this, their historic first handhold.

Jack takes a peek behind him to ascertain whether his midnight rival for his mama’s snuggles is indeed still alive and after Elaine snaps her fingers at him to turn back around, he reports morosely, “Elbis still alive, Woslaee.”

“But-but he’s crying, he’s crying like you do!” Rosalee protests in a whimper and Elvis’ head jerks up at the comparison to Jack.

“I’m fine, Schnucki, just a little hurt and your mama’s bein’ silly.” Elvis hollers, using her German acquired nickname for emphasis.

“Elaine, enough with the Coke,” Elvis insists, pulled out of transient toddlerhood by the need to control his own nursing and calm his most suggestible child.

“But look -it works!” she eagerly defends her choice and before he can prevent it there's a Coke bottle rim being wedged under the extra length of his foreskin and she’s tipping it back again and watching his hood swell with fizz.

“You ain’t got the brains of a lil bird,” he realizes aloud while watching his wife use cola for antiseptic.

“You say the sweetest things, E,” Elaine titters and looks around at the restless kids before pulling him straight up with the bottle wedged atop, seamless from the foreskin still wrapped around the rim. “Someone oughta call Ed Sullivan and tell ‘em he was spot on. See look, it’s workin’, the sand’s coming out.” She sounds pleased.

“No thanks to you!” Elvis says a little loudly and it causes little Ella to whimper as her own nursing skills are denied their proper outlet this time. She was always the one to patch daddy up, bandaids or dab his cuts with mercurochrome and she finds her sidelining for this injury particularly offensive. The more her father whimpers behind her the more obvious it is that Mama’s care ain’t cutting it.

“Hold still while I rinse this last bit out!” Tink hisses back at her husband in a low tone, actually sounding a little impatient and Elvis realizes maybe she’s right.

“Why’s it takin’ so long? Is daddy gonna bleed out? Mama?” Rosalee starts up again and Elvis swears that child’s nightmares are as bad as his, only she has them when conscious.

“You can’t bweed oudda yer wocket,” Jack helpfully informs where the trouble lies (daddy’s rocket), while rolling his baby blue eyes in disdain for female stupidity. “But a wocket can snap off.”

“Why’d his rocket snap off?” Rosalee wails in concern for any limb of her fathers being snapped and little Sam let’s go of his edge of the towel wall to thumb a tear track away from her chubby cheek.

“‘Cause God doesn’t lub Elbis.” Jack clarifies.

“We should just snap it off all the way, then it’ll stop hurtin,” Daisy surmises in hopes of comforting her now sobbing twin.

“I can’t lose him, I can’t lose daddy! We jus’ got him back!” Rosalee’s grief brings Betsy over who tries to comfort the girl while watching as the thin barrier of privacy for Elaine’s work starts to waver like a Roman shield wall when met with the War Elephants of Carthage.

“Then we should snap the wocket clean off,” Jack insists gravely with a dimple creating a cavern in his milk fat cheek.

“Pete’s sake! It’s not his rocket doin’ this, it’s his scarf!” Jesse chimes in with authoritative four year old sensibility and not in a million years did Elvis dream that filling up sweet Elaine Phipps with children would get him five toddlers discussing his package.

“I hate Daddy’s scarf!” Rosalee screams about something she doesn’t even understand, straight into Betsy’s red and soothing face.

Elvis gives pause from hissing at Elaine’s ministrations of tying his foreskin off like a balloon end and shaking the soda up in it in order to reach and tickle the back of his disconsolate Rosalee’s neck.

“Schnucki, my Schnucki I’m gonna be fine!” he coos and Elaine rolls her eyes fondly at his picking and choosing moments to be tough. Elaine lets out the soda and retracts the foreskin back as far as she can manage it.

“I don’t want ya to die!” Rosalee wails, informing him of the obvious and not even Elvis’ tickles on her back can soothe her. Little Sam Harrison leaves off petting her wet cheeks and looks back, giving Elvis a hard stare that’s firm and straight outta left field as far as a clueless Elvis is concerned.

“What ya lookin’ at boy?” Elvis growls only to yelp as Elaine flicks his cock -in hopes of jostling the last bits of sand out.

The yelp breaks Ella’s resolve and the usually dutiful little eldest daughter drops her towel and scurries over to help her obviously insufficient mama. “Mama, where’s it hurt?” she demands to know with all the matronly surety of Elaine herself and Elvis launches upwards onto his knees in an attempt to cover himself. Laney and her Coke have done about all that’s gonna get done without a bath and some q-tips maybe-

-yeah, they’re done here. It's an effort to smash his cock back up his tight shorts lightening fast, when he put the article of clothing on he hadn't been sticky with coke. Elaine catches a flying Ella as she hurtles forward and keeps her spun away as Elvis modestly tugs on his leghole, mouthing to her husband with a vibrant smile,

“I’ll clean ya up at home!” Elaine fortifys him with a wink.

This sweet promise gets quickly smacked down with Jack having abandoned his post and coming up to Elvis on his chubby little toddler legs and asking with a bizarre amount of hope, “Does it hurt ya bery badly, Elbis?”

Never in a million years would Elvis give this imp the satisfaction of knowing it hurt like hell, besides, Elvis is now cradling a clinging Rosalee who keeps sniffling into his neck in a rain of snot that she’s gonna have Daisy “chop off his rocket” so it never happens again. “No, Trouble, I’m all better ‘cause mama loves me and fixed me up” Elvis goads with an ethereally content smile that Elaine catches and savors as she herself is in the middle of calming a spurned little Nurse Ella.

Jesse, peeved at his siblings lack of order, comes up and makes fussy noises in Jack’s ear as his baby brother swats at him like his mouth is a mosquito. “Ya ok, daddy?” he asks, the first selfless inquiry of this whole ordeal -alright Ella did too.

Elvis gives him a sober nod that the scarf will live to see another day. “Scarf’s fine and gonna make it.”

“No i’s not! We gonna chop it off!” Rosalee insists and Elvis would laugh that off except Daisy is up the beach bartering her juice box for Rex’s k-bar.

“Oh, honey now, that won’t solve nothin,” Elvis begs as he wraps his arms fully around her and smushes Rosalee till both their ribs are liable to crack.

Rosalee pulls her head out of his neck and cradles his cheeks in her hands and says while looking earnestly into his eyes with blues the same shade as his own, “Is’ better this way, daddy, s’never gonna hurt ya again. Promise.”

“It’s for de bestest, Elbis,” Jack agrees right at his shoulder like a tiny little devil and Elvis begins to panic slightly as his children’s wild terror cools into calculated anarchy. “Wosalee knows it’s gonna wot off odderwise,” he adds gravely as if this is common knowledge.

This induces a fresh bout of tears from Rosalee who may be resigned to the need to chop off a limb to save her father’s entire life -or at least have Daisy do her bidding- but it doesn’t mean that she’s immune to the grief the prospect causes them both. Elvis feels close to crying himself as Daisy rushes back towards them over the sand with the sheathed k-bar in hand.

“Rex why the hell did ya give my kid a knife!” he yells.

“She said you wanted it and would fire me if I refused!” Rex shoots back from where he and Charlie and Red are collecting all the beach paraphernalia, the evening truly setting in.

“Rex!” Betsy scolds, echoing Elvis in exasperation with her husband.

“Be a man about it, Daddy!” A breathless Daisy charges him as she skids to a stop nearby only for Elaine to grip her by the back of her swimsuit and haul her away from Elvis where he’s pinned and helpless under the mournful embrace of Rosalee and Jesse and a gleeful Jack.

“Nope, no Daisy, no, give it to me, now!” Elaine wrestles her most wiry and vicious daughter until the army knife is safely in her possession. “Nobody is gonna chop off anythin’,” she declares, winded from the chaos and yet utterly glutted from being in her element and Elvis thinks she looks gorgeous all keyed up and holding a child or two and a knife so effortlessly. Thinks he made the right choice when he married Elaine Phipps and filled her up with all those children.

“But what about it wotting?” Jack protests, as if he really gives a damn about Elvis ever peeing ever again.

“It won’t rot,” Elaine sighs, “It’s not that badly hurt at all.” And she adds that for Rosalee’s benefit as the girl’s cheeks are so smashed to Elvis’ own that there’s no discernible edge to the flub.

“But we wanna be careful,” Rosalee protests, “This can neber happen again.” And she sounds like Mr. Truman did after the great war ended, swearing that the universe wouldn’t make it in a nuclear age.

“Lil Elvis is my little friend, I don’t want him hurt either!” Elaine insists and between his children’s misguided concern for him and his wife making a court case for his assets, Elvis has never felt more loved.

“Daddy’s my best friend too, but I gotta help him,” Rosalee insists.

“But darling -I did help him!” Elaine mutturs.

“Didn’t sound like it got better,” Ella speaks up and Elaine glares at Elvis for being such a baby during his first aid.

“Billy says men can still pee without them,” Sam Harrison adds in support of Rosalee’s ambition and Daisy gives him a proud look for his display of spine.

“How do ya-“ Elaine looks flustered for the first time and Elvis winces in anticipation for what she’ll defend him with next, “-peeing would hurt, Sammy! Hurt worse than sand up scarves!” Elaine reasons.

“Sounds like it.” Jesse sides with mama.

“But if he don’t have a rocket it won’t hurt to pee-pee!” Daisy vehemently enunciates. “And Rosalee’ll stop cryin.”

It’s that simple for the twin.

Elaine looks up to her friend Besty who’s still standing near the group, helpless in a fit of laughter and holding half wadded up towels. “We aren’t cutting off my lil friend,” Elaine declares staunchly, standing up herself in the sand and wincing as a struggling Daisy elbows her in the ribs.

“Why don’t ya care that daddy’s hurt?” Rosalee asks with grief in her eyes.

“It’s gonna wot off.” There goes Jack again.

Elvis snorts and rolls his eyes heavenward, pinching the bridge of his nose and praying for a sliver of patience.“Hush up, Trouble. I’ve had just about enough outta you.”

“Do y’all want more siblings or not?” Elaine finally asks and even Elvis is a little jolted by it. “Cause without that nozzle there ain’t any peeing or babies or all sorts of important things. Y’all could manage without your noses far easier.”

Jack rallies to declare, “I’m baby, don’t want more sibwings,” and is summarily ignored by all in favor of pondering nozzles and their newly learned miraculous necessity.

“Elaine!” Elvis hisses at her indiscreet lesson.

“It’s true!” she cries, throwing up her hands in exasperation, and he’s maybe to blame for the fact she’s got no filter, he taught her without any precaution and now she’s half savage about these things.

“Rockets don’t rot off when they get enough care. Just like any other boo boo,” Elvis assures his group of concerned progeny as Elaine pulls Jack away from his father by the arm not occupied with Daisy.

“I can’t wait to play thirty questions with Sam tonight,” Betsy drawls sarcastically and Elaine huffs.

“Serves ya right, much help you were, Blue Eyes.” Elaine rolls her eyes at her friend and both women laugh. “Consider it payment for Rex’s K-Bar,” she adds and watches as Betsy’s face pales again at the recollection of her husband’s stupidity.

“That man…” she grumbles fondly while taking a squawking Jack off Elaine’s hip to free her friend up for more child wrangling. Elaine mouths a weary “thank you” and kneels next to Elvis, gently prying Rosalee out of his arms where she still clings to his neck. She lets out a small whine of protest which is quickly overtaken by a big yawn, her little fists rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Come on baby, let’s get you dressed, hmm? It’s time to go home,” she murmurs, pulling a sundress over Roselee’s tiny frame before turning to help Daisy into her matching one, kissing her forehead tenderly and smoothing her hair down. Betsy and Rex start the slow procession of herding the gaggle of children towards the car, making sure everyone has a hand to hold. Elaine can still hear them chattering loudly about rockets and nozzles as she flops down in the sand, catching her breath a moment, trying to find the willpower to stand, to move. It’s been such a lovely day, but suddenly she’s bone tired, the exhaustion hitting her like a wave and threatening to pull her under.

Jerry ambles over as the guys start to gather everyone’s scattered belongings - beach umbrellas and chairs and coolers, remnants of a day well spent. He stares down at Elvis over the top of his aviator shades, the amusement on his face still threatening to spill over. He holds out a hand, “Help you up, Boss?”

Elvis scowls, swatting his hand away indignantly, “Don’t need no help, Jerrah, it’s just a scratch. Actin’ like I’m too wounded to stand on my own. I’m not an invalid, goddamnit! Git outta here and help those boys clean up this mess. God almighty, think I was a child, need some hand-holding or some shit.” He continues his grumbling as Jerry holds up his hands placatingly, shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly before jogging over to help the clean up crew.

Elvis watches him go, making sure he’s well out of sight before gingerly standing up, shaking a leg and adjusting his swim shorts, hopping from foot to foot a few times, hissing quietly. It snaps Elaine out of her reverie and she blinks slowly as a face-splitting yawn hits her out of nowhere. Elvis chuckles and pats her head, gently tugging on the chocolate curls that have become bouncy spirals in the salty ocean air.

“Ok Laney, let’s get you home. Had enough excitement today to last us the whole year,” Elvis chuckles, winking as he offers her a hand.

Elaine smiles up at him, shading her eyes with a red manicured hand, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow over the beach and making her movie star husband look even more like a bronzed Adonis, if that’s possible. She places her small and delicate hands into his larger ones as he hauls her up easily, wrapping her in his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. She sighs dreamily, shivering a little in his embrace as his body heat warms her against the chilly sea breeze.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers, rubbing slow circles on her back. She shifts a little, resting her head on his shoulder and looking up at him quizzically.

“For what, E?”

“Whatcha mean, ‘for what?’ For-for always takin’ such good care o’ me. Even when I’m a grumpy sonuvabitch about it.” Elvis smiles down at her, planting a little kiss on her button nose. She wrinkles it and arches up on her tippy toes, rubbing her nose against his in a bunny kiss, her hand cupping his jaw lightly.

“Oh Mopey, I’ll always take care of you. Sweet man.” Elaine runs a thumb across his lips, pulling down his plump bottom one before slotting her lips against his, her hands twining through his mussed hair, moving his head just so, like her own personal puppet on a string. Elvis groans, moving his hands to cup her bottom, pulling her tightly to him. Just then he hears a shuffling of sand behind them, someone discreetly clearing their throat. He sighs, like the most put upon man on the planet and pulls away, gritting his teeth, “What now, Jerrah?”

“Sorry boss, but everyone’s all packed up and ready to go. Just waiting on you and Mrs. Boss.”

Elaine smiles at Elvis’s look of utter hurt and disappointment at being interrupted just when things were getting good, like a little boy who’s just had his favorite toy taken away. She knocks him on the chin playfully, swatting his butt for good measure. “Oh now, don’t look so blue, mister. To be continued at home, yeah? In the meantime, how bout I buy you a milkshake. Swing by Mel’s Drive In on the way home?”

Elvis’s face brightens at that. “Can I have strawberry?” Suddenly the little boy look is back, and he practically skips across the sand, dragging Elaine by the hand to their car full of waiting children. Elaine gives Betsy a peck on the cheek and a sweet belly rub to the little bean inside before hopping in the driver’s side and waiting for Elvis to finish his goodbyes. She turns around to address her children only to find that all but two of them are fast asleep. Jesse and Jack are still discussing the events of the day, with Jack holding a sandy handful of shells and beach glass he collected, carefully explaining each piece to a patient Jesse. By the time they reach the drive in diner, all of the kids are snoozing, and the weary parents breathe a sigh of relief.

“Just us then,” Elaine whispers, looking over her shoulder at their brood. “Just like old times. Almost.” She turns off the car and scoots to the middle of the bench seat, and Elvis does the same, careful not to wake little Rosalee snuggled between them. He drops his arm over Elaine’s shoulders and twists the knob on radio dial until he finds a doo wop station.

“Now it really is like old times. ‘Member when I crashed your date with Billy at the drive in movie? Scared that poor boy half to death,” he chuckles gleefully. Elaine’s eyes grow wide and she starts to titter, her hand flying to her mouth at the recollection.

“Oh goodness. Elvis! I’d completely forgotten about that. You came barging in with your flashlight and ill or good intentions, I never could figure out which,” she muses.

“Then I drove ya home, real proper like,” he breathes quietly, placing a hand on her thigh, an echo of a memory. “And then,” he murmurs, tilting her head back, exposing her long, white throat, “I kissed ya, right…here…” His soft lips meet the pulse on her neck, pounding in time with her heartbeat.

Elaine shivers and swallows. “Naughty,” she whispers.

The magic spell is broken abruptly by a gum-chewing teenage waitress, knocking on their window. “Hi there! Can I take your order?” Her chipper cheerfulness is a stark contrast to their soft reminiscence. Elvis clears his throat and sits up, coloring slightly at being caught by this stranger as Elaine winks at him, leaning over to roll down the window to order their milkshakes. They settle in again, snuggling back together and regaling each other with stories from their beach day. Before long the milkshakes arrive, and they tuck in, enjoying the sweet sugar rush of the milky treat.

“God, how long has it been since I’ve had a milkshake?” Elvis wonders, sipping his strawberry concoction happily. Elaine doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s been a good long while, that the Colonel doesn’t allow such simple pleasures these days. But she doesn’t want to spoil the moment so she settles for humming in response, squeezing Elvis’s knee as she slurps her chocolate one.

Elvis scoots a little closer to Elaine, forgetting about Rosalee squished between them. She startles in her sleep, her tiny arm flailing in the neon lights of the diner, inadvertently knocking Elvis’s shake from his hands. In a flash everything is covered in pink - it dribbles slowly down the dashboard and soaks into Elvis’s thin shirt, it’s even in his hair and a small blob drips down his right eyebrow. Elaine’s face is a mixture of horror and mirth, her perfect mouth a round o as she struggles to keep a straight face, staring at her husband who is frozen in place, covered in cold strawberry milkshake.

“Oh! Elvis…baby! I…” she starts, struggling to keep her voice steady, her hands fluttering around him, unsure of where they should try and help first. She bites her lip and an unladylike snort escapes as her shoulders start to tremble with held-in laughter. She starts to giggle, slapping her hand hastily over her mouth, her body shaking with silent laughter as she tries to keep quiet, not wanting to wake the children. Elvis’s blue eyes blink rapidly as the concoction runs down his cheek now, his mouth still hanging open in surprise. He starts to laugh, doubling over in his seat as Elaine reaches over and swipes a finger across his eyebrow and brings it to her mouth, sucking the sugary sweetness off her fingertip.

“You taste good, honey,” she wheezes as their laughter starts to die down and he remembers Rosalee between them, checking to make sure she’s ok and by some miracle she’s untouched by the ice cream bath she accidentally gave her father, still sleeping peacefully.

“Aw hell! My leather seats!” Elvis swears through hiccups, looking around for something to clean the car, and himself, up with.

“Shawbewies?” A little voice from the backseat whispers, followed by a blonde head sleepily popping up over the backseat. “I want some.” Jack opens and closes his tiny hands in a gimme motion, and Elvis and Elaine start to crack up again.

“Just perfect. Here Trouble, here’s some for ya,” Elvis says as he sweeps some shake off the dashboard with his fingers and leans back towards Jack, shoulder almost dislocating in an effort to feed the kid a taste. Jack happily laps it off his fingers like a kitten, licking them clean. His sleepy little face breaks into a happy grin and Elvis ruffles his hair. “That’s enough sugar for today, boy.”

Elvis looks at Elaine. She stares back at him a moment before another fit of giggles threatens to overtake them again. “Why’re we never alone in a car, baby?” Elvis whispers aloud, a comically pleading hint to his voice. Elaine reaches behind her, into the backseat, and snags a forgotten beach towel tossed aside by one of the children. She gently wipes his face clean before moving on to his hair, rubbing as much of the ice cream out as she can. It sticks up on end, making him look much like their cat Whiskers did whenever he got a bath.

“You’re the one who wanted to fill up my little house, remember?” she teases softly, her eyes drifting over their brood before returning to meet Elvis’s gaze. He raises an eyebrow, cheeks puffing out in droll amusement as he whistles lowly.

“Yeah, with somethin’ besides strawberry milkshake, I did.”

Hope y’all enjoyed!

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis #fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis and me #elvis presley fic #welcome home elvis #elvis presley fan fic #elvis fans

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marilynslove · 4 months ago

Text

summer days - TSITP characters

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˚ · . what your insta feed would look like during summer !!

��ৎ pairings : cam cameron x reader, conrad fisher x belly conklin, steven conkiln x taylor jewel

౨ৎ warnings : none

- p.s madison beer as yn insert :')

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ynlnn

with my girlfriend @tay-jewell june 18th, 2024 -> liked by cameronse and 113 others

view comments (6)

tay-jewell had funnnnn,, love ya reply see translation

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| ynlnn @bellyconklinnn u were with conradd,, nxt timeee i promise

conradfisher2401 @ynlnn . leave me out of this fr

susannah-fisher gorgeous girls❤️❤️ ------ view replies (1)

| ynlnn @susannahfisherr awh thank you susannah :'))

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bellyconklinnn

summer family !! (yn was behind cam) june 20th, 2024 -> liked by ynlnn and 108 others

view comments (13)

conradfisher2401 pretty girl ------ view replies (4) | bellyconklinnn @conradfisher2401 :)) <33

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tay_jewell cuteeee ------ view replies (2)

| bellyconklinnn @tay-jewell ur cuter

tay-jewell @bellyconklinnn ur cutest

ynlnn best cam girl aroundd ------ view replies (4) |

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bellyconklinnn @ynlnn WHHAAATT

jeree-fisherrr @ynlnn PAUSE ?

ynlnn @cameronse u guys play too muchh smhh

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

jeree-fisherrr

couldn't hear u over the sound of the waves june 22nd, 2024 -> liked by cameronse and 213 others

view comments (8)

ynlnn don't let him fool yall,, he is 100% passenger princess ------ view replies (4)

| jeree-fisherr @ynlnn n what about it

tay-jewell @ynlnn gagged

ynlnn @tay-jewell i'll gag you

ynlnn @tay-jewell no homo

laciebarone13 pretty eyess reply see translation

cameronse still going to the pier later ?? ------ view replies (1)

| jeree-fisherr @cameronse yuppersss

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ynlnn

matching tats with my girls june 30th, 2024 -> liked by tay-jewell and 193 others

view comments (11)

tay-jewell WE ATE SO HARD ------ view replies (2)

| ynlnn @tay-jewell NO REGRETSS

bellyconklinnn @ynlnn YESSS

stevencocklin ?? @bellyconklinnn ------ view replies (4)

| bellyconklinnn @stevencocklin don't tell mom plzz

stevencocklin @bellyconklinnn i'll try . 's bad enough punishment that it's wack ash lmfaooo

bellyconklinnn @stevencocklin bro your girl has the same exact thing on her hand

stevencocklin @bellyconklinnn yeah but it actually looks good on her

stevencocklin is that even legal ------ view replies (1)

| tay-jewell @stevencocklin dw about itt

conradfisher2401 nice reply see translation

jeree-fisherrr dude we have to get matching ones next ------ view replies (1)

| ynlnn @jeree-fisherrr hell yeah mann

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

cameronse

caption july 1st, 2024 -> liked by ynlnn and 98 others

view comments (11)

ynlnn the curls oml ------ view replies (4)

| stevencocklin @ynlnn the glaze is craazyy

jeree-fisherrr @stevencocklin not glaze if it's true

ynlnn @jeree-fisherrr THANK YOU .

stevencocklin @jeree-fisherrr who's side r u on bro

ynlnn GIVE ME ONE CHANCE ------ view replies (1)

| cameronse @ynlnn :) love u

ynlnn @cameronse love u tooo

ynlnn jeremiah serving redneck three days early ------ view replies (2)

| bellyconklinnn @ynlnn LOLLL RIGHT

jeree-fisherrr @ynlnn the last time i defend u

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

tay-jewell

lets go to the beach, beachh july 3rd, 2024 -> liked by stevencocklin and 158 others

view comments (15)

stevencocklin LET'S GET AWAYY ------ view replies (3)

| tay-jewell @stevencocklin THEY SAY WHAT THEY GONNA SAY

stevencocklin @tay-jewell idk the rest of the words

tay-jewell @stevencocklin me neither

ynlnn HYPPEDDDD ------ view replies (1)

| tay-jewell @ynlnn YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES

jeree-fisherrr so yall not gonna invite the whole gang or ------ view replies (5)

| conradfisher2401 @jeree-fisherrr type shit

cameronse @jeree-fisherrr right

bellyconklinnn @jeree-fisherrr @conradfisher2401 @cameronse girls only !!

conradfisher2401 @bellyconklinnn sooo faaakeeee

bellyconklinnn @conradfisher2401 next time i promisee

bellyconklinnn @tay-jewell @ynlnn sea shell collecting ?? ------ view replies (2)

| ynlnn @bellyconklinnn u know me so welll,, mwahh

tay-jewell @bellyconklinnn YES .

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

.. part two? maybee?

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katyaromanoffpetrova · 9 months ago

Text

It's Lights Out And Away We Go

Natasha isn't the only one obsessed with the motorcycle her wife got her. Turns out it's perfect for knocking Katya's ego down a notch as well.

- Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC (Katya Petrova from the Forgotten Ghost Series) - Wordcount: 1.4k - No warnings :) Masterlist

A/N: thank you @milfs69420 for the idea! Hope this is what you had in mind :)

Most men had a motorcycle to escape their wives, let's be honest. A reason to hide in the garage and go out for long drives. A hobby "for themselves" that their wives hated.

Natasha was the opposite. While she loved riding her bike instead of the car when the weather was nice, she didn't often go touring just for fun. Not alone, at least. After an hour, she was bored and missed her partner.

But every now and then, it was a nice way to clear her head. The weather was beautiful today and Katya was at work, so she'd taken the opportunity to pull her shiny new motorcycle out of the garage, driving aimlessly until her fuel meter flickered red.

Pulling up at a gas station, Natasha turned her engine off and kicked out the stand. A group of bikers—black leather, long beards, broad-shouldered—watched her from a distance, half of them mounted on their bikes, half enjoying the shadows of the small gas station store. They were intimidating to most, the reputation of biker gangs not helping their image, but Natasha wasn't bothered, twisting the fuel tank cap by her seat off.

Her helmet gave her a sense of anonymity on the streets that she didn't often get to experience otherwise. While her long red braid peeked out from underneath, she wasn't immediately seen as Natasha the Avenger. Right now, she was just a woman, dressed in black, on a very, very nice motorcycle.

"Nice bike!"

She looked up from the fuel nozzle in her hand, her visor popped open just enough to see, but not enough to get recognized. One of the bikers had called out to her, an appreciative smile on his bearded face. It wasn't the first time people gave her bike hearteyes, and it wouldn't be the last.

"Thanks!"

As expected, he came over to her, leaving his helmet on his motorcycle. Men could never resist something pretty. "How fast does she go?" He asked. His plaid shirt was tight around his thick arms, his leather vest worn in as he held onto it. He looked nice enough.

"Do they ever go fast enough?" Natasha joked, hearing Katya's warning voice in her head that yes, the bike could definitely go too fast.

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. "No, they don't." Now that he stood closer, he gave her bike another thorough once-over, nodding appreciatively. "You take good care of her, she's like new."

"She is still pretty new," Natasha answered. Talking to strangers wasn't usually her favorite, but he had genuine interest in something she was proud of and enthusiastic about, so she was happy to chat. "It was a gift."

"A gift?" The man whistled through his teeth. "You must have done something right."

Natasha grinned. "You'll have to ask my wife."

It's a good thing her mouth was covered by her helmet, because her smile showed exactly how she felt about that wife of hers. To be safe, she averted her shimmering eyes too, watching the numbers on the pump climb as the gas poured into her tank.

"Your wife?" The man exclaimed with a disbelieving laugh, his beer belly shaking. Clearly he wasn't used to wives being supportive of this hobby. "You're a lucky woman. I wish my wife was into this."

"She's not. Not really. But she knows that I am." Natasha pulled the fuel nozzle out of the tank, careful not to scratch the paint. He must be hearing the fondness in her voice as she spoke of Katya. "Cars are her thing."

"Then she did her research, because this is a beauty. Don't often see rare ones like these." Once more, his eyes glided over the bike, trying to take in every detail.

"Yeah, sometimes in life you get lucky, I guess," Natasha joked.

"Some more than others." He laughed, offering her his gloved hand. "I'm Rufus by the way."

"Natasha." She smiled, firmly shaking his hand. It almost engulfed hers. This was such a normal, human interaction. A stranger who talked to her just because they both loved the same things. It was so refreshing and unusual.

"If you'd ever want to join us, it'd be great to have you. It's just us men today, but we have women riding with us too." Rufus followed her gaze to his buddies who were too busy joking with each other. "Promise they aren't half as bad as they look."

Natasha didn't expect to feel excited at his offer. This man had no clue who she was, but he hoped she'd stick around for her personality and shared interests alone. She couldn't wait to tell Katya this. "Thank you."

Rufus nodded once. "I'll let you get on your way." His heavy boots took a step back to make space when she kicked up the bike stand. "Thank you for blessing us with this today."

"You're welcome," Natasha mused proudly, turning the key over in the ignition. With a roar, the engine came to life, and she heard Rufus's delighted groan over the rumbling. For good measure, she revved the engine a few times, grinning widely as she shut her visor and shot away from the gas station.

As Natasha lazily weaved in and out of traffic, she couldn't stop smiling. Her interaction with Rufus was such a stupid thing to be excited about. Someone complimented her motorcycle, how exceptional! But it was way more than that.

Rufus made her feel wanted and welcome. He invited her to join them. Someone wanted to be her friend for the simple fact that they had the same hobby, not because she was useful or famous. And she was as giddy about that as a kid getting an invite for a classmate's birthday party.

He'd also unintentionally reminded her of just how privileged she was. An expensive motorcycle between her thighs, the money she and Kat had to get themselves these nice things, but most of all a supportive wife who bought her the bike. It wasn't a given to have a partner like that.

The butterflies in her stomach fluttered happily thinking about her happy, good little life.

Fifteen minutes from home, something colorful caught Natasha's eye in the distance. It was hard to tell because of the reflecting sunlight on all the car roofs, but as she came closer, she could start to make out the distinctive orange color between the rest of traffic.

Slowly, she came closer, squinting her eyes trying to make out the number plate, but it should have been pretty obvious that it was who she thought it was. Who in New York had the exact same car, in that color, and managed to drive it that shitty?

With a smirk, she sat up and called Katya, hearing the call connect through the earbuds in her ears.

"Hi! I'm almost home."

"I know." Natasha smirked, now only four cars behind.

There was a short pause as Katya processed that answer. "Are you stalking me?" She accused her with a chuckle. Right then, Natasha merged behind her car, weaving slowly to pull Katya's attention to her rearview mirror. She knew it worked when a gasp came through the phone. "Oh, hey!"

"Hello," Natasha mused, speeding up until she drove next to Katya's window, giving her a small wave. "Fancy seeing you here."

Katya stared at her for longer than was safe. "It has to be illegal for you to drive around on that thing. You're a distraction to all the other drivers."

"Is that why you drive like a drunk grandma?" Natasha saw her scowl through the window.

"Take that back."

Natasha's sly smile widened. "I'll take it back if you press your foot on the gas pedal."

"I can beat you home if I wanted to."

"Bet."

"Bet." Katya adjusted her seat, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "We start at the next sign post."

Natasha pressed her chest closer to her motorcycle, wrapping her fingers securely around the handles. "Enjoy the view off my ass, because that's what you're going to be looking at the whole way home."

"Prepare to have it beaten."

It was a losing game for Katya. Natasha was the better driver and she had a more agile vehicle that crept into places the car couldn't. By the time she pulled up on the driveway at home, Natasha had already parked her bike inside and pretended to wait impatiently on the porch.

Katya woke up the next day to find a sticker on her car.

"Warning: Slow moving vehicle."

#katandnat #natasha romanoff #forgotten ghost series #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff x fem!oc #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff drabble #natasha romanoff fluff

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jxfndm · 1 month ago

Text

JEREMIAH FISHER X FEM! READER - FLUFF

“im right here with you”

warnings! - dni if youre uncomfortable with: alcohol mentions, mentions of pregnancy

quick a/n - THIS WAS IN MY HEADDDDDD and its just such a cute idea lol, enjoy <3

jeremiah fisher

"Baby, you sure you’re feeling alright?" I questioned Y/N. She looked pale and just not like herself.

She gave me a look, one signaling to stop asking her. I’d been asking her on the car ride over and at home. The past few days she’s been feeling tired and nauseous. The thing about Y/N is that she’ll tough out any sickness because she hated worrying me.

"Jere, I’m fine. I told you, I just think the dinner from the other night was a little old. That’s all." she stated blankly, giving me a half reassuring smile. I sighed, rubbing the top of her hand before nodding my head.

I was determined to find out what’s wrong. But maybe she’ll feel better after seeing Belly, that was her best friend. Girls time always made her feel better.

We were at Belly’s 21st, and everyone was here. It was nice to be around the gang again, especially because it was here in Cousin’s. Me and Y/N moved to our own place at the beginning of the year and haven’t had a chance to come down till now. This was nice.

"I’m going to grab a beer, do you want anything? Even a water?" I asked, my voice raised over the blaring music. Y/N smiled before responding, "Just water."

I nodded, as I walked over to the cooler. By the time I had arrived back into the living room, I had seen Belly and Y/N sitting on the couch. She was beaming, but still looked off. Maybe she just needed some space, it wouldn’t hurt to catch up with Con and Steven anyway.

I walked over and handed Y/N the bottle of water as I rubbed her shoulder. She gave me a smile and mouthed a “thank you”.

I leaned down to her ear, "I’m gonna find the guys. Just text me if you need anything."

She nodded and gave me a quick peck before settling back unto her conversation with Belly. I quickly greeted Belly as I walked off to find the guys. I just hoped Y/N was okay.

y/n

I had been talking to Belly for all of 5 minutes after Jeremiah left before I felt the need to throw up. I had done that quite a few times lately.

Quickly, I barged into the bathroom closest to us, emptying myself over the toilet. Tears brimmed my eyes, and exhaustion took over me quickly. I hated this, that seafood from our dinner a few days ago was probably expired for months.

I felt a hand rub at the smalls of my back. Turning, I was surprised to be met with Belly, who gave me a small smile. I grabbed toilet paper to wipe the sides of my mouth and flushed. I sat and turned towards her as she handed me my water bottle.

"Dude, are you okay?" she asked, cocking her eyebrow at me. I looked at her and then at the open door behind her. She quickly got up and locked it, kneeling back down in front of me.

Belly was my best friend, practically since birth. My mom, Susannah, and Laurel had all gone to the same college and raised all of us like one big family. If there’s one person I knew I would have trouble lying to, it was the beautiful birthday girl in front of me. I felt bad, she was here in her cute lavender dress and should be out there enjoying herself.

"It’s nothing, probably food poisoning," I said, closing my eyes as I took a small swig of water. Belly placed her hand gently on my kneecap. I opened my eyes to meet her serious ones.

"Y/N, you don’t have to lie to me. And don’t feel bad either. I just want to make sure my best friend is okay. You’ve been throwing up for almost a week. What’s going on?" she questioned seriously. I took a deep breath.

"I’m late on my period. And the sickness has been constant. I haven’t tested though, mainly because I’m scared. I don’t know how ready me and Jere are for a baby, that’s just kind of a lot for me right now," I explained, my eyes watering at the thought. The hormones were definitely out of control.

"Y/N! Oh my God, you have to test! Why are you even doubting anything, Jere has been madly in love with you since he was like 7. You need to find out and tell him, that’s the right thing to do!" Belly exclaimed, holding my hand.

"I know, but-" I started, but Belly quickly cut me off by standing up and rummaging through the sink cabinets. She pulled out a box.

Quickly, I realized what it was and gave her a look.

"I use it for scares with Conrad. But you have to take one, and I’ll be here with you. I know you’re scared, but you have to know. Plus, Jere will only buy your water excuse for another hour before he wonders why you won’t toast shots with us." she explained, handing over the pink and white box.

I rolled my eyes and rubbed my temples. Was I really about to do this? Fuck.

"Fine. I’ll test. Turn around." I stated, earning a wide smile from Belly.

Belly quickly turned around as I pulled a stick from the box, unwrapping it and hovering over it on the toilet. I peed quickly and put the cap over it, turning it face down onto the counter as I cleaned up.

"Can I turn around now?" Belly whined, her arms crossed. I flattened my dress out, "Yeah, go ahead. I turned it face down, we can check in three."

She turned around and gave me a big hug. I exhaled deeply into the hug, worried about what this would mean for my relationship with Jere. I didn’t want to start thinking until I saw the test, but it was hard not to.

Me and Belly sat in the bathroom in silence. I fiddled with my fingers as she would occasionally look over and scroll through her phone. Her timer went off and suddenly, panic filled my body.

"It’s time," she whispered, starting to get up from the side of the tub. I took a deep breath as she waited for me to get up. I couldn’t believe this.

I felt like I was going in slow motion, but eventually made it to the counter. I closed my eyes and reached for the test. Belly waited impatiently, but stayed quiet throughout.

I finally felt the test flip over in my hand. I opened my eyes and couldn’t believe what I was looking at. Tears welled in my eyes and I suddenly couldn’t hold it together anymore.

Positive. I’m pregnant.

I slid down the wall with the test in my hands and sobbed into my knees. Belly knelt down in front of me and pulled me in, rubbing my back as I breathed heavily into my cries.

"Y/N, it’s going to be okay, I promise." she comforted, but all I could do was continue crying. I sat there, in shock and a mess. My makeup was definitely fucked up now, and I knew I couldn’t hide it from Jeremiah. I couldn’t lie much longer, especially now that Belly knew. Jere had every right to know.

"I have to tell him," I sniffled, dabbing under my eyes with the toilet paper. Belly smiled softly and nodded.

"Want me to get him?" Belly questioned. I thought about it, and ultimately decided I was way too embarrassed to walk out there looking like a mess, especially since I wasn’t too sure who I’d be running into. I nodded in response, resulting in Belly to leave with her phone and close the bathroom door.

I felt choked up, this felt like a dream. I wasn’t sure how to feel, other than the fact that I was worried about every outcome possible. Would he be upset? Would he leave? Would I have to raise this kid all by myself?

My thoughts were quickly interrupted with a soft knock at the door. I wiped my tears once more and tried my best to pull myself together. This was it. God help me.

I ooened the door to face a worried Jere.

"Y/N Belly told me to- what’s wrong? What happened?" he questioned worriedly as he saw my face. His hands immediately dropped into mine as he pushed us into the bathroom. He locked the door behind him as he sat me on the tub. I assumed Belly was giving us space, hence why she didn’t show up with him.

I fiddled with my dress pocket, twisting the test between my fingers. I took a deep breath as I looked at him, tears slowly dropping. He was everything to me, and the idea of this test changing everything for us made me sick. I couldn’t lose him, I didn’t want to.

"Jere, I’m so sorry," I whispered, as I silently cried again. He was kneeling in front of me as he pulled me into his chest and rubbed my back.

"Y/N, there’s nothing to be sorry for. What’s going on? I’m worried about you," he stated as he pulled away, gently rubbing my sides as he looked at me cluelessly. I knew I couldn’t drag it out.

I pulled the test out of my pocked and handed it to him, saying, "Jeremiah, I’m pregnant."

I looked at him for what felt like ages. He looked at the test quietly, as shock filled his expression. I couldn’t help but cry again, feeling like I’d absolutely lost him.

Surprisingly, he engulfed me into a deep, passionate kiss. I kissed back, shock settling into my body. He pulled away with the biggest smile on his face, rubbing my cheeks.

"Y/N, this is the best fucking news ever." he said, chuckling as he took both my hands. I had stopped crying and just looked at him.

Stuttering, I finally managed a "I-it is?"

He nodded, his smile growing bigger. In turn, it made me smile. I looked at him as he squeezed my hands.

"We’re gonna be parents. I’m gonna be a dad. Holy fuck Y/N!" he exclaimed as he got up, still holding my hands. I got up from the tub, a small giggle escaping my mouth.

"I was so scared you’d leave." I blurted, leaning my head against his chest. It was warm and felt like home. It was everything I’d ever want it to be.

"Baby, I would never leave you. Not in a million fucking years. Please don’t ever think that. I want to do everything in life with you, no matter what it is. You don’t have to be scared, because I’m right here with you." he said, cupping my cheek and bringing my chin up to face him. I smiled as he leaned in.

We kissed again, this time, it felt different. More meaningful. I was going to raise our first child with him. I couldn’t help but feel all sorts of excitement.

We pulled apart, as I melted into his arms again. "I love you so fucking much Y/N," he said.

I smiled as I looked at him. "Well, we love you more." I responded, looking down at my stomach as he laid his hand gently on top of it.

He gave me a forehead kiss as he rubbed my stomach softly and knelt down to give it a kiss. He was adorable.

"Want to get back to the party? Or we could go home, whatever you want, my love." he offered. I shook my head.

"Let’s stay a bit, then we can tell everyone another time this week." I suggested, earning a nod from Jeremiah.

As we exited the bathroom, we did just that. We stayed long enough to see Belly blow out her candles. I suddenly felt tired and nauseous and called it quits, so we went back home to our apartment.

We told our families and prepared over the next few months for our baby’s arrival. Everyone was extremely excited. We chose not to find out the gender till birth, and I’m so glad we did.

Elliana Susannah Fisher was born on February 20th at 1:24pm. She was perfect in every way, and had every feature of mine and Jere’s that made us fall in love with the parts we were most insecure about. Jeremiah also made the perfect girl dad, spending every minute he could with her. I was in love with our family, every single part about it.

author’s note - SO CUTEEEEE lol, sorry for the inactivity but ive been so busy. ALSO BELLYJERE IN PARISSSSS WOOT WOOT!!! im so excited for s3 omg

- j

#the summer i turned pretty #imagines #tsitp #jeremiah fisher #fluff #oneshot #team jeremiah

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tinyfishtits · 5 months ago

Note

Heya! If you're up for it, I'd love to see a fic with Micah getting some body-positive confidence boosting. Just letting him know how gorgeous he is when he personally doesn't think so (and showing that dad-bod some love. 🥰)

Always up for soft dad-bod Bell my king !!! Your wish is my command 😌❣️

I sat on a rock on the edge of camp, sipping coffee and letting my mind wander as the camp came to life before me. The rising sun met the mist settled in our small clearing, casting everything in a hue of hazy orange, my fellow gang members no more than misty apparitions in the morning light.

The smell of Pearson's stew being prepared wafted over to me on the breeze and my stomach roared with impatience. Sighing, I wrapped myself tighter in the blanket I cloaked myself with and stifled my hunger with another long sip of coffee. A splash sounded beside me and I whipped my head around to see Micah Bell, dripping with water as he leaned over the washing basin.

“Isn’t that freezing?” I asked, raising my brows at him when he met my gaze. He brought another handful of water to his neck, letting it fall down his back and chest, his red shirt darkening with the moisture. Wordlessly, he walked over to where I sat, taking out a cigarette and lighting it as his eyes raked over me.

“Cold, darlin’?” He drawled, “Need some help warmin’ up?”

“What do you propose? I crooned, instantly matching his playful tone. A mischievous smirk played on his lips and in a flash he had his arms around me, lifting me up over his shoulder with a theatrical grunt, my blanket and coffee thrown to the ground.

“Shit doll, you’re heavier than you look.” He teased while I swatted and squirmed against his hold on me.

“Ugh, you’re all wet!” I yelped as he began carrying me off toward the water, “Damnit Micah put me down!”

“Would ya calm down!” He shot back at me in his usual sharp, gravely tone. “We aint goin’ far.” Another thirty seconds of me bobbing on his shoulder and I was being lowered onto another rock. Though this one was much bigger, a proper boulder that had been basking in the sun all morning. Away from the shelter of trees back at camp, it had gotten surprisingly warm.

I let out a surprised gasp at the temperature and instantly sank back against its warmth, the comfort of my blanket fully forgotten. Micah stood watching me warily as he puffed at his cig, his stance torn between sitting with me or walking away, the expression on his face almost… shy. I patted the empty space beside me, inviting him to lay with me. Clearing his throat, he stomped out his cigarette before sitting on the boulder with a groan.

Peeking an eye at him sat hunched awkwardly beside me, I asked “You wanna take your shirt off?” His head whipped around to face me, eyes wide when they met mine. I chuckled at the shock that riddled his expression. “You’re all wet!” I clarified, “Take it off, it will dry faster.”

Micah narrowed his eyes at me and with a begrudging sigh, began unbuttoning his shirt. My gaze lingered on him as the damp cloth fell away. I knew he was strong, the way he carried me just moments before proof of that much. Though his muscles were understated, covered by soft skin that seemed to collect in his midsection. It wasn’t quite a full-on beer belly, like that of Uncles or Pearson, but a soft pouch nonetheless. He even had love handles that puffed out over his jeans. I reached out, unable to resist, and poked at the one nearest me. He jumped as if I’d electrocuted him and snatched my assaulting hand in an iron grip.

“The hell are you doing?” He grumbled, furrowing his brow at me as he waited for an answer. I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped me at how offended he looked by the innocent touch.

“Just admiring…” I hummed, letting my eyes trail greedily over his body as he held my hand captive. He’d obviously put on some weight over the last few months, and I wasn’t complaining. He had been surprisingly scrawny after our time in Colter and the month he’d spent hiding away in the mountains after. The softness, it fit him.

“Stop teasin’” He muttered, releasing his grip on me.

“I aint!” I shot back, defensive. He was always such a flirt, I’d never seen him get so butt-hurt when it was thrown back at him before… We usually had an easy back and forth with that sort of thing. He just narrowed his eyes at me. “Would you just relax?” I huffed, pulling at his shoulder so he’d lay down, he let me, letting out an annoyed huff of his own.

We laid in silence for a few minutes, soaking up the warmth of the sun like lizards. I peeked sidelong at him to find Micah so relaxed he looked as if he’d fallen asleep, something I’d so rarely seen him do I propped myself up on an elbow and took in the sight of him so blissfully at peace like a cat asleep in a ray of sunshine. He had that same kind of feral beauty, soft yet sharp.

Reaching out a tentative finger, I traced over the contours of his chest. Feeling the gentle slope of his pecs, the soft golden hair that covered them like the rolling hills of a wheat field. He made a soft sigh and I froze, his body shifting a bit under my touch until he relaxed once more.

My hand trailed down to his stomach, a large, soft cushion that rose and fell with each deep breath. He was so damn warm. Warmer than the rock we laid upon, than the unrelenting bayou sun that shone down on us. My palm splayed out over his belly, soaking in the heat there, gently squeezing at the softness of his sides, the love handles that peeked out above his jeans.

A strong hand shot up, seizing mine and pulling it away from his warmth. I looked up to find Micah staring down at me, brows knitted over the steely blue eyes that bored into me, examining, questioning. He opened his mouth but the words I’d been holding back spilled out before he could berate me.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re beautiful?” His eyes widened first, shock at my admission washing over the skepticism on his face before he reined his expression, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Stop pullin’ my leg.” He grumbled, but I persisted. “I’m serious.” His eyes searched mine, looking for any glint of teasing lingering there.

“I aint beautiful.” He scoffed, releasing my hand. “Ruggedly handsome, maybe” He retorted, a smirk curling at his lips. I just rolled my eyes.

“You can be both…” I said softly, forcing my hand back to my side, the urge to touch him so overpowering I had to actively tell myself not to, though my eyes still hungrily raked over his torso. The sun igniting his skin like sculpted amber. He watched me closely and when I met his gaze I blurted out, “You got pretty eyes too.”

He chuckled, though there was no humor in his expression. ”I ain't no pretty-eyed pansy, doll.”

“I ain't the one calling you a pansy, that's all you.” I shot back. A little annoyed he couldn't take the genuine compliment. He just huffed a sigh in reply.

Slowly, I reached a hand up to his face. He watched me skeptically, but didn’t bat my hand away as I cupped his cheek, softly stroking at the facial hair that adorned it. Despite the hard, steely look on his face, he nuzzled into my touch. “Pretty eyes…” I whispered, my hand trailing down to brush over the scar on his chin, “Handsome face…” A faint moan escaped his lips at my touch, vibrating against my fingers. I continued tracing over the soft contours of his jaw, his neck, his chest...

When he kept quiet, allowing me to lazily explore his torso I added, “I like you like this, all soft…” I squeezed at his sides in emphasis, those fatty little pouches quickly becoming my favorite part of him. He inhaled sharply, but didnt stop me. When I met his gaze again his face had relaxed, the only emotion in his eyes something akin to… adoration.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I chided playfully, “I’m just sayin’ the truth.” A soft smile curved at his mouth. Without a word he took my wandering hand, gently this time, and brought it to his lips. He kissed my knuckles, once, twice, unraveling my hand to kiss at the finger that had trailed over his skin, his eyes never leaving mine. He hummed, keeping my hand in his as he pulled me closer, wrapping a strong arm around my back as he lowered me against his chest, a deep, rumbling sigh vibrating against my cheek as I curled into him.

Breaking through the peaceful silence, my stomach erupted once more in a growl, my forgotten hunger making itself known. Micah let out a genuine laugh at the sound, “Damn darlin’, if I didn’t know any better I’d think there was a wild animal wrapped around me.” He groaned as he sat up, not allowing me to unravel myself from him before he took me in his arms once more, rising from the rock. I didn’t protest this time, wrapping my arms around him and letting him carry me back to camp for breakfast, warm and content.

If you liked this, check out my other Micah works!

★ My Masterlist ★

#micah bell fic #micah bell x you #Micah bell fluff #fish reqs #red dead redemption 2

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spongeyspot · 1 year ago

Note

Your task is simple...

"Run away with me..." Molly O'Shea.

-🤡

Run Away With Me

(Molly O'Shea x Fem!Reader)

(A/N): OH. MY. GOD. Yes. Yes. Always yes.

Content Warning: Molly finally gets a happy ending, infidelity, this fluff will make your teeth fall out, a little funny at the end

not edited btw

Molly’s hands stilled when (Name) spoke to her, her bottle of amber liquid stopping just before she could take a sip, the rim pressed softly to her lips. Slowly, she lowered it, her gaze finding (Name)’s again. The words spoken were clear enough, but something in Molly wanted to have not heard her correctly. They stood together by the gazebo in front of Shady Belle, the rest of the gang too busy with celebrating the return of little Jack to pay them any mind.

“What?” Molly whispered.

“Run away with me.” (Name) repeated, this time gently taking Molly’s beer bottle, setting down on a nearby crate, then taking hold of Molly’s hands. “What d’you think?”

“I think you’re a little drunk.” Molly laughed, albiet a bit nervously. Butterflies fluttered around in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her feelings or because of the alcohol settling in her belly, threatening to come back up. Maybe both.

“Maybe a little.” (Name) nodded, her hands squeezing Molly’s reassuringly. “But I’ve never been so sure of something my entire life, Molly.”

Molly’s breath hitched as she stared at her, tears threatening to fall from her eyes with every word she spoke.

“I want to be with you forever, Molly.” (Name) whispered, bringing her hands up to kiss her knuckles softly. “I want to marry you…”

“You do?” Molly croaked softly, her hands shaking gently in her lover’s grasp. They’d been seeing each other secretly for months. At first, Molly was just looking for companionship, but after a rather rough night, she’d kissed (Name). It was merely an accident, fueled by alcohol, but she’d never regretted it. Even now, standing in front of her, their relationship and her feelings toward her had felt stronger than anything she’d ever felt for Dutch, even during their best moments.

(Name) pulled back only slightly before taking a quick look around camp. She dropped to one knee, one of her hands leaving Molly’s to fish a gold wedding band out of her pocket. She held it up between her thumb and pointer finger, her gaze locking on Molly’s where she stood over her. Molly started to cry, one of her hands flying up to cover her mouth. (Name) squeezing her other hand reassuringly, her own eyes welling up with tears.

“Please, Molly.” She whispered, her voice breaking briefly. “Run away with me. Marry me. I’ll take you away from here, and we’ll be together forever.” “Forever?” Molly choked out, her chest feeling tight. She couldn’t help but think of Dutch. How he’d feel about this… would he even care? Would he even notice her absence? Lately, he’d been distant. She couldn’t remember the last time they spoke, let alone spent the night together. She wondered if he had also looked for love elsewhere. “What about Dutch?”

“Forget Dutch.” (Name) scoffed, shaking her head. She stood up on both feet, cupping Molly’s cheeks with both hands, the ring tucked away between her thumb and her palm. “I love you, Molly. I want to take you away and never come back. We can leave tonight, and no one can stop us.”

She leaned in immediately, catching Molly’s lips in a soft, sweet kiss. It lasted just a few moments, but to Molly, it felt like years, her tears staining (Name)’s cheeks. Molly’s hands found (Name)’s elbows while hers cupped Molly’s face, the ring still in her grasp. She pulled back to look into Molly’s eyes again, her gaze only leaving when it moved between them, her hands dropping from Molly’s face to take hold of her left hand, slipping the ring onto her finger.

They shared another kiss, (Name)’s hands moving back up to cradle Molly’s face again. She ran her thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the tears that streaked down them.

“Come on… Get your things.” (Name) whispered. “We’re getting out of here, my love.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The two of them were gone by the time people started to wake up the next morning.

“Hey!” Abigail looked around, lifting her bedroll to peek underneath it. “Where’s my ring?”

“Where’s my HORSE?!” John exclaimed.

"Run Away With Me" - Cold War Kids

#anon 🤡#molly o'shea x reader #molly oshea x reader #molly o'shea x female reader #molly o'shea x fem reader #fem reader #female reader #molly o'shea #molly oshea #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #oneshot #wlw #wlw love #angst with fluff

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little-desi-historian · 1 month ago

Text

A listing of 18th Century slang compiled by Leon Bienkowski and posted to the Revlist in 11 installments–last posting in June, 2000

A listing of 18th Century slang compiled by Leon Bienkowski and posted to the Revlist in 11 installments–last posting in June, 2000:

“The terms listed below were mostly gleaned from Partridge’s Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English. There is a bit of a nautical bent to this list because of my own peculiar specialty, but there should be plenty of amusing and useful terms for everyone.

Your underly industrious servant,

Lee Bienkowski”

Abbess - a woman who is a brothel keeper

Abraham-sham - a feigned illness

Academician - a whore

Cast up one's accounts - to vomit

Admiral of the Blue - a publican

Admiral of the Narrow Seas - a drunk who vomits into a neighbor's lap

Adrift - discharged

Adzooks! - an expletive

Air and exercise - a flogging at the cart's tail

Akerman's hotel - Newgate prison

All Nations - a mixture of drinks from unfinished bottles

Amen-curler - a parish clerk

Amidships - the belly

Anatomy - a very skinny person

Bring one's ass to an anchor - sit down

Anne's fan - thumbing one's nose

Talk like an apothecary - talk nonsense

Apple-dumpling shop - a woman's bosom

Hang an arse - to hold back

Arse upward - in good luck

Ask bogy - an evasive reply

Avast! - Stop!

Not to know B from a bull's foot - to be ignorant

Bacon-faced - full-faced

Bacon-fed - fat and greasy

Empty the bag - to tell everything

Heavy baggage - women and children

Bagpipe - a long-winded talker

Bailed man - a man who has bribed the press gang for immunity

Baked – exhausted

Banbury story – nonsense

Bark at the moon - to agitate uselessly

Barnacles – spectacles

Barrel fever - ill health caused by excessive drinking

To grin like a basket of chips - to grin broadly

Bear - a very gruff person

Beer-garden jaw - rough or vulgar language

Bring to one's bearings - cause to see reason

Drink like a beast - to drink only when thirsty

Beau-Nasty - finely dressed but dirty

To go up a ladder to bed - to be hanged

Beef-head – idiot

Beggar-maker - a publican

Belly-gut - greedy, lazy person

Bender - a sixpence

Bird-spit - a small sword

Bit of red - a soldier

Black arse - a kettle

Black cattle - a parson

Give a bottle a black eye - empty a bottle

Blashy - rainy weather

Blood and 'ounds! - an exclamation

Blue as a razor - extremely blue

Blue stocking - a learned woman

Blue tape – gin

Shift one's bob - to move or go away

Bog orange - a potato

To marry old boots - to marry another man's mistress

Bosom friend - a body louse

To have some guts in one's brains - to be knowledgeable

Brandy-face - a drunkard

Brattery - a nursery

In bad bread - in a disagreeable situation

Break-teeth words - words hard to pronounce

Gold bridge - an easy and attractive means of escape

To be stabbed with a Bridgeport dagger - to be hanged

Broganeer - one with a strong Irish accent

Brown cow - a barrel of beer

Brown George - ship's biscuit

Buck fitch - an old lecher

Like bull beef - big and grim

Bull calf - a big clumsy fellow

Bull's eye - a crown piece (5 shillings)

Bung one's eye - drink heartily

Bung upwards - on his face

Butter-bag - a Dutchman

Buttock-ball - a dance attended by prostitutes

Calfskin fiddle - a drum

Cant a slug into your breadroom! - have a drink!

Caper - to be hanged

Captain Copperthorn's crew - all officers

Captain Grand - a haughty blustering man

Captain Tom - leader of a mob

Cat-sticks - thin legs

Caterpillar - a soldier

Caulker - a dram

Chalk - to strike someone's face

Chatter-broth – tea

Christened by a baker – freckled

Cinder-garbler - a female servant

Cite stage - the gallows

A house of civil reception - a brothel

Clapper-claw - to thrash someone soundly

Clicker - one who shares out the booty

Closh - Dutch sailors

Coach wheel - a crown piece

Cock and pie! - a mild oath

Coffee-house - a water-closet

Cold cook - an undertaker

Comb-brush - a lady's maid

Comb one's head - to scold

House of commons - a privy

Condiddle - to steal

Conveyancer - a thief

Cool crape - a shroud

Corinth - a brothel

Make a great harvest of a little corn - much ado about nothing

Corporation - a large belly

Cotswold lion - a sheep

Country-put - a silly rube

Covent Garden ague – VD

Crab lanthorn - a peevish fellow

Crinkums – VD

Crown-office - the head

Cucumber - a tailor

Cut throat - a dark lantern

Swear like a cutter - swear violently

The dam of that was a whisker - a great lie

Dangle in the sheriff's picture-frame - to be hanged

Dasher - showy harlot

Drunk as Davy's sow - very drunk

Deadly nevergreen - the gallows

The devil among the tailors - a row or disturbance

Devil-drawer - a bad artist

The Devil may dance in his pocket - he is penniless

Diddle – gin

Gone to the Diet of Worms - be dead and buried

Dilly - a coach

Dog Booby - an awkward lout

Enough to make a dog laugh - very funny

Dog-vane - a cockade

Dog's portion - a lick and a smell

Dog's soup – water

Go dot and carry - a person with a wooden leg

Double Cape Horn - be cuckolded

Roby Douglas with one eye and a stinking breath - the breech

Draggle-tail - a nasty, dirty slut

Draws straws - to feel sleepy

Drury Lane vestal - a whore

Duke of limbs - a tall awkward fellow

Dull-swift - a stupid fellow

Die dunghill - die cowardly

Drunk as an emperor - regally drunk

Dustman - a dead man

Dutch concert - everyone plays or sings a different tune

Dutch feast - the host gets drunk before the guests

Earwig - a malicious flatterer

Ensign-bearer - a drunkard

Eternity box - a coffin

Expended – killed

To have fallen down and trodden upon one's eye - to have a black eye

Hove no-one's face but one's own - to be penniless

Facer - a glass full to the brim

Make faces - to beget children

Faggot - a man hired to appear on a muster-roll

Fallen away from a horse load to a cart load - to become fat

Fantastically dressed - very shabby

Fegary - a prank

Fiddler's money - all small change

Fiddlestick's end – nothing

Finger-post - a clergyman

Fire a gun - introduce a subject unskillfully

To have been fed with a fire shovel - to have a big mouth

Fish-broth - salt water

Flag of defiance - a drunken roisterer

Flag of distress - the cockade of a half-pay officer

Flap with a fox tail - a rude dismissal

Flapdragon – VD

Flash the gentleman - pretend to be a gentleman

Flash it away - show off

Flats and sharps – weapons

Flawed – drunk

Flay the fox – vomit

Flump - an abrupt or heavy fall

Fly in a tar box - nervously excited

Foreman of the jury - one who monopolizes a conversation

Foul a plate - dine with someone

Frenchified - infected with VD

Frig-pig - a fussy trifler

Froglander - a Dutchman

Full as a goat - very drunk

Fustilugs - a dirty slattern

Gallied - hurried, vexed or over-fatigued

Gallows – enormous

Game pullet - a young whore

Gammon – nonsense

Gardy-loo - Look out! (Garde l’eau)

Gaskins - wide breaches

Gentleman in red - a soldier

Gentleman's companion - a louse

Melancholy as a gib cat – dispirited

Give one's head for washing - to submit to be imposed upon

Glass-eyes - person wearing spectacles

Glorious - ecstatically drunk

Glue-pot - a parson

God permit - a stage coach

Golden grease - a bribe

To find fault with a fat goose - grumble without cause

Play old gooseberry - play the devil

Gospel-shop - a church

Gotch-gutted - pot-bellied

Grapple-the-rails – whiskey

Green-bag - a lawyer

Greenwich goose - a Greenwich Hospital pensioner

The cat's uncle gringog - a grinning idiot

Groggified – tipsy

Ride grub - ill-tempered

Guinea-gold – dependable

In the gun – tipsy

Gundiguts - a fat pursy fellow

Gut-foundered - extremely hungry

Half an ounce - a half crown

Half seas over - half drunk

Hand like a foot - clumsy handwriting

Hang-gallows look - a villainous appearance

Hanktelo - a fool

Swallow a hare - to get exceedingly drunk

Under hatches – dead

Young hemp - a graceless boy

Hempen bridle - a ship's rigging

Hen-frigate - a ship bossed by the captain's wife

Herring-gutted - tall and very thin

To be on the high ropes - be very angry

Study the history of the four kings - to play cards

Old hock - stale beer

Hog in armor - a finely dressed lout

To drive one's hogs to market - to snore

Holiday - a spot left unpainted

It's all honey or all turd with them - they're either friends or bitter enemies

Off the hooks – peevish

Hopper-arsed - large bottomed

Send for a horse ladder - send on a fool's errand

Horse's meal - food without drink

Irish apricot - a potato

Irrigate - take a drink

Itchland – Scotland

Jack Adams - a fool

Jack in an office - an imperious petty official

Jack of legs - an unusually tall person

Jack Weight - a fat man

Jakes - a privy

Jaw-me-down - a very talkative fellow

Die like Jenkin's hen - die unmarried (Scottish)

Have been to Jericho - be tipsy

Jerrymumble - to shake

Going to Jerusalem - to be drunk

Jimmy Round - a Frenchman (from Je me rends)

Be laid up in Job's dock - be treated in hospital for VD

You are Josephus Rex - you're joking

Kerry security - breath the oath and keep the money

Kicksees – breeches

Kill-devil – rum

One of King John's men - a small man

Clip the King's English - to be drunk

Knob - an officer

Knock-down - strong liquor

Laced mutton - a whore

Ship the white lapel - be promoted from the ranks

Lazy as the tinker who laid down his budget to fart - very lazy

Cut one's leg - become drunk

Lay one's legs upon one's neck - run away

Lie with a latchet - tell a great lie

Light-timbered – weak

A line of the old author - a dram of brandy

Little house - a privy

Live lumber - passengers in a ship

Live stock - body vermin

Looking glass - a chamber pot

Lotman - a pirate

Louse-land – Scotland

Lumping pennyworth - a great bargain

Mab - to dress carelessly

Mag – chatter

Maltoot - a sailor

Man-a-hanging - a person in difficulties

Married to Brown Bess - enlisted in the army

Mauled - exceedingly drunk

Make mice-feet of - destroy utterly (Scottish)

Milk the pigeon - attempt the impossible

Load of mischief - a wife

Who put that monkey on horseback without tying his tail? - a very bad horseman

Monkey's allowance - more rough treatment than money

Mopus - a dull, stupid person

Morris - to decamp

Mourning shirt - a dirty shirt

Look like God's revenge against murder - look very angry

Eat one's nails - do something foolish

Navel-tied - to be inseparable

Born on Newgate steps - of criminal extraction

Nip-cheese - a purser

Dead as a nit - quite dead

Make a bridge of someone's nose - pass the bottle past someone

He numbers the waves - he's wasting time

Oaken towel - a cudgel

Give one his oatmeal - to punish

Off the hooks – crazy

Old Robin - an experienced person

Open lower-deckers - to use foul language

Overshoes, over boots – completely

Take the owl - become angry

Paddy-whack - an Irishman

Cut's one's painter - send a person away

Palette - a hand

Paper-skull - a fool

Parleyvoo - the French language

Parson Palmer - one who slows passing the bottle by talking

Make a pease-kill - to squander lavishly (Scottish)

Penny lattice-house - a low ale-house

To drop off the perch - to die

Peter-gunner - a bad shot

Peter Lug - one who drinks slowly

Pintle-merchant - a whore

Piper's wife - a whore

Tune one's pipes - begin to cry

Piss more than one drinks - said of a braggart

Pitt's picture - a bricked up window

When the plate-fleet comes in - when I get my fortune

Plump currant - in good health

Pontius Pilate - a pawn broker

Popper - a pistol

Prattle-broth – tea

Princod - a plump, round person (Scottish)

Alter the property - disguise oneself

Prow - a bumpkin

Public ledger - a whore

Pudding-bellied - very fat

Pump ship – urinate

Punch-house - a brothel

Rabbit hunting with a dead ferret - a pointless undertaking

Rag-water - bad booze

Rammaged - tipsy (Scottish)

Rapping – perjury

Red-letter man - a Catholic

Remedy-critch - chamber pot

Repository – a jail

Rib-roast - to thrash

Ride as if fetching the midwife - to go in haste

Ride the forehorse - to be early

Cry roast meat - boast of one's good fortune

Roast-meat clothes - holiday clothes

Rocked in a stone kitchen - a little weak-minded

Rogue in spirit - a distiller

Royal image - a coin

Rum gagger - one who tells false sea stories of hardship

Loose in one's rump – wanton

Rusty guts - a blunt, surly fellow

Buy the sack - become tipsy

Saddle the wrong horse - lay blame on the wrong person

Saddle one's nose - wear spectacles

Salamugundy - a cook

Salt eel - a thrashing with a rope's end

Sandy - a Scotsman

Sauce – VD

Sawney - a Scotsman

Sawny - to whine

Scald - infect with VD

Scandal-broth – tea

Scarlet horse - a hired horse

School of Venus - a brothel

Scotch casement - a pillory

Sea-crab - a sailor

Sea-lawyer - a shark

Settler - a parting drink

Shab-rag - very worn

Shake a cloth in the wind - be hanged

To have been dipped in the Shannon - to be very forward

Shapes - a name given an ill-made man

Keep sheep by moonlight - hang in chains

Sheep's head - a very talkative person

Shifting ballast - soldiers aboard ship

Shiners – money

Make children's shoes - to be occupied with trivia

Shreds - a tailor

Shut-up house - land headquarters of a press gang

Sick of the idles - a very lazy person

Silver-cooped - deserting for the merchant service

Sky-blue – gin

Snabbled - killed in battle

Smart as a carrot - very smartly dressed

Go a snail's gallop - move very slowly

Soldier's bottle - a large bottle

Solo player - a very bad musician

Sot-weed – tobacco

The Sovereign's parade - the quarterdeck of a man-of-war

Spanish trumpeter -a braying donkey

Spoil pudding - a long-winded preacher

Squire of the placket - a pimp

Stiff-rump - a haughty person

Take a stink for a nosegay - be very gullible

Stoupe - to give up

Strip-me-naked – gin

Sunburnt - having many children

Surly boots - a grumpy person

Surveyor of the highway - a reeling drunk

In deadly suspense – hanged

Keep a swannery - to boast

Purser's swipes - small beer

Swizzle – liquor

Tallow-breeched - having a large bottom

Tears of tankard - liquor stains on a waistcoat

Tea-voider - a chamberpot

Thornback - an old maid

Three skips of a louse - worth little or nothing

Tickle-pitcher - a drinking buddy

Tiff - thin or inferior liquor

Tilly-tally – nonsense

Tilter - a small sword

Swill like a tinker - drink immoderately

Make dead men chew tobacco - keep a false muster

Tol-lol - pretty good

Tongue enough for two sets of teeth - a very talkative person

Blast your toplights! - Blast your eyes!

Topping man - a rich man

Pay one's debts with the topsail - run off to sea leaving unpaid debts

Tripes and trillabubs - nickname for a fat man

Trunkmaker-like - more noise than work

Untwisted – ruined

The Urinal of the Planets – Ireland

Vaulting school - a brothel

W, X, Y, Z

As wise as Waltham's calf - very foolish

Wamble - an uneasiness in the stomach

War-caperer - a privateer

Water bewitched - weak beer

Water in one's shoes - a source of annoyance

You have been to an Irish wedding - you have a black eye

Whigland – Scotland

Whisk - an impertinent fellow

Whister-clister - a cuff on the ear

Whither-go-ye - a wife

Wife in water colors - a mistress

Windy – conceited

Wrapt in warm flannel – drunk

Yea-and-Nay man - a Quaker

Znees - frost

Source. Further reading. regency. hardcover edition.

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gravedigginbbydoll · 7 months ago

Text

Hawkins University : The Munson Edition

64.media.tumblr.com

AN: Hey, y'all. Haha tricked you into thinking this would be another Eddie POV, huh? Sorry but we need more of Bug first to really get the drama going! Hope you're doing well :) This chapter goes further into smut but also romance and a bit of drama! Pls remember that reblogs and comments are appreciated! Also feedback!

→ cliches: friends to lovers, heavy use of nicknames instead of Y/N, we're all just struggling college kids, Music Tutor! Eddie, Resident Assistant! Reader, good girl x bad boy, instant connections, 'I don't trust most people but I trust you', 'are we friends or more?', and 'I can't believe you're such a slut that you have a special dtf drawer...'

→ warnings: mature topics, insecurity, hurt and comfort, drinking and drug usage, strong language, bullying, mental health, discussion of suicide and self harm, mature thoughts, eventual smut, minors dni

→ pairing: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

Chapter 9

Bug's POV

It was about a week later, you and Eddie getting ready for finals, ignoring the looming fact that you would be separated for a month. You were headed home briefly for the holidays (though you were postponing it as long as you could) and Eddie was staying with Steve up until Christmas Eve, then going to his Uncle Wayne’s.

He had invited you to The Hideout again, Corroded Coffin playing for the town’s Krampusfest, a silly little tradition that consisted of some people dressed up like Santa or Krampus, a local market and food trucks, along with musicians playing at the local bar. You were in the crowd with the rest of the gang, all of them dressed appropriately. Steve and Robin wearing goofy matching Santa hats with their sweaters, both of them holding beers and laughing a little too loudly at the local artist selling goofy ceramic holiday themed dicks, the artist both blushing and beaming at their wonder. Jonathan and Argyle brought edibles, which made you laugh a bit in contrast to their ugly Christmas sweaters. Nancy was dressed in an absolutely adorable green sweater with a black skirt and tights, complete with a soft red bow in her hair, half of her hair pulled back.

You were packed into the outdoor area of the Hideout, you and the rest of the gang off towards the side. You tried to ignore the swirling fear and sourness in your belly, nursing a cup of warm mulled wine, your heart getting that familiar squeeze. It didn’t slip past you that lately, more and more cute girls showed up to whistle at Eddie during his shows. In the crowd you spotted girls dressed to the nines, makeup flawless. They were looking around, hoping for Eddie. It’s not as if Eddie ever gave them the time of day. But you still felt like you were competing. I mean, the girls who showed up were so different from you. You felt yourself chewing on your lip before Steve and Robin caught your attention, the pair jumping up and down and screeching. You turned toward the stage to see Eddie and the rest of the band. Eddie clearly caught your eyes, his outfit making you salivate. scantily clad in a black cropped shirt with the sides almost entirely cut out, his tattoos and muscles out on display. His hair was down and he wore smudged black eyeliner with red glitter smeared across his eyelids, his guitar slung low across on his back. His blood red and diy patched jeans were tight and worn at the knees, making your mind swim with the last time he wore them.

Eddie on his knees, you laying on his bed, his hands spreading your legs as he looked up at you through thick lashes. Eddie’s lips wrapped around your-

You felt your face burst into flames as Eddie stared at you with a smirk, clearly reading your thoughts. He winked at you, grinning devilishly. Your heart melted, your skin tingling as Eddie strolled up to the microphone, grinning. He gripped it with his hands, looking out among the crowd before speaking.

“Hey Hawkins…How we doin’ tonight?!,” Eddie cheered, the crowd erupting into screams.

“Now we got a very special show for you all, full of holiday cheer or whatever the fuck they told me to say,” He cheekily joked, earning an eye roll from you as he grinned.

“Alright…Let’s go!,” Eddie screamed energetically, throwing his guitar back around to be at his front, immediately beginning to play, the venue thumping with the bass of the speakers, the rest of the band jumping on immediately, the crowd going wild. You smiled, cheering along.

Eddie performed his heart out, per usual. He was dripping with sweat, bounding up and down the stage and hopping on speakers, his deep yet melodic voice ringing through the crowd. He quipped jokes between songs, earning laughs from the crowd. Your heart soared with his performance, seeing his personality shine so vibrantly.

But you felt the energy shift as he stopped to take a drink of water, your heart squeezed at Eddie’s sudden solemness as he approached the microphone. He sighed softly, looking up into your eyes. You felt his warm brown irises stare into you, your brows furrowed as you tried to read his expression. You tried to mouth to him to ask what was wrong, but he just shook his head softly, lips tugged up slightly in a smile Then he cleared his throat.

“So I’m gonna get sappy here for a minute,” He began, earning a joking boo from Steve, to which he pointed at him in the crowd and teased, “Shut up, Harrington. I know where you live.” The crowd giggled a bit, people anxiously awaiting Eddie’s speech.

“Anyways…This next song is a bit slower, a bit sweeter. And yeah, I know, that’s not the Corroded Coffin brand. But…,” He trailed off, meeting your eyes once again, sitting against a stool on the edge of the stage, his presence making the rest of the crowd fade away.

“Sometimes people come into your life who completely shake everything up. But in the best way. Before this year, I was feeling out of place, in a new town, and absolutely depressed. I was handling online bullies and being alone. I wanted nothing more than to fade away. And sure, I came out of it, but I was a changed person. I was guarded. I didn’t connect with strangers. I mean, fuck, Harrington knows. I stayed in my bubble,” Eddie joked, smiling. You felt your own cheeks tug up a bit as your heart raced.

Eddie’s voice got soft and raspy. “And then I met her. The most selfless person with the biggest heart…a fuckin’ worrywart if I’ve ever met one,” Eddie teased, his eyes glinting with mischief as he beamed at you, a laugh leaving your lips as your eyes watered.

“She came to me and I couldn’t help but…just…melt. She understood me, and was patient. She made me feel seen. She was the first person to make me feel like I didn’t have to prove myself. And she’s so blind to how amazing she is. How sweet she can be, how much I feel my heart beat for her. She’s made me want to open up. To be better. To be vulnerable and…myself,” He choked out, your heart squeezed and your tears spilling over as you smiled. Your heart floated up, your stomach fluttering at his words. You felt your legs itch to run up to him, to wrap yourself in him and never let go.

Eddie’s eyes were glossy as he looked up at you, his voice raspy as he grabbed for the acoustic guitar by him, his smile soft and face sincere.

“Bug…My girl…Baby…This is for you,” He rasped out, his voice sending more flutters to your stomach, your heart soaring. You felt your friend group staring at you, Steve in the background, whisper yelling at Robin ‘I fucking knew it!’.

You felt your heart soar as Eddie looked you in the eyes, the crowd quiet and instead listened to Eddie’s voice, his tone driving goosebumps up your skin. His words swirled around you, your heart squeezed by the lyrics, their implications.

You were his moon and stars, his breath of fresh air.

His heart was in your hands, his trust in you blind.

He wanted to wake up and sleep next to you, make you coffee.

He finally felt a reason for breathing.

You felt your tears overflow, your heart squeezed and your stomach full of fluttering, your smile growing as you smiled and cried, eyes focused on Eddie, who kept meeting your gaze, eyes glossed as he sang, his smile soft.

It was just you two.

And goddamn, you were lucky.

You waited anxiously with your friends outside the green room, bouncing on your toes. You wanted to tackle Eddie. Pummel him with kisses and never let him go.

His girl.

He called you his girl.

When he came out of the room, your friends all began to congratulate him and speak to him, but he just met your eyes. Immediately, Eddie walked over and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into a bruising kiss. You melted into his arms, your heart soaring. You faintly heard Nancy usher away the friend group, Steve protesting loudly. When you finally pulled away, you looked into Eddie’s warm and twinkling eyes, your heart squeezed.

“Let’s get out of here, hm?,” Eddie whispered, his nose brushing yours, your heart racing as you nodded, mind foggy with Eddie Eddie Eddie.

You could hardly wait.

The moment you and Eddie entered his room, his mouth was on you, his touch anywhere he could reach. His kisses were passionate, his warm lips igniting a fire in you.

He seemed to be fueled by the same feverish desire as you, breaking his kisses to start nipping and kissing your neck. His groans against your skin seemed to just push the feelings off the deep end.

“Fuck…Y/N. You drive me crazy.”

You whimpered, head thrown back, nails clawing at his back, realizing somewhere in your lusty daze, you and Eddie had both removed your offensive clothing, at least on the upper half.

“Please, Eddie…”

He got to work on quickly removing the jeans covering your lower half and your underwear, pulling you to his bed, quickly setting his mouth on you as you laid down, his kisses trailing down, quick to lick and kiss your breasts, his lips leaving a blazing trail down to your center. He looked up at you, voice rasped.

“Let me know if you ever want to stop. Because if not, I plan on going all the way.”

A shiver passed through you at his words, the acknowledgement of how you were about to have your first time with Eddie inside you, the line crossed. You nodded weakly, feeling the desire between your legs grow as your heart skipped a beat.

Eddie looked up at you through his long lashes, continuing to leave soft kisses at your inner thighs before licking a long stripe up your center, his wet tongue making your toes curl. You felt his tongue circle your clit, occasionally sucking it into his mouth before letting it go with a pop and dipping his tongue into your center. He continued this pattern, the waves of pleasure making you begin to almost start dripping. You knew you were done for when he added his fingers, using his thumb to rub your clit while messily eating you out. You practically rose off the bed, moans echoing in his room as he finished before he rose up. Eddie wiped at his mouth, a smirk tugging up his lips as he shimmied out of his jeans and crawled over you, reaching into his bedside drawer, pulling out a condom.

“You want this?,” He asked, voice graveled and sending a soft shiver throughout you. You nodded, looking in his dark eyes, the makeup making him seem even more like a vision of lust, his eyes burning with desire.

“Yes.”

He tore the wrapper with his teeth, quick to put the condom on and hold himself over you with his arms braced on either side of your head. He fidgeted a bit with himself before looking into your eyes, his warm and full of concern, searching yours.

“Let me know if you ever want to stop,” He whispered softly.

You nodded in acknowledgement, slightly parting your legs more to make room for him, eyes staring into his, the warm brown simultaneously making you shiver and melt in his gaze. He lined himself up with your entrance, his head pressing against you as you fought a whimper. He slowly pushed in, fighting a growl, the vein on the side of his neck visible.

You felt a slight tug of pain that dulled when you stayed still for a moment, recognizing that Eddie was decently sized and you hadn’t had sex in a while. Not penetrative, anyways.

Eddie waited for you to claw at his back and whimper before he started rolling his hips, the rhythm steady and slow, yet still somehow making you see stars. You felt the pleasure deep in your bones as he kissed you, his lips mumbling his feelings for you. You felt yourself claw at his back and run fingers through his curls, making him groan softly.

Despite the waves of pleasure, you were so present in the moment. The bubble of seclusion you two had built. How his skin was so warm and felt right against you, and how his thrusts filled you in a way that made your heart overflow with feeling.

Eddie continued to kiss your neck, muttering praises. He shook with how he was feeling and what he was holding back. You knew slow and passionate wasn’t usually Eddie’s style. But by God, did you feel the pieces of your soul crack open and become enveloped in his warmth.

By the time you were cumming, your back was arched, your mouth back on his, your heart pounding, and body completely boneless. He continued to make you see stars as he worked you through your orgasm, making you finish twice.

He came with a groan, eyes rolling and head falling forward into your neck as he shook.

It was magic.

After that night, you two spoke in hushed whispers, agreeing that despite not being relationship people, you’d be fools to deny each other any longer.

You both had made the other fall to pieces multiple times that night, testing out the waters with new pet names.

Baby.

Darling.

My sun.

My moon.

Had it been any other couple, you and Eddie would’ve giggled over the ridiculousness.

But to the two of you…It felt right.

It became a highlight you often got lost in thought about during classes, blushing when you snapped out of it. It wasn’t helping either that for some reason, some of you classmates seemed a lot more hostile to you.

Two days after you and Eddie established your relationship, a leggy blonde shoulder checked you in your Psych 101 course, making you confused and angry.

And that wasn’t the end of it.

People were giving you glares, some downright rolling their eyes if you ever dared ask a question in class.

It built up when you were hanging around the desk with a fellow coworker, discussing a future program plan you had for next semester.

Your boss came up to you, her brows furrowed.

“Hey Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

You frowned a bit, giving an apologetic wave at your friend before walking with your supervisor to her office, sitting on the couch across from her desk, your stomach churning with anxiety.

Sure you’d been going out more and whatnot, but you were still there for your residents…weren’t you?

She sat at her desk, giving you a sympathetic look before sighing.

“You’re not in trouble, so don’t worry about that. Some stuff had been brought to my attention and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” She stated, looking at you intently.

You furrowed your brows, your stomach twisting in knots. “Yeah…I’m fine. What’s this about?”

She frowned, looking worried. “Well…I’ve been notified by some residents about some possible cyberbullying. Mostly an account directed towards you,” She clarified, her voice soft.

Your heart dropped. You weren’t huge on social media and honestly had been focused on exams and figuring out how to see Eddie during the holidays. You nodded, swallowing.

“Oh. Um, I haven’t seen anything but, I mean…Thank you for the heads up,” You tried to keep your voice even, your hands shaking.

She nodded and looked at you sincerely. “Just know if you ever want to talk about it or need help reporting, I’m here.”

You nodded, standing up and exiting the office in a daze.

What was happening?

You were sitting with some of your residents, studying with them, smiling and waving hi to some of them as they passed by the study area, them smiling back and waving.

You were midway through your notes, the common space still quiet and some of your residents studying beside you. One of your more outgoing residents, Aya, sat beside you. A group of her friends came in and handed you some candy, all your favorites. You smiled softly, your heart strings tugged. Aya was an outgoing resident who faced her first major breakup and came to you. You were quick to play dorm mom, letting her rant and cry and even getting her some ice cream from the campus market, letting her eat the pint while she complained. She had begun to view you as a mentor since then.

“Look, I wouldn’t usually say anything but you’re one of the best RA’s in this damn dorm and you are always sticking up for us as residents. Just be careful with some snakes around here,” She whispered, her friends nodding behind her, looking like they were ready to jump to your defense. You felt your heart squeeze while your stomach twisted.

Clearly this account was subtweeting you or something. Nevertheless, having some of your sweet kiddos on your side made you feel a sense of relief.

“Thanks, you guys. Now, go study. Don’t worry about me, I got this,” You whispered back, ignoring your other residents looking over at you curiously. You skin crawled with the thought that someone could be out there spreading lies or even bullying you without your awareness.

Aya nodded before suddenly hugging you, whispering. “We’re here if you need someone to kick ass.” You laughed a bit at the statement, shaking your head as she pulled away.

The group waved bye before retreating to Aya’s dorm, stealing glances over to you, clearly worried over your wellness.

You pushed down the growing discomfort you felt, trying to remember that you needed to focus on finals.

On a late night while taking a break from studying, you finally caved, deciding to try and find out what the account was. It took no more than a few seconds before you found it, your stomach bubbling with anger, fear, and sorrow.

There was both a Twitter and Instagram chock full of photos taken off of your own accounts or random candid pictures of you. The messages scribbled across the images and posted on twitter all reflected the same idea.

Skank. Whore. Munson’s groupie.

How does he like her? She’s so plain.

Can’t believe she works for the uni…thought she was his full time whore?

You felt your heart stop as you tried to gasp for air, eyes watering. The account had hundreds of likes and followers, which wasn’t insane but…made you want to crawl out of your skin.

You felt your eyes water as your thoughts swirled.

Robin and Eddie were both rarely on social media, the two of them even worse at paying attention to media trends than you.

And Steve had an Instagram but it was private.

So it made sense why you’d only become aware of it now.

And fuck, if the comments didn’t get worse.

Wow…she’s desperate huh? Lol

Can’t believe Eddie ditched the chance with Chrissy for this slut

I bet she is crazy, that’s why he’s tied down now

You felt your chest begin to heave as your body was wracked by sobs. You felt like small daggers were being hurled under your skin, making your skin crawl and heart ache.

Why you?

They were asking the questions you wondered yourself, knowing you were dating a boy who shone like a star, a boy destined for greatness. And you were just…you.

And god, did that hurt.

Taglist: @josephquinnsfreckles @corrodedcoffincumslut @kirisuteg0men @bebe07011 @amira0303 @vintagehellfire @lottie-90 @animechick555

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y123345 · 2 years ago

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Spy in disguise

Jen was the best detective well known by the whole division. Not only did she excel in capturing bad guys but also in disguies. In fact, her nickname was the disguise matser. She could turn herself into anyone male female young or old alike which is the reason why she was in a secret mission infiltrating a drug gang. Being heavily pregnant as she was, her disguise was a middle age man with a beer belly. The police was tipped off that the largest amount of drug in history was about to be smuggled and needed to take action asap. As excited as she was to be a mother, she couldn't let go of this huge case. And with her disguise abilities, she was the perfect match to be a spy. In addition, she had gone undercover countless times amd successfully taken down the criminals. This time would be easy peasy too she thought.

Several weeks had passed. She ( disguised as a he) had gained the leader's trust to an extent that she got to know every move, every plan but nothing about the said huge drug deal. She became impatient. What if her baby was due and she didn't get the chance to capture them. What if the boss had known her disguise all along and was purposely keeping her close. But that was impossible because she knew her diaguise was perfect. She successfully turned herself into this middle age man, even her pregnant belly was diaguised as a beer belly. Even with the huge belly she fought so good that the boss even made her his body guard. One downside is that as the boss's bodyguard, she had to fight a lot, like a lot, not only that she had to be with him every second following everywhere he went, driving him to his desired places including picking up and dropping off his kids at school. She accidentally got hit in the stomach sometimes but luckily she just ended up with a bruised belly, the baby was unharmed.

Time passed quickly and she was now 38 weeks pregnant. Yet, no drug deal till now. It became uncomfortable for her to do her usual errands with her growing belly. The boss wanted to take his kids to the amusement park one day and as her duty was a body guard, she had to follow. He had rented out the entire amusement park. So, there was no one else there aprt from them.

Little did she know that there was a mole in the police force and that the boss knew she was the infamous disguise master Jen all along. He tried to kill her off by sending her to dangerous missions but even with a huge belly, she succeeded. He thought she might give up if her baby was at risk of getting hurt but she was so damn stubborn. The bigger her belly got, the more dangerous and physical jobs the boss send her to. But she was so confident that she thought no one knew about her being a spy and being pregnant.

On the amusement park, she saw several signs that pregnant women were not allowed on certain rides. She just silently prayed that she won't be put on those rides. The kids wanted to ride bumper cars and the boss ordered her to get in every single ride the kids wanted to and accompany them all day long.

In addition, the boss send three of his minions together with them whose mission is to make her hurt and withdraw her from the spy mission or kill her if possible.

The bumper for sure was fun, I mean for the kids. For her, not so much. Every time someone bumped into her car, her belly was slammed to the steering wheel due to inertia causing her painful contractions. She felt a 'pop' and a warm gush of water came down her pants. 'Oh crap! My water has broken' she thought. The boss's minions purposely kept bumping her car continuously until the time ran out. She lost count how many times she was thrown back and forth, her eyes became blurry due to the pain and she had to hold her belly gritting her teeth and trying to sooth the pain.

The day continued, the kids wanted to get on almost every single ride and she could barely walk now. The safety bars and belts on the rides were the worst. Those were either pressing her stomach in half from the front or pushing down from above. The baby descended into her birth canal more after each ride opening her wide. She ignored the dumpness on her pants and luckily no one bothered to ask. The boss was so satisfied. His plan worked! Her water had broken. She would leave the gang and he could finally do the deal.

Her contracting belly was hard as a rock, her back and belly was killing her. After a really long time of suffering, she decided to tell the boss that she ate the bad seafood last night and she now has to go back home and she would immediately be back tomorrow. The boss wasn't amused. He wanted her to gone forever not coming back the next day. So he decided to go to the final plan. He went " okay one last ride and you can go rest at home", smiling sneakily. She sensed something was off and before getting on the roller coaster, she called her police supervisor who she put as her emergency call.

She struggled to get on it with the baby already in her birth canal widening her hips. No one else except her was getting on. She knew something was terribly wrong and tried to get off immediately but her huge pregnant belly had been getting in the way. The boss errily smiled and said " Think you can trick me miss detective. I know who you are. You don't need to pretend to be a obese dude. Now you will pay the price. Time for the ride!"

Then before she could react, the safety bar came down with so much force and hit her belly violently. She wailed in pain and felt like her stomach was about to rupture. The pressing force pushex her baby further down and the head started to crown. She could feel the fetal head stuck in her opening being blocked by the ride's plastic chair. The bar was still pressing down her belly and yet the baby had nowhere else to go. She tried to get up but it just made the bar pressed further down. The boss, his minions and his kids were laughing at her pain. She was drenched in sweats, her face wrincing in pain, the head being squeezed out by the contraction and pushed back by the chair. It was all so much fun for them. The boss signaled his man and suddenly another bar came out from the front amd crushed her belly. Now her stomach was squished from above and the front, indenting her stomach dangerouly. She was a mess at this point, crying , sobbing with a large pool of liquid at her feet.

"Now time to go" the boss said and left her just like that with both bars still pressing and disfiguring her belly. An hour later, her supervisor she previously made a call arrived and lift the bars from the ride's control center got her down and sent her to the hospital. 4 hours later, she was seen breastfeeing her baby on the hospital bed cradling with all smiles. Her stomach was black and blue from all the hits she took but a tough woman would be fine in a few days.

#birth denial #clothing birth #pushingbabybackin #pregnant #giving birth #Hit in stomach #water breaking #Heavily pregnant

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twola · 2 years ago

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Seven Deadly Sins - VII

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Low to Medium Honor Arthur (and all that entails)

Pride: a feeling of deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one's own achievements.

➵ AO3 Link

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It is not even a question, nor even a suggestion, of where you sit high atop Arthur’s horse. Slotted against him, pressed back into his chest, one arm securely holding you to him. There are no jokes or witty retorts this time. One of your hands rests lightly above his, splayed across your stomach.

It is not some hidden thing as you traipse through Rhodes, the dusty red dirt blowing in the wind as townsfolk watch his horse slowly walk through.

Something akin to pride surges through you as men collecting on the hotel’s porch look upon you and then avert their eyes, so as not to garner attention from the gunslinger behind you. His arm tightens around your midsection each time you pass a man, and you’re sure that the look he gives passersby is a dark, threatening glare.

This man, who can tear any other one apart with his bare hands, has decided that you are the thing that captivates him. That he desires above all others. That he will worship and satisfy and murder for you.

You’d happily do the same, of course. While killing rivals may not be as easy for you as it is for him, you’ve noted the way women look at him in saloons and bars, and you can’t wait to sit upon his lap, draping yourself over him, in public as if to stake your claim.

All of the muscle and sinew and strength that make up this man - it belongs to you.

You lean back against him, your head against his collarbone, and sigh contentedly.

His fingers tighten gently on your belly, and you feel him lean into you. He presses his lips against your cheekbone lightly. For all to see.

Yours.

The sun has set by the time the two of you reach the old plantation house, the fire blazing up the way as he guides his mare to hitch her for the night. He swings himself down from the saddle and ties the reins to the post. You swing your leg over the saddle and he grabs your waist, guiding you down gently.

You glance toward the camp, where people have gathered around the campfire, laughter, and discussion wafting through the warm air. Arthur places his hand on your lower back, pressing you gently toward the group.

“C’mon, let’s get back to 'em. You know you’ve missed Pearson’s cooking.”

You roll your eyes but smile all the same. The two of you make your way past the horses and mock fortifications that have been built to the gang, where you are welcomed and immediately asked about the take - which Arthur is able to artfully craft and excuse on why you’re coming back empty-handed. One that didn’t involve locking yourselves in a hotel room for multiple days.

The tale is believed, and you take your seat on the ground next to Mary Beth, who hands you a bottle of beer with a smile. Dutch beckons Arthur toward the decrepit fountain to talk in a hushed tone.

The night rolls on, with Javier playing his guitar, men reciting bawdy jokes, and Uncle and Hosea telling stories of old. Arthur and Dutch return to the fire after some time, the latter lighting a cigar and holding the match up for Arthur to light one of his own before they both take seats on chairs around the fire.

At some point, you stand up, stretching your back, which was sore from being in the saddle all day. You lean backward, hands bracing your spine, and wince a little before stepping around the circle and toward the house. After the last several days, all you can think about is going to sleep - curling up in your spot in the downstairs room of the house, where several of the other girls have made their sleeping arrangements as well. You round behind Arthur and he turns his head toward you.

“Darlin,” Arthur grunts, the cigar smoking between his teeth, “C’mere.”

He yanks your arm toward him, and you stumble slightly, his other hand grabbing your hip and pulling you into his lap. Javier, fortunately, does not miss a beat as he strums his guitar, though his eyebrows raise in amusement. Mary Beth stifles a giggle, while both Hosea and Dutch smirk into their respective drinks.

Arthur does not seem to care at all, one hand securely on your hip, the other pulling the cigar from his mouth as he exhales a plume of smoke in the other direction from you. You take the opportunity as it's given, draping your arms around his neck and leaning into his solid warmth.

Javier continues to play in the warm night.

You’ve started to doze off, sitting there on his lap, head laying on his shoulder. He notices and taps your rear, “Y’can head up to my room. I’ll be up in a little.”

You nod, blinking back the drowsiness as you move to stand up from his lap. Before you can move away from the campfire, however, Arthur grabs your hand, and yanks you back toward him, nearly pulling you to the ground as you jolt in surprise.

He tuts disapprovingly as he rights you, one hand on your hip, “Ah-ah, not without a proper goodbye.”

A lopsided smirk crosses your face before you lean into him and press your lips against his. He holds you in place for what seems to be an absurd amount of time before drawing back.

“Go on now.” He drawls lowly, his lips hovering inches away from yours. You stand up to your full height, acutely aware of the eyes that have settled upon you. Without acknowledging the stares of the men around the fire; you walk away, toward the house and away from the gathering.

A bottle is chucked at Arthur’s feet. He turns back from watching you to scowl at where it came from.

Micah opens another bottle of beer at his seat on a crate across the campfire. He sneers in Arthur’s direction, pointing the neck of the bottle at your retreating figure.

“ ‘S that why you’re in such a good mood, Morgan? Finally gettin’ your cock wet?”

Arthur smirks. “Ain’t no fault of mine you can’t get any you don’t pay for.”

Micah scowls back at him, “Least I can please the ladies, old man.”

Arthur snorts dismissively but doesn’t push the conversation back, instead taking a long pull of whiskey from the bottle in his hand and staring into the flickering flames of the campfire.

It’s even later by the time he clambers up the stairs of the old plantation house, each creaking under his weight as he makes his way up them. He opens the door to his room slowly, peering in to find you on his bed, facing the wall, under a heap of blankets.

The lantern is turned low but throws moving shadows throughout the room, and you stir from the bed, rolling over to face him. Completely rousing from slumber, you whine softly as he makes his way around the room, pulling his gun belt off and placing it on the table opposite the bed, hanging his hat on an old dresser.

“Arthur,” you purr, with the vestiges of sleep still evident in the hoarseness of your voice, “come to bed.”

He smirks, pleased with himself in the needy scratch of your voice, as he turns back toward you to take you in.

You’re tangled in the threadbare sheets on the bed, in only one of his unbuttoned work shirts.

“Hm. Think that’s mine.” Arthur snorts, amused as he places his hands on his hips in mock annoyance.

You smile deviously as you edge the hem of his shirt up, up, over the swell of your thighs, the cotton slowly passing over the thatch of dark hair that hides your cunt.

“Come here, Arthur.”

You open your legs, showing him your glistening folds.

Is this what it’s like?

Coming to wherever he laid his head every night to a warm bed and a woman who wanted only him? Arms to embrace him and a slick, hot cunt to bury himself in night after night? To wake up tangled in limbs and skin on skin instead of rough spun sheets?

God, now he understood why Dutch always had a woman in his bed.

“My lady.”

His boots rumble to the floor as he sheds them.

“I like hearing you say that,” you sigh happily, reaching toward him.

“I’ll say it t’ya every night if this is the way I find you in my bed.” Arthur pulls his suspenders down and begins to unbutton his shirt. You sit up and start unbuttoning his pants, smirking as he juts his hips forward into your touch, his cock hard and swelling beneath the denim.

He sheds his shirt quickly, peeling it from his arms and tossing it to the floor. You’ve unbuttoned his pants and shove one of your hands down them, grasping for his cock, and he grunts through gritted teeth as your fingers encircle his flesh.

Arthur’s hands find their way to the collar of his shirt on your shoulders, the open ends barely hiding your nipples as he starts to draw the fabric apart. He steps back, pulling away from you and your hand to peel down the sleeves of his shirt from your arms, stripping it from you and throwing it unceremoniously on the floor.

Still a step away from your bare form, Arthur shoves his pants to the floor, where they pile at his feet as he steps out of them. His hard cock bobs heavily as he steps closer to the bed, and you sit up on your knees, meeting him as he dives in to press his lips against yours.

His arms snake around your warm body as he presses his tongue against the seam of your lips, which you quickly acquiesce and open to him. You run your hand down the plane of his chest, down his stomach, almost reaching his cock before he pushes you back, hard, and you yelp as you bounce slightly on the old bed. Before you can utter a word of complaint, Arthur climbs on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, and slots his lips against yours as his hips shimmy between your legs, his cock rubbing against your most tender flesh.

He knows his mouth tastes overwhelmingly of whiskey. He’s not drunk, not a bumbling mess who can’t see straight… But he has had more than enough to drink to be dangerous .

You gasp into his mouth as one of his hands moves to knead roughly at your breast, the other one looping under your lower back, pressing your hips up against his. His hips roll back and forth against yours, the friction of his cock parting your folds and rubbing against your clit makes you whine in pleasure.

He thinks, vaguely, at this point you’ve gotten the hint. It's one of those nights. He’s near smothering you under his large frame, and his tongue pushes against yours fervently as low sounds reverberate from his chest.

Arthur pulls back, and your bewildered gaze has turned into something more feral, more needy. You let your legs fall open farther as you pant, he looms above you, stroking his cock that’s covered in your slick after rocking against you for many moments.

“Gonna fuck y’ now.” He drawls, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, you’re standing there, in the middle of Flat Iron Lake, moonlight dancing on your dewy curves.

And he is gazing from the shoreline with near unquenchable need.

“ Yes -” you moan, and you thrust your hips up to get closer to him, “ Fuck me , Arthur.”

Arthur can’t press into you fast enough, sinking in ‘til his hips are flush against yours, groaning out in pleasure as your tight warmth constricts around him. He can only bear to give you a few moments to get used to him before he pulls back and thrusts himself forward with a vigor that makes you moan loudly. Your sweet cry is music to his ears, and he finds a punishing rhythm that keeps you gasping for more.

He braces one of his arms against the wall as he bears down on you harder; faster. He’s enjoying this, just watching your eyes nearly roll back into your head, your panting, whining voice mewling with every thrust.

He wants Micah to hear you from goddamn Rhodes .

“C’mon darlin’,” he grabs your chin and you groan as he forces you to look up at him, and with a growl, he pulls back completely from your hips, leaving your pulsing cunt to clutch around nothing, “They can’t hear ya.”

Arthur, in one smooth, fast, bruising stroke, slams his cock back into your cunt and you shriek , screaming your pleasure into the room and out the open window.

“Tha’s it- c’mon now…” He throws his hips into a punishing rhythm, one of his hands spread wide around the globe of your rear, clenching hard enough that you’d have purpling marks from his fingers come morning.

He can see the tears collecting at the corners of your eyes, and your mouth hangs open as he continues to pull the sweet sounds from your mouth. But he wants more, more.

“ Let ‘em know who’s fuckin’ you .” He snarls in your ear, the bedframe clanging against the plaster wall in the room as he slams his hips into yours, and a piteous wail erupts from your throat, volume high as he hits a spot in your cunt that makes your body sing.

Finally, like ambrosia dripping from your blessed lips, his name escapes out into the night as you convulse beneath him, your cunt clenching near painfully around his cock.

“ A-Arthur-!”

That, that did him in. Every man for goddamn miles would have been able to hear that, the high-pitched screech of his name, breathless, satisfied. It’s only four more strokes he can get in before a loud groan tumbles from his throat, he squeezes his eyes shut tightly as his cock pulses stream after stream of spend into your warmth.

He’s breathless - you’re breathless. Maybe he did have a bit too much to drink, considering the most he can do right now is collapse to the side of you, drawing you in closer to him, before sleep overtakes.

The birds chirp softly in the morning light. The humidity of south Lemoyne is smothering in its heaviness, even this early in the morning, the cicadas are loud even as the sun rises. Shady Belle, her glory days long behind her, sits as a testament to times long gone, the death of a way of life extinct in this modern age.

If one stands at just the right place, under the awning of the side porch, they’d be able to hear a muted noise of wood knocking against plaster. It was probably a good thing that no one was actually standing there.

In the room above, you and Arthur are wrapped around each other.

Your leg is thrown over his hip as he muffles your sighs with his lips. His large hand is spread wide over the swell of your rear as he rocks his hips into yours, slowly, gently. His fingers cover over darkening signs of his need for you from last night. Under a blanket the two of you undulate in unhurried motions, his cock slowly sliding in and out of your cunt as if he had nothing else to do in the world.

His tongue dances with yours, as your fingers dig into his shoulder blade, your arm wound underneath his.

You give a little cry when he hits that spot within you.

“ There’s my girl.” He whispers against your lips, his low voice husky as he squeezes your rear, rolling your hips against his own.

“ Arthur- ,” you whine out, trying desperately to keep yourself quiet, unlike last night’s session.

“Mm, darlin -” he drawls into your mouth, his hips moving faster as your cries become higher, louder, needer. After one sweet gliding thrust, you gasp, your mouth hanging open as your fingers grip around his arm tightly.

“You gonna-” Arthur’s whispered question is cut off as his eyes screw shut, a barely concealed moan escaping from him. He’s brought to that precipice also here under the blankets. You take the opportunity to surge forward and catch his lips, which he greedily accepts and presses his tongue against yours.

Your blunt nails leave crescent marks in his skin as your cunt clenches around his hard cock, and not a moment later, his hips buck forward further into you as he comes, hot and fast, into your wet warmth.

Muffled sounds of lips meeting each other, soft sighs, deep, low rumbles fill the room, though outside the window, the noises of the camp coming alive stream in - the clanging of Pearson’s pots, the crackling of the fire, the murmured greetings of men lining up for their morning coffee. The whinnying of the horses.

Arthur pulls his lips back from yours, and his hand moves to your cheek, brushing back to your hair as his azure eyes scan your face. You smile, your hand pressed against his chest, under the muscle and bone you can feel the strong thump of his still-racing heart.

“Much as I’d like to stay ‘ere all day,” He presses another quick kiss to your lips, just enough that his scruffy beard scratches your chin, “I gotta get goin’ on this job.”

You frown for a moment, but the curve of your lips is playful, you know too, that he has to go. He slowly extricates himself from your embrace, and as you grab the balled-up blanket to cover your nude form, he starts to dress, kicking dirty clothes around on the floor before opening the chest at the end of the bed. You certainly don’t mind the view, the man is hewn seemingly from cut stone, solid and muscular from his head to his toes.

A small sense of regret flushes over you as you watch him pull on a nice pair of suit pants, as the object of your pleasure is hidden from your view as he buttons them up. He snorts, watching your face fall, and a small smirk appears on his face.

“Eager there, aren’tcha?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs to himself as he pulls on a fresh white dress shirt, feeding the buttons through their eyelets.

“Why, ain’t you just the sophisticated gentleman.” You giggle before stretching your arms above your head in the bed as he ties a silk scarf around his neck.

He mutters something under his breath. Probably cursing Saint Denis and the high society trapping it entails.

Arthur pulls on his jacket as you roll to face him fully, tangled up in the worn blanket, your hair mussed with sex and sleep. The fabric does little to shield you, your breasts high and on display to him, he can see the fading bruise he made with his teeth the week prior when he had you up against a brick wall in that Saint Denis alleyway.

Possessive pride surges within him as he steps closer to your form. You smile up at him, a tired, tender look on your face before he leans over you and the bed.

He taps on the bare skin of your décolletage with his middle finger.

“Much as I like this view… you deserve somethin’ beautiful here. Gonna get you a fancy necklace after this job.”

He leans down and kisses the hollow of your neck, and you smile as his beard tickles your skin.

You laugh, pushing his hand away. “C’mon now, I’m just a lowly thief. Women like me don’t wear fancy necklaces.”

“Y’aint just a lowly thief. You’re my lady. Let me spoil ya.” He drawls lowly into your skin, leaving trails of wet imprints from his lips as he moves downward. Arthur laves his tongue over the swell of your breast, closing his lips around one of your peaked nipples and suckling gently. A satisfied whine, soft and gentle, leaves your throat, and Arthur smiles against your skin as he presses his lips back up your neck before pulling away from your warm body.

You sigh in contentment as he pulls the blanket up and over your chest, keeping you cocooned in a semblance of warmth as he needs to leave your embrace.

“Y’know, I’m sure you can just steal one.” You laugh as he steps toward the table and grabs his gun belt, wrapping it around his hips. The revolvers glint in the sunlight streaming in from the open window.

“Naw. I’ll have plenty of money after this job. Can buy you anythin’ you want. Anythin’ that looks good round that pretty little neck of yours.”

“Oh?”

“Sure, ain't every day we’re robbin’ the Lemoyne National Bank.”

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