#but i'm so frustrated with my own body like

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Ain't That A Lotta Love - Chapter 1

A/N: A new series! I don't really want to give anything away with this one, so I'm just going to say that it's set initially at the time of the 68 Special, Elvis is on set with his long-term girlfriend Dorothy Valens.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Dorothy, his long-term girlfriend

Word count: 2.5K

TWs: Unconventional relationships, emotional manipulation, foot stuff, use of mama in a sexual context, sub/dom dynamics, praise kink, cum licking, smut.

Elvis tinkles around on the piano for the umpteenth time, starting a tune and then stopping again before it gets to the chorus. His girlfriend frowns at him from her position reclining languorously on the little sofa. Dorothy knows that something is bothering him, but for whatever reason he won't come out and say it. She picks at her nail polish, then lights a cigarette. The smell seems to snap Elvis out of his reverie and he sits up and closes the piano lid with a clunk.

“I think we haveta break up with her.”

“Why's that?” She asks, blowing out a steady plume of smoke and then leaning forward to offer him the cigarette.

He takes it with a sigh, inhaling deeply and savouring the nicotine hit before responding. 

“She’s so needy, Dodo. So clingy. Everywhere I went, she popped up. We gotta… she’s too much, baby.”

“Hmmm.” Dorothy gestures for the return of the cigarette. “Are you sure this isn't just nerves?”

He almost pouts in response. “Nerves?”

“I know this is a lot for you, baby. This whole, Elvis special thingy. She seems the same to me, she’s always been a little needy. Thought you liked it, actually.”

She indulges in another couple of drags before passing the cigarette back. Elvis pauses to think about just quite how needy this girl had been in the past and exactly how much he’d enjoyed it. “I did, baby. But the uh… the fat man was askin’ about her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he inhales deeply. “So she’s gotta go really. It wasn’t so bad when I was jus’ doin’ the movies and she could play with you when I was on set. He barely saw her then. But now… it’s not worth the risk.”

Dorothy sighs. The Colonel is such a pain in the ass. She can’t understand why Elvis won’t ditch him, especially since his great idea for a TV special involves crooning a bunch of Christmas songs, but she knows better than to bring that up again, right now. 

“I guess you’re right.”

Moving from the piano stool to sit next to Dorothy on the sofa, he returns the cigarette for the last time. She finishes it and stubs it out in the large porcelain ashtray next to her. Elvis watches her lovingly, then takes the opportunity to scoot even closer, fixing her with his best puppy-dog eyes. 

“So… you’ve always been so good with her… I jus’ thought, maybe, Dodo…” His head is resting on her chest now, arm around her waist. 

She looks down at him. She knows he’s under a lot of pressure with this special, but it’s not as if this is the first time she’s had to be the bearer of bad news. In fact, the only time Elvis had ever broken up with the other girl was in a fit of rage, which he then tended to send Dorothy to fix for him, once he’d calmed down. 

“You want me to break up with her?” Her arms wrap around him automatically and he nuzzles into her body. 

“Well you’re just so empathetic, baby, and kind and… she’d take it better comin’ from you, don’tcha think?”

Dorothy can’t stop the groan of frustration that comes out of her mouth. “You say this every time, El.”

“Only ‘cause it’s true, Dodo,” he coos, taking her thumb and putting it in his mouth. Completing the look of a totally helpless infant lying in her arms. 

She feels soft for what she's about to say, but it's difficult to be hard when he looks like this. And he knows it. 

“Alright. But on one condition.”

“Anything, baby. You name it.”

“I get to pick the next one. On my own.”

Elvis sucks her thumb and reflects. He doesn’t like the idea of giving up control over something so important, but then again he really doesn’t want to have to tell this girl she’s too needy and he doesn’t want to see her anymore. And Dorothy has good taste. They’ve been together for a long time and he trusts her. 

“Okay.”

Dorothy feels a rush of excitement. She hadn’t been sure he’d agree to her choosing on her own, he was always a bit of a control freak with the girls, but now that he has she’s excited. Finally she can pick someone a little more to her liking. Someone she might have to babysit a little less. 

“Great. Well, I guess I better do it now then. Pull the band-aid off.”

Elvis sits up, moving her thumb and cupping her cheek with his hand, pressing his lips against hers. 

“I love you.”

She tries not to laugh at his obviously transactional declaration of love. 

“I love you too El. See you later.”

She picks her way out of the dressing room and through the guys who are all sitting around on chairs outside. Spotting a couple of faces she doesn't recognise, she makes a mental note to ask Jerry about them tomorrow. Hopefully by the time she's back they'll all have gone home. It's late already, and the fact that they're still here irritates her a little. Wandering across the set she finds the girl she's looking for and suggests they go out someplace for a drink.  

***

The conversation goes about as well as Dorothy had expected it to. There’s a lot of crying and asking why. She tries to be as comforting as she can, but it’s not easy. It’s absolutely draining, if she’s honest, and she can see why Elvis doesn’t want to do it. She stands there, hugging the girl and stroking her hair, and thinks that the next one definitely needs to be a little more emotionally robust than this. Sure, it’s a shame that Elvis Presley and his girlfriend have broken up with you, but at least you had some fun for a while. It’s more than most 20 year olds can say. 

Eventually untangling herself from the mess of limbs and tears, she sends the other girl away in a cab and gets back into her own car, driving back to the studio. To her relief the guys have gone home, although they've left the chairs haphazardly outside. She rolls her eyes, rearranging them so it's actually possible to get into the dressing room. It’s dark when she opens the door, aside from a trail of candles that leads through the first room and into the back one. She can't help cracking a smile at Elvis’ attempt at a romantic apology, though she's convinced it must be a fire hazard. She finds him, looking very pleased with himself, sitting in the middle of the bed wearing nothing but a silken robe. 

“Dodo.”

“El, you're going to burn the studio down,” she tells him with a little tut.

He pouts. “Jus’ tryna say thank you.”

Humming, she puts a lamp on, carefully blowing the candles out.

“How'd it go?” He calls to her, as she finally blows out the last one, on the top of the baby grand.

“Ugh. Well, she cried, she begged, I hugged her, sent her home in a cab with a little cash.” Dorothy doesn’t especially like the last bit, but she’s been persuaded of the merits of breaking up with girls and leaving them with no reason to go to the press. 

“I’m sorry, honey.” He genuinely is sorry. He hates the fact that she has to break up with these girls, but he doesn't see another option.

She wanders back into the room and can't help smirking at him now she's no longer concerned about an imminent blaze. His hair is all tousled and his robe is half way up his thighs. Okay, so maybe having to be the one to do the dirty work is worth it sometimes. 

Kicking her shoes off, she undoes her dress and removes that too, so she’s just standing in her underwear and stockings, looking down at him. Warmth spreads between her legs and she's sure she can see the outline of his excitement too.

“Open your robe,” she instructs, biting her lower lip. “I wanna see you.”

Elvis blushes. “Oh, uh… honey…”

“C’mon now, no need to be bashful with me. I’ve seen it before.”

Even after seven years together, he still feels exposed when he's naked and she's just looking at him. But after what she’s done for him today, he does feel like he owes her. So he undoes the robe and lets it fall open, exposing his already half-hard dick. 

“Mmmmm.” Even after seven years together,  Dorothy still reacts the same way to his dick as she did the first time she saw it. It always makes her mouth water. 

His eyes flick down to her stockinged feet and she notices, knowing exactly what he wants. Sitting on the bed by his hips, she moves her foot so that it presses against his balls. He makes a little noise of approval and she presses a little more. His dick gets noticeably harder. 

“Missed you,” he mumbles. 

He has missed spending time with her like this. The other girls had a habit of getting in the way, since they were always around. That’s probably his fault, but he can’t help it. He loves company, hates to be alone. Sometimes he forgets that he and Dorothy are not the same and assumes she wants someone by her side 24/7 as well. 

She smiles. “What d’you want, pumpkin?”

His blush deepens at the pet name. He hasn’t heard it for a while and he’s missed being called it too. 

“Sooties,” he mumbles again. 

She giggles and shifts so that she's lying beside him, kissing him as her fingers find their way into his hair. He pulls her close, enjoying the skin on skin contact. As she slides her leg between his he starts to roll his hips against her, the friction building a little pleasure already.

“You can rub yourself on my sooties, but no cumming until you’ve made mama cum, hm?” She tells him, as they pull apart. 

He nods quickly, scooting down her body to settle between her legs, adjusting one so that her foot fits just under his dick, her toes against his balls. He’s so intent on getting her foot where he wants it that he completely fails to notice she’s still got her panties on. 

“Goddamnit.”

She giggles again. “You can tear them.”

They’re thin and gauzy and it takes him all of ten seconds to rip them off her. She groans a little at the show of dominance and then groans a little more as he dives into her, tongue licking a stripe up her pussy before settling to draw circles around her clit. 

“Mmmmm, pumpkin.”

She writhes against his mouth, pushing her hips up against him, hands running over her belly, then her breasts, grabbing one as she closes her eyes and savours the pleasure rushing through her body. His hands press her thighs a little further apart as he rolls his hips against the bed, rubbing his dick against her foot, moving the foreskin back and forth. He moans into her pussy at the feeling, his tongue deep inside her now as his nose nudges her clit. The sound vibrates inside her and she squeals with pleasure. Elvis loves it when she squeals. She’s very vocal in bed generally but a squeal is a sign of him doing something very good indeed, and so he keeps rubbing and moaning and pushing his tongue further inside her until her hands are on his head, holding him there as she bucks up against his face. 

“Yes. Fuck, fuck… oh I’m so close pumpkin.”

He can barely breathe at this point, but he can grunt and groan and he keeps doing that until he hears a tell-tale squeal accompanied by her fist slamming into the mattress. 

“Oh, yes! Good boy. Fuuuuck.”

She lets his head go and he gasps for air, but wastes no time chasing his own high; kneeling now, holding her foot against him as he uses his other hand to jack himself off, grunting and groaning.

“Mmmm yes, that's a good boy, cum for me,” Dorothy coos again. She's still breathing hard from her orgasm but her eyes are bright and she's as excited as she always is to see him cum.

She shifts to put her other foot up on his thigh and he shoves his dick between the two of them, delighting in the way her feet squeeze it. 

“Ah…shit…I'm gonna cum…”

He groans again as his release spurts all over her pretty little feet. Letting them go, his head tips back as he moans softly, pleasure buzzing through his veins. Dorothy giggles and shuffles her feet up and down on his thighs. 

“C'mon pumpkin. Lick ‘em clean.”

Prising his eyes open he picks up first one foot and then the other, carefully licking the cum off them and then pressing kisses all over the tops and the soles, reverently.

“Mmm. Thank you, mama.” Lying down next to her in the bed, one arm casually thrown over her belly. “Sorry ‘bout the panties.”

She turns and nuzzles his nose with hers. “S’ok baby, I know you'll buy me more.”

“Course I will.”

They lie there for a while, enjoying the post-coital bliss and the feeling of one another's bodies so close. Dorothy’s mind drifts to the next day. 

“What're you doing tomorrow?”

Pressing a series of lazy kisses to her neck, he tries to force his mind to remember tomorrow's itinerary.

“Rehearsing somethin’ or other. Dance routine or somethin’...” he trails off, going back to his kisses. 

Dorothy smiles. “Sounds like a fun watch.”

“Mmmm.”

“You want me to stay, don't you?” She asks, suddenly. 

He looks up, surprised. “Of course I do, baby. Wanna know what ya think.”

She nods, reassured. “I can't wait to see you up there. Doing what you're supposed to be doing.”

He smiles. Dorothy's faith in him is half the reason he's doing this special in the first place. People might think the other half is because the Colonel wants him doing it, but it's really because of Steve Binder. There's something about his honesty and the seriousness with which he's taken this whole thing which fills Elvis with hope - a feeling that's been sadly lacking from this decade so far. He thinks back to the moment when he decided Steve was someone he could trust - he'd asked where his career was and Steve had just said “in the toilet”. It had been refreshing to hear something so candid. Dorothy could be candid from time to time, but the guys certainly couldn't. As he pulls the covers over the pair of them and turns the light off, he hopes desperately in the dark. Hopes for rebirth, recognition, revelation. Hopes against hope that this special will finally get him back on track.

☆☆☆

Taglist:

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

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters

[promptedwordsmith]

Might I HUMBLY request Xavier x reader where he’s all pouty because you’ve been busy with work and ignoring him and you accidentally raise your voice at him because he keeps trying to speak to you but ur busy and he starts crying. Yup. I’d like to order that meal please I live for crybaby Xavier 🏃🏽‍♀️💨

Hi! I love this I put my spin on crying Xavier because he is my no.1 pookie and he seems to me like the type that cries whe he annoyed or feels wronged (because I do)

Xavier sat on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the back of your head as if he could will you to turn around and finally look at him. He had been patient—remarkably patient, in his opinion—but after hours of watching you hunched over your computer, completely ignoring his presence, his patience was wearing dangerously thin.

He had tried everything to get your attention. At first, he’d settled for subtle tactics: stretching exaggeratedly, sighing loudly, shifting on the couch in a way that made the leather creak just enough to be noticeable. When that failed, he moved on to more obvious methods, like standing behind you, resting his chin on your head, and wrapping his arms around your shoulders in what should have been a distraction too sweet to ignore.

But you hadn’t even flinched.

So now, he was pouting.

Xavier would never admit to pouting, of course, but that was exactly what he was doing. His lower lip was slightly pushed out, his silver brows were drawn together in a frown, and he was sinking lower and lower into the couch, his entire body exuding sulky displeasure.

How long had it been now? Two hours? Three? He was certain it had been at least half the day.

His fingers drummed against his knee. Maybe he should just grab your laptop and toss it across the room. That would get your attention. Or maybe he should act like he was in grave distress—clutch his chest, groan dramatically, collapse onto the floor. Surely that would get you to look at him.

Instead, he settled for the next best thing.

With all the grace and stealth he possessed, Xavier slid off the couch, crawling onto the floor until he was sitting directly beside your chair. His head tilted up as he stared at you, waiting for even the smallest reaction.

Nothing.

He scowled. "Are you planning to stare at that screen all night?"

"Mmhm," you hummed, not even sparing him a glance.

His frown deepened. "You do realize I’m here, right?"

Another vague noise of acknowledgment.

Xavier narrowed his eyes. He had been ignored before, sure, but this was just unfair.

And now, he had made it his mission to break your focus.

Xavier, determined as ever, let out a small sigh before lifting his hand. His Evol hummed to life, and the glow of your laptop screen flickered, dimming until it was barely visible. Then, with a subtle flick of his fingers, the display distorted, the text shifting and swirling like ink in water.

You let out a frustrated groan. "Xavier!"

He blinked up at you innocently. "Yes?"

"Please! I need to get this report done. I'm not getting behind on work because you want attention!"

In your frustration, you snapped the laptop shut with more force than intended before throwing it open again, fingers immediately resuming their frantic typing. Your words were sharp, harsher than you meant, but at that moment, all you could focus on was meeting your deadline.

You didn’t notice the way Xavier's eyes widened slightly, the way his usual playful demeanor stiffened ever so slightly. You didn’t notice how he stared at you, as if seeing something he hadn’t expected.

What you did notice was the quiet click of the door.

Not a slam, not an angry exit—just a calm, deliberate departure. The sound, barely loud enough to be distracting under normal circumstances, echoed in your mind like a deafening crack.

Your fingers froze on the keyboard.

Oh.

You exhaled, a sharp pang of guilt settling in your chest as the weight of your own words replayed in your mind. You hadn’t meant to snap. You hadn’t meant to push him away.

But you had.

Xavier was never demanding. He was persistent, sure, but never unreasonable. And now, instead of arguing or pouting, he had simply… left.

You swallowed, glancing toward the door.

Would he come back if you waited? Maybe he just needed air. Maybe you were overreacting.

But then you thought of his expression before he left—the quiet hurt hidden beneath the usual calm.

With a sigh, you pushed your chair back, standing up. Work could wait. Xavier, however, shouldn’t have to.

You hesitated outside Xavier’s apartment, the weight of the cookie container in your hands suddenly feeling heavier than it should. The trip up here had felt longer than usual, your own guilt dragging your steps.

You took a breath. Just apologise.

Slipping inside, you expected to see him sprawled out dramatically on the couch, maybe with a pillow over his face, sulking like a cat deprived of attention. Instead, what you found made your stomach twist.

Xavier was sitting on the couch, his body angled toward the window, bathed in the cold glow of the city lights. The usual warmth he carried was nowhere to be found. He was still, too still.

You stepped closer, keeping your voice light despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "Okay, okay, I get it. I was a little harsh, but you were being insufferable—"

You stopped.

Even in the dim lighting, you could see the quiet tears slipping down his cheeks. He wasn’t sobbing, wasn’t making a sound, but the sight was somehow worse. He looked like he wasn’t even aware he was crying, like his emotions had bled through before he could stop them.

Your breath caught in your throat. "Xavier…"

You surged forward instinctively, placing the cookies on the table with a soft clatter before cupping his cheeks in your hands. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, but he didn’t lean into the touch like he usually would.

Instead, he turned his face slightly, firmly ignoring you.

The rejection, soft as it was, stung.

"Xavier," you tried again, thumbs brushing over the damp trails left by his tears. "Talk to me."

Nothing.

His jaw tensed under your touch, and his hands, usually so quick to grab onto you, remained clenched in his lap. The Xavier you knew, the one who teased and pouted and wormed his way into every aspect of your life, felt so distant now.

You swallowed. "I didn’t mean to snap at you," you whispered, your voice softer now, less desperate, more honest. "I was frustrated, not with you—well, okay, maybe a little with you—but mostly with myself."

His shoulders twitched, barely a reaction, but enough for you to see you were getting through.

You took a breath, shifting so you were kneeling between his legs, forcing him to either look at you or go on stubbornly ignoring your presence.

"You can be a pain, you know?" You smiled a little, trying to coax something, anything, out of him. "But you’re my pain, and I was an idiot for pushing you away like that."

Still, silence.

Then, finally, a breath.

"You always do that." His voice was quiet, rough in a way you weren’t used to. "Always throw yourself into things and forget that someone’s waiting for you to look up."

You blinked.

Xavier exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if he was annoyed with himself. "I don’t even know why I…" He trailed off, hands finally moving—but not to hold you. Instead, he wiped at his own face as if frustrated that he had let himself cry in front of you at all.

You felt your chest ache.

There was something heavier in his words, something unspoken. A kind of familiar grief that didn’t make sense in the context of one small fight.

But that was a question for another time.

Right now, you just wanted him to know he mattered.

So you leaned in, pressing your forehead gently against his. "I’ll look up more," you promised, closing your eyes. "I’ll pay attention. I swear, Xavier."

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, his hands finally reached for you.

Not playful, not teasing—just holding on.

Like he was afraid of something.

Like he was afraid of losing you.

Xavier didn’t speak right away. He just held onto you, his hands gripping your arms, thumbs brushing over your skin as if reassuring himself that you were really there. His forehead was still pressed against yours, warm and steady, but there was a hesitance in the way he held you—like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away again.

You weren’t going to.

Slowly, he exhaled, finally shifting back just enough to look at you properly. His blue eyes were still damp, still heavy with something unsaid, but there was a quiet resolution there now. He lifted your hands from where they rested against his chest, cradling them carefully between his own.

Then, with a gentleness that made your breath catch, he brought them to his lips.

His lips brushed over your knuckles, lingering in a way that made your heart ache. "I need you to be serious about this," he murmured, voice low, but firm. "Not just saying it to make me feel better."

You swallowed, guilt tightening in your throat.

"I mean it," he continued, pressing another soft kiss to your fingers. "I want to spend time with you, and if you’re too busy, then fine—just let me help. If it’s your report, I’ll help you with it. If you’re stuck, I’ll be there." He squeezed your hands gently, his expression open, unguarded in a way you weren’t used to. "I just want to be with you. However I can."

Your heart clenched.

You’d been so focused on your work, so lost in the constant cycle of getting things done, that you hadn’t even considered how Xavier might feel about it. He didn’t just want attention—he wanted to be with you. He wanted to be a part of your world, not just something on the outside waiting for a moment of your time.

You lifted your hands, cupping his face once more, smoothing your thumbs over his cheekbones. This time, when he leaned into your touch, there was no resistance.

"I promise," you whispered.

Then, before he could say anything else, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was sweet, slow—not rushed or desperate, but full of warmth. A promise sealed with something softer than words. Xavier made a quiet sound against your lips, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.

When you finally pulled back, he exhaled, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You sure you won’t need me to break your screen again?"

You laughed, pressing your forehead to his. "No breaking my laptop. But…" You smiled. "I wouldn’t mind your help next time."

His smirk softened into something fonder, something real.

"Good," he murmured, pulling you in again. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

And this time, you believed him.

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤㅤִㅤ ݁ ꉂ punishing bratty sub!matt ᴖ ֽ ㅤᷭ

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺⠀⠀tread carefully, my dears, for the words that follow are not for the faint of heart: what lies ahead is smut, a dance of desire that might just set your pulse racing. proceed if you dare.

warnings: smut. explicit nsfw. dom/sub dynamics. sexual frustration. begging. orgasm denial. teasing. power play.

give your own punishment to bratty sub!matt with this c.ai bot here!

═══════════════════════════ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . 　 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

you were nestled in matt's room, the atmosphere charged with a tension only solitude could bring, since nick and chris had left for a party with madison, leaving you and matt to your own devices for the night.

the day had been a test of patience with matt's bratty behavior, his sarcasm and insolence leading you to the silent treatment, your attention now on the book in your lap, wrapped in one of his t-shirts that declared i love matt sturniolo. — yeah, he gave that one to you on purpose. but matt was relentless in his need for your attention, rubbing desesperately against your thigh, his whimpers like music in the quiet room. "please, y/n, i need your touch so fucking bad," he whined, his voice desperate, his body pressing closer, seeking any form of contact.

you tried to ignore him, focusing on your book, but his desperation was palpable, his cock leaking, making the fabric of his pants stick to your skin, his movements needy, his breath hot against your neck. "i'm sorry, i'm so fucking sorry for being such a prick, please forgive me," he pleaded, his voice breaking with sincerity, his eyes wide, begging for forgiveness. finally, your resolve wavered.

you turned to him, your gaze stern but your body betraying your arousal. "you think you can just misbehave and then get what you want?" you asked, your voice low, laced with a promise. "come on, i'm your fucktoy, please, use me, abuse me, punish me." he moaned, his hands moving to touch himself, but you grabbed his wrists, pinning them down with authority.

"you want my attention? then you're going to earn it," you declared, your tone commanding while your gaze slid down, watching his cock throb, pre-cum leaking from the tip, his pants now visibly wet.

with slow deliberation, you moved your hand to his crotch, palming him through the fabric, making him buck and gasp. "fuck, y/n, let me feel your hand on my cock, please," he begged, his voice thick with lust, his pretty blue eyes filling with tears of frustration. you pulled his pants down, his cock springing free, swollen and dripping with need, twitching when you took him in your hand, his skin hot and slick, and began stroking him slowly, torturously. his moans were loud, desperate, his hips thrusting into your hand. "oh fuck, don't stop, i fucking need this," he pleaded, his body trembling. but you wanted to hear more, to see him more undone. you leaned down, your breath hot on his cock before taking him into your mouth; his taste was intoxicating, his moans a symphony to your ears.

you swirled your tongue around his head, sucking him deep, his hands in your hair, pulling but not guiding, completely at your mercy. "i need your tight fucking pussy on my cock, it's all i can think about, please," he gasped out, his voice a mix of agony and ecstasy, his pleas turning into a litany of need. you paused, letting him feel the absence of your mouth, watching him squirm, his cock twitching. "you think you deserve to come after acting like such a little shit?" you taunted, your voice a mix of dominance and desire. "i'm nothing without you, i fucking need you, your pussy, your control. i'd be lost without you," he cried out, his hands clutching at your hips, trying to urge you on, but you kept still, denying him. "i'll do anything, anything to feel you again, please, keep friggin' touching me, i'll do whatever you want," he promised, his voice desperate, cock pulsing in your hand and begging for release. you decided to prolong his torment, increasing your pace with your hand, watching him squirm, his pleas turning into incoherent babbling. "i'm your good boy, i'm such a good boy for you," he whimpered, salty tears of pleasure sliding down his cheeks. you slowed down again, teasing him, enjoying the power you had over him. "you can't live without my touch, can you?" you taunted, knowing the effect your words had on him.

"i can't fucking live without feeling you, please, i'm begging you, don't leave me like this, use me, make me your fucktoy, i'm here for you to use and abuse," he begged, his voice a desperate whine, his body shaking with need. finally, feeling both his need and your own desire peak, you decided to end his torment. you straddled him, slowly lowering yourself onto his aching cock, feeling him stretch you, fill you.

his eyes rolled back, a sob escaping as you started to move, riding him with deliberate slowness. "you're mine to use," you whispered, and with those words, you controlled his pleasure, his cries filling the room as he felt the climax approaching. "you're such a good boy, matt, come for me," you whispered, and with those words, he shattered beneath you, his orgasm hitting him like a wave, his body convulsing with the intensity of his release, cumming hard inside you. as he came down from his high, you lay beside him, his breath ragged, his eyes full of gratitude and love. "i love you so much, y/n."

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

my murder of crows: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz @mattswifeyy

in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist.

[somepsychopomp]

well. I've tricked myself into shipping Ares/Telemachus now, so I'm gonna make it a problem for everyone else.

imagine Ares post-Ithaca saga, where he got to watch Odysseus (and his son) slaughter 108 screaming, crying men in their own home. That's super cruel and warlike and hot! Sadly, Ody seems to be really smitten with his wife. Now, Ares can transform himself into a copy of Penelope, but he doesn't think he can pull off her mannerisms well enough to trick the little king into sleeping with him.

So plan B. He's gonna court Odysseus' son (who he denies once calling pathetic and weak).

Since trickery isn't really Ares' style, he thinks the much better option is to ride over the ocean in his chariot of charred metal and flames, pulled by his infernal horses with their golden reins in his hand, dressed in full armor as he breaches Ithaca.

Ares finds Telemachus at the most perfect time possible, when the prince is far away from anyone else. What a coincidence! (He def didn't bribe Hermes to give up Telemachus' current location.)

Telemachus screeches as a giant man in a magic chariot pulls up to the fresh mountain spring where he was once bathing in peace. Now, Telemachus just went through his whole training arc with Athena and is in the woods on a hunting trip, so he's more than able to defend himself.

Just as he thinks Ares is about to attack, he lunges out of the water and reaches for his bow and arrows.

A coward's weapon? Ares wonders, sneering beneath his polished helm. Then he sees the spear next to them and he sighs quietly with relief.

"Who are you?" Telemachus demands, nude and sparkling in the sunlight, the beads of water on his skin shining like pearls. He's also aiming his arrow at Ares' forehead.

Cute, Ares thinks. The boy has the build of a young warrior- strong but slender limbs, a narrow waist, some soft wispy curls at his lower abdomen.

He would look even better in my arms.

"Peace!" Ares calls out, though it somewhat sickens him to do so. He removes his helm and offers the young prince a smile, "I've not come here to cause bloodshed. It seems there's been enough of that already."

Telemachus lowers his bow, still suspicious but undoubtedly curious.

Ares deigns to match the prince in dress, his armor dissolving into flames around his body before fading all at once, revealing his flawless, nude form in all its glory. Telemachus' face flashes bright pink, his gaze averting as if he were a little maiden.

Ares cups his face and forces their eyes to meet.

"I saw the way you slew the men laying waste to your home. Not terrible work," Ares says, his voice a low and rough purr like the rolling of chariot wheels across a battlefield, "But you lacked ferocity, and that led to your capture."

Just as it was doing now.

Ares' other hand touches Telemachus' bow, wrenching away the offending instrument, for it could hardly be considered a weapon at all, and takes the prince's hand in his own. Ares kisses the heel of his palm, appreciating the gritty touch of callouses, and offers Telemachus another smile.

"I could show you otherwise," Ares offered.

Telemachus, his face still bright red, gives him a strange look. Too late, Ares realizes that the prince isn't staring at him, but something behind him.

He cries out in pain as something sharp stabs him in the side. He lets go of Telemachus, wheeling around to find the King of Ithaca himself. And unlike his son, Odysseus is fully dressed. (A shame.)

"What do you think you're doing with my boy?" he asks, his voice cold, his eyes calculating. Odysseus hefts the spear, the pointed end glistening with ichor.

Ares is beyond frustrated, but knows the chances of courting the prince have vanished by this point. Now, he wouldn't say no to having his way with Odysseus. Ares did have a fondness for savage warriors, and was admittedly impressed with how a mortal man managed to catch him by surprise.

But it seems that today simply will not be the day he gets to play with the little wolf or his father.

Trying to salvage the last of his composure, Ares leaves them and returns to Olympus where he roars for Hermes. His little brother shows up, kicking his feet with glee.

"Run into trouble again, Ares?" Hermes asks.

Ares grabs hold of Hermes by his chiton, "Why didn't you tell me the prince wasn't alone?"

An eye roll. "You never asked!"

Typical. Ares will lick his wounds before going to Aphrodite. If anyone could offer him counsel here, it would be his lover.

[writingdevil]

Hello, you said you were talking writing prompts so I was wondering if you could write about hunter and stubborn giving each other fighting lessons?

pd: sorry if the message looks a little cold

ppd: I love your writing

(Your message looks fine, don't worry! I'll always love Hunted and Stubborn's dynamic! Thank you for liking my writing, and I hope you enjoy this prompt as well!)

"Ugh, Hunted!"

Hunted immediately froze at Stubborn's frustrated outburst, claws digging into the ground to fight his urge to run away from the negative impact about to come his way.

Instead, Hunted slowly lifted his head, looking over his shoulder to find Stubborn half way across the patch of land they deemed the fighting arena.

Stubborn sighed and crossed his arms, looking disappointed but not too mad, which was the most important thing in Hunted's opinion.

"Hunted! This isn't sparring!" Stubborn exclaimed, and Hunted tilted his head to the side in confusion. "It's not?" he asked, "But you attack and I dodge-isn't that sparring?" Stubborn rolled his eyes as he walked over to him, but Hunted noticed the fondness in Stubborn's actions, so his body relaxed further.

Stubborn walked up until Hunted was drowning in his shadow. Stubborn ran a hand through the unruly feathers at the top of his head as he said, "Yeah, technically. But if all you're doing is running away from me, it's not much of a spar, is it? We sure as hell aren't getting anything from it."

Hunted would argue that they were getting something out of it-exercise was an important factor in staying alive, but he knew Stubborn didn't care about any of that. Stubborn wanted to find something to get his blood pumping and for him to succeed in.

Hunted wasn't exactly sure what else he could do to fix that though, and he lowered his head, unsure of how to quench Stubborn's thirst of adrenaline. They stood there in an awkward silence for a few minutes, before Stubborn suddenly went, "Wait! I got it!"

Hunted jumped at the sudden outburst, but didn't back away in fright. He just bunched his shoulders up into his neck as he looked up at Stubborn.

He had an enthusiastic and mischievous grin that Hunted didn't like as he said, "What if we switch things up?"

"How so?"

Stubborn poked Hunted in the chest hard enough to almost cause him to topple, and said, "What if you were the one attacking next time?" Hunted pushed Stubborn's hand away with a frown, if only to ignore the anxiety forming in his chest. "What do you mean?"

"How about we go a round where you attack me, and I have to run away and dodge what you do?" Stubborn was giving him an encouraging look, but something about this was rubbing Hunted the wrong way. "I'm not sure," he admitted, but Stubborn wasn't discouraged-of course he wasn't.

"C'mon! It's something new!" Stubborn said, looking more confident in the idea by the second. "We'll try and fight like each other-maybe we'll learn something that'll keep us safe in the future."

That prospect did interest Hunted. Stubborn was always too reckless for his own good, never looking at a situation with logic or reasoning. If Hunted could pass off even one lesson of survival to him, then it would be a successful fight to him.

He looked up into Stubborn's eyes, who no doubt could see the fire in his own, and said, "Okay, let's try it."

"Yes!" Stubborn cheered, twisting around and practically running back to his side of the arena. Hunted silently went to his, wondering why there was a bundle of nerves in his chest about this idea. He quickly pushed that feeling to the back of his mind, turning around and nodding to Stubborn.

Stubborn's grin was almost ravenous as he began counting down. "Alright! Go on three! One-"

Hunted gulped, crouching down into position.

"-Two!"

It was just sparring. It was just sparring. It was just-

"Three!"

Before Hunted could even register what he was doing, his body took off-pounding across the dirt to Stubborn, whose face flashed with surprise for a split second, before it was replaced with an excited grin, and he spun around to run away from him.

Hunted barely had to think before he jumped and leaped at Stubborn, clinging to his back and forcing him to fall on his face with a swear.

Hunted sat on Stubborn's back casually, patting him to get his attention. Stubborn shot him a glare over his shoulder as Hunted calmly explained, "Don't run in a straight line. Try to confuse and lose your enemy by twisting and zigzagging around. Don't make it easy to be caught."

"Okay, okay, got it." Stubborn said, and then he sighed-before shooting to his feet, causing Hunted to be thrown off and crashing to the ground. He growled quietly as he heard Stubborn's cock laughter.

Hunted immediately bolted over to where Stubborn was running, and this time, Stubborn kept glancing over his shoulder, until Hunted got close enough to grab at his wings, and then Stubborn suddenly dove to the left, tucking himself into a ball before getting back to his feet.

Hunted blinked at the space where Stubborn had previously been, and then he smiled. He chased after Stubborn again.

They were like that for the next few minutes, with Hunted coming after Stubborn, and Stubborn doing everything he could to avoid Hunted. It wasn't as much of an adrenaline rush as Hunted thought it would be, but maybe that was because he was the pursuer for once.

But then Hunted managed to run up directly next to Stubborn-and then he just kept getting closer and closer, until the feathers on his arms were grazing his head.

Stubborn shot him a look of puzzled amusement and said, "What are you doing? Attack me!" Hunted shook his head. "Don't wanna hurt you." Stubborn barked a laugh out, then responded with, "That's the whole point of fighting, Hunted! C'mon, I can take it!"

But something inside Hunted wasn't sure about that, but Stubborn kept goading him, trying anything to get him to strike, and Hunted knew that Stubborn wouldn't be satisfied unless he complied.

So he took a deep breath in, and swung his claws at Stubborn.

Stubborn backed off just in time, and Hunted's claws felt nothing but air, thankfully. But now Stubborn seemed more excited than ever, standing his ground and gesturing towards himself. "That's what I want, Hunted! Do it again!" Judging by how Stubborn refused to move, it seemed like he wanted Hunted to strike first.

Hunted sighed, before rushing forward again, aiming for Stubborn's leg, who managed to sidestep away at the last minute with a victorious cackle. Hunted tried again, aiming for his side, but Stubborn basically just shoved him away.

Frustration was starting to build up within Hunted, but he wasn't sure why. He wasn't in danger, and Stubborn was successfully avoiding getting hurt. This should all be a good thing to Hunted.

"What's the matter, Hunty?" Stubborn taunted with a knowing smirk. "I thought you were supposed to be an expert at this stuff."

"Expert at surviving," Hunted clarified, but he still sighed sharply in annoyance as Stubborn avoided his swipes once again. "Surviving doesn't always mean fighting."

"Yeah, but what are you gonna do if you're backed into a corner?" Stubborn suddenly took a huge step forward, making Hunted instinctively back away. "Are you gonna lay down and let them rip you open?" A flicker of rage shot through his core, and he panted, balling his hands into fists. "Because it sure as hell doesn't look like you're as capable as you think you are."

Hunted let a warning growl out, but that just made a look of dark glee flash across Stubborn's face. Stubborn chuckled, and the sound was so full of cocky arrogance that Hunted bared his teeth at him. "I'm not even sure you could protect the flock if you tried-"

That's it.

Hunted shouted in rage, lunging forward with his jaws snapping open, and there was suddenly a swear from Stubborn, and the taste of metal in Hunted's mouth.

He froze, dread pooling in his stomach, as Stubborn stumbled backwards, clutching his other arm in shock, and that was when Hunted realized that he was tasting blood in his mouth.

His body began to tremble, and he could do nothing but stare as Stubborn blinked wildly and looked down at his arm.

There was a few seconds of silence, and Hunted was waiting for the moment that Stubborn exploded upon him for drawing blood-but that never happened.

Slowly, a grin formed on Stubborn's face, and he started to quietly laugh, before it erupted into maniacal laughter, and raised his arm to show Hunted.

There were two small cuts in Stubborn's arm-Hunted's fangs must have only grazed his arm, thankfully. It wasn't deep, and Stubborn certainly wasn't in danger of dying, but still-Hunted did that.

Hunted attacked a member of his flock. He bared his fangs at them and drew blood. Waves of disgust were crashing into him, because that was the last thing Hunted ever wished to do. He loved every member of his flock so much, and he would do anything to ensure their survival. He would rather slice his own throat than harm them.

But then why, for a moment, did he enjoy the taste of blood?

"Yes, Hunted!" Stubborn yelled, bringing the other back to reality. He didn't seem angry at his injury-in fact, Stubborn actually looked more bloodthirsty than before. He stomped on the ground once, and it shook Hunted right to his bones. "That's what I'm talking about! Again! Let's do it again!"

Hunted didn't want to do this anymore. All he wanted to do was run away deep into the woods to get sick until the shame left his body-but he stayed put.

He stood up straight, preparing to attack again, mentally ignoring and pushing away all the disgust in his stomach, because Stubborn didn't need that. The flock didn't need that. They just needed Hunted to protect them, and not know what a monster he could be.

His priority should be the flock, and never the creature that lurked within Hunted.

So he ran away from it, and charged at Stubborn again.

[jennchecks]

.

[secriden]

I woke up this morning still thinking about Fadel waking up in Style's bed.

I wonder what was running through Fadel's head as he turned to look at Style, eyes still squinting against the too-bright morning light, the unfamiliar comfort of the shape of Style's name on his lips for the very first time. I wonder if he was too sleepy to process how strange it was that he didn't really mind being pinned down by the weight of Style's thigh thrown over his hips; that the sensation was grounding and reassuring rather than being confining or suffocating. I wonder if the thought crossed his mind that he wouldn't mind waking up like this again, wouldn't mind letting someone into his space, wouldn't mind giving someone the bared vulnerability of lying naked and unprotected with all the implications of unwavering trust that has -- not if it was with him.

I wonder if Fadel registered the way his heartbeat is steady and calm despite the strange surroundings and unfamiliar bed, because something in him has already labelled the person lying next to him as safe.

I wonder if Fadel even understood that this, right here, in all its quiet and unacknowledged stillness, was the moment he fell in love?

[sheryl-lee]

soooo turns out i have condylar resorption, a severe degenerative joint disease that causes gradual bone loss of the mandibular condyles (the bones that are part of the jaw joints, aka the TMJs). this has probably been going on i was a kid but went diagnosed all this time. my symptoms like functional issues, pain, etc. were repeatedly dismissed by doctors my whole life. the pain and dysfunction is increasing more and more by the day.

it's a progressive disease, and nothing can stop it or slow it down until the joints are completely eaten away. the only solution to prevent further bone loss and restore function is a total temporomandibular joint replacement, where the two diseased joints that literally hold my face together are removed and permanently replaced with metal prostheses. aka a major surgery with a 6-12 month recovery 😃

[stresskidz]

*hides ateez accounts because of the europe tour*

*gets them recommended in my fyp*

I also just got off antidepressants after 10 years so my mood is as stable as a seesaw rn 😎

[the-casbah-way]

even though i really love what hrt is doing to me it has made me so self conscious because i know my body is changing more visibly now and i don't like the idea that people who know me very well will be able to see that. i just hate the idea of people looking at me. and i worry that the people i care about will like me less the more they look at me because i'm ugly

[sysig]

Cool guys, measured in C° (Patreon)

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

why does everything have to be a hecking issue with my sister

[mako-island-moon-pool]

Personally of the belief that live action fans who go onto animanga posts uninvited like 'I DESPERATELY NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT I THINK THE ART STYLE IS UGLY EVEN THO THIS OPINION IS IRRELEVANT TO THE POST' should be hit with a big rock. We already moved past this ten years ago, get with it or get lost. Swallow the hunger inside of you that demands everything be palatable to you. Maybe you could stand to be a little uncomfortable for a while

[jellogram]

None of my clothes fucking fit me anymore and I'm like leaning over the bathroom counter gritting my teeth going "this is fine this is fine this is fine" because I'm trying to dress cute for my night out but I haven't dressed cute in so long that none of my cool clothes fit me and I look ridiculous and I want to cry. I'm trying really hard to be okay with my weight but I have this really nice leather jacket I got for my birthday a few years ago and it's too small for me now.

[welcometogrouchland]

I'm on hiatus from thinking for the next while. Discursive and analytical fandom practices I love you so so much you are in everything I do, including the silliest of headcanons and comics but FUCK I am not equipped to think about. Anything right now

[izzy-b-hands]

One of the neighbours we share a wall with has a phone sitting entirely too close to said wall, and all. I. Can. Hear. Are the every two to five minute sharp little 'ping' of notifications going off for the last fucking hour and yea it's a soft noise but that's somehow worse for the love of fuck pick up the phone or turn off notifs jfc it's driving me fucking mad