#full body spray tan

[skipppppy]

So there’s a trend going round where you draw Miku inspired by your own culture and normally I just sit those out bc i’m from England but then the image of her covered in fake tan with the full chav makeup and sloppily bleached blue pigtails popped into my head and i almost threw up laughing. So here’s bri’ish Miku. She smells like impulse body spray and spent the last 30 minutes arguing with the teacher who told her to take her coat off. It’s chewsday innit

edit: i fucked up with the cigarette i know it’s the wrong way round blease stop making fun of me 😔💔

[steddiehyperfixation]

with blonde hair and a tan

steddie brainworms so bad i wrote this silly little thing immediately after watching the rocky horror picture show for the first time the other night lol @steddie-spooktober day 30: "where in the hell did you find that costume?" | 1083 words | T |

Eddie can hear Steve and Robin squabbling as he makes his way up the stairs to Steve's room. 

“I just don't know about this, Rob.” 

“It was your idea!” 

“It's too much. I should wear something else.” 

“Little late for that now.” 

“Well-”

“Where in the hell did you find that costume?” Eddie stops in the doorway, frozen in a state of shock at the scene in front of him. His mouth hangs open, eyes wide, and a sudden heat rises in his cheeks. 

Because Steve is standing in front of his mirror wearing only a tiny metallic gold speedo and matching gold boots, his great expanse of tanned skin and muscles and body hair on full display. Robin stands next to him with a spray can of wash out bleach-blonde hair dye at the ready. 

Steve looks over at Eddie. “It's too much, isn't it? I knew it. I told you,” he says to Robin, gesturing at Eddie as if his reaction proves his point. “Look at his face, even he's embarrassed for me.” 

Robin snorts. “Yeah, I don't think that's why he's blushing, Steve-o.” 

“No one’s even gonna know who I am,” Steve continues to complain, thankfully ignoring Robin’s comment. 

“Rocky,” Eddie says. His voice comes out weird and cracked; he clears his throat. “You're Rocky, from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” 

“See?” Now it's Robin’s turn to gesture towards Eddie in vindication. “Totally recognizable. Totally good. It's just one party, and you've got all that unwarranted jock confidence, you'll be fine.” She pats Steve on the shoulder, then turns and tosses the spray dye at Eddie. “Here. You can take over spraying his hair. I have to finish getting myself ready.” 

Eddie fumbles trying to catch the spray can, his attempt to stammer out a protest falling on deaf ears as Robin pushes past him out of the room. “Okay.” He sighs. This is fine. He can totally handle being left alone with this literal golden adonis without getting heart palpitations. He can be cool and chill and normal. He can. 

Steve looks amused. “You don't have to. I can probably manage spraying my own hair just fine,” he says when Eddie still hasn't moved. 

“No, I got it.” Eddie shakes his head, shaking himself into motion. “You won't be able to get the back right on your own anyways.” He approaches Steve - with great restraint, he might add, because there's a part of his brain that's all animal right now and it's just raring to pounce on him. “So are you done trying to talk yourself out of this costume, then?” 

Steve chews at his lip as he studies his reflection again. “I think so,” he decides. His gaze flicks up to meet Eddie's eyes in the mirror. “You really don't think it's too much?” 

Eddie breaks the mirror eye contact before his face can turn any more red, fixing his focus singularly on starting to spray the blonde dye onto Steve's hair. “No, you uh, you look good. You really should've warned me- told me, I mean, what you were gonna be. I would've matched your theme, could've gone as Dr. Frank N Furter.” (His current costume in comparison is quite boring, just a basic vampire - albeit with some pretty impressive fake blood around his mouth if he does say so himself, but ultimately nothing special.)

“Now that would be something,” Steve mutters, the words a little breathier all of the sudden, but Eddie still doesn't dare let his glance wander from his hair. His voice is back to normal in a second anyway. “Well, there's always next year.” 

“Yeah, next year,” Eddie echoes. That really would be something, both of them in flamboyantly skimpy costumes. He's not sure if that would make this situation better or worse for him. 

He pushes up some of Steve's hair to make sure he's covered all the layers in the back, his fingers accidentally brushing along the skin of his neck, and Steve shivers. Eddie finds himself watching with an odd satisfaction as the goosebumps ripple up in the wake of his touch. 

“I think I might freeze to death like this, though,” Steve comments with a self-deprecating chuckle that just barely conceals that weird breathiness that's returned to his voice. “I probably should've considered that before I decided to go out half naked at night in the middle of fall.” 

“I bet you could easily find someone to keep you warm tonight,” Eddie tells him, forcing detachment. He locks his attention back on his hair dyeing work. “You walk in there looking like this and you'll have all the girls at the party falling at your feet. Probably even some of the guys too,” he adds, remembering Steve recently came out as bisexual. 

“Yeah?” Steve sounds like he's smiling, or maybe smirking. He tries (unsuccessfully) to catch Eddie's eyes again as Eddie moves in front of him to get to the last few pieces of hair. “And what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Would you be one of them?” 

Eddie finishes with the hairspray, nothing left to keep using as an excuse to avoid his attention. He finally looks at Steve's face and raises an eyebrow, deflecting. “You want me to fall at your feet, Harrington?” 

Steve shakes his head almost imperceptibly. He glances down for a moment, then looks back up at him from under his lashes and takes a step closer. “I want you to keep me warm,” he clarifies in a murmur as he reaches for Eddie's free hand and guides it to hold his waist. Eddie's blood ignites at the touch and the look Steve's giving him, flames racing along his veins. 

That's as good an invitation as any, and Eddie's restraint shatters. He draws Steve hungrily to his lips. How could he not? The spray can falls from his grip in favor of using both hands to pull Steve closer and roam his body. And if Eddie's wandering hands linger for a while in their investigation of that perfect gold-clad ass, well that's between them and the lovely little sound Steve makes against his open mouth. 

And Robin, who has the misfortune of poking her head back into the room right then. 

She yelps and jumps out of view of the scene, banging her fist against the wall just next to the doorway to get their attention instead. “When you guys are done being gross,” she shouts, “there's a party we're gonna be late for!” 

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Steamy Situations 18+ (Alastor x reader)

Alastor x reader Rated: Adults only Warnings: Smut. It's shower smut. Female bodied reader. Careful with your shower sex.

Summary: You're hot and bored and your husband is busy working. If only there was a way you could distract him, get some of his attention and cool off.

Interested in a Audio version of this fic? Part 1 Part 2 PS: https://discord.gg/q8kqx7ss is an Alastor server a friend of mine started and https://discord.gg/HeEbAHju is a vox server another friend of mine started. More friends are always nice to have <3

~~~~~<3 He had been slouched over his fucking desk for hours, working away at scripts for the next week’s broadcasts. They were perfect, probably had been for a while but when he was stressed, the perfectionist came out in full force. 

The summer heat and humidity had sweat sticking to your skin. Though the curtains were closed all day to keep the harsh sun from warming the house any more than possible, it was hot. 

The silk of your slip clung to your back as you crossed the room, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. If you were hot and grimy feeling, he had to be too. 

He huffed at the interruption, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he mumbled, not looking up from the pages in his hands. 

“I didn’t-” 

“Don’t lie to me,” he set the papers down with a huff. “Can I do something for you?”

“I need a shower,” you said, running your palm up the back of his neck, threading your fingers into the short curls that had grown wild with the humidity.

“Take one?” He leaned back into your touch as tension slipped from his shoulders. 

“You need one as well.” Your thumb rubbed at the drop of sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

“It would appear so,” He said with a laugh, shifting to face you. “Do you have something in mind, my dear?” 

“Well,” you slipped into the space between his torso and the desk that had been newly opened up, “If you need a shower and I need a shower, we should both take a shower.”

“Good thing we have two showers!” Alastor’s grin was wide as you struggled against the urge to roll your eyes again. 

“Or,” you drew out the word as you ran your hand up his chest, “We could take one together.” 

“How scandalous.” He sounded anything but scandalized as he patted your thigh, light reflecting off the simple gold wedding band. “Let’s get on with it then.” 

~~~~~<3

You had innocent intentions, stepping into the bathroom. Honest. 

It’s just, when you saw his warm tan skin under the running water, sending the shampoo down the valleys and dips between his strong muscles, you found yourself feeling rather jealous. 

You hadn’t even intended for this to happen. One moment his shampoo was running down his chest and the next it was your hands. Soft, water cooled skin over firm muscles that spoke of how hard her worked to maintain the property jumped and twitched under your touch. 

The water wasn’t hot but it wasn’t cold either, being somewhere comfortably between to soothe away the heat. It did nothing to cool the heat quickly building between you as his hands went to rest on your hips. His frame blocked the spray of the water, mist fanning out around him, catching the light in a way that made it look like he was glowing. 

“What?” 

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper, hands running up his water cooled skin to pull him to you. 

Standing on your tip toes, you trusted him to hold you steady as you slotted your lips over his. Strong hands wrapped around your hips, thumbs tracing circles over wet skin as your naked front pressed against his. Water running over his shoulder filled what little gaps there were between you. 

With a sigh, he pulled his lips from yours only to leave a trail of kisses along your jaw, “Thank you, my Dear. I am but nothing in the face of the beauty you possess.” 

“You flirt,” you tease, softly slapping his wet shoulder. 

“Hardly,” his chuckle seemed to bounce off the walls of the small room, wrapping you up in it as much as you were wrapped in his arms as Alastor croons, “Your beauty transcends even the brightest of flowers” Alastor croons. 

Your protest died on your lips as his warm tongue ran along your neck, dragging higher until his lips pulled your ear lobe between his teeth. You arch in his arms, trying to put space between you. His thighs were pressed against yours, member twitching to life against you as you half heartedly tried to wiggle out of your husbands arms.

“You’re not slippery enough to get away from me yet,” Alastor teased, arms tightening around you and holding you flush against him.

“Alastor,” you whined as one hand run lower, grabbing a palmful of your ass, “We’re in the shower, stop it’s-”

“Indecent?” Alastor teased, pushing her against the cold wet tile of the wall. “Scandalous, even?” 

“Yes,” your voice was weak as he looked down at you, cock pressing up against your thigh.

“Was it not you,” Alastor’s fingers slipped over wet skin, running up your ribs to cup a breast. Skilled fingers pinched and pulled at your nipple, “who disturbed me at my work with this indecent idea? Wishing to shower together?” 

“Yes?” 

Whimpering, you struggled to keep yourself from sliding down the wall. Alastor’s strong thigh pressed between your knees, pushing until they parted under the pressure. You had no choice but to yield until his thigh pressed tightly against your core, ensuring you would remain standing.

“And now? HA! Now you expect me to keep my mind on something other than having my wife’s wet,” He kissed your shoulder as he pressed his thigh against your slit with every word that followed, “naked, soft, inviting body on full display?” 

“Alastor, I didn’t-” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Alastor pulled your hips forward, grinding your cunt against his thigh. “You think I can’t feel your slick? I know that’s not water. I’m going to give you exactly what you wanted.” 

The dark promise in his voice had your core clinching against nothing. Delicate muscles twitched as a soft moan fell from your lips. Blunt nails ran down your sides as he smiled down at you. Fingers dug into the fat at your thighs as he simultaneously lifted you off your feet and pinned your hips against the wall. 

On reflex, you wrapped your legs around him. Shower spray pelted your legs as you struggled to grip his wet body. His hands seemed to have no issue holding onto you though. 

He ran his cock through your folds, gathering the slick and lubricating himself. Each pass over your clit had you arching, gasping and rocking into him as you sought more friction. There wasn’t much you could do though, pinned to the shower wall as you were. It was just how he wanted you, at his mercy. 

“Alastor,” you whined his name. 

“Just hold onto me,” he said as he lined the head of his cock up with your entrance. You tensed in his arms. “Just relax, this is what you wanted.” 

He breached your entrance slowly. You spread around the fat head of his cock little by little as the unrelenting pressure left your body no choice. Pleasurable pain spread through you as he sank deeper and deeper within you. He was large and your body struggled to accommodate him without preparations. 

A shuddering ran up his spine as he bottomed out, forcing you to take all of him in one long slow thrust. Unstretched and unprepared, your body gripped him, walls fluttering around his cock as they strained to accommodate his considerable size.

You clung to him, arching in his arms as he chuckled against your shoulder. His body was burning against yours in contrast with the cold wet tile. It felt good. 

Rocking his hips, he worked his cock through your walls, ensuing you were spread over ever bit of him, taking all he had inside your walls as if there had been any doubt before. You gasped and twitched with ever shift of him inside you. Once he felt you had relaxed enough, he upped slowly from your body, holding you in place with his hands. 

Though his entrance and withdraw had been slow, what followed was anything but. He plunged inside you with such speed and force that your lower back slammed against the tile. He held you in place as his hips slammed into you again and again. 

You could do nothing but hold onto him and hope the water didn’t cause his feet to slip or you to slide out of his grip. Again and again, the head of his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust. 

Gasps turned into moans as he shifted your hips and his, letting the head of his cock rub against the spongy nerves that caused your cunt to flood with slick anew. Your fingers slipped over his shoulders, nails struggling to find grip before winding into his hair. Numb fingers pulled at his wet hair, his broken name all you can say as the coil inside you begins to tighten under his expert touch. 

“So tight,” you can feel his lips move against your neck as he fucks into you savagely. 

“Alas… Alastor,” your head falls back against the tile with a thump that you don’t feel. You’re so close now, so very close. No longer can you feel the cooling spray of the water or the tile. The sound of the shower is lost to you.

All you can feel is your husband’s body pressed against you, the grip he has on your thighs and his cock slamming into you again and again. All you can hear is his breath washing over you, soft praises whispered between moans and the music of his wet body meeting yours. 

With each powerful thrust, you could feel the twitch of his cock against your cervix. He was as close as you were. Knowing that you had the power to reduce the great radio host to rutting into you in the shower sent a thrill through you that was enough to push you over.

Your body clamped down around him as you came undone in his arms. The pull of your cunt trying to suck his cock deeper inside drew a long deep moan from him as his pace grew sloppy. A handful of thrusts later and he slammed himself inside, teeth latching onto your shoulder painfully tight as he tried to stifle moan that always came with his release. 

Rutting his hips into your twitching cunt to continue to stimulate himself, he refused to separate as his cock twitched and spasmed inside, seed shooting to paint your cervix with his essence and claim. 

As both your breathing calmed and he slowly began to soften, you unhooked your ankles from behind his back. His grip went slack, letting you stand on weak legs as his cock slipped out of you, leaving you feeling empty and sore but satisfied. At least for now. 

Alastor hummed as you settled against his chest, arms holding him in a light embrace. There was comfort in the sound of the popular tune and the sound of the shower spray. His strong hands rubbed suds into your body, lulling you further into relaxation. He washed your hair with tender care before allowing you to assist him with his own cleaning. 

Sitting you on the edge of the tub, he dried you with the same tender care. No one would believe he was the same man that so roughly, so quickly took you in the shower. As he rubbed the water from your hair, he tilted your head up and placed a soft chase kiss upon your sleepy lips. 

“I love you,” he said, smile as soft as his words. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Let’s get you to bed my Dear, so I can get back to work.” 

~~~~~<3 TagList: @catticora, @alastor-simp

[badbarbiedollxx]

I’m going to fully feminise you for your first date night… Full face makeup, full body wax, spray tan, Barbie pink nails, blonde wig, big hoop earrings, stilettos and the most tiniest skirt and crop top to exist Most girls don’t fu** on their first date, but you will 😈

[oneforthemunny]

scorcher |dom!eddie munson x brat!reader|

prompt: from the #munnysummergame I decided to write one of my own lol. kick off the writing challenge bc it's so fun, and I had this idea lol.

☀️- eddie comes home to see you sunbathing...topless ;) can be dom!sub! if you'd like, or sweet smutty goodness. whatever you'd like it to be! have fun with it!

contains: 18+ minors dni. dom/sub themes, voyeruism, nipple play, nipple clamps, language, restraints (bandana), spanking, p in v sex.

It was hot.

Too hot for Hawkins, Indiana. An unheard of heat wave that left the midwestern town muggy and humid, scorching with the kind of heat that had you hustling towards the AC, sitting in front of box fans and cooling off.

Eddie's trailer was a sauna, the AC unit old and rickety, not doing much to combat the unusual rising temperatures. Eddie wiped his brow, already stripped down, loose t-shirt hanging around his neck. Even with the blasting AC in the music store, Eddie had gone through nearly an entire stick of deodorant, dabbing napkins and paper towels in between guitar tune ups and lessons to keep himself from sweating through another shirt.

Everyone in the trailer park was tucked away, sprinklers still spraying water, yet there were no kids squealing about, far too hot for anyone to be out. No one, except you.

Lying on the grass on a spread, faded beach towel, you lied on your tummy, arms propped up and skimming the magazine beneath you. The shiny pages reflected in the sun, hot to the touch with each careful flick of your wrist, but Eddie wasn't concerned with that; oh no.

His attention was brought to your naked top, breasts hanging onto the towel, nipples barely covered by your folded arms. You were practically exposed; topless, on his front lawn.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, baby, are you serious?" Eddie huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You tilted your head up, lip tucking between your teeth in a glinting little smile, shades falling down the slope of your nose teasingly. "Hi, baby," You purred, flipping another page with a hum. "How was work? I missed you, handsome."

Eddie was less impressed with your sheepish smile, areoles peeping up from their place on the towel, becoming more and more exposed with every rise of your chest. He rolled his tongue down the side of his mouth, eyes cutting around him. He'd told you to behave, pressed a sweet kiss to the side of your head, muttering to your sleeping frame to have a good day, be a good girl for him; but you never were.

It had been a while since the two of you really played. More than just a few playful slaps and threatening words. You'd been patient, he'd give you that, even though he knew it was coming soon- the inevitable bratty break. He supposed with the heat mixed with your frustration, today was your breaking point.

"What're you doin', huh?" Eddie grit, hands on his hips, his shadow covering your body.

You tilted your chin up at him, frowning lightly, like you couldn't possibly imagine why he was upset. "I'm just getting some sun, Ed." You sighed contently, pulling your shades down the slope of your nose. The raise in your arm off the towel gave Eddie a full view of your exposed chest, pebbled nipples that left him blushing, and not from the Hawkins' sun, for once.

"Why don't you join me, baby? Lookin' a little pasty. Some color would do ya good." You grinned, settling back down onto the towel.

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. His curls were pulled back in a low bun, bangs sticking to his furrowed brow. "What're you doing out here with no top on? Your tits are out." Eddie flung a hand towards you, ringless because they kept swelling in the heat.

You looked down at your exposed chest, lips rolling when you looked back up at him. "Hm, well, I didn't want tan lines, baby. They look so ugly when I try to wear those little dresses you like." You purred.

Eddie knew what you were doing, and he was damned to not let you know, even if his cock was lurching at the thought of you in that tight, leather dress he loved so much- always ruined you in it.

"Can you put some lotion on my back, Ed?" You asked simply, moving to grab the pale pink bottle discarded carelessly in the grass. "Don't wanna get burnt and red." You held it up to him, right boob fully exposed to him and whoever else was lurking around.

Eddie snatched it out of your hand with a grow, catching your own wrist with it. "Oh, something's gonna be red soon, honey. Get up."

You tried to bite back your grin, barefeet padding through the grass, stepping over dandelions and rocks, Eddie's hand holding your wrist in a vice. "Ow! The steps are hot!" You jumped back on the steel steps of the trailer, bouncing from toe to toe.

Eddie rolled his eyes hard, setting his foot on the bottom, spread so his other held the door unlatched. Ever the gentleman, even when he was about to punish you. You bounced on the smooth, white tops of his Reebok's, letting his hands grip your naked waist to steady you while you avoided the hot metal inside.

"Get in front of the couch." Eddie growled, a firm slap to your ass while he shut the screen door with a low groan.

Your body was covered in goosebumps, nipples hardening at the cool air from inside the trailer. You knelt obediently in front of the couch, resting back on your thighs, hands on top of your thighs. You tracked Eddie with your eyes, squirming slightly at the menacing look he gave you.

"You think this is funny? Laying topless where anyone could see you?" Eddie snapped, brow raising.

You huffed. "There wasn't anybody out-"

"-That you know." Eddie sneered. "What is Mrs. Hall's kids came out, saw you topless, and then you're getting a public indecency charge? Or that creep Frank coulda been spying on you? And I'm not here."

Your heart deflated slightly, excitement draining out of your system gently. You hadn't thought of that, truthfully.

"I'm sorry, Ed." You said genuinely, eyes wide and sorry when you met his. "I was just..."

Eddie lifted a brow. "Just what? Tryna piss me off?"

You paused. "Well, yeah, not piss off but... I just wanted to play!" You whined, hands slapping the top of your thighs gently. "I thought you'd think it was fun!"

Eddie's eyes bulged. "You thought I would think you showing your tits off to the neighborhood would be fun?" Eddie scoffed. "If you wanted to play, you shoulda just asked. Not go topless and parading around outside."

Your lip jutted, cheeks heating at the chastisement. "I wasn't parading." You mumbled.

Eddie's brow raised, eyes narrowing at you. "Enough, alright? Any more out of you and I'm gagging you. That what you want?"

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest with a shake of your head. Still so bratty. Eddie shook his head. "Arms down. You know better." He snapped, flinging through the cabinets of the kitchen. You wondered what he was looking for, too scared to ask.

Eddie shoved something in his pocket, stomping down the hall towards his bedroom. You craned your neck to look, listening over the loud hum of the air conditioning for any sign of what he was getting. You knew it would probably be the paddle- or worse, the cane.

Eddie came back in with his bandana, paddle-less and cane-less to your surprise. His eyes stayed on yours, holding your gaze in his menacing one before sitting in front of you. "Stand up." He ordered, that firm, commanding tone he always slipped into when he was punishing you.

You squirmed but scrambled to your knees, letting him pull you in between his legs. "Turn around." Eddie patted your hip gently. "Put your hands behind your back."

You obliged, touching your wrists together before he tied them with the bandana. You grinned at the choice in restraints, lack of cuffs meaning he was going to go easy on you.

Eddie pulled the knot firmly, satisfied that it would keep your wrists bound. His eyes lingered on your bikini bottoms, riding up into the crack of your ass, teasing him with the cheekiness of the cut. He'd been with you when you bought them, modeling them in the dressing room before he joined you, diving tongue first into your pussy.

"Better take these off, don't ya think?" Eddie muttered, hands tracing up and down your exposed hip, grinning at the way you shivered. "Don't think we'll be needing these."

You shook your head in agreement, rolling your lip between your teeth at the delicate pull of the strings, falling down your legs easily into a puddle on the green carpet.

Eddie's hands rubbed up and down your exposed flesh, squeezing at your hips, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. "You just wanted to show off, hm? Wanted to show everyone what's mine?" He asked, voice low and gravelly.

You whined, shaking your head. "No, Ed." You whined, keeping your head forwards, eyes trained on the wall. "Just didn't want tan lines, promise." You muttered.

"Promise?" Eddie's voice lilted, pulling back. You could feel him behind you, fishing for something in his back pocket. "You know you were just trying to get me upset. Being bratty and throwing a fit, weren't you? You wanted me to get upset with you, didn't you? To punish you?"

You shook your head, though your thighs clenched at the thought. "No," You sighed heavily, his hand smoothing up and down your tummy, cupping your boobs barely before running back down towards your aching and exposed pussy.

"Hmm," Eddie hummed lowly, his pinky barely swiping over your slit, leaving your knees buckling at the touch. "I think you're lying to me."

"That's alright, baby." Eddie cooed before you could huff and retaliate. "I'll teach ya a lesson, don't you worry. I'll give you exactly what you want."

You felt something hard trail up your sternum, dropping your chin to look before Eddie's hand caught your jaw. "Eyes forward." He snapped.

Your heart pounded, unsure but obediently following Eddie's command. You felt the foreign object trail all over your hot skin, up and down your tummy, your under boob, around your nipples.

"You wanted to show off your pretty little tits for everyone, hm?" Eddie growled, his nose brushing your temple. His free hand moved to your boobs, cupping them before thumbing over your nipples, rolling the nubs until they hardened and stood perk and erect for him.

"You want to show them off so badly? Why don't you show them off like this?" Eddie grit, before your body jolted.

The clamping sensation of a clothespin biting and snapping onto your nipples had the breath leaving your lungs, a new and uncomfortable sensation. The smooth wood was firm but not unbearable, not like the metal ones Eddie saw at the sex shop. The mouth of the pin clamped onto your budding nipples, holding onto them with tight pressure that had you wanting to rub them desperately, dull aching that sent shockwaves straight to your core.

You gasped, Eddie fixing the other one on your nipple, moving so he could see your face. He grinned, taking in your scrunched expression, unpleasant at best, bouncing from toe to toe like that might alleviate some of the pain.

"Hurt?" Eddie asked, tilting his head to the side. You nodded. "Good. Bend over." He plopped down on the couch, pulling you over his lap, careful of the makeshift clamps you tried to rip off.

You were dangling forward, hands tied tight behind your back, Eddie's hand over your hip, holding you firmly into place. His hand rubbed over the flesh of your ass, squeezing your right cheek hard enough to pull a yelp from you.

"Oh, you know that didn't hurt." Eddie mocked you, cooing and mean, leaving you blistering with embarrassment- throbbing from his tone. "But this," Eddie brought his hand down, an upward sweeping motion that cracked down on your ass, leaving you lurching forward with a small gasp. "Hurt. Didn't it?"

You whined, wiggling against his grasp, the steady burning building on your ass mixing with the pulling and dull ache from the clothespins that came with every squirm.

"You were so bad, today. After I worked all day? And this is what I have to come home to." Eddie shook his head at you, flattened palm zeroing in on your hot cheeks.

"'M sorry, Ed!" You panted, hips wiggling just right against his right knee, your core rubbing against his leg.

"I don't think you are, honey." Eddie tutted with a heavy, dramatic sigh. You cried out at the two sharp hits the the top of your thighs, the crease of your ass. Oh, he knew you were gonna cum from this, he had to. If it was a real punishment, he'd stick to the fatty parts of your ass.

"I think I should take you outside. Spank ya out there, since you want to go around flashing everyone." Eddie hummed, tongue poking out. His eyes bounced back and forth, following his hand that smacked the juicy skin around with every harsh spank.

"Maybe make you go stand out there with those hands tied. Whaddya think, baby? Show everyone what happens to bad girls around here?" Eddie hissed.

You knew he wouldn't, far too possessive and not necessarily wanting to have to explain to a cop that this is what you two did- a sex thing. Yet the threat left you pulsing, grinding down further and further on his leg.

"You'd like that wouldn't you? Like everyone to see what I do to you? How I handle you, hm?" Eddie purred in your ear, another stinging slap to the center of your ass, leaving you clenching around nothing. You were sure you were dripping down your leg now, coated in your own stick arousal.

"Want everyone to see how I punish you, hm? How I keep you in line when you're such a bad girl?" Eddie growled, two punctuating slaps to your ass that had your head reeling. The clothespins were brushing against his leg, only aiding in the tight, mean tugging that had you crying out.

"Yes! Please, Ed, please!" Eddie was sure you didn't even know what you were begging for, something- sensation, no doubt. For him to let you cum, and he would. Just not that easily.

Eddie pulled you off his lap abruptly, setting you with a small bounce onto the couch. You hissed at the pain, at the lack of friction, the burning feeling on your ass and nipples.

Eddie stood, furiously pulling down his pants and boxers. "Over the couch. Over the couch, now." He growled, eyes dark and blown. It made you shiver, scrambling to bend over the couch.

Eddie rode you, one hand gripping your bound hands, the other slapping your ass and pulling your makeshift clamps, pounding you out furiously over the back of the couch. You felt suffocated in the heat, Eddie's body and your own covered in sweat while he rutted into you, like a dog in heat.

The inside of the trailer went up a few degrees, thick and steamy with the tangy smell of sweat and your release, but neither one of you seemed to mind.

[mustainegf]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: sometimes what bridges the gap between friends and lovers, is the ocean.

based on the song forwards beckon rebound, by Adrianne Lenker

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ¹⁹⁸⁵

❝ Over the Dead Sea ❞

It was night. The sapphire sky was a promise, and felt nearly close enough to touch. The full moon was bright, lighting his handsome face. Before us lay the Pacific, endless, like the world's biggest secret. I fell back onto the sand, its grains skittering under my palms, and watched James skip a rock across the water, his ripples creasing its tab skinned surface.

“You can't just sit there like that,” he slurred, whiskey evident on his breath, as he trudged over toward me, a big grin on his face. And I couldn't not smile back. There was just something sweet about James when he was this way. Reckless and alive.

"Oh yeah?" I teased, squinting up at him. "What are you gonna do about it?”

Without warning, he took my hand and tugged me to my feet, both of us stumbling in the process. We laughed. They sound carried out over the waters. We giggled in starlight and sea spray, and I swear nobody knew the world like we did.

"Let's swim," James said suddenly, his blue eyes almost glowing in the night.

"Are you serious? It's freezing out there!" I protested, though I was already unzipping my leather jacket—his leather jacket—and kicking off my boots.

"Come on, don't be a wimp!" he baited, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the sand. I couldn't help but stare for a second at how his body was so sweetly tanned, lean, not something the regular person would consider special. But I did. He caught me looking and raised an eyebrow, smirking. "What? Afraid of a little water?"

"Fat chance," I snorted, promptly shedding my soft clothes down to my bra and panties and racing toward the water with him. The cold hit me as I plunged into the water, but all it did was make me feel even more alive. James wasn't behind me for long, and soon we were thrashing about in the water like some kind of children, laughing so hard it actually hurt a bit.

The waves pushed us together, then pulled us apart, and we kept finding our way to each other, clinging to one another for warmth. At one point, he grabbed me around the waist, lifting me up and spinning me around until I was dizzy.

"You're crazy!" I shouted, my breath coming out in white puffs as I tried to catch it.

"You love it!" he hollered back, his grin still not once leaving his face.

And maybe I did. Maybe I did love the way we were friends, and acted like a lot more than friends. It was a dangerous kind of love. But then and there, the stars watching over, I didn't care.

We finally emerged from the water, crawling and soaked, but still giggling like kids. We collapsed on the sand, lying side by side.

"Keep you company over the dead sea…" James murmured.I turned my head to him, still chuckling slightly. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the stars. "I don't know. Just something I heard once. Sounds cool though, doesn't it?”

"Yeah," I agreed softly, though I wasn't sure I understood it either. But it did sound cool, and there was something about the way he said it that made it feel like a secret meant just for me.

His hand connected with mine in the sand, and I squeezed it softly, his skin coarse against my own. Normally, friends don’t do this. Friends don’t hold hands, half naked on the beach. But James and I aren’t regular friends.

❝ Villain & Violent

Infant & innocent ❞

A few days later from that night at the beach, James and I were at his place. The bedroom air is thick with the smoke of his cigarette and pieces of whatever song he'd been working on earlier. The candles placed around him, their flames licking like ghosts in the dark. We sat on the floor, and an old piece of vinyl spun lazily on the turntable in the corner.

We hadn't spoken of the beach, how we'd gripped to each other in the cold water.

He sat opposite me, his back against the wall, staring into the flickering light of the candle in front of him. I said nothing as I watched him, just watching, understanding.

There was something in the way he looked. The world knew James Hetfield as this fierce, scary singer of Metallica. But here, in these hush seconds, he was different. It would seem that the flames of the candle melted away the layers of armor he usually wore.

I had seen him like this before, many times actually, but. The world saw that villain side to him, that persona that he wore, never really letting anyone in too close. But here, without an audience, without the stage lights, he was just Jamie from school; the boy who loved with all his heart.

Gentle. Sweet even.

The way he fidgeted with the edge of the blanket draped over his lap told of a tender man. James learned to put up walls, hiding that he was one of the shyest people you’d ever met. He was innocent, human, just a boy at heart.

Suddenly, James looked at me, his mouth staying shut.

He smiled.

And so did I.

❝ Stabbing stars through my back ❞

Days soon burned into weeks, and this tiny gap between us began to grow. We hung out, we drank, and still laughed together, but it was all a little different now. I didn't know what to do with it.

We had gone to some party or another, but smoke and noise couldn’t snap me into reality, just watching him from across the room. He was talking to some girl, his arm was casually slung around her shoulders, but his eyes weren't on her. They were on me.

We locked gazes, and we were alone again, both on that beach with ocean at our feet.

But then he would turn away, turn back to this girl with this huge, fake smile on his face, and something inside of me gives up. I turned and left the party without saying any goodbyes, clicking the door shut behind me.

I walked a long while, the city blurring in and around me, until I found myself standing in the only logical place.

The beach.

I just stood there a lot longer than I should have. I didn't know what I was doing there, didn't know what I was waiting for. But then I heard footsteps behind me, and I knew.

❝ Pulling your face close ❞

James was standing several feet away, his hands jammed in the pockets of his leather jacket, the same one he’d wrapped me with just weeks ago. We didn't say anything. We just stood like that.

"I thought I'd find you here.”

I nodded, not because it was all I had to offer, but I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth.

He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and I could hear just how serious he was. "I've been an asshole. I didn't know how to deal with… with this."

"With what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He repeated, his hand motioning between us. "Whatever this is.. It scares the shit out of me."

I swallowed hard, throat tight. "Yeah... I know."

He ran a hand through his long hair, biting out a frustrated sigh. "You're my best friend, and I..I didn't want to lose you. That’s all…”

"You didn't lose me, James," I assured him, taking one step closer and tucking his long hair away from his face.

He stared at me. "I don't want to go back," he whispered. "Don’t just be my friend from highschool."

"I know…" I whispered, reaching my hand out to take his. "James…."

He looked down at our clasped hands, then back up at me, the corner of his mouth softening. "Did you know I love you?”

We stood there for a second, and his words melted my heart like warm golden honey. Without consciously thinking about it, I leaned in and kissed him. Though hesitant at first, our lips were quick to become acquainted. He was warm, tasted like strawberry, and his hands cupped my cheek like he was lost.

When we finally broke, our foreheads leaned against each others. “I love you too…” I mumbled, gently caressing his cheek with the pad of my thumb.

"I'm not afraid of you now," I whispered.

"I'm not afraid of you either," he murmured back.

He pulled far enough to see my face. "Come on," he said suddenly, a smile tugging his mouth up.

"What?" I asked.

"Swim with me," he said, that smile overtaking him, the smile I’d fallen for.

I laughed at that. "You're crazy."

"Dead serious," he said, already yanking off his jacket and booting his feet clear of his boots.

Who am I to deny him?

This time, we stripped all the way down, without any threat of fear. It was not the physicality, not about sex. It was trust, peeling away those layers we'd wrapped ourselves in, about being vulnerable and real with each other in a way

we'd never been before.

I admired his body, bare for me to see for the first time, and mine for him.

We ran into the water together, the cold biting our skin. We were laughing again, the sound of it shooting out over the ocean. We swam out until we couldn't feel the sand beneath our feet, until the world was just water and confession, alone together.

We floated there, side by side, the waves rocking us gently, like we were babies in our mothers arms.

“James?” I whispered, leaning my naked back against his wet chest and gazing up.

“Yes?”

“Can I sleep in bed with you tonight?”

“Always.”

It all started here, and both arms cradle me now.

[therealslimshakespeare]

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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@thatbanditqueen

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@i-r-i-n-a-a

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@fav-fanficssss

@loving-elvis

@honeyorangess

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@that-hotdog

@mydarlingelvis

@presleysweetheart

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@lialocklear

@elvispresleywife

@presleysgirl6

@ipostwhtifeel

@jaqueline19997

@queenheartz

@starryschoolgirl

[girlsdads]

couldn’t be normal about that second gif

cw: watersports, consensual somnophilia (adjacent?). max has a pussy also because i said

Max wakes with his thighs parted around Daniel’s head, one tanned hand gripping the meat of his left buttcheek, the other heavy against his lower belly. Max groans as he feels his bladder throb underneath Daniel’s palm, the pressure that’s clear in its meaning. Daniel’s tongue works Max’s clit in gentle strokes, moving downward, coaxing.

The first time he’d woken like this, Max had instinctively tried to wiggle away, the indulgent thrill of having Daniel’s mouth on him overpowered by the horror of realizing he was seconds away from taking his morning piss right down Daniel’s throat. But Daniel had yanked him tight against his face and—whined—like that’s exactly what he’d wanted, and Max had been so absolutely floored that he’d forgotten to be self-conscious when the first stream splashed onto Daniel’s tongue.

Now, heady as he always is with the knowledge that Daniel fucking loves this, Max relaxes into the nest of blankets surrounding him and lets go.

The relief is instant and it makes Max sigh, going boneless where Daniel is holding his pelvis slightly propped, angled so that piss sprays the roof of Daniel’s mouth. Daniel makes a noise like he’s been struck, seals his lips over Max and just keeps him there, letting Max go. He’s not swallowing, allowing it to pool in his mouth before Max feels him open his jaw to send warm urine spilling down his chin and to the sheets and under Max’s butt. They are so reckless to do this, Max always thinks later, when they are stripping the bed and inspecting the mattress damage, but then—why would Max worry about things when he gets to use Daniel like this?

Max threads his fingers through Daniel’s sweaty curls, yanks his head up so he can watch his piss as it trickles down Daniel’s flushed cheeks and into his mustache. His bottom lip is slack and dribbling. The stream is wetting the curls by his ears. His hips are starting to hump the mattress. He looks dazed and stupid and stunning. Max loves him.

Max lets Daniel get his mouth back against him as he arches and pushes out the last few spurts. As soon as he’s done he feels himself open around Daniel’s hot tongue. A moan escapes him, Daniel tonguing hungrily into the wet clench of his cunt, urine soaked nose rubbing against his swollen clit. He uses both hands to cup the back of Daniel’s skull and holds him there, hips working until he’s shaking through an orgasm that leaves Daniel’s face slippery with him.

“Maxy,” Daniel gasps, sliding up to position the head of his cock against where Max is soaked and quivering, “can I—fuck—please, let me…”

Max locks his legs around Daniel’s hips and nudges him forward so that his fat tip stretches Max, makes him ache in that way he likes best. It is always best when Daniel is in him, when Max’s body opens for him like it is meant for nothing else.

“You can, Daniel. I want it.” Always wants it. Every time they do this.

Daniel sobs and his arms quake where they’re bracketing Max’s head. His cock kicks where it’s only in Max just a little—Max feels the thick blurt of come against his walls, giving way to a hot jet of piss as Daniel sighs and melts. Max relaxes wholly under Daniel’s comforting weight. Daniel empties himself fully into Max and when his cock goes soft Max clenches as tight as he can. Only a little dribbles out as Daniel leaves him and Daniel whispers that’s perfect, honey. Max feels perfect.

Daniel flops down beside him and smiles dopily, hand coming to rest on Max’s lower belly, ever so slightly swollen. Max laces their fingers together and holds them there, where he’s warm and full with Daniel.

[jelicoxoxo]

TWST CHARACTERS AS CATS

Summary: Your favorite had embarrassingly made a mistake in potionology class, which ultimately resulted in them turning into a cat! They hunt you down to care for them, escaping their usual routine for the day.

Warnings: N/A. Can be seen platonic or romantic, OC friendly. No proofread cause i’ll wanna delete it

A/N: I’m posting this at 12AM, so if Leona’s looks or sounds sort of off(or OOC), it’s probably because I’m surviving off of insomnia and leftover energy from an energy burst (ADHD).

———————

(Heartslabyul) (Savanaclaw) (Octavinelle) (Scarabia) (Pomefiore) (Ignihyde) (Diasomnia)

—————

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

- He was irritated. Extremely. All the time.

- See, Leona skipped the class that would have told him NOT to do X, Y, and Z. So what did he do when he came without that knowledge? yeah.

- At first, he was just grumpy as hell (whats new)

-But eventually he stopped caring, found a good hidden spot in the botanical garden and took the longest nap because nobody could even find him.

-Aside from you that is. You scooped up this pretty… large… brown tabby, and plopped him in your bag immediately after cooing in his grumpy face.

-only reason he didn’t hiss and scratch was because it was you, anyone else and they would have had their day ruined in seconds.

-You took him back with you and put him on your bed, staring at him as you thought of how you where going to go about this. You seriously thought he was just a regular cat, and that you could keep him.

-The first thing you attempted to do was give him cat food, and he turned his nose and walked away. Then, you tried a bath. That didn’t work since you turned around for literally 4 seconds and he was gone.

-You found him asleep on your bed after a while of looking, deciding to let him sleep while you switched your focus from him and his failed bath-time, to studying for this upcoming history test.

-While you where writing, you look up and leona is SNORING on your bed, not the perfectly normal tabby cat you thought you had brought home.

RUGGIE BUCCHI

-“the fuck do I do now” for a moment.

-He wonders if this is how Leona feels on a regular, or if this is how Jack feels when he uses his signature spell.

-Escapes quickly and makes his way to wherever you are, running his body against your ankles with a sweet meow. You had absolutely no idea the little tan colored cat was him, crouching to pet him and pick him up, immediately accepting him as yours.

-refused to eat cat food, but ate UP whatever you cooked. He was so full after omg.

- cried while he had diarrhea. it was bad, he was so embarrassed, refuses to talk about it regardless of how long ago it was.

-he’ll play with and collect any toys you give him just because you bought them for him, and bring you one he wants you to throw. He has nothing else to do but be a cat, so why not?

- Brings back coins and thaumarks he finds on the ground anywhere and hides them in a pile somewhere for him to have when he turns back. Flicked his tail at you when you found his stash and SWATTED AT YOU when you tried getting near it.

- When he turned back, he came back only for his stash. Or so he said, because he hung around you for a good hour before going back to whatever business he had.

JACK HOWL

- His partner knocked the bottle over, which he tried to save it, and the potion wasn’t even the right one, so now he’s a cat.

- Wasn’t sure how to feel about being a wolf one moment and a cat the next

- He tried not to do anything that would irritate or upset you, but his CHATTERING.

- He will chatter even if theres nothing to chatter at, he’ll do it in your ear, at you, he just would not stop when he figured out he could do such a thing.

- He’ll stop doing anything IMMEDIATELY if you spray him with water, and will sulk for an hour after.

- Will bolt from one end of your dorm to the other. If you get him toy’s he’ll play with them, but not for long.

- ^ I say not for long because he eventually RUNS AWAY and explores twisted wonderland by himself as a cat, just to see what all he could do with this new kind of flexibility and agility.

- Stares at you while you do things while he sits on your desk. Not like he’s plotting something or anything, just observes you while you continue your routine.

- When his time as a cat was up, he was glad to be back, but also slightly disappointed when he thought of new things he could’ve done beforehand.

- He came back to you as his original beastman self(??) since he was out when it happened, and thanked you for anything you provided even if it was simply playing with him.

———

WHEW.

[superblysubpar]

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I Want It, Can't Have It

personaltrainer!steve x personaltrainer!fem!reader

summary: Your co-worker Steve and you refuse to admit defeat in a game of who will give into their suppressed feelings for the other first. | my blog and this fic are 18+ Only, NSFW

6,354 words

the song: Move by Saint Motel

warnings: use of too many "petnames" | talk of jealousy & comparison with other women | a woman showing too much skin in the 80s?! Good heavens! | SMUT (unprotected piv - creampie / ass slapping / teasing - asking to cum / public - locked bathroom door but people def know)

The smell of chlorine and lemon disinfectant, flickering fluorescents overhead and the record breaking ton of body spray wafting down the hall are making the tiny men with jackhammers inside your head work overtime today. 

Hearing him before you see him, you shake out a second pain reliever - taking preventive measures for the headache that was only about to be made worse.  

Whistling a top forty track, blazer’s squeaking against the tile of the hall - because he refuses to pick up his feet when he’s around you, and the thwip of a towel smacking a coworker’s ass as they banter all fall to your ears as he rounds the corner. 

Steve fucking Harrington. 

Unsure why, the two of you quickly agreed on one thing and one thing only upon your very first introduction: you positively hated each other and would do everything in your power to make sure the other never forgot.  

Eyes trained on the staff clipboard you’re filling out for taking medicine from the first aid kit, you choose to ignore him as he grows closer. Pen scratching against the paper, your senses try to focus on writing out your full name instead of how good he smells. A hard thing to not notice when it’s compared to the hazardous waste for sweat from the teenage boys you’d been forced to endure for the better part of the last hour. 

Of course, he can’t help himself and has to ruin the one thing that brings you semi enjoyment when in his presence, clearing his throat and nodding once, without even looking at you, “Jane Fonda.”

The use of one of the nicknames he refuses to let up with has your teeth grinding as you clench your jaw, “Bite me, Harrington.”

Steve spins, toned and tanned arms folded on the desk above you as he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, hazel eyes peering down at you with contempt, “Oh good, glad to see you’re in a swell mood as always.”

Shoving the clipboard back into its slot, you push back in the rolling chair, relishing in his clenched jaw when the wheel squeaks a little too loud - two can play at the causing a headache game. An exaggerated pout forming on your lips as you force a bubbly and higher tone, “Oh. I’m so sorry. Let me go curl my hair, pop on a bright pink lip, and add an extra little perky bounce to my step so you can ogle my ass in bright blue spandex.”

“Could ya?” Steve’s lips shift up into a lopsided smirk at you.

Huffing out a breath and crossing your arms, you can’t even get another jab in before his twelve o’clock bounces through the door. To neither of your surprise, she’s dressed exactly as you had just described - blonde hair piled high in a ponytail on the top of her head just like Barbie and just like you knew it would be. Watching Steve train her for the past several weeks has been nauseating to say the least. Her leg stretched up and over his shoulder, their smirks and less than subtle flirting, and her slaps and squeezes of his biceps in an eye twitch inducing sort of way. 

“Hi Steve,” her voice sugar and spice and everything you’re not as she blows a bright pink bubble with her gum. You’re surprised Steve doesn’t pop it for her as he leans in close enough, one elbow still on the desk.

“Well, don’t you look cute today,” his voice deeper and full of a charm that’s very lacking from the way he talks to you. 

Twelve o’clock Barbie beams and he gestures down the hallway, hand on her lower back as she brushes past him. Steve lets her trail ahead, tilting his head with a sigh as he watches her ass jiggle in all the right ways. 

Scoffing at him, you chuck a rolled towel directly at the side of his head and hiss, “You’re such a fucking pervert!”

Steve spins backwards, clutching his chest and groaning through a wide grin, “I love it when you talk dirty to me babe.”

Eyes narrowing at him as he high fives one of your coworkers as he turns back around, arm wrapping over the shoulders of Barbie. Her bright and bubbly laugh trails all the way down the hall back to you, “So, did you catch the game last night?”

Steve hums, “I don’t think so…which teams were playing?”

“Oh…uh…the Cubs?”

Rolling your eyes with a snort at her question of a response. 

Baseball. 

It’s fucking February. 

Randy, your co-worker, snickers and then looks at Dylan who rounded the corner as well, shaking his head, “Five bucks he pretends he did watch the game and does her in the locker room?”

Dylan laughs, sticking out his hand for a deal, “Ten if he gets her to tell him details of the nonexistent game too.”

The boys look at you laughing and don’t even try to hide their conversation or amusement with Steve the manwhore Harrington. You’re just one of the guys here, and something about this fact that’s never bothered you before, this interaction you’ve had many times already, is burning your blood a little more than you’d care to admit. 

Their words about her perfect hair, the curve of her ass in the spandex, and the low cut of the leotard are only flashing spotlights to your exact opposite features you can see in the reflection of the glass windows. Dull and sweat matted hair shoved under a baseball hat, dark and muted tones of your joggers and sweatshirt - which now has a stain on it from lunch. Curves don’t exist, your footwear is sensible, and your skin doesn’t have that perky glisten or glow - it’s sweaty and flushed in all the wrong ways. 

Yanking your whistle down from the hook, you push past the boys. You could care less about 12 o’clock Barbie and you’re happy with your life. Confident you don’t need someone like Steve Harrington in it to make you feel fulfilled because you are independent and have a clear and level head atop your shoulders. A man staring at your ass isn’t what you want, you want to be appreciated for your brains, personality, your interests - screw pretending to like baseball to get a guy to sleep with you. You want the one who knows you like it and genuinely wants to talk to you about it, baggy sweatshirt and all. 

But when you hear a giggle and see Steve and 12 o’clock Barbie sneaking into the bathroom your stomach somersaults and something in you snaps, shouting down the hall, “Harrington! Nobody’s paying you to sleep with clients!”

Steve freezes, his strained muscles and vein in his neck visible even at a distance and his face reddens. He’s pissed.

But he turns with a bright and forced smile as Barbie dips into the locker room with an inflamed face as well. Steve walks down the hall towards you, arms crossed and head tilted, “What the hell is your problem?”

You have a lot of problems. Number one being you don’t understand what possessed you to do that, but you can’t tell him that, obviously. Queen of thinking on your feet though, you cross your arms and cock your head, “Wouldn’t want you to lose your job for not being able to keep your dick in your pants is all, buddy.”

He scoffs loudly, stepping closer to you until your back hits the wall, “Really? I would’ve thought you were the first person wanting me out on my ass, Mary Lou.”

Rolling your eyes at the new nickname, you try to side step and get out of there but his hand pushes to the brick over your shoulder, caging you in. 

Steve towers over you, faces close together and he smirks as you squirm under his insistent gaze. Steve leans closer, “Oh, I get it,” he whispers, nose almost touching yours. He’s close enough for you to see his lashes, the gold flecks in his eyes, and the freckles that dot his nose. His breath mint and charm fanning across your cheeks as he continues, “You’re jealous.”

“As. Fucking. If,” you hiss at him, nose bumping his just barely as you lean forward and narrow your eyes. 

Steve and your shallow breaths mix and amplify in your ears, everything else muffled like it’s underwater. Fingers clenched into fists at your sides, Steve’s tongue dips out to lick his bottom lip. Yours part involuntarily, his eyes glint, the mossy color deepening to a mix of dangerous forest and stormy sea and god fucking dammit, you sigh. 

Someone, somewhere in the universe, slaps you in the face in the form of Barbie dipping out of the locker room and pulling both of your attention in a blur of turquoise. Steve’s arm drops and he steps back, a smile on his face again as he turns to her, “Hey babe, ready?”

He leaves with her and it isn’t until you see them disappear around the corner and you count to five that your muscles start to unfurl, fingers uncurling from where they had been pressing crescent moons into your palms. 

Your head falls back against the brick, “Shit.” 

Snapping the palette closed, you stare at the contents littering the counter of your bathroom, untypical for a weekday. 

No. You will not wear eyeshadow to your job at a gym. 

With time to reflect on what happened with Steve on Friday, you’d only stewed and steamed more about Barbie. Steve calling you jealous? Of what? Her perfect hair and skin and body and that she was the one who got his eyes to linger?

Please. 

Steve just loves that you’re not drooling and falling over yourself for him - a challenge, a toy he can’t have. You’ve worked with him and the boys long enough and they’re all the same. They love having a pretty thing wrapped around their arm, a token to remind them they’re a winner, because it’s all just a game. They live for the rush of the chase and the high of someone screaming their name like a stadium full of fans. And you know without a doubt, Steve calling you jealous and the incident on Friday was his tip of the ball to his side of the court. He wants you to beg for it. And you’re not going to do that, because you know that it’s actually Steve who wants you. 

Smirking, you pull out an outfit you’ve yet to wear to work, a little giddy from the plan that’s slowly formulating. Steve isn’t the only one who knows a thing or two about playing games, and it’s time to show him who he’s up against. 

As typical with Steve, he shows up after you to work that day. He’s always balancing a gym bag on his shoulder, jacket slung across only one arm like he couldn’t bother to finish putting it on, hair in disarray (spending the first half hour of his shift fixing it in the bathroom) and a bagel hanging between his lips, dropping sesame seeds across the floor. 

Normally, Steve won’t even blink twice in your direction upon arrival. If he does, it’s only because you’ve gotten in his way, demanded he pick up the bagel crumbs, or you’ve done something else in the minute you’ve been in each other’s presence to annoy one another. Enough for him to remove the bagel and actually banter with you verbally instead of a grunt. 

Today though, his blazers squeak to a sharp stop and much to your delight, the bagel falls out of his mouth and hits the floor, egg sliding out and splatting and echoing in the quiet entryway. 

Grabbing your whistle and heading towards the gym for the morning meeting, you brush past him, looking over your shoulder as you call, “You better clean that up!”

A smirk still sits on your lips as you enter the gym and the conversation of all of the boys stops. Rolling your eyes at their lack of subtlety in analyzing your new look, you take your normal seat and start peeling a banana. Clearing your throat loudly, before small conversations pick up again. 

“You look nice today,” Dylan, who’s sitting next to you mumbles. He picks at a loose thread of his joggers, eyes flitting up to yours and back down to his pants. 

Really, your outfit is not that crazy. It’s still in your color palette of cooler tones, you’re not even wearing spandex for crying out loud. A little bit of midriff showing has these boys blushing more than they ever have around you, and it’s hard to hide your amusement at how easily your plan is being implemented without barely lifting a finger. 

Humming, you blink up at him innocently, “Thank you Dylan.”

He coughs into his fist, “Ye-yeah. Did you…did you do something different with your hair?”

Tilting your head at him, you time your laugh perfectly to Steve walking in, “No, nothing different with my hair…”

Dylan watches you, eyes eager on your mouth as you lift the banana up to your lips. Slowly taking a bite, you keep eye contact with him. Fluttering your eyelashes and humming around the fruit, his mouth falls open a little and it takes everything in you not to snort. Especially when a hand makes contact with the back of Dylan’s head and Steve’s bored tone falls directly behind you, “Are you twelve?”

Dylan’s cheeks turn pink and he turns sharply to the front of the room and you nudge his knee with yours, reassuring him it’s okay, before turning to face forward too. A small smile sitting on his lips and you relish in Steve’s sigh behind you. 

Unfortunately, Steve seems to realize what you’re doing far sooner than you anticipated. 

As your boss begins the meeting, hot breath fans across your neck, his voice low and barely audible even with his lips just brushing your ear, “Nice try.”

Your body betrays you and a chill runs down your spine, causing a shiver despite the embarrassed and irritated heat trying to reach every corner of your skin. You know if you turn around you’ll be face to face with a smug look and crossed muscular arms, so you don’t put yourself through the misery. 

Steve is better at this, you hate to say it, but it just means you have to think of new ideas for your playbook. 

Your clothes only get tighter and expose more skin each day. You’re playing dirty: leaning over him to grab a clipboard so your chest brushes against his arm, bending down to tie your shoe right in front of him, and at one point you tugged on the whistle around Dylan’s neck right in front of him before swaying your hips as you left him standing there shaking his head. But Steve barely broke, a tough competitor with a good defense and even better offense. Steve’s hand found your lower back in passing, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek, and his flirting with Barbie and other clients only got more obvious which you didn’t think was possible. 

A week of going head to head with Steve in these little games all to prove that you weren’t jealous and it was him that wanted you. But, he was still determined it was the other way around, waiting for you to beg, to wave the white flag and just let him win. Today was your final straw, pulling out all of the stops - black spandex biker shorts and a black sports bra with, much as you hated to do it, a face full of makeup and hair styled. 

When you arrive at work on Friday, you have to actively focus on keeping your composure around Steve because it seemed he was taking a final stand in this war as well - black baseball hat, shirtless while playing basketball, his shorts slung low on his hips. 

You hate him. 

Friday’s were slow though, thankfully, and had Steve and you basically switching jobs, you with clients and him in the gym - away from each other for most of the day. Or at least, you should be away from one another for most of the day. 

Filling out a form while leaning against the counter, Steve’s voice draws your attention, “Hey, Muscles.”

A smile twitches on your lips and you look up to see him pulling a gray shirt on as he approaches, eyes lingering on the lines of his stomach, the trail of hair leading to a black elastic band peeking out of his shorts. 

Turning your body towards him, you relish in his own lingering gaze over you as you tilt your head, “Muscles? That’s a new one. And, dare I say, a compliment?”

Steve leans against the counter, squeezing water from his bottle into his mouth, some dribbling out, and you hate that you want to lick the small bead of water directly off of his skin. He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and turns his hat backwards before facing the counter. Drumming his fingers against it aimlessly, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye and sighs before admitting, “Well, you have been showing them off a bit more this week.”

Rising onto your toes, you drop the pen on the other side of the desk and risk a glance back at him. But he’s too busy staring down at your ass and you whisper, “Seen anything else you’ve liked this week?”

Steve’s eyes dart up to yours quickly, licking his lips as his hands land on top of his hat, his arms flexing as he breathes out a quiet laugh that ends in a groan, “Fuck.”

A smile worthy of a championship victory fills your face and he rolls his eyes. Before either of you can say anything, the voice of your boss hollers your last name loudly across the room.

“Yes sir?” turning to face him, you stand up a little straighter at his tone and quickly forming scowl.

He sighs as he approaches and glances at Steve who attempts to keep himself busy with a clipboard a few steps away. Your boss is nice, stuck in that sort of manly man kind of world and opinions, but nice nonetheless. You do good work and you’ve never had this sort of look opposite of you. He rubs his temples and he sighs, “I need you to find a change of clothes.”

Snorting before you realize he’s serious, he crosses his arms and you match him, your mouth dropping open as you ask, “Are you serious? Why?”

“Listen, just, this is a professional work environment and you’re showing a lot of skin and I need you to-”

Holding your hand up, you interrupt him, “That is absolutely ridiculous. No.”

He groans and grabs a stack of clipboards, “Don’t get upset, please. You’re a good worker and I don’t want to write you up but-”

Your laughter is loud and you throw an arm out to Steve who’s failing to pretend he’s not listening, “So Harrington can basically have his dick in a client, but I can’t show my shoulders and stomach?”

“Enough! Get a sweatshirt. This is your only warning.” He walks away with the clipboards and you’re left seething, kicking the counter with a grunt. 

Forgetting that Steve was even there to witness all of that, you’re reminded when a piece of fabric brushes your shoulder. Eyes snapping to his, you glare at him, yanking it from his outstretched hand and stalking away before he can give you any sort of pity. 

Fingers brushing under your lashes, you refuse to cry about any of it, screw this place, screw your boss and screw Steve. It’s his fault you changed how you looked. It’s his fault your boss doesn’t take you seriously now. It’s Steve’s fault that you let a “victory” over something so stupid and juvenile cloud you from your work and your values. You changed your clothes, your appearance, and your attitude, and for what? To prove Steve likes a different version of you? Does it even feel good knowing you got his attention?

Pulling the sweatshirt on, you hate that you recognize that it’s his from the smell filling your senses. Hands shove themselves inside the pockets and they brush against a piece of paper. A folded sheet from a notebook with your initial on the front, you pull it open to see ‘Meet me. Bathroom. -Steve’.

Scoffing, you shove it back in the pocket and storm off towards the staff bathroom. He’s so full of himself, probably expecting to swoop in and comfort you and still score. You slam the door open and he jumps, grabbing at his chest before resting his hands on his knees.

“Jesus Christ, could kill a guy with an entrance like that.”

Closing the door and leaning against it, you cross your arms and hiss, “What do you want, Harrington?”

He stands and mirrors your stance, leaning against the sink as he shrugs, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine. Thanks for the sweatshirt. Anything else?” you don’t make any movements to leave despite your better judgements.

He leans his hands back on the counter, smirking, “Well, I couldn’t help but overhear you’ve been thinking about my dick.”

Pushing yourself off of the door, you snort, “Seriously? Do you really think I still want to sleep with you?”

Steve’s smirk widens, lips upturned slightly higher on one side in a signature lopsided grin, “Still?”

Your hand points at him, stopping any sort of thoughts from running away, “No. Listen. Steve, you only started to give me the time of day when I dressed differently, when I acted like those other girls and I hate to break it to you, but I am and never will be like Barbie.”

Steve takes a step closer, toes of your shoes touching and he reaches for your wrist, thumb brushing over the skin tenderly in a way you never expected from him as he shakes his head, “You’re crazy if you think I wasn’t staring at your ass before this week, Florence.”

Heart thrumming at his admission, you tilt your head at the new name, “Florence?”

Steve’s fingers brush up your forearm, gliding under his sweatshirt, “Griffith-Joyner? Flo-Jo?”

Breath hitching, you’re starting to wonder if he’s looking up these women on purpose. Thoughts of Steve researching or deciding new names to call you outside of work sends electric jolts straight to your heart. He can’t know, and you can’t let him think you’re falling for any of this and you start to pull away. His fingers are on your shoulder now and he sighs. From how his eyes are peering directly into your soul, you know he already knows that you’re hooked - line and sinker. 

He pulls you closer, fingers on the back of your neck, the other hand reaching up to cradle your jaw and his nose nudges yours, “Say you want this.”

Your hands work on their own accord, pushing up his chest to around his neck, head craning to arch back, rising on your toes slightly as your lips catch his barely as you breathe out, “You first.”

His hand on your neck squeezes lightly, laughing a little into your parted lips, “Fuck, you’re so stubborn.”

Steps falling backwards, your shoes are being kicked off your feet, “Wh-what time is it?”

Steve blinks at you, barely pulling away, his body pressing you against the door now, “What?”

Your hands find his hips, fingers dipping under the elastic waistband, “I have a 2 o’clock appointment.”

Steve breathes out, bottom lip catching your top one, “Shit, yeah, I’ll be…I’ll be fast.”

Laughing, your hands push at his shorts, “Is that supposed to impress me Harring-”

“Fuck, just shut up,” he commands, mouth swallowing the end of your sentence in a kiss. 

Steve’s thumb brushes against your jaw as your mouths move with each other’s quickly, like that first sip of water after hours of sweating. Steve kisses you like it’s the first and the last, somehow tender and forceful, fingers tangling in your hair while his tongue pushes against yours. 

Pants shed quickly, his other hand rubs against the front of your already wet underwear and he moans into your lips. Breaking away, you finish pulling his boxers down and bite your lip as the swollen red tip of his length twitches under your touch. 

Steve’s fingers tug your underwear aside, finger running up and down through your slick in a way that makes your legs buckle. His breath is shallow against your skin, foreheads touching but you can still see his smirk, “Think you can handle it, pretty girl?”

Fingers wrapping around his length, you roll your eyes and ignore the way the ‘pretty girl’ makes your stomach flutter alive with a swarm of butterflies, “Please, it’s not that big.”

Steve laughs, a little too loudly, and your other hand slaps over his mouth. His eyes sparkle above you, gold flecks that seem like your own little personal spotlights, lighting you up in a way you didn’t dare dream of. 

You are fucked. 

But he can’t know that, he can’t win. Because despite the way his fingers dipping into your entrance suddenly has you gasping and your eyes rolling, the way your thumb swipes over his leaking tip has the same effect on him. It’s an even playing field and you’re determined to make him sweat a little more. 

Your hands move around his neck, pulling his mouth to yours, “You have five minutes to prove me wrong, Harrington, think you can handle the pressure?”

Steve’s hands find your hips and lift you, your legs wrapping around his waist like you’ve done it hundreds of times before and he looks down at them with raised eyebrows, “Have you done this before?”

“Four minutes and forty eight seconds Steven,” you catch his bottom lip and he moans. 

His fingers hold your underwear aside as he rolls his hips, coating his dick in your slick with a few swipes through you, tip catching your clit before sliding back down and pushing into you forcefully and without warning. He catches your scream and gasps with his mouth, nodding against you as he slowly continues to push into you. Your fingers grip the back of his head, causing his hat to fall off, as your head smacks into the door behind you, back arching away from it. Steve’s hands on your hips hold you steady, fingers digging into the plush skin of your ass as they caress down and cup it. 

Once he’s fully inside of you, and your breathing seems to slow again, he pulls his mouth away just enough to whisper, “Knew ya could handle it.”

“Four…fuck…minutes” his hips roll against yours and a moan echos across the tiles and the distinct sound of a click of the lock as his hand reaches below you. 

Your body heats with embarrassment, you hadn’t even thought about locking the door and Steve knows it. Your fingers tug at the back of his head in an effort to gain control again, yanking it a little too forcefully and he growls as you hiss, “Gonna move or not?”

Steve’s hands move back to your hips after giving your ass a harsher squeeze, pulling out of you slowly, “Are you ever not bossy?”

Before you can reply he’s pushing back into you, smirking at the way your mouth falls open and no sound leaving it as he hits the deep spot inside of you quickly. He continues his slow pulls and forceful pushes, the muscles of his shoulder tensing, able to feel each twitch and move under your hands through his shirt. His fingertips bruise your hips, dragging your slick walls back and forth across his length at an agonizing pace. Your legs locked around his waist, you glance down to where your bodies connect, the sight of your slick coating the rough patch of hair at his base making your walls clench around him tighter. Steve’s breath hits your neck, squeezing your hips even harder as he gasps out against your temple. 

Smirking at his weakening defenses, you hide your own insatiable desire, teasing, “Harder, Steve.”

The boy whimpers, nose pressing into the sweat slick skin of your neck as his hips pick up their pace. The sounds of your shallow breaths mix with the sharp slapping of your skin, and he groans, “Fuck-I can’t…I can’t-”

“Come on, Steve, this is the best you can do? I thought you do this all the ti-”

He’s had it with your teasing finally it seems, and he pulls out of you harshly, arm wrapping around your waist to spin you before yanking you back against his chest. 

Wet lips brush your jaw from behind, arm squeezing in a warning around your stomach, “Tell me what to do again. See what happens.”

Biting the inside of your lip, you don’t trust your voice to not give away the tidal wave of arousal that’s threatening to crack the dams you have in place. A breath out through your nose before you whisper, “Don’t be mean.”

He laughs against your neck, lips dragging down and awaking a sea of goosebumps to rise across your skin. He speaks into the sweat kissed dip of your shoulder, “So, she dishes it out, but can’t take it?”

Before you can even respond, Steve’s pushing your back, chest falling to the counter in front of you as his hands find your hips. His voice is stronger, deeper, rougher as he commands, “Open.”

Your head falls forward, eyes squeezing shut at his tone, thighs sticky and pushed together tightly from the arousal that’s reached its breaking point with barely any touching and a simple word.  

The swollen and wet tip of his cock presses into your ass as he squeezes your hips, “Baby, don’t make me say it again.”

Every time he’s called you a name other than an athlete has you seeing stars already, wanting to keep playing the game to see how many more you can collect. Pressing yourself against him, you arch your back as you pout, “A please would be nice.”

His hand connects with your ass, a sharp smack that echoes and stings as he mocks, “Please?”

Legs falling open easily, he slides himself through your slick, dragging and coating his tip in your arousal even more, you know you’ve lost, because he’s the one with the power now. His hand pushes between your shoulder blades, the other gripping the dough of a cheek, slapping it again as his tip bumps your swollen nerves with a precision you know is one hundred percent on purpose and stupidly accurate. 

Without warning again, Steve pushes into your entrance, a cry stopped by the press of your teeth into your bottom lip as your fingers grasp for purchase on the flat surface beneath you. 

Steve’s agonizing pace from earlier is gone, slamming his body against yours in a brutal and bruising speed. Your hands start to push against the counter and Steve’s hand drags down your spine, pushing on your lower back gently in contrast to his forceful command, “Don’t move.”

Walls tightening around his cock at his tone, the sounds of him pulling and pushing into your dripping center mix with the quiet bump of your knees hitting the cabinet in front of you rhythmically.   

His fingers not on your back knead into the plush skin of your ass after smacking it lighter than before, but still hard enough for you to tighten around him again. He moans, huffing a long breath out of his nose, “Fuck, like being told what to do, huh?”

Hips never stopping their harsh thrusts, your breath sticks in your chest as you keep your moans stifled, threatening to bubble up and past your lips as he smacks the same spot again, the sting coating your lashes in wetness as he whispers, “I asked you a question babe.”

It’s a breath, and if you couldn’t see yourself in the mirror in front of you, you may not have even realized you admitted it, “Yes.”

Steve’s fingers trail from their soothing kneading against the red skin, to your hip, brushing down your thigh and back up. His hips roll and he picks up his pace, humming out a content sigh at your admission. His eyes lock on yours in the mirror and he smirks, “So good for me, being such a - shit,” his eyes close as you push your ass back against him, slipping him in deeper than before, fingers dragging on the cool counter. He grunts through the rest of his sentence, “You’re so mean to me, but this is what you wanted all along, yeah?”

Moaning at his question, your eyes squeeze closed, the coil inside of your stomach pulled tight, body vibrating and chasing that breaking point until you have to release. He leans forward, brushing his lips against your shoulder, hands back to your hips as he hits that deep spot inside of you repeatedly with bruising accuracy. Steve smiles against your skin, “You act all disgusted by me too, and turns out,” his lips and nose glide across your muscles, warm breath fanning across your skin and his fingers brush back up to your hips as his mouth opens more against you, trailing to your neck. His breath shoots the tightening in your stomach into overdrive and a whine falls from your parting lips as his fingers adjust on your hips, whispering, “You’re just as much of a slut as I am.”

Eyes fluttering and breath hitching at his comment, your back arches up again, but not far enough before he presses his weight against you. Pushing himself faster and to a spot that feels like you can feel him rearranging your guts and you both moan loudly, his breath hitting your neck in a way that has your fingers searching for purchase beneath them, whining louder and your knees aching to collapse. 

Steve gasps harshly, sucking in a deep breath he can’t quite finish, the sound directly in your ear and before another moan can break past your lips, his hand is coming up to press over your mouth. Your eyes rolling back as he whispers against the shell of your ear, “Be good baby. Wouldn’t want anyone to get fired for not keeping their dick in their pants, right?”

Nodding your head as he slowly lets his hand go. Your sighs quiet until his other hand wraps around your waist, pressing the pads of his fingertips into your swollen button. You jolt at the stimulation he had yet to reward you with, knees losing their battle and buckling, Steve holds you up, grunting as you cry out quietly, “St-steve.”

Somehow quickening his pace, his thumbs circular motions match perfectly to the rhythm of his hips, “Quiet, come on, babe, thought you were good at following instructions.”

Whimpering as he thrusts into you harder, your body fully collapsing against the counter, cheek pressed to the cool of the stone underneath it. Steve’s swirls to your swollen nerves are the breaking point, the added weight that breaks you from pushing it any further, unable to do another rep and your lashes wet, “Steve, I’m gonna - fuck, I-”

He can feel you tightening around him, his own hips stuttering but the game isn’t over yet. His mouth drags down your neck and another shiver runs through you as he smirks into your shoulder, “A please would be nice.”

And with your own sentence thrown back at you, he’s won.

Eyes opening, you see his own watching your body swallow everything he gives it eagerly. Standing back up fully, his cheeks flushed pink, hair sweeping across his forehead. His fingers dig into your hips as his bottom lip pulls between his teeth. His head falls backwards, breath huffed out of his nose. 

“Please.”

Unsure if he says it again or it’s you, both of you collapse into the feeling of releasing. His thumb continues its circling as his hips stutter un-rhythmically. Both of you gasping out for breath as your walls milk his release and your body relaxes into its own. Muscles unfurling, fingers flattening to the counter, back arching as his hand caresses down your spine in buzzing tenderness. Meeting gazes in the mirror again, his chest heaves in time with yours and your rolling eyes are met with a widening grin on his face. 

A loud knock comes from the door and you both jump, your hand slapping over your mouth as Dylan’s voice calls your name through the closed door, "You in there? Mr. Conners has been out in the lobby for ten minutes!”

Steve leans forward, grabbing your hand from across your mouth. He presses it down, covering it on the counter with his large one. His other squeezes your hip as he stays buried inside of you. He nips at your neck and you squeak out, “Uh-I, I’m not feeling well, can someone else do it?”

A huff on the outside of the door and Steve’s mouth starts sucking a bruise into the skin below your ear and you smirk, calling out more confidently, “I bet Steve could! He’s not doing anything today!”

Steve pinches your waist and you yelp, walls tightening around him and he moans loudly at the feeling, still sensitive from his release. Reaching up awkwardly from your still bent position, you flick the side of his head. 

A louder sigh from the other side of the door and a groan, “Man, fuck you Harrington. I know you’re in there with her!”

Steve and your laughter is hard to keep quiet as Dylan kicks the door, his voice trailing off as he walks away, “You just can’t let anyone else win can you? You two deserve each other.”

originally a part of @newlips milestone of love event 💛 thank you for hosting Cece!

[maddascanbe-blog]

Miracu-class girls are done! It took less time than I initially anticipated, thank goodness. Let's talk re-write's and re-designs shall we?

Sabrina so freaking cute, give the girl her hat. It was probably a gift from Chloe. For her redesign I thought she would be the kind to dress in cute blouses and flowy skirts. She has tennis skirts in every color for every occasion. As for her re-write- anyone who saw how I changed Chloe probably will guess that their dynamic is drastically changes as well.

Sabrina met Chloe when they were in their tween years, Officer Roger having worked security for the Bourgeois on multiple occasions. One day he had to bring his daughter into work and Chloe found her wandering the halls. When a kidnapper tried to abduct Chloe, Sabrina sprayed him with pepper spray her father gave her and then kicked him in the dick for good measure. Chloe then declared that Sabrina should be her full-time body guard, and she technically is being paid to hang out with Chloe. But Sabrina would have done it with or without the money since Chloe is actually very endearing once you figure out how she works.

Alix is next! Alix's violently pink hair could not be ignored, so I kept it (albeit a little less saturated) Also she is in fact still short. Her outfits are probably all variations of sports gear unless she has an event to attend at the museum. I also tanned her up since I imagine she spends a lot of time outside, girl is sunburnt. She is actually a year ahead in history, having gotten too bored with junior level classes. So she's friends with some of the seniors too. I won't get into Bunnix anytime soon but- let's just say it's a lot more tragic than cannon would ever admit. The rabbit's powers are changing, and Alix still has to live with that.

On a lighter note, Juleka, as stunning as ever. Tall queen. She is a year behind since her lack of participation in classes ultimately tanked her grade in several subjects. Her band director was more then happy for her to stay an extra year though, since she is trained classically as well as electrically on the bass. She may not like talking, but she has little fear of performing when the music can do the talking. Her twin brother actually graduated early, and he's working now to help pay for the band the two want to start. Her design doesn't change much from her cannon one other than the fact I switched her ripped leggings for lace ones. I imagine she actually has many outfits in this color pallet, since Chat Noir quickly becomes her favorite hero.

Mylene, okay the change I made here is pretty obvious. I debated for a long time on whether or not I change her skin tone. And when I did the line art? Wasn't planning too. But changed my mind last second, since I thought it helped the color pallet more. This would imply she is mixed, with her dad looking pretty much the same as cannon. it's hard to tell her unless you look closely but I gave her freckles that just cover every inch of her. She is Sunkissed. He character isn't super different, she is still easily startled, but she knows what she believes and will fight for it no matter what.

And finally, Rose! The lovely Rosey! The flower child! Her nonspecific illness still definitely happened, but I like to think she has actually recovered. I do not know enough about most chronic illnesses to make any sort of specification on what she has so nameless headache disease it is! She struggled a lot as a kid, but now she's planning to start a non-profit to help kids who are going through hard times of their own. She definitely still has her down days, the fact that she nearly died so young is not something she is quick to forget. But she will do whatever she can to give other people hope, sinee she knows all too well what it feels like to be hopeless.

As for her design, she had a bucket of pink upturned on her. She did have to have her hair shaved as an affect of her illness but now it's growing back faster than ever. She gets it cut every time it gets past a certain length to donate it.

Luka is next!

[livingdeadmlm]

Kinktober Day 3: Pet play with Mammon

Pronouns: The reader isn't referred to as any 

Physical Sex: implied to have a penis but could be a strap if that’s your style

How far are things going?: Not full-blow sex; however a lot of teasing to mammon and he penis comes out

Warnings: slight breeding kink in there MDNI

Outline: The reader notices that Mammon comes home with a tiger more often than he does and decides to tease him for it. not as much pet play but i tried

What inspired me to write how I did: Nothing!

Other: If you have any characters you want to be featured this month, ask me, and I will fit them in, as I am trying to write for more people this month!

You brushed the fur on mammons, returning tiger ears. His head leaned into the brush with a pout on his face.

“I told you to leave those withes alone! I swear it’s bi-weekly. You come back home with these ears again.” You sighed, grabbing a spray bottle of leave-in conditioner. "I’m starting to think you like this.” Mammon's eyes opened as he began to deny the accusations, insisting they would seek him out and con him. Giving him weighted dice, and they were sneaking cards in their sleeves. 

“They follow me and won’t leave me alone until I play a game of poker against them! That’s not my fault.” He huffed, which caused his tail to puff up. 

“Oh, I just brushed your tail. Be a good tiger and lay down so I can brush it out fully.” A slight whine escaped his throat as he flopped on the bed, stomach first. You pulled his pants down a bit and showed his pair of checkered boxers. Brushing his tail, you took notice of his hips continuously adjusting against the firm mattress of your bed. 

The brush made a slight scratching noise through his fur, and you started to think he was doing this on purpose. Anytime he’d come back home with his tail and ears, he would be more clingy, more sensitive, and more prone to initiate sex with you. You had joked each time he came home like this; he was in heat. 

You took it upon yourself to help him research tigers and how they behave during these times. When you walked down the halls, mammon would be just a few feet behind, slowly stalking you; how he began to growl when you would play fight, how he’d rub his face and lick you to leave his sent on you. How when you finally bottomed out inside of him, he’d grunt loudly, begging you not to pull out. 

You leaned forward, closing in on the soft ears on his head. “What is my tiger a bit excited about?” You kiss the back of his head as his tail swooshes around. “Hey! What are you going for here?!” his head lifted to make eye contact, but he made no move to get up.

“Do you keep returning to those witches so you can come home, and I’ll pamper you?” Your fingers played with his tail, gently weaving it between your fingers, appreciating the soft fur. Voice cracking Mammon was becoming a mess under you. His eyes were slightly watery as whines muffled against your comforter. “well, of course, I deserve pampering! I am THE great Mammon, after all!!” 

“You’re not pulling the wool over my eyes, tiger. I know it's more than that.” Your voice was a whisper as you placed the brush on the bed. Your hands rubbed up and down his back, causing him to arch to keep your hands on his body. “You like the feeling of me playing with your ears and tail. You like being a tiger; maybe we should find you a collar, hm? What would everyone in devildom think seeing one of the great demon lords writher under a human with a little collar on?” His tiger ears flicked and twitched, “Please touch me more! I should be your only focus right now! And… forever!” 

“Show me where you want me to touch, then, tiger; take these off, huh?” Mammon quickly sat up as you snapped the elastic of his boxers against his skin. He kicked his pants off with his boxers and practically tore off his white T-shirt because his nails were much more claw-like. His tanned skin held a slight flush that crept across his face as he froze momentarily. He held out his hands, which slightly shook as you placed your hands in his. 

He pulled you forward for a kiss, one arm wrapped around your neck while the other hand guided you to his leaking cock. Feeling it in your hands, it was heavy, and the skin was hot in your hands. Keeping a firm grip, you started to jerk off Mammon slow and steady, but that was the last thing he wanted. He whimpered and cried for you to speed up, humping into your fist for more friction, but you kept pace. His lips were soft against yours as his moans broke the kiss. 

Moving away from the kiss, his head rested on the back of your bed frame. So you took the chance to leave marks along his neck and down his chest. You placed small kisses across his firm chest as, even still, he grunted and sniffled for you to increase your pace. But you stuck to your plans; you wanted tonight to be long and drawn out—a treat for your tiger.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Keep it Clean ||

Shane Walsh x female reader

Tags/warnings: shower sex, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink? apocalyptic zombie world pregnancy worries. E

A/n: I did not think I'd get another one out so fast lol. First time writing for Shane as well (and for why?? Mmm)! This is for @bernthirst-events #bernthirstpalooza Wet Wednesday 😜 please reblog if you enjoyed!

Clean, hot, almost magical water cascades over your naked body as you dance under the strong shower spray, squealing with delight. You don't even know how long it's been since you had access to something so luxurious. This of course meant you were going to enjoy it to the fullest.

You moan with pleasure as you slide the soap suds over your skin, the cleansing sensation feeling almost too good you can't stop giggling to yourself. You could finally relax for a while, recharge and restock after months on the road only ever snatching meager hours of sleep because of the watches. Because of the walkers.

You almost jump out of your skin letting out a scream when something touches your back, spinning around ready to throw your fist until it's held above your head in a strong grip and you're pinned against the tiled shower wall.

"S-shane! Oh my god, don't do fuckin' do that!" You shriek, whacking him on the bare chest with your free hand.

He smiles that shit eating smile, looking you up and down as you try to get your breathing and heart rate under control.

"Sorry baby, but can't a man watch his woman enjoying herself? Couldn't help wantin' to touch…"

You've calmed down enough to realise he's completely naked as he loosens his grip on your wrist. His massive bulk takes up most of the cubicle space, and as your eyes trail down following the water droplets on his tanned skin you can't help noticing he's very aroused.

He trails his wet fingers down your arm as you let it fall, sliding his hand to cup your breast and you gasp, arching into him as he runs his thumb in slow circles around your nipple.

"Y'know it's been a while since we…"

You're grateful for his other hand coming to grip you around the waist as you think you might fall, melting into his touch as you remember just how long it's been since you last had sex.

"Yeah," you breathe out, parting your lips as he leans down pressing his against them, the trickling water flowing around you easing the kiss into one that's increasingly hotter and wetter, one that has your skin feeling electrified as he touches you, his hands everywhere you need them to be. The kisses migrate elsewhere, both of you mouthing desperately at each other's skin, needing to feel this closeness in the new privacy that you haven't been able to have before. You're sinking to your knees so eager to take him in your mouth and show him but he pulls you back up, leaning in close as he kisses you on the lips again so passionately.

"Ain't gonna last if you do that babe."

The feel of his erection pressing against your belly has you wet and ready for him in record time.

"Well what are you waiting for handsome," you ask, reaching down between you, encircling your hand around his cock making him almost choke. "fuck me."

"Yes ma'am." He lifts up your leg, grabbing under your thigh and you hold on to both him and the shower pipe for support as he lines up before slowly pushing in. The fullness you feel with him inside you takes you aback and he feels it too, waiting for you to relax as you curl around him, fingers digging into his muscular arms. After a minute you nod against him, giving him the signal that he can move and your mouth drops open as he slowly pulls out and thrusts back in.

"Oh damn baby, oh fuck…"

Your knuckles are white as you grip onto the pipe beside you but he prises your fingers off, interlacing them in his as he shifts you to the side fucking you up against the wall.

Your moans are loud and echo around the bathroom and you're certain that the others will be able to hear, but you don't care, you just want him. You can't even care that he's taking you raw, you should really be more careful but the feeling of him is like nothing else. You need it, need to feel him without any barrier, the primal urge too strong to beat any logic and sense.

His wet skin smacks against yours faster, harder as he pushes you towards your climax. Your fingers twist in his hair and pull, and you feel the growl he makes vibrate through your soul.

"Shane, please…" you plead for something, you don't know what anymore but he's got you regardless, he's all around you, covering you, inside you making you feel safe in the midst of this fucked up world.

"Fuck babygirl, I'm close, we gotta-"

You know he's looking to pull out but your hindbrain has taken the wheel and you pull him closer, nails pressing red crescents into his skin because you need this, you want this.

Fuck the consequences.

He looks you right in the eyes and you're nodding, you're begging for it, you're selfish. You don't care.

You cry out as you cum, taking him with you through his nonsensical curses, his praises, his I love yous, not letting go until you've stopped shaking, until he's shushing you gently, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he pulls out.

You don't know what will happen, if it happens, but you know he'll be there for you no matter what.

.

.

If you enjoy my writing please reblog to share with others!

[nekassvariigs]

Rayleigh x reader

18+ ,NSFW, p0rn with plot, Face-fucking,Face-sitting, slight tying up, bit of dom x sub, only other thing i can list on is cum.

Well toned back, glistening in sweat and dirt, his muscles bulging with each slash he made, the way his muscles tensed as he prepared for another jab sent a plesant tingle down your spine, you bit your nail stuck in a trance like state watching him.

Sweat trickling down his back, it looked like he was sprayed with massage oil, the way his skin shined, your eyes slowly dropping to his waist checking out every muscle on his body a human eye could possible observe, his trained muscles showcased his v-line all the way from the back hazing your mind with drunk passion.

He had little dimples on the very end of his back making you question how good theyd look while hes hovering over you.

The sun was scorching that day, whoever wore shirts tossed them away within minutes, leaving you to watch a sea of shirtless men training.

It was like a dream come true for a woman your age.

"Mmhn~" you groaned frustrated with how easily you can get distracted, not like youre to blame. You had trained days prior leaving you to laze in the shade as you watched the delicious men do their thing.

One by one they started taking breaks which was your cue to go take a dip before they got too close.

Wearing a bikini and a very fitting see through robe you lowered it letting it sit on your waist as you waited for a specific man to come.

His body shimmering, clothes drenched he approached you taking a drink of water with a loud exhale.

"Going for a swim already?" he asked wiping the sweat from his brow, his entire complexion stretching.

Fuck.

"Only fair right, cant get a heatstroke now can i?" you dropped your mesh robe expsoing your cute butt.

Raighleys eyes trailed you slowly taking in every inch of your body aswell as beauty.

He appriciated your looks from a distance as always never daring to step closer to you. Your tan body never leaving his sight as your frame slowly dissapearded in the sea.

"Inspecting the goods again vice-capitan?" a crewman laughed teasing him. He only closed his eyes half smirking at the remark.

"Shoulda seen the way she was looking at me. Like a hawk that woman." He took another sip, sitting on your beach chair trailing his abs with your robe as a towel.

He smirked feeling the fabric alone, such skimpy garments, where do they make these?

After a good cool dip you stepped out drying your hair on the way back. Water leaving a trail in the sand where you once walked.

"Hows the water?" Raighley asked your robe scrunched up in his lap.

"Amazing." You spoke squeezing out the water from your swimsuits top, water trickling down your waist.

This didnt go unnoticed as the foxy man now had his chance to take you in.

The turmoil you caused in his body could only be described as setting an house of fire.

"You'll get cold." He offered the robe he used to wipe his sweat with back to you.

You noticed it being wet in a couple of spots asking the blonde man why

"Dont know, picked it up that way, any problem with it?" he smiled through his teeth knowing all too well what he did with it.

Skimpy garment on he couldnt hold back to think "Atta girl."

"For the record it smells funny, you defenetly did something with it." You could just feel the scent of sweat on you such an odd yet intoxicating smell.

"Didnt touch it." He put his hands behind his back resting in the cool shade, his abs flexing slightly as he found a comfy spot, his chest in full view to you.

You smiled looking down at him, taking your drink that laid beside him, covering your chest with your hand.

Such sweet tension the two of you had, silent yearning for eachothers presence, body, mind.

"LETS TAKE A DIP!" Roger shouted behind you stripping naked as he ran to the sea.

Raighley rose up dropping his garments aswell as did everyone a line of men stark naked as babies running for it full speed.

You laughed sipping your drink as you inspected the belt he dropped aside.

You grabbed it knowing the gentleman wouldnt mind, and pulled it around your waist tightening it so it sat low on your body.

You spent the entire day till evening wearing it.

As night came it was time to turn in, body aching for contact you laid on your bed pondering wether to enjoy yourself.

A knock on the door startled you, a large tone frame excusing themselves stepped in.

"Hopefully i didnt disturb you." he shut the door leaving a small crack from it actually being closed.

"I dont mind, youre welcome anytime Raighley." You sat back on your bed arms behind your body as you relaxed.

There was a long pause, more like a silent stare down between you two, his half dressed body in nothing but shorts and loose shirt versus yours in a different set of garments still wearing the same robe and belt you took from the man infront of you.

"You have something for me?" he piqued generouslly looking down to your body.

"Do i?" playing dumb you gave him dove eyes crossing your legs seductivley.

He smirked stepping closer to you, he lowered himself eye level to you, his hands resting on the bed emprisoning you in his strong arms. You stayed still watching him with the same relaxed tone his slanted eyes slightly frustrated.

His arm streched towards your waist tugging on the belt your body dragged along space growing even less so.

You closed your eyes hand reaching for his cheek as you placed a sweet prolonged kiss on the corner of lips earning a gentle sigh from him.

He kissed back gently the grasp on your waist lessning as it moved to the small of your back, resting you on the bed with care.

You smiled rubbing small circles on his cheek your thumb under his glasses.

He took your hand placing a small kiss onto it, trailing it down your arm slowly.

He scraped off your robe placing tiny kisses on your shoulders tickling your skin.

"Raighley.." you giggled your neck shrugging from the sensation. He smiled bumping heads with you as he continued layering kisses down your body stopping at the waist here his belt was at.

His hands pulled at it, a tiny yelp coming from you as you felt your body tugged on once more. His strong calloused hand reached to unbuckle it before you could even realise.

He swiftly yanked, the leather making a loud pop as it hit itself. He grabbed your wrists straddling you, your face watching him intently before you realised what he had done, a shamefull blush sitting on your cheekbones.

He looped the buckle around one of your wrists, tightening it to the frame of the bed to secure your hand in place, his body hovering above yours you used your free hand to move to his pants, dipping your fingers slightly below the elastic.

"Ah ah~" he denied your longing touch with a warning , his eyes focused as he looked down on you. He had a mishevous grin on his face the entire time.

He scooted closer, his hips centimeters away from your face. What a pervert.

Blood rushed through your cheeks as you tried your best not to breathe too heavily, slow ragged breaths coming from your mouth you saw his member twitching inside his pants.

You held your breath altough you needed to breathe eventually. His loose shirt hovered in the air giving you the best possible view of his happy trail along his lower abs.

"Fuck.." you whsipered to yourself squeezing your legs to comfort the tension in your underwear.

"Liking the view?" he teased you, further making fun of how red you were just from eye fucking him, he tightened your free arm to the frame restricting all movements of your hands.

He bucked his hips slightly the base of his shaft rubbing against your nose.

He smelled so fresh you could tell he took care of himself well, and his cock was so warm it made you feel tingles.

"Lets make sure you understand something." he moved a bit back undoing the zipper of his pants. "If you do anything against what i say," he pressed on his lower abdomen outlining the shape of his cock, "I might have to get harsh with you." you swallowed mouth watering at the sight alone. Stretching the fabric of his underwear he pointed the tip of his cock to your lips, you squirmed under him unable to help you relieve any more of the growing arousal in your panties.

"Understood?" the lightly tapped his clothed dick against your lips fully commited for his words, the look in his eyes made you weak, he was enjoying himself so much.

Your mind was going hazy, the control he had over you drove you mad with want for him, and he knew it, you had to submit.

"Yes.." you whispered against his cock. He paused grabbing your face and squeezing your cheeks.

"Wanna try again?" He drew lazy strokes side to side with his cock against your partialy open mouth.

You had a look of shame to you, you enjoyed this too much. You looked at him through your lashes your eyes sparkling in the dimly lit room.

"Yessir..." The hold he had on your mouth made it harder to voice it out. His smirk grew once he heard you, he pressed a bit stronger against your lips antagonizing himself in the process, making you feel the bump from the transition to his tip to his thick shaft.

He slightly chuckled seeing the drool forming in your mouth.

You bucked your hips against thin air rocking him off balance, he caught himself quickly, his thumb stretching your upper lip to your gums revealing your teeth.

You decided to stick your mouth open a bit for him showing him your slutty side.

"Atta girl~" he praised you making your heart flutter at the words. He tapped his clothed cock against your tongue, wetting the fabric.

You could feel him twitch again, fuck what a tease this man was.

"You’re loving this aren’t you, having my cock in your mouth like this?"

You moan against his warmth, his dark eyes watching you like a hawk, he had an aura to him, a dominant, slightly sadistic and intrigued air which you couldn’t hold your own against.

He indulged himself a while longer, watching how your slutty, drool covered lips begged to touch more of him. The wet fabric around his cock stretched skin tight around him, you couldn’t help to stare at his happy trail.

He rose up his shirt exposing the dark blonde hairs on his lower abs, your eyes softened as you gently nipped the fabric of his boxers holding them between your teeth.

You let them go with a slight yank the boxers popping back onto his stiff cock. He quirked a brow with a slight chuckle, he let go of the hand he held your mouth open tracing his fingers on his lower abs, he partially took off his boxers lying them low on his ass, his cock sprung free bouncing before your face, you examined it, unable to hide your smile at the view.

He had a thick vein running down the side of it , it coiled around his cock beautifully. The tip of his cock was a darker tan than his skin nearly matching his lips.

Your breath stuttered your legs clashing against one another. He guided himself closer to you, lips brushing against it you swallowed thickly.

‘‘You think you can take it?’‘ Raighley had a cocky grin on his face as he brushed a strand of your hair away from your face. He saw you looking at him desperatley wanting his attention to which he payed no mind, he shot you a quick glance your heart burning with need.

You rolled your eyes slightly feeling his touch on your face. 

‘‘Play nice now alright?’‘ He looked at you with a fondness before his face turned a little darker and his voice raspier as he hovered above you. ‘‘Otherwise you’ll take it all.’‘ You knew what he meant. 

You nodded your head inching closer to take him in your mouth, he cursed out silently watching his cock disappear in your mouth, ‘’ Fuck’’ he growled watching you bob your head against his hips saliva coating his shaft pooling at the base of it as it slowly trickled down to your chest. 

You were gentle as he said slowly sucking him, you could feel very vein and bump on his cock with your tongue, you carefully lolled the muscle around the back of his cock making him twitch inside you. 

His breath stuttered a bit abs clenching he relished in the pleasure. 

He started rolling his hips slowly against your mouth, his tip often reaching the back of your throat. ‘’You’re doing great~’’ he panted the scrunch in his brows showing how much he enjoyed your mouth. 

With a sense of gratification , sharp pain hit the back of your throat as he pushed himself a little too deep inside you, tears stinging your eyes slightly. You closed your eyes edging him on with your tongue, you slipped away from him, licking his tip along the centre down to the curve where it ended. 

 A low grunt escaped his lips as he  threw his head back, the knot in his lower stomach tingling each time your tongue drove to over-simulate his tip. 

His breaths were ragged, his hand moving subconciously to fill your mouth with himself once more. He bucked his hips deeper agaisnt you, his lower stomach lightly brushing against your nose as you took most of him. 

A moan filled your mouth, pleasantly sending shivers down his shaft. 

He smirked leaning over you, hand on the bed frame, you could catch a breathtaking view of his body once more, his abs shimmered with sweat, his cheast rising unevenly. 

You smiled to yourself knowing  you made him feel this way. Inching closer to him, your nose pressed flush against the hair on his lower abs, taking all of him inside your mouth you slightly bobbed your head side to side trying to fit more and more of him inside. 

To say he was startled was an under statement, his love drunk smile rose higher the veins on his cock throbbing in pleasure as he stared at your stuffed mouth. 

You pulled away a thick strand of drool dripping between your lips and the sides of his cock you looked at the man, noticing his ragged form you knew how good of a job you did with him. ‘’That wasn’t fair now was it?’’ he took a handful of your hair, he had a certain danger to his eyes that you loved.

Your heart pounded against your chest, you gave him a weak smile. 

‘‘You’re such a slut “ he snarked, your chest tingling at the fact you disobeyed him.

You knew you’re in it now, he waisted little time brushing his cock against your lips he proceed to throat fuck you. The sight of his dick bulging in your throat as you gasped for air was the sluttiest thing you could ever give him a sight of. Tears drenching your eyes as you struggled for him, his rough panting before you, the way you slid your tongue out to stroke the swell of his bulge.

He groaned and panted, slurring his praises for you the more he fucked your mouth, your tongue sucking on the sweet spot between his shaft and groin. 

He lowered his head not able to keep his pace the more his stomach knotted. Your mouth tightened trying to swallow the saliva that built up instead you recieved a loud husky groan his cock dragging lazily inside your mouth,he bottomed out, cum spurting down your throat. 

Surprised you swallowed the thick liquids, looking up at him, your eyes meeting with his, his expression was priceless, fucked out of his mind, saliva lightly coating the corner of his lips as he wiped it away. The cut on his eyes glistening with sweat that coated his brow. 

‘‘Fuck..“ he pulled out of you, wiping off the drool and tears on your face. 

He untied the belts holding you, the friction had made your wrists red. You rubbed them relishing the feeling. 

Raighley’s face lowered next to yours, a gravely whisper in your ear spoke “You took me so well~’’. He kissed your ear, his beard gently scratching against your side you leaned into his touch.

‘‘Let me repay you..” he cupped your face, his slanted brown eyes turned soft as he kissed the mouth he had just came in. You burrowed your hands in his hair. He pulled you up to sit eye level with him. His strong hands trailing your body slowly. You kept grinding against him, unable to have enough.

His teeth lightly nipped your lower lip, tugging on it, you arched your chest against his your lip coming back with a light pop. You mewled ‘’I need you.. “  hugging his head which rested in the crook of your neck, biting your skin.

He hummed, lightly smiling against you , his thumb trailing under your jaw, he kissed between where your collarbones met. 

Wanting to appriciate you for how good you were to him. He lazily squeezed your body grinding it against his own, leaving a haze of kisses everywhere his lips traveled.

"Please.. sir" you whimpered your nipples rubbing against his shirt.

He growled against your skin biting harder than before making you yelp. You shouldnt be doing this to him even though he asked to be called this, each time you did it felt like you were trying to provoke a mad animal.

He backed away from you and took off his shirt, leaving you to admire his tanned skin you drooled over before at the beach.

"You were eye-fucking me before." his fingers laced around your chest dropping your body a bit lower he sucked on your nipple switching between the two every so often.

You bit your lip, the feeling of being found out even if he had his back towards you made your face redder than before.

"Dont be shy now, you certainly werent before." He sucked harder your hips automatically buckling against his, he was still hard, your skin felt feverish where his cock touched you, he just came so how is he harder than before.

"You looked hot.. I couldn't help it." you admited staring into the wall, his eyes traled up to watch yours, his mouth still sucking on your perky buds.

"Liar." He gently bit your nipple, your hand clasping the back of his head you pulled his hair.

You moaned struggling to decide wether to pull him away or pull him closer. "You know how i know?" he continued breathless kisses trailing your torso, his beard tickling your neck. "I've heard you. The way you moan my name." the foxy man kept messing with your head.

"Begging for me." He continued, your body growing more excited each time he opened his mouth to share his secrets.

"Each night." He kissed your neck running yet another shiver on your heaving body. His eyes tracing your face made you want to bury yourself six feet deep.

You hid yourself in the crook of his neck body flaring red. His hands gently stroked your back brushing your hair away.

"How about you make it all true?" you whispered to yourself silently enough that if he payed attention he'd heart it.

Raighley smirked looking at you through thin lashes, you grew a bit nervous from that, everytime he looked at you it startled you.

He laid down on the bed his hands reaching for yours, "Come." He ushered you as you kneed your way over, straddling him. "Closer.." he kept pulling you forward.

"Sit on my face." his arms held onto yours as you took in what you just heard.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, come." He wasnt wasting his breath with this one he didnt want to keep you waiting.

You spread your legs lowering yourself over him, still not fully seated onto him.

He pulled you in fully, large hands cupping your ass, his mouth making contact with your slick entrance you moaned blisfully feeling the warmth of his tongue lapping up your juices.

You grinded against him slowly hearing the squelching noises come from down below, he licked you all over making sure he tasted all of you. He kissed your lips, the beautiful pink insides of your entrance, he couldnt wait to tease you with his tongue.

He ate you out with such passion it made your knees feel weak after just a short while, his tongue flickered against your clit rubbing it and twirling around it as he kissed all over it.

You moaned his name grinding further into his handsome face, his own hips bucking against the air every now and then.

"Fuck you feel so good.." you kept praising him unsure when you ended your little roleplay.

He smacked your ass in affirmation, tongue prodding inside your walls as you mewled for more. He circled his tongue in and out slurping on your juices each time you rode his face.

He held you still for a moment burrowing his face agaisnt your pussy, his stripy beard shining with your arousal.

You whispered profanities the more he went down on you telling him just how good he made you feel.

"Fuck right there, righht there Raighley.." you whimpered grinding your hips against his face, his tongue flicking against your clit feverishly.

Your hips kept twitching, thighs shaking as you felt the constant stimulation accompanied by his smacks ,your ass red with prints of his hands.

He fondled your ass lightly pushing you forward so he could drink all of you. You felt like exploding, you grabbed onto the bedframe Raighleys hands cupping you close to him as you panted with heavy breaths mewling his name each time.

"I-can't..-" you stuttered your breath trying to hold out the pleasure you were recieving, his calloused hands gently trailing the undersides of your thighs gripping on them every so often.

He hummed against your heat, mouth glued onto you core as he suckled the sensetive bud unable to get enough of your taste.

Your hips trembled nonstop until he pushed his head closer to you, his nose tighly pressed against pussy his tongue licked you, slurping your juices till you came, he took his time cleaning you up kissing and suckling each bit of your lower body before you pulled away from him unable to handle more.

The both of you panted catching your breaths you straddled the blonde once more taking the luxury to taste yourself on his lips.

"Mm, now were even." you spoke breathlessy against his lips as you lowered down to his hips, ass meeting with a wet sploch.

He smirked eyes half lidded, enjoying his own after glow. His chest painted in white strands of cum. You couldnt belive that he came from eating you out.

You licked your lips kissing and licking up each spot on his chest where he had came, his body tensing under your touch, a shameful blush sitting on his cheeks.

"Fuck me.." He mumbled covering his face.

[dingbatnix]

Scales

So! This is my thing for mermay! I read @baka-monarch 's little prompt thing (and I totally haven't been sitting on this partially-wtitten fic for several years, nope, not at all xD) and decided I needed to write it : D

So, enjoy!

Word count: 3,166

Warnings: small mention of blood, bare skin (cmon it's mermaids) ect.

Each individual muscle was at least three times as big as he was. George had long since lost his journal, but even if he still had it, he didn't think he would have been able to write anything down. He felt too…too in awe to properly note down data and theories as he traversed the alternating slopes of the frankly massive abs.

The mer's laugh, a deep, powerful thing, knocked George off balance. He wobbled, and when the giant began cackling harder at his predicament, finally fell down onto his chest. The brunette flushed, scowling deeply as he planted his hands on tanned flesh and pushed himself to his knees. The ground-shaking laughter of the mer had George's arms too unsteady to rise back upright, though, and he couldn't stop falling. His face burned in embarrassment.

Two massive fingers appeared and plucked up the tail of his brown leather coat, lifting the human into the air and re-settling him onto his feet nearer to the mer's head, on his sternum. The motions of each and every breath was more notable from George's new location, and he had to throw his arms out, again, to keep from tumbling back down to the gradually swelling ground.

George felt the displacement of air as the long, leviathan-like tail of the mer curled up from the roiling ocean waves and came roaring back down with a massive crash of the salty sea spray. He stumbled from the rush of movement that rippled throughout the colossal body underneath his feet, and, with a frown creasing his lips, George decided to settle down, cross legged, so he wouldn't have so many embarrassing moments of unbalance.

"So what's a little human like you got in the books for me today?" The mer's voice rumbled deep beneath George's crossed legs, and the volume of it had his head snapping up to try and meet the mer's eyes.

"Erm," George blanked as he caught the mer's deep, amber gaze. There were little flecks of brown and gold swimming in those pool-sized irises, and George could swear that he saw his own reflection in those dark, mirror-like slit pupils.

He was jolted out of the alluring sight when the mer blinked, eyes lidding halfway as he scrutinized the human in return. A small smile curled at the edges of his lips, wrinkling his short, flattish nose and crinkling up at the corners of the mer’s eyes.

George blinked rapidly, tearing his gaze away from the mer’s face to peer behind himself, at the supposedly bright green fishtail making up the lower half of the giant. Each scale was almost as big as his entire body, and the tail was at least sixty meters long. And, crazily enough, that estimation wasn’t even counting the length of the mer’s torso. All together, George thought the mer was about ninety meters long in total, or about three hundred feet, but he hadn’t found an instrument big enough to measure his full height. Either way, the mer was massive, truly one of the top predators residing in the ocean.

George cleared his throat, remembering that the mer had asked him a question. "Scale composition. But, Dream, I lost my journal. You made me drop it!" He jabbed an accusing finger up at the blond, turning back to glare up at those amused eyes. George wasn’t actually that upset about it, of course, it had been a new, blank journal, and he had dozens of them at home. It was more of the principle of the matter, that he had lost it while visiting the mer. He could not let that become a habit.

The mer let loose another small laugh, bringing a huge, clawed finger nearer to George to gently brush over the biologist's head. Dream's movements were too fast for George to dodge, so he settled for swatting at the pitted skin of the fingertip with a scowl.

"It would have probably helped," Dream murmured, a note of teasing delight coloring his tone. "If you hadn't been oogling me the whole time you were supposed to be 'researching.' You wouldn't have dropped it, then."

The mer was full on grinning, now, a lopsided, snarky thing that exposed his harpoon-sharp fangs to the coastal sunlight. The long, rugged scar bridging across his nose was warped with the expression, and briefly, the brunette wondered what kind of dangers resided under the ocean waves that could give a mer as enormous as Dream a scar.

He flushed again, scowl deepening as he turned his gaze away from the teasing, cheshire grin and instead inspected the distant sand dunes of the beach, far below his seat on the mer’s chest. “Well, it’s not my fault you’re a marvel of scientific discovery,” he murmured, trying to will away the heat he knew was decorating his cheeks.

The body underneath him tensed, and then fingers appeared behind George to pinch the edge of his coat again, plucking him up from his seat without any other warning. George yelped, scrambling for the rapidly receding ground before crossing his arms over his chest, afraid of slipping out of his jacket as he was lifted higher and higher into the air.

Dream moved suddenly, the behemoth rolling over from his back onto his chest, carefully keeping George high above his colossal movements. George held back a displeased whimper, curling his legs up closer to his body as he was dangled and swung dozens of feet above the ground. If he fell, it might not kill him, he’d be landing on sand, after all, but at the very least he would break something important.

He swallowed, trying to distract himself as the immense creature settled down to lay on his front. George’s eyes wandered to the rippling musculature underneath the mer's skin as he moved, and despite himself, a small grin slipped over his lips. It truly was amazing, how a creature as large as Dream was could survive in the ocean. He still wasn’t sure what Dream ate (he hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask, the stories of man-eating sirens and mermaids prevalent in his mind) but he was sure the mer had a carnivorous diet.

George was suddenly hurtling down towards the sandy ground at breakneck speeds, and he couldn't help the terrified shout that escaped from his throat. He slammed his eyes shut, a rush of nausea squirming through his gut and crawling up his spine.

The heavy motions surrounding him stopped, and the toes of his dangling converse bumped against something rough. George blinked his eyes open to find an expanse of tanned, leathery skin splayed out beneath his body. He glanced around, finding that it was Dream’s other hand, vast palm upturned against the sand.

Hesitantly, George stretched out his legs and planted his feet against the pliable skin. The fingers pinched around the back of his jacket released, freeing George to move on his own two legs. Around him, the mer's fingers curled inwards, almost closing George in on all sides by massive, column-esque fingers and long stretches of webbed flesh.

George glanced up at Dream’s looming figure, a questioning expression decorating his face. Long, sea-debris tangled blond hair tumbled down over the mer's shoulders and framed his fine cheekbones. A sharp smile decorated his lips, flashing pointed fangs against the midday light. The hand that had held the human had moved away to prop itself underneath the mer's chin, and the huge, webbed fins on the side of his head where ears would be on a human were twitching in unison.

In the distance behind the looming slope of the mer's shoulders, George could see the lemon yellow shine of Dream's colossal tail as it flicked up to what seemed like hundreds of feet into the air. The vast, sail-like fin tipping the end of the immense appendage flexed casually against the sky, blotting out the sun in the brief few moments it hung in the air. Then, it fell, and there was a far-off boom as it crashed back down into the ocean waves, one that George could feel in his very core.

It was always very humbling to be in the presence of a creature so massive that a wayward breath or an unthinking movement could have you dead, with very little thought or consequence to the behemoth before you. It was even more humbling when every ounce of said leviathan in question's attention was solely focused on you, and you alone, fully in-tune with each potentially devastating movement so as not to injure or even frighten you.

Dream’s grin widened, expression nearly glittering with the sheer amount of delight as he gazed down at him, the miniscule, insignificant human resting in the center of his enormous palm. His claw tipped fingers twitched, casting a brief shadow over George’s form.

“You think I’m a marvel, Goggy?” The mer asked, tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the side. His pupils, sharp slits against the amber of his irises, dilated, growing wide enough that George actually could see his own reflection. His cheeks were dark with a bright, fiery blush at the moment.

"What I think is that you're an idiot," the brunette griped, looking down as he adjusted the lapels of his leather jacket, attempting to hide the ever-deepening flush he knew was spreading. He was sure his ears were red, but he could probably just pass that off as a sunburn if he was asked.

A wheezy laugh escaped from the mer’s colossal lungs, reverberating all the way through the sand underneath them both as the warm, salty breath brushed over George, flattening his hair against his forehead. He wrinkled his nose at the sharp scent and shot a glare up at the blond, coughing meaningfully.

“I mean, I’m at least better than any of the other mers.” Dream rolled his eyes skywards, a frown twisting at his lips. “There’s so much drama nowadays, and some of those kids…” The mer let out a small, surly rumble, nose wrinkling as he grimaced.

The biologist perked up, interest immediately piqued. “There are other mers?"

Dream chuckled. "Yeah, there's a few here and there. You wouldn't want to meet them, though. They're not nearly as nice as I am.” George frowned at the implications of that statement, but decided not to pursue that train of conversation. Instead, he leaned to the side, trying to peer over Dream’s shoulder at the long, flicking tail that trailed for hundreds of feet behind him.

“Mhm. I want to examine your scales.” The human declared abruptly, planting a hand on his hip and pointing over the mer's shoulder. The blond frowned, shooting a quick glance behind himself, past the jagged sail that trailed from his lower back all the way down to about mid tail, to the glittering scales that decorated the appendage itself. They looked just fine, he didn’t know why George even wanted to inspect them. With a pout spanned across his face, he turned back to the little human, brows furrowed.

“But you don't even have your little writing book! C’mon, I just got comfortable,” he whined, ear frills flicking back against his huge skull.

“I don't care! Let me look at them anyway!” George demanded, crossing his arms and puffing his chest out. He cocked his hips, shooting his most petulant expression up at the massive mer. Dream’s pupils rounded out just a little bit more at the human’s actions, and he caved with an exasperated, drawn out sigh.

“Okay, okay, jeez, don't get your fins in a twist. Er. Legs? Hm. That expression doesn’t really work with humans, huh…” Dream trailed off, tilting his head at George for a long moment before his ear fins flickered out in a form of dismissal.

Heaving out a world-weary groan, the leviathan pushed himself upwards with his free hand. The platform of flesh underneath George’s feet moved, suddenly, and he had to drop down to his knees rather quickly unless he wanted to tumble down in an undignified heap. The hand was brought close to the mer’s chest as he rolled over and tried to settle comfortably onto his backside.

Once comfortable, Dream brought his hand down to about mid-tail length, folding over on himself and propping his free elbow on his own tail to lean his head against.

George scooted to the edge of the mer’s palm and hopped down with a small grunt. He nearly slipped when he made contact with the bright scutes and had to lunge back to grab onto the side of the mer’s hand. Dream’s scales, while crusted with beach sand, were still slick with a thin coating of seawater and a protective mucus. George was honestly surprised that Dream’s scales had as much of a slime coat as they did. He would have figured the mer to be more akin to a shark, or some other cartilaginous fish.

He crouched, after he had regained his balance, running a hand over one of the huge, curtain-sized scutes. “You have ctenoid scales,” George murmured, dropping to his knees to peer more closely at the overlapping plates.

“What does that mean?” Dream asked, hunching over just a little bit more to squint at George as the human ran his hands over the edge of one of the scales.

“It means that there are ridges along the edge of each scale. Like tiny teeth.” George paused for a moment, contemplating as he plucked his fingers against the prickly edge of the scale. If he wanted to, he could probably wedge his whole hand underneath the plate of what was probably some mix of collagen and dentine. He was tempted to try, to see how far his hand would go, but he wasn't going to risk it, on the off chance that something bad happened.

"What color did you say your scales were, again?" He inquired, glancing up at the looming shape of Dream’s head and torso. The mer’s eyebrows quirked, and one of his ear fins perked curiously.

“Like a yellowy-green. Can you really not tell? Is that a human thing?" He squinted, gaze searching as if he could see George’s eyes from the distance between them. Maybe he could, George wasn’t sure. He hadn’t gotten around to testing how good Dream’s eyesight was, and how well they worked above and below water.

Regardless, he shook his head. “No, I'm just colorblind. It’s a fairly common thing for people to have, but not all of us do.”

“Oh? Can you not….how does that work? Do colors not exist? How do you see?” A startled snort escaped from the brunette's lips at the mer’s question, and he grinned up at the blond.

“I can still see, you dumbass. I’m not blind. I just can't see red or green, and any colors that have them only look like the other color.” George rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the plates beneath his legs. “For example, you say your scales are green, but they just look bright yellow to me.”

“Huh,” Dream hummed contemplatively as he readjusted the arm his chin was propped on. The position he was in looked uncomfortable, but George wasn’t going to question it. While the mer was still a vertebrate, he probably had to be very flexible for life in the ocean.

He should ask Dream how many bones most mers had, actually. He might know.

George dropped his eyes back down to the mer’s scales, vaguely wishing that he still had some sort of writing instrument on hand. “These really are fascinating…” The human murmured, poking at one of the overlapping ledges with inquisitive fingers. Did the mer shed, like some kinds of fish and most reptiles did? He’d have to ask sometime, preferably when he had a journal on his person.

“Here, do you want one?” The mer abruptly asked, raising a hand and pointing at one of the bright scales. George pulled a face and shook his head, but the mer was already in motion.

“No, wait–” But Dream already had a claw prying underneath one of his scales, pinching it between two massive fingertips and working it out of the overlap from the surrounding plates. George shot to his feet in an attempt to try and stop Dream, but it was already too late. The muscles underneath George’s feet twitched when the scale was yanked from its cradle, and he threw his arms out for what seemed to be the millionth time that day, unwilling to lose his footing again.

Dream suddenly pushed the scale against George's chest, shoving the human backwards more than a couple of steps. It was almost as tall and twice as wide as the human was, and he had to scramble to grab it before Dream bowled him over.

“Dream!” He snapped, scowling as the mer’s huge hand slid away. The mer laughed, grinning brightly down at George. The human’s scowl deepened, and he rolled his eyes, turning his attention to the large scale he now held in his hands. He was surprised to find that it wasn't as heavy as he thought it would be. It only weighed about as much as a small paddle board, about four or five kilograms.

“Dream, where am I going to put this? It's bigger than I am!” George exclaimed, holding it out as far as he could so that he could examine it. Large globs of blood dotted the anterior end of the scale, slowly beading down as the gravity took the weight of the ichor. George grimaced in disgust, holding the sizeable plate further away from himself for a different reason this time. He shot a look up towards Dream, face twisted.

“Didn’t that hurt?” From what he could see, the spot where Dream had plucked the scale from was also bleeding, dark liquid swelling up from the bed of skin underneath the scales. Was it like plucking a hair from your head? Or did it feel like ripping out a fingernail? George wanted to know, but the mer only laughed, avoiding the human’s question and insisting that George keep the scale, as a souvenir until his next visit to the beach.

They devolved into pointless bickering until the sky started to grow dark with heavy clouds, and the wind picked up. At that point, George decided he needed to head home, before the storm properly began. Dream had agreed, saying that it was unpleasant to be near dry land during particularly bad storms. They bid each other goodbye for the day, and each headed their separate ways, Dream sliding back under the crashing waves of the ocean, and George walking back towards the city.

George did end up carrying the scale home with him, even though he had to fight against the growing strength of the wind to keep a good hold on it. He still didn’t know where he was going to put it, though.

Taglist:

@brick-a-doodle-do @i-am-beckyu @da3dm @kayla-crazy-stuffs @local-squishmallow @skullsnbruises @munchkin1156 @gt-daboss

[thespiritssaidso]

Nature Hike (And Definitely Nothing Else)

Summary: Shawn and Lassiter go on an innocent — romantic —  hike in the woods. There’s definitely no ulterior motives from Shawn, nope not at all. 

(Alright, MAYBE there’s evidence hidden there, and MAYBE Shawn needs Lassiter there to witness him finding it using his psychic powers.)

Notes: had lots of fun writing this one! Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did <3 

Flufftober day 5: Acorn, Chestnut, Pine cone

—————

“Any particular reason you decided that going on a hike would be a good idea, Shawn?” 

“What? No! No, it’s- I thought it’d be a good way to bond together. You know, like a couple. Doing couple things.” 

Shawn watched as Lassiter wiped the sweat off his brow, only to be instantly replaced by more sweat. “Oh, of course. Because this is so romantic.”

Currently, the two were indeed hiking on a marked trail in the woods. The sun shone through what little cracks were made in the ceiling of leaves above. The atmosphere had a warm tint to it, as though someone had put a yellow lense over Shawn’s eyes. The breeze was gentle, ruffling the foliage every now and then. The air was rich with the smell of nature. 

Shawn was doing fine, maybe a little out of breath, but otherwise marched along without a problem. He was using a hiking stick he’d borrowed (read: stole) from his dad to make the trek a bit easier. 

Lassiter, on the other hand, was panting, not used to walking for this long on uneven ground. Sure, he could run after a perp and catch them just fine. But endurance? That was a field he struggled in. Well, not enough to be considered a problem, per se. Just enough so that hiking more than a mile would exhaust him. 

As for why Shawn really brought them out here? Well, it was true that he wanted some bonding time with his boyfriend. He just had… some more plans behind their date than he was letting on. 

See, just yesterday a man by the name Adam Williams had turned up dead, found in his apartment by the landlord. Slash marks covered him from head to toe, as though someone had gone full Caeser on him. It was brutal, and Gus had to excuse himself from the autopsy room. 

Two things stood out to Shawn when they examined the body. Dirt under Adam’s fingernails, and the faintest tan mark on his left ring finger. 

At first, Shawn assumed the dude was a gardener. But then he quickly realized that he’d have to be the worst gardener ever if he didn’t wear gloves while he tended to his plants. He also knew the gardener angle was a dumb idea the moment someone else who definitely wasn’t Lassie (Shawn loved his boyfriend, but the man had his moments) had suggested it. 

A quick trip to the apartment told Shawn that he was right. The place was pristine, save for the puddle of blood oozing into the carpet where Adam had been found. Puddle, singular. No sprays that could have been made by slash marks. Which meant that the crime hadn’t taken place there. And of course when they went down to examine the footage, the tapes were all corrupted. Which also meant that they had an actual murder mystery on their hands. 

Not long after the news had gotten out about Adam’s death, a separate family came to the police to report a missing person. A woman by the name of Alison Williams, AKA Adam’s wife. 

Which was what brought Shawn here, on this trail. The dirt under Adam’s nails must have meant he was outdoors a lot, if it hadn’t meant he was a gardener. One quick internet search and a phone call later, Shawn found that Adam and Alison frequented a trail just a mile away from their apartment complex. 

The very same trail that he and Lassiter were currently hiking. 

Obviously Lassiter didn’t know about any of this. Shawn wished he could tell him, but he had a reputation to keep up, even if it meant lying to his boyfriend’s face. 

The sound of rocks sliding against dirt caught Shawn’s ear, along with a ‘Dammit!’ From Lassiter.

He turned around just in time to catch the detective before he could completely lose his balance and fall. “Woah! You good, babe?” 

Lassiter only huffed, rebalancing himself and brushing off imaginary dust. “I’ll be a lot better when we finally go back home.” 

Shawn laughed at his negative answer. “Oh come on, Carly! It’s not that bad!” 

“Shawn, I almost fell. I think this was a mistake-”

“No no no no! It’s fun! We’re bonding!” He couldn’t turn back now! There was evidence out here, he could sense it. 

“Really? Because so far I have yet to hear you hold a conversation with me while we hike.” 

That was true. Shawn hadn’t really been talking much, something very uncharacteristic of him. He’d been too busy paying attention to his surroundings, trying to find maybe a glimmer of a gold wedding band, one matching the width of Adam’s finger. The chances of actually seeing it were low, but he had to at least try. 

Shawn thought of a lie on the spot. Not a good one, but it didn’t really have to be. “Okay, you got me. I’ve been identifying all the different trees here. Gotta refresh my memory, make sure I don’t forget any of them.” A task that was impossible for him. He remembered everything. 

“Oh. Well then, point some of them out. Maybe you could teach me something.” Lassiter grinned, and Shawn saw that he was being tested. Well, two could play at that game. 

He faltered, but only for a second. “Well, uhm. That one, over there, that’s an acorn tree.” 

“Oh?” Lassiter took a step closer to Shawn.  

“Yeah, and that one is… chestnut.” Something in Lassiter’s eyes, in his body language, made Shawn not stop him. He knew that look all too well. That look he got whenever Shawn was being an idiot. Many, many past experiences told him it was not a negative thing. He took a step closer to Lassiter as well. 

“Is it now?” Lassiter wasn’t even looking at where Shawn had pointed — a tree that definitely wasn’t chestnut. 

“And… pine cone.” They were very close now, only a few inches apart. Shawn could smell the rich cologne Lassiter wore. The slight angle of the trail made it so Shawn was just high enough he was looking down at his boyfriend. 

“Mh, close enough.” And Lassiter went to close the gap between them. 

Shawn made to do so as well, but was stopped by a small glimmer of something shiny. Something off the trail, at an angle that Shawn would have missed had he never looked that way.  

He tilted his head to the left to peak over Lassiter’s shoulders, getting a better look. 

Lassiter, who though Shawn had just moved out of the way for no reason, furrowed his brows. “What? What is it?” 

Shawn brought a hand up — one that wasn’t using the walking stick — to his temple and wiggled his fingers. “Ooo, my psychic senses are buzzing like crazy, Carlytown.”  

Lassiter deflated, and Shawn felt bad for ruining the moment. “Really?” 

Ignoring the guilt growing in his chest as he pushed past his boyfriend, Shawn carefully tread to where he saw the glimmer. 

Soon he was right on top of it. Crouching down, he sifted the leaves around until it was completely uncovered. It was a necklace, with a fine gold chain and a small heart shaped locket pendant. Shawn grabbed it and stood back up, facing Lassiter with the necklace held up high. 

Lassiter looked at it incredulously. “How the hell did you find that?” 

“My uber awesome psychic prowess, obviously.” Shawn turned the locket over in his hands and ran a thumbnail down the small crack to try and pry it open. 

He couldn’t see it, but Shawn knew Lassiter had rolled his eyes. “Great. So there’s a locket. What’s so important about it?” 

The moment he said that, it popped open, and the two were looking at a picture of a very familiar face. Two of them, in fact. “I’m pretty sure that answers your question, Carly.” He presented the photo inside to Lassiter.

“That’s- that’s Allison. And Adam. What’s this doing down here? Why is it on the same trail… we’re on…” A look of realization came over him. “Wait a minute. Shawn, did you…” 

As Lassiter’s sentence trailed off, Shawn caved. “Okay, I may have already had a small- very small vision earlier, and I saw this necklace here on this trail.” 

“So, this wasn’t a romantic bonding experience?” 

“No! No, god no Carly. I’d never do that to you. Yes, this was so we could both find the evidence. But it was also so we could have some time alone. Really alone, no prospect of absolutely anyone intruding on our time together.”

Shawn could see Lassiter melting. “Well, alright. But you do realize this means we have to cut this short and take the necklace to the station, right?” 

“Wellll, we don’t have to…” 

“Shawn.” 

“Not right now, at least-”

“Shawn.” 

“Okay fine.”

This time, Shawn saw Lassiter’s eye roll. “Come on, it was about time we headed back anyway.” And before Shawn could make another move, the detective grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him into a short kiss. He pulled away, expression nonchalant. “We’ll continue this later.” 

Shawn, with a big dopey grin on his face, just nodded and followed Lassiter. 

—————

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