#just toss them in a blender

[iswerebyit]

A basic beach pile of Nat refs for safekeeping here as well...

[asheanon]

⚠️ 🌌🌹💜 Inspiration ahead.

Snippets from here: Part I Part II

[impossible-rat-babies]

me wanting to put paladin as eyrie canon but only the specific kind of paladin I want to make up because I want to flesh out Lore

[chisungie]

.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (prt 8)

Masterpost

The next day was less chaotic but not by much. They had to go through everything they’d taken from the Fenton’s lab, and reluctantly accepted Danny and Jazz’s help with the task because they were familiar with the tech. That was surprisingly needed since all of their gadgets were extremely obtuse and looked like household appliances. It was honestly surprising how good Danny was with all of this stuff, he knew what everything was, how to take it apart and how to put it back together to show the heroes how it worked. 

“They don’t all work for humans. Some have to be fueled with ectoplasm so they need to be constantly refueled. Dad used to wear a backpack full of the stuff ghost busters style but that’s really not practical so this one isn’t very useful to you. I can use it though,” Danny said as he screwed the last part back on the.. Whatever it was. 

“Okay, but why does it look like a blender?” Tim asked, baffled and impressed.

“Oh that’s because that’s what it was built out of,” Danny said with a crooked smile. “We repurposed a lot of household items into tech. Give me a couple toasters and a microwave and I’ll have three specter deflectors ready for you before dinner time.” He said as he pressed his hand against one of the gins and it started glowing intently green.

“Here don’t drop it,” He said tossing it to Batman, who did manage to catch it. “I fueled it with three shots, just in case Vlad shows up or another ghosts threatens you. And actually even with your charms I would feel a lot better if you all had specter deflectors since you’re all involved with me now,” He sighed and rubbed his face. 

“Well… we can get you toasters and a microwave but we can also get you more advanced parts if those will work better,” Bruce told Danny, gingerly holding the odd gun away from himself. It wasn’t a traditional gun so it wasn’t upsetting but he still didn’t like it. 

Danny looked very tempted but he shook his head. “No I’d better do it with what I know, I can get it done faster that way and they work. I’d love to play with some of those more advanced parts though. I’m sure I can come with some fun stuff.” 

Uh oh, Bruce didn’t like that look on Tim’s face, the last thing he needed was more encouragement! But Danny was the child of mad scientists, he would get along perfectly with Tim, Bruce was going to have to keep a close eye on them to make sure they didn’t accidentally make a death ray. 

“You can join me in my lab later,” Tim offered hopefully and Danny glanced up at him with a borderline feral grin. 

“That sounds great, I’m sure you have much better lab safety than my parents. Love engineering, would hate to die a second time.” He said it like a joke, just the way Jason tended to. Jazz laughed, but only to encourage her brother’s coping method, no one else did. 

“Alright, we’ll go to the nearest home appliance store and get you some toasters and microwaves,” Bruce said. 

“Hell ya, I should have been adopted by a rich family years ago,” Danny cackled. Oh dear, he’d been so traumatized yesterday Bruce hadn’t realized he was Feral. Why did this keep happening.

He informed Alfred of Danny’s request and by the time they finished going over the more confusing inventions and left for lunch the appliances were waiting for Danny in the lab that he and Tim would apparently now be sharing. Danny immediately dove on the machinery starting to take them apart with practiced hands. He seemed calm and in his element but Tim stayed to supervise, both just in case something went wrong, and because it was His lab and they hadn’t talked about rules of cohabitation yet.

Bruce left them to it. Alfred had informed him that Jason had arrived and headed straight to the kitchen without saying hello to anyone else. It wasn’t a surprise, he was closest to Alfred, he’s want to help with making dinner, and get the basic scoop from his most trusted family member before having to face anyone else. Bruce knew better than to intrude on that, but God did he want to. 

Regardless of what his children thought Bruce cared deeply for all of them, and he hated that sometimes they doubted it. He wished he was better at telling and showing them, but he’d managed to convince himself it was too late for him to change so he didn’t have to face the years of mistakes and trauma he had endured and inflicted. No matter what what image he tried to project, he was still only human.

He went to his office, but he couldn’t settle to anything, he did a little bit of this, and little bit of that, and just ended up pacing the carpeted floor. He left them alone as long as he could before he gave in and went down to the kitchen.

“Sorry to interrupt, I just needed a cup of coffee,” He said as casually as he could. The looks Alfred and Jason gave him said neither of them actually believed his excuse, which was fair. “It’s good to see you Jaylad, thanks for coming.”

“Well I’m not going to miss out on a new brother am I? You gonna have this one running around in spandex too B?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, it made Bruce wince but it Was progress because he was acknowledging their familial ties. 

“I’m almost two years too late to stop him,” Bruce said regretfully. “It’s been… a lot has happened. I’m sure Alfred caught you up on most of it, but I’d like to talk to you before you meet either of the siblings.”

“Trying to make sure I won’t be a bad influence?” Jason asked and Bruce couldn’t tell if he was joking or accusing. 

“No, nothing like that,” Bruce said, holding up his hands. “I just want to talk.”

Jason hummed skeptically, scrutinizing Bruce before turning back towards Alfred. “What do you think Alfie, can you spare me?”

“I always appreciate your help master Jason, but I can manage on my own,” Alfred assured, sounding amused. 

“Alright, to your office then?” Jason asked, turning back towards Bruce. 

“Or the sitting room, whichever would be more comfortable.”

“Office,” Jason said firmly, this was the distance that he was keeping between them. They worked together now, and Jason cared for his siblings, but he kept them all at arms length. For everyone’s safety really, if they set him off he didn’t want to hurt them, and he didn’t want to be set off either. It always felt like shit. Jason followed Bruce to the office and sprawled in the soft chair across the desk from Bruce’s. He remembered being a kid, sitting properly and nervously in this chair across from Bruce hoping desperately for his approval. How times change.

“I just wanted to talk to you about the new kids” Bruce started and Jason waved him away.

“I’m really not going to corrupt them or anything, I Probably won’t be around enough to make a difference anyway.” Jason said dismissively.

Bruce took a deep breath, controlling his expression and folding his hands on the table. “That’s not it Jaylad, Alfred must have told you that the boy died and came back?” 

Jason tensed and green swirled in his vision, it was the same thing that Bruce had seen in Danny when Zatana asked about Phantom. “Ya he did.” Defensive and insecure.

“It seems like he, and his sister who was sort of a caretaker to him, know a lot more than we do about the effect that that has on a person. To help us take care of Danny she gave us a presentation about it, it… makes a lot of sense. You should probably talk to her and Danny about it really but I just wanted to apologize. 

“I’ve been trying to fix this, fix… you for a long time and I know I’ve been going about it wrong and I’ve been hurting you.”

“You got a new treatment plan in mind, old man?” Jason asked, his arms crossed and Bruce wished that mistrust wasn’t earned. 

“No,” Bruce sighed looking down. “Really Jason I don’t, I know I was wrong. This is something I just didn’t know I didn’t know about,” He hated his own ignorance, he hated to admit it! He was Batman! The way he kept up with other superheroes was always being prepared for everything and knowing more than everyone around him, but he hadn’t even known there was something there to know!

“This isn’t about that, and it’s not about you staying away from the new kids. Exactly the opposite actually, since they know more about this, and Danny might be one of the few people who really understands what it’s like to die and come back like that, I was hoping you’d spend more time here, around them. I think it might help you both.”

“Huh,” Jason sounded, blinking rapidly because that was the most sincere apology he’d gotten from Bruce and he didn’t quite know how to react to it. “Maybe… maybe.” He hadn’t met the new siblings yet after all, maybe they’d hate each other. 

“Can I meet them now?” He asked looking back up at Bruce curiously. 

“Of course, the girl's name is Jasmine Fenton, called Jazz, the boy goes by Danny. Jazz is turning 18 soon, Danny is 16.” 

Right Tim had mentioned that, so Danny was about 3 years younger than him then. That shouldn’t matter too much, and maybe Tim will be right about the sister and can tease Jason about it. He’d been single for a while and wouldn’t mind changing that.

“Of course, I think you should meet Jazz first, she’s protective of Danny and she hasn’t been very involved in all of this. I think she’d feel better being allowed to… vet you first for lack of a better word. Are you okay with that?” Bruce asked Jason politely. 

“Sure, I don’t really care what order I meet them in and… Look Bruce I know I’m mad at you, and I was really hard on Timmy when everything was still raw. But I’m never going to knowingly hurt a kid, or make life harder for them. If I can help them I will,” Jason said sincerely. 

“Jason, the girl is less than a year younger than you. You’re a kid too,” Bruce said sadly. Jason froze for a moment, Yes he was 19, his mind wasn’t fully developed yet or whatever the hell, but he hadn’t felt like a kid since his death. Even before that, the responsibility for his mother, and then the work as a hero. Bruce wanted soldiers, Jason had never gotten a chance to be a kid really.

“Whatever,” Jason scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets and standing up, closing himself off from that sincerity. “Do you know where she is?”

“She’s in the library,” Bruce said, his lips twitching up in a smile. “She loves books almost as much as you did, though she seems to be more drawn to non-fiction.” 

Jason hummed and nodded, heading towards the door since he knew his own damn way to the library, Bruce didn’t have to lead! He did follow through, he was clearly protective of these kids so of course he would want to be there when Jason met them.

When he entered the library he saw a young woman sitting at one of the tables with some sort of text book. Her back was straight and her legs tucked under the chair with her ankles crossed. It looked like she was self consciously trying to look put together. She looked up at them, blue green eyes looking him over critically, he could practically see her picking him apart in her mind and he tried not to fidget.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Jason Todd,” He said, walking over and offering her his hand to shake. She was very pretty, but he was surprised by his own complete lack of attraction, she just didn’t register that way, she seemed more… maternal almost.

“Ah, the dead son,” She chuckled, getting up from the table and reaching out to shake his hand, her grip was strong and her hands were soft and cool. “It’s nice to meet you, they mentioned you. Nothing bad,” She added when she saw her face. “And I don’t mean to be rude, I know some people are sensitive about their deaths being mentioned. Danny jokes about it all the time so… I just wanted to let you know that I know, and I accept you.” Jazz said with a warm smile. 

Her easy acceptance caught him off guard and before he could help it he was baring his teeth at her in a snarl, defensive and probing, did she mean it? She grinned sharper bearing sharp fangs at him in a matching sign of… friendly aggression, something inside him settled. He chuckled and took a step back. “Well thanks, nice to meet someone who doesn’t look like they bit a lemon every time I make a death joke.”

“It’s your death, as long as it’s healthy you can own that however comes naturally to you,” Jazz promised, sitting back down at the desk. “I’d love to talk more and get to know you, but we can do that later. You really should meet Danny.”

“You don’t want to come with us,” Bruce broke in, sounding worried. Jason had almost forgotten he was there, he hadn’t realized how… all encompassing the short interaction had been.

“I’ll probably follow,” Jazz said with a shrug, her gaze turning stern as she looked at Bruce. “Remember what I said about never breaking up a fight,” She told him firmly. 

Well if that didn’t make Jason nervous he didn’t know what did. Why would he fight with Danny? Would Danny fight with him? Why? “You really think it’s a good idea for us to meet? Why would we fight?” Jason asked her sharply.

“Of course,” she agreed, her eyes softening as she looked back at him, though her expression remained a little mischievous. “It’ll be good for both of you.”

Next

[feyburner]

I have a new favorite soup:

Japanese Sweet Potato Soup with Crispy Soy-Maple Brussels Sprouts.

I have made this soup like 3 times in the past month. It hits every time. It is my comfort soup.

It’s crazy good. Extremely simple, but has such a unique texture and flavor profile. The Japanese sweet potatoes have such an amazing flavor that you don’t need anything else but some onion, broth, coconut milk, and a touch of soy-maple seasoning from the brussels sprouts. The sweet potato is 100% the star. It’s rich, nutty, savory-sweet, and the texture is a silky puree.

Here is the recipe.

INGREDIENTS

3-4 Japanese sweet potatoes (red outside, white inside—not purple Murasaki), peeled and chopped

1/2 large yellow onion, chopped

4-5 cups chicken or vegetable broth

1 x 14oz can coconut milk or cream

1-2 lbs brussels sprouts, chopped into thirds

olive oil, salt, freshly ground black pepper

2 Tbsp soy sauce

2 Tbsp maple syrup or honey

DIRECTIONS

1. In a dutch oven or large pot, sauté the onions in a little butter or oil until softened and just beginning to brown.

2. Add chopped potatoes. Add broth. Bring to a boil, reduce to a low boil or simmer, and let cook for 15-20 minutes until potatoes are fork tender. **If desired, leave a small portion of uncooked potato, chopped into matchsticks, out of the soup until after blending and then add back in during the last 20 minutes for a little texture.

3. Turn off heat. Using an immersion blender*, blend the soup until mostly smooth. Add the coconut milk and continue blending until you have a silky smooth, glossy puree texture. (In the beginning you can use a potato masher to give the blender a head start.)

4. Simmer another 15-20 minutes, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pot frequently to avoid sticking, until ready to serve.

5. While soup is cooking, roast brussels sprouts: Heat oven to 425°. Toss chopped brussels sprouts in olive oil, salt, and pepper. Spread in an even layer in a cast iron or sheet pan. Roast 30 minutes until browning, then mix together soy sauce and maple syrup. Drizzle over sprouts and toss and turn them. Roast an additional 10-15 minutes until very dark brown and crispy.

6. Add some of the brussels sprouts to the finished soup and use the rest to go on top.

*You can do this in batches with a blender or food processor, but be very careful: hot liquid in an enclosed space creates pressure and it will spit when you remove the lid each time. If using a blender, let it cool 10 minutes, then stir in coconut milk to cool further, then blend.

[trans-elrond]

why you, yes you, should read the Queen's Thief books

for #WinASignedSetofTheQueensThief2024, I am here to gently yet persuasively yell at you about why you should read the Queen's Thief books, in a helpfully numbered list (no spoilers, only vibes):

I like unreliable narrators. You like unreliable narrators. You know who the most unreliable narrator is? This scrunkly little guy, blorbo of all time, Eugenides (Gen). You're gonna fall in love with him. You're gonna want to throttle him. It's okay, it happens to us all. (official character art by Emily B. Martin isn't it gorgeous!!!)

Tumblrinas far and wide are known for our love of ancient Greek and Greek-inspired fantasylands. What if I told you that we could have it all (coastal Greek-esque kingdoms, political intrigue, The Gods Are Getting Involved) PLUS there are, occasionally, guns. Yes you heard that right. It's great. Come for the fantasy, stay for the Fantasy Guns(tm).

I could wax poetic about the female lead, Attolia Irene, for approximately 25 years without drawing breath, but suffice it to say she is THEE fantasy queen of all time. Her arc is incredible. I want to be her. I'm scared of her. I adore her. PLEASE read these books so you can also fall head over heels for her.

DYNAMICS!!!!!!!! we have ALL OF THEM. kings and queens and vassals and loyal advisors and scheming diplomats and brave soldiers and anxious scribes and we toss them into a blender and see what happens and who lands where. it is delicious.

Did I mention The Gods Are Getting Involved? the way these books weave the political reality & the godly, mythical, numinous aspects takes my breath away. Truly the blueprint.

Twists and turns that fly by like a rollercoaster. Truly, no one is doing the Plot Twist like MWT. You start out on these books and you think you know where they're going. yOU DO NOT. And you will be delighted every time.

Incredible prose, with occasional excerpts of poetry and song and myth that provide SUCH fertile ground for lore and worldbuilding and delicious, delicious Character Parallels. If you've ever been into classical reception even a smidge, you will rejoice at the plentiful references.

Bro's Road Trip of All Time (book 5) will knock your socks off. If you ever read Eagle of the Ninth, it's kind of like that, but got me even more good. deeply moving, I am never getting over them, (wails to the sky) I just want to be able to read this book for the first time again so YOU SHOULD TAKE THE CHANCE WHILE YOU HAVE IT

anyway, what are you waiting for, go read queen's thief, you will surely not regret it, what are you talking about these books ripped my heart out ha ha ha ha but i mean in a good & fun way okay enjoy!!!!!!!!

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 1 ~

Trots' Reflection:

A first of many chapters I have planned for the Still Here AU. This turned out to be much longer than I expected, so that might be the case for future chapters. If you enjoyed this, then thank you, and let me know if you want Muir or Gibbo's chapter next. Rennick's chapter will be released last.

Part 2:

'Oh fuck. Is that...Trots? Jesus Christ.'

Caz stared in horror at what his friend had become. From the waist down, Trots was just an amalgamation of flesh that spouted tendrils to keep his balance whilst his uniform had been torn to near shreds, leaving only pieces hanging from his arms and upper chest.

Is this why Gibbo didn't want to be looked at? He couldn't blame the poor bastard.

With his eyes wide and the muscles in his neck twitching, Caz knew this was only one way to get back to Roy.

Shit.

He gave himself a moment to calm down before turning the torch off and quietly opening the door. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and he had to hold in a gag from the rank smell that struck his nose. He couldn't afford to be spotted, but the noises from Trots' cries of pain and repeating of words carried an echo throughout the room. Caz, for a moment, thought Trots had already seen him and was playing the long game to lure him further. To make himself smaller and quieter, he crouched and awkwardly tip-toed over broken glass and anything that could make a sound.

An open cupboard gave him a moment to breathe again. It only took 10 seconds, but it felt like an eternity for the leccy. He peered out and saw Trots at a better, or in this case, worse angle. 'What the fuck...?' Caz noticed Trots' legs below the knee hanging against the growth. Every few seconds they would twitch, but The Shape had them firmly in place. And whenever they tried to move, Caz noticed Trots made a groan in agony. There was nothing to be done and Caz knew that.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed a Cadal mug by his feet and aimed it towards the other side of the room. He shuffled some of his body from his hiding spot and tossed it over the small pile of laundry machines before quickly tucking himself back in.

Clunk.

Trots reared his head with a curious 'chirp' and took the bait. No longer distracted by the strange light, he crawled along the floor, clearly in pain, as the tendrils latched and detached themselves from anything they could reach. Caz came out of hiding and slowly crept for the stairs. Just up here, and he'll be back with Roy. Then they can make a new plan to -

'W-What?'

Trots' voice made Caz stand still. He slowly looked back with a mix of shock and confusion across his face. Trots' cadence was different. It didn't sound altered by The Shape trying to copy his speech patterns. It was him.

'What the fuck is this?' Trots stared at his reflection in pure shock. His heart raced and his stomach sank as he tried to make out what he was seeing. 'Is that me? But, how - I'm...' Caz slowly followed his voice and glanced at Trots, who was holding a door with all the strength he had. At any moment he could rip it off its hinges. He saw Caz's reflection and turned to him - eyes wide and mouth dry - gesturing to the grotesque mass. 'Caz. What - what happened to me?!' Panic was now, and rightfully, starting to set in.

'Trots? Are you - Okay, okay, just calm down.'

'Calm down? Caz, I look like I've been put through a fuckin' blender!'

'Alright, alright. I'm sorry. Fuck sake.'

A small pause lingered for Trots. He wasn't one for swearing or raising his voice. Even The Shape couldn't replicate that. A tendril moved to close the machine door. It must have been subconsciously because Trots' body and breath shivered, and his eyes squinted.

But that was good, wasn't it? He could control the mass now.

'How ye' feeling?' Caz asked, unable to take the silence.

'Better,' Trots answered with an exhausted tone. 'My mind felt like it was being pulled all over the shop.' It was a strange and painful sensation. He could compare it to being in a coma. He was aware of what was going around him, but couldn't react. His mind and body were on auto-pilot yet he couldn't focus enough to fight back until he saw his reflection. Then it was like a fog had been lifted.

'I'm sorry wee man.'

'For what?'

'I heard ya through the door. I tried getting to ya, but it wouldn't budge. Do you remember what happened?'

Trots nodded. 'Aye. It just shot through the window and latched onto my leg. It felt like someone had taken a knife and was stabbing me over and fuckin' over again. And,' he scoffed. 'Now I'm here.'

'Well, I'm not leaving ya here, pal. I'm gonna to fetch Roy. He's in the pantry.'

'What about the others?'

'Brodie's with Raffs. Poor bastard was shaken after his dive. Finlay and Douglas are looking for Gibbo in engineering, and I spoke to O'Connor. He's with Bruce and Fergus.' He'll leave out Innes. 'Of course that bastard Rennick is still kicking. Probably tucked away all nice and cosy in his office.' He took a quick glance to the stairs. 'So, you with me?'

'...Alright.'

The pair moved in silence. The only thing breaking that was either the stairs echoing with Caz's footsteps or Trots letting out a groan of pain. Both of the men knew The Shape wasn't done with him yet. Trots could control his mind, body and soul, but this thing was slowly mutating him to survive. Who knew what he'd look like by the end of it.

A part of the wall had collapsed from the tendrils. A shooting pain ran through Caz and Trots' head as they approached. 'It's trying to lure us in, Caz.'

'Just ignore it, mate. Here, help me push it back.' Caz can easily slip through the smaller space, but Trots certainly wasn't. He wedged himself halfway between the wall and used his shoulder the push. The wall behind him was used as a base for his feet. 'Come on, Trots.' It wasn't going to budge by itself.

Using all the tendrils and his shoulder, Trots could feel the wall slowly move back. Caz began to slide to the other side, giving Trots room to follow and to an area where the wall wasn't leaning as much. The Shape was stubborn. It was oddly strong for something that looked like ribbons.

'I thought you were a boxer,' Trots bantered with a smirk.

'Yeah. A boxer,' Caz retorted. 'Not a heavy weight lifter, ya prick.'

Both men suddenly burst out laughing, which must have attracted Roy who awkwardly stood at the canteen door. He had noticed Trots and began to go through the same emotions as Caz, frozen in place.

'Erm, Caz.' He got their attention, and the pair turned to him, still stifling laughs.

'Oh, hey Roy. Give us a hand, will ya?'

[dark-concerned-moony]

TUA season 4 watches as like, a bunch of middle schoolers had a single project for the WHOLE semester and they kinda procrastinated until like, two days to the deadline and only remembered because someone's mom went like "oh and that huge project worth 100% of your final grade? :D" and then they all scrambled to ChatGPT with whatever shitfuckery prompts they could come up with, printed it, tossed it into a blender, put the scraps into a clown hat (that tiny one), threw up on it, then sent that shit into a fan, and then scrapbooked everything together in some sort of Frankenstein-esque monster that would make Victor Frankenstein sob. and someway, somehow, they got a passing grade and the part of the fandom that has enough braincells, common sense and a little bit of reading comprehension is collective looking at them and their Despicable Blasphemous Thing™ like the disappointed little class nerd that knew it was so easy to just not fuck it up and yet they somehow did

[alchemistc]

too many toasters | bucktommy 1/1

Tommy contemplates asking Buck to move in with him.

read on ao3

He's reorganizing a cupboard to make room for the massive crockpot he'd found for a steal at an estate sale (thinking of the stew he wants to make for Evan the next time the Santa Ana's are chasing at their heels) when he notices.

Evan's protein powder, still balanced on top of the fridge because he's hesitant to claim the spot Tommy had cleared for him weeks ago.

Evan's spare immersion blender, brought over because he'd seen Tommy's old-school espresso maker and wanted to try his hand at foam art. Unsuccessfully, considering both of them were avoiding cows milk at the moment.

The spare set of Jeep keys looped next to the garage door, which Evan hadn't asked him to return after Tommy changed his oil, and Tommy had taken to touching on his way out of the house like a wife stroking a token of her husband far off in a foreign country fighting a war.

In the living room, the blanket over the couch is tucked and folded in a way Tommy can never replicate and doesn't try, because he likes the look of it, hanging neatly over the arm of the loveseat.

In the garden, a second set of gloves, too unwieldy for anything but pulling thick weeds.

In the bathroom, the mouthwash Evan swears by tucked next to Tommy's aftershave in the medicine cabinet.

In the bedroom, two hoodies Tommy has stolen and stretched out the shoulders of - a flavored lube in the bedside table drawer that they'd both laughed themselves silly about after one use and Tommy hadn't had the heart to toss in the trash the next morning - three department issue tee's folded neatly in his wardrobe that Evan outgrew years ago and has retrofitted for sleepwear - a book on the bloody history of the potato on top of the ancient PS4 setup Tommy still hasn't moved to the living room.

And more - Tommy can picture them all in his mind clear as day, and his heart lurches fondly, warningly, in his chest.

They’ve settled somewhere between normal and warp speed, now that the early relationship milestones have all been blown clean out of the water. Spare keys exchanged, controversial sexual fantasies shared, shovel talks mostly avoided by the sheer power of dry wit and matching bitchiness, I love you’s exchanged beneath a hazy crescent moon with half a bottle of Merlot drunk between them and the wisteria hanging off his pergola tickling their noses. Tommy counts the time Evan had let him throw the Jeep up on the lift so he could do a full diagnostic rundown, and Evan counts the time Tommy let him Facetime with his nephew in Reno. Milestones, common and uncommon, that Tommy had stumbled through with a hand clenched in Evan’s, absolutely prepared to match both speed and psychosis.

He’s met the parents, at more than just a passing glance with his face covered in the same soot that painted a radius around Evan’s mouth. He’s fully integrated into the 118’s groupchats - every iteration, though he’s fond of the Maddie-Karen-Athena combo that never fails to go for the throat where station fuckery is involved.

They’ve done the stupid zodiac quizzes Tommy’s sister had sent him, Evan curled into the circle of his arms and ignoring the barrage of texts he’d gotten from Maddie after he’d asked her what time of day he’d been born, grinning into the skin of Tommy’s pec at the readout and then promptly reminding Tommy that neither one of them believed in that shit, anyway.

They’ve talked about the future — for themselves, individually, for the possibility with a partner. For each other, if (when, Tommy’s heart whispers) they make a good run of things.

Evan’s lease is up in a month.

They haven’t talked about it.

He only knows because Eddie had mentioned it, about as subtle as a bullhorn, before Tommy had to stop him from gossiping about all the missteps Evan’s had with living with significant others in the past.

(”There are things about Evan I should hear from Evan first,” Tommy had told him, a little more stern than he’d been going for, enough to make Eddie visibly swallow down a barrage of thinly veiled disdain for Evan’s exes.)

Evan hasn’t brought it up, but Tommy knows a little , enough to piece together why he might be reluctant to broach the subject.

But as Tommy shifts the popcorn maker into a corner and removes the toaster he’s been tinkering with to no avail for six months now, crockpot sliding in without so much as a rustle from the other kitchenware stuffed in there, he thinks about the recent quiet that has swallowed him whole on nights when they just can’t quite make the revolving door of their disparate schedules work. He thinks of the times he’s pushed through the door to Evan’s loft, dead on his feet and world-weary after a patient arrived at the helipad DOA — of the sound of his voice falling into a tangent easing something inside Tommy even though his joints and his heart were both still aching.

He thinks of the way Evan looks, toothpaste on the corners of his lips because he’s had a thought halfway through brushing that couldn’t wait the extra forty-five seconds to be heard. He thinks of the way he hates washing his sheets between visits, now, because he doesn’t like losing the faint scent of Evan’s shampoo on the pillowcase.

Tommy closes the cabinet and makes a beeline for the jug of protein powder sitting on top of his fridge. Opens the cabinet door above it and shifts the jug back into the spot he’d assigned it weeks ago.

“Right,” he says, out loud, into the silence of the house.

The house sighs back at him.

---

Tommy is incredibly good at stifling the part of himself that enjoys rom-coms more than any other genre of fiction. He’s had years, decades, to push his soft sighs down below his diaphragm where they can’t hurt him.

Evan appreciates how little fanfare there’s been to most of their firsts. The lack of pressure, the ease with which they’ve approached things that they’d both previously considered watershed moments.

He considers texting Eddie to ask him if Evan has mentioned anything about re-upping his lease. Tosses that thought aside almost immediately, because he can already see the snarky response: There are things about Buck you should hear from Buck first.

He nearly reaches out to Bobby, before he remembers Bobby’s soft smile, a month and a half ago, while Evan carted a squealing Jee-Yun around Hen and Karen’s backyard, his gentle smile when Tommy had handed him a club soda and lime. (”You know, I never thought I’d see Buck settle in to something he doesn’t need a pep talk about,” Bobby had said, and something had unfurled in Tommy like a delicate flower reaching for the sun.) He could. It’s stupid to think Bobby wouldn’t be happy to talk to Tommy about something like this — but there’s a quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him this is something he needs to figure out for himself.

In the end, he keeps it simple. Just enough romance to maybe give Evan a heads up. Two nights after shoving Evan’s protein power where it belongs, Tommy tells him to dress slightly more than casual, picks him up in the Nova he’s been fixing up for three months, drives him up the PCH until the sun is low on the horizon. They watch the clouds spark up in pinks and purples, the sea reflecting colors back, and then Tommy gets them burgers and beers, and they walk them off in the twilight, shoes in their hands as they drift along the sun-warm sand.

Evan points out a cloud that he swears looks like the tree in the front yard of the house he grew up in, and Tommy seizes the moment, shifts the slim box from his back pocket while Evan is turned away. It’s nearly too dark, and they should probably have turned back for the car twenty minutes ago, but Evan has a step count he likes to meet when he won’t be at the gym for a few days, and they’ve got plans for a long weekend.

Tommy takes a deep breath when Evan turns back to look at him. His breath tumbles out in a rush when he catches sight of the box. “It’s not a ring,” Tommy tells him, cringing, hyperaware all of the sudden that Evan would absolutely know that just by the size and shape of the box.

Evan tilts back on his heels. There is a gentle grin on his face — the one he had five seconds before Tommy told him he loved him, the one he wore the first time Tommy threw one of his hoodies on in the chill of the loft and raised the cuffs surreptitiously to his nose, the one Tommy sees every time he presses a kiss to the pink mark over Evan’s brow.

Like he knows.

Like he’s been waiting on Tommy to catch up.

“You could have just said something yourself,” Tommy notes, with a hint of sass, as the picture comes into focus. “You didn’t have to send Eddie in to drop hints.”

Evan bites his lip. “Is that for me?” That cloud looks like the tree outside my childhood home, my ass.

Cheeky. God, Tommy loves him. “Could be.”

Evan crab-hands his way forward, and Tommy shifts his weight back just enough that he misses, in the growing dark. There’s a little helicopter on the keyring he’d bought, no key attached because Evan already has that, and it’s so sappy he’s bound to get half a dozen teasing texts about it the very first time someone at the 118 clocks it. Tommy doesn’t care.

Evan shifts his weight back, drops his hands to his sides. Tommy can see the moon reflecting off the water in the sparkle of his eyes. “Ask me,” Evan says, and Tommy leans in to kiss him, instead.

---

Tommy finds no less than six of his henley’s in the depths of Evan’s closet while they’re paring down the parts of his wardrobe he doesn’t wear anymore. Rather than comment on it, he folds them neatly and adds them to the keep pile.

The Buckley’s, always deciding to be overbearing at the worst of times, try to buy them a new mattress when they hear through the grapevine that Evan is moving.

Chimney spends a week giving Tommy shit about the keyring, and Tommy retaliates by buying Jee a toy copter that lights up, makes noise, and can manage to hover off the ground just at ankle height.

---

“We have four toasters,” Evan comments. They’ve spent an entire three days off unpacking, the both of them unsettled by the idea of leaving boxes stacked around the house, or in the spare room (Thank you, Eddie, for that shared trauma response).

He’s shirtless, rubbing a serum into his skin as Tommy settles in on his side of the bed, soft pink lips parted, favoring his good leg a little. Tommy’s already reaching for the massage oil by the time Evan has finished his thankfully simple skincare routine. Tommy needs to upgrade his stock medicine cabinet, if Evan is going to continue stockpiling a backup of both of their respective skin and hair products.

He waves the bottle of massage oil at Evan when he moves towards the bed, and something eases in Evan’s expression — the reminder that Tommy pays such close attention to him always enough to turn him a bit gooey, and Tommy has never used it for evil, but he could, if he wanted to. “Do you want to get comfortable to sleep, or is this going to make you horny again?”

Evan grins, bright and wide, a little mischievous as he tilts his head and cocks a hip. Down to his briefs, there’s not much left to Tommy’s imagination.

“Not my fault you’ve got magic hands.”

“I’m merely trying to perform a service for my partner who has been moving boxes up and down stairs for a week and a half.”

“I’ll perform a service on you,” Evan rebuttals, tongue between his teeth, and the muscles in Tommy’s groin tighten on instinct, more than anything else.

“Three out of ten for cheesiness. I’ll give you six overall for sticking the landing.”

“That’s at least an eight and you know it,” Evan argues, the side-sleeper knee pillow already out from under the bed and propping up his leg as he shifts to get comfortable.

Tommy doesn’t warm the dollop of oil in his hand before he slides his palm up Evan’s thigh, and Evan makes a noise halfway between a squeak and a snort. He shoots Tommy a bratty look that Tommy wants to devour, but —

He warms a much more generous pour of oil between his palms before he slowly searches out the deepest knots with gentle fingers, and Evan sighs, eyes tipping closed as Tommy works. His dick twitches in his briefs, but Tommy ignores it, for the time being.

They’ll have time for it later.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 9 - Made a promise to be kept

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate.

Word count: 3.2K

TWs: Illness, self-esteem issues, discussion of spanking, handjob/masturbation, voyeurism, suggestion of ass play, possessive kink.

Tegan spends the day at work feeling gradually more and more ill, so she decides to pick up a few things on her way home in case she can’t get out to get them the next day. It’s probably just a cold she picked up from the kids at the weekend, but she doesn’t want to have to drag herself out of bed and look for cough medicine if it’s worse than that. As she gets out of the car she suddenly remembers that Elvis basically lives in her apartment right now, and she could send him out to get things. Part of her wonders what on earth he’d come back with, but she also realises she’s been on her own for so long she’s forgotten what it’s like to rely on someone else.

Elvis fusses her and tries to insist on her resting, but she’s too worried about what kind of dinner he’ll cook without her help, so she tells him she doesn’t feel that bad. And she doesn’t, not really. Not until she tries to sleep. They lie down together as usual and she lets her mind drift off, but her thoughts stop making sense. It’s as if she’s put the words in a blender and then poured them out, and all the while she’s sweating and starting to wonder if her legs belong to her or have been swapped out for someone else’s. Eventually she tosses and turns herself fully awake, body hot and arms outside of the duvet freezing cold, sweat dampening the hair at the back of her head. 

“Queenie?” Elvis whispers. He looks at the digital clock by the bed. 2.30am. He’s been awake this whole time, watching her thrash about in her sleep and listening to the odd random word she’d mumbled. 

She rolls over and looks up into his concerned face. “Elvis, I’m sick.”

He strokes her forehead gently. “I can see that, baby.”

She closes her eyes again and groans. He presses a little kiss to her forehead now, carefully moving her sweaty hair out of her face. 

“Try ‘an go back ta sleep, honey.”

She groans again. “I’ll try.”

She closes her eyes but Elvis feels like a furnace next to her, he’s making it even hotter in the bed that already seems like it might be on fire. Then she hears him start to sing. 

Forever, my darling / Our love will be true / Always and forever / I'll love only you / Just promise me, darling / Your love in return / May this fire in my soul, dear / Forever burn

Her mouth curls into a smile and she opens her eyes again. 

“That’s cute.”

“Mmmm. I’m trying ta sing ya ta sleep.”

She giggles, putting her hand on his cheek. “Oh ‘raur. Don’t take this the wrong way but… you’re going to keep me awake if you keep doing that.”

Elvis immediately looks hurt and she wishes she could take it back. “Hm. Forget it then.” He flops onto his back, sighing loudly. He doesn’t mind staying up late, in fact he kind of enjoys it, but he wants to be asleep right now. When you’re asleep you can’t feel rejected.

“‘Raur.” Tegan rolls onto her side, leaning over him to look into his face and seeing his eyes firmly shut. “I’m sorry. I love your singing.” She nuzzles his cheek. “I just don’t find it very sleep-inducing.”

He grumbles again. 

“You could sing to me when I feel better. I’d like that.” She’s still feeling a bit delirious from the fever and so she puts her head on his chest and says, “I’d really like that, Elvis.”

“Why’s ‘at then?” He huffs. 

She giggles into his pyjama top. “‘Cause I’d find it a turn on.”

His lips curl into a smile at the revelation and he starts singing again, right in her ear.

My heart's at your command, dear / To keep, love, and to hold / Making you happy's my desire / Keeping you is my goal

She giggles even more. “Stop it! I’m sick!”

“Alright then. Try ‘an sleep. I won’t sing this time.”

She props herself back up on her elbow again. “You’re making the bed kind of hot…” She pulls an awkward face, knowing he won’t like this either. 

He sighs deeply. “First ya won’t let me sing ya ta sleep, now ya want me on the couch.”

“I’m sorry. But you won’t sleep well with me here either.”

He curls a stray piece of hair back behind her ear. “This’d be a damned sight easier if we were at Graceland.”

“But I like my apartment. And you like my apartment. Don’t you?”

“Hmmm. Yeah. But not when I have ta sleep on the couch. I’m an old man, my back can’t take it.”

Tegan doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable, but she can’t see how she’s going to sleep at all with him in the bed. 

He shakes his head and sits up. “But I’ll go. I’ll see ya in the mornin’ baby.”

***

When Tegan doesn’t appear at the usual time, Elvis picks up the phone and calls her work. He causes quite a kerfuffle, being Elvis Presley and everything, but it does mean that they believe him when he says he’s not sure if she’ll be in for the rest of the week. He pads around the kitchen making coffee and rummaging around in the cupboards for anything else she might want. When he’s finished he puts it all on a tray and then sets it down on the side, slowly pushing her bedroom door open and peering inside. 

“Honey?” He says softly, into the semi-darkness. 

Tegan grumbles. She’d woken up a while ago, but she didn’t really want to move. She still doesn’t want to move now, so she burrows further into the bedding. Elvis walks around the bed and gets in next to her, gently putting an arm over her. She grumbles again. 

“I made ya coffee,” he murmurs into her hair. 

“Thanks. I feel like my throat’s full of broken glass.”

Elvis pulls her against him, kissing the top of her head. “Ya want it now?”

“Please.”

He gives her another kiss and then gets up again, fetching the tray and bringing it in. She sits up slowly, pulling pillows behind her to prop her up and looking with some interest at the contents of the tray. 

“I thought you were just bringing coffee?”

Elvis puts it down on her lap. “Well I thought these might help.”

Tegan looks at the rest of the contents of the tray in bewilderment. There’s painkillers, which make sense, next to two cups of steaming coffee. So far, so good. But then there’s a box of crackers, a bottle of gatorade (which she’s quite sure she didn’t buy, so she’s confused as to what it’s doing in her apartment) three or four candy bars (which, again, she didn’t buy) and a packet of lemsip. Just, on its own. Without hot water or a cup. She rubs her forehead in confusion and then just giggles. 

“What?”

She hands him his coffee and takes hers, setting the tray down on the bed between them. Coughing a little, she takes a few sips of her drink to try and make her throat feel a bit better before replying. 

“I bought a load of cough drops and things at the shops yesterday,” she explains. “They’re in the cupboard over the sink.” 

“Oh,” he sighs. He didn’t sleep well on the couch at all, and he’s starting to feel a little like everything he does at the moment is wrong. “Ya want those?”

She takes another sip of coffee. “In a bit.”

He huffs again. She raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Everythin’ I do fer ya, ya don’t like.”

Tegan sighs, and then she puts her head on his shoulder. “That’s not true. This coffee is actually alright.”

She means to make him laugh but he just groans, moving her off him and getting up again. 

“I’m no good at this.” 

She watches in disbelief as he walks back out of the room again. “Elvis!” She calls after him, then bursts into a fresh round of coughing. “‘Raur?” 

When she sees he’s not coming back, she decides to get up, slowly pulling on panties and an old Elvis sweater she found the other day in the back of her closet. She pushes on slippers and then pads out of the room, carrying her coffee. He’s always telling her off for wandering about the place naked, so she hopes this will do. She coughs a bit more and sniffs, finding him sat on the couch watching MTV. Wandering over to the cupboard she grabs a handful of cough drops, Vicks and tissues, and then walks over to the couch. Looking away from the TV for a moment, he’s greeted by the sight of his girlfriend walking around in a sweater with his name on it and a pair of boxer-style panties. It’s hard to stay mad. 

“Where’d this come from?” He asks, tugging at her sleeve as she sits down next to him. 

“Found it in my closet. I think I must’ve bought it when I was a teenager. I’m amazed it still fits, but it was pretty baggy on me back then.”

“I like it,” he announces, because he really does. “No panties with my name on?”

She smirks. “I bet I could find some.”

He pats his thigh. “C’mon. Lap.”

Elvis has got in the habit of telling her to get onto his lap if she doesn’t do it of her own accord, and although it makes her feel a little bit like a pet dog, she does kind of like it. And she likes cuddling up with him like this anyway. So she sits sideways on his lap so she can still watch the TV, his arm firmly around her. She sneezes. 

“I’m gonna give you this, if you keep cuddling up to me all the time.”

Elvis huffs again. “Ya want me ta go? I’ll just go.” He lets go of her so she can get up if she wants. 

“I didn’t say that, ‘raur.” She cuddles into him more, her fingers playing with the buttons on his pyjama top. “I just don’t want you to get sick too. I like you being here. I’d be lonely without you.” 

“Hmmm. Wouldn’t want ya ta be lonely.”

His arm returns to its previous position, but he still feels uncomfortable. He’s a protector, but he’s not much of a caregiver, and he feels like he ought to be. After having a child, he thinks he should be better at knowing what to do when someone is sick, but he and Cilla had always sort of farmed that out to other people. 

“I was only teasing, earlier, you know?” She says after they’ve been sitting there quietly for a while, watching music videos. 

“Should’ve known,” Elvis mutters. “Should be good at looking after sick people by now.”

Tegan shifts to look into his eyes, which stare back, full of sadness. “You couldn’t know what was in my cupboards, I didn’t tell you. But you could’ve just asked what I wanted. That might’ve been easier.”

“Oh. I suppose so.”

“It’s cute though. How much you try.”

He huffs. “Don’t wanna be cute.”

“That’s tough really, isn’t it? Because you are so cute,” she teases, rubbing her nose against his. 

“Ya do really emasculate me sometimes, honey. Callin’ me pretty an’ cute. Next thing I know you’ll be plaiting my hair an’ puttin’ on make-up.”

Tegan giggles. “You put make-up on yourself in the 50s, didn’t you? Come to think of it, in the 60s and 70s too, blodyn.”

“What are ya callin’ me now?”

She bites her lip. “Blodyn. It’s a term of endearment, but literally it means flower.”

“Flower?!” He rages for a second, and then laughs. “Yer really callin’ me flower. Aha. I see.”

“Yeah I am. My little blodyn, fy blodyn bach, taking care of me while I’m sick.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “If ya weren’t sick, ya’d be gettin’ a spankin’ for this…”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He gives her a quick hard slap to the side of her thigh, making her yelp, and then kisses her gently on the lips. “I’ll put it on the list of things ta do when you’re well again. Sing ta ya and then spank the livin’ daylights outta ya.”

***

Tegan gets worse over the next few days, and spends them mainly in bed, with Elvis ferrying hot drinks and soup back and forth. Around day four he starts to get sick too, and although he's grumpy about it he only really gets a sniffle and a bit of a cough for a day or two. Tegan is still exhausted a week later, but she drags herself out of bed to sit on the couch. 

“Feelin’ any better, baby?” Elvis asks, pulling her onto his lap as usual and arranging a blanket around her. 

“Hmmm. Just tired.” Tegan’s head flops against his chest. 

“Can I get ya anything? Ya hungry?”

“Yeah, I am actually. Nothing in the apartment worth eating though.”

“Why don't I go out and get us a little breakfast, baby?”

She sits up and strokes his cheek lovingly. “That would be great if you feel OK?” She puts her hand on his forehead to check his temperature, worrying that he's more ill than he's letting on. 

“I feel fine, baby. Jus’ sniffin’ a bit s’all.”

“Don't know how you've got away with that but I shouldn't complain. Don't want to lose my nursemaid.”

Elvis shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “What have I told ya about that? ‘M not a nursemaid.”

Tegan giggles. “Sorry. You're doing such a good job of taking care of me, though.”

He puffs up with pride. “I am?”

“Yes!” She kisses him on the lips. “I don't know what I'd have done without you.”

He grins, pleased to feel useful for a change. “Alright then. You stay there and keep warm and I’ll go and get us some breakfast.”

Tegan chuckles to herself about staying warm in the middle of September in Memphis, but she doesn't say anything. It's sweet of him to worry. As she waits for him to come back, she thinks about how sweet he's been this whole week. It was obvious not being able to take care of her instinctively bothered him, but he'd taken her advice and actually asked what she wanted and by now he was pretty good at feeding her and bringing her medicine. He'd even got in the shower with her a couple of times and helped her wash when she'd been too tired to want to do it on her own. 

***

After breakfast, Elvis watches Tegan take the plates from the couch into the kitchen. She’s still only wearing panties and that old sweater, and he feels his body react to the sight of her ass jiggling a little as it makes its way around the apartment. It’s happened the past couple of mornings, but he’s done his best to ignore Little Elvis and concentrate on looking after Tegan. This morning, though, he’s really making himself known and Elvis isn’t sure he’s going to be able to ignore him. 

Tegan’s too tired to notice the look on his face, flopping back down next to him and putting her legs up on his lap.

“Honey, ya can’t keep wanderin’ about the place like this,” he tells her. 

“Hmmm? Why?” 

He takes her hand and puts it on his now fully-hard dick. She moves her head and her eyes go wide. 

“Oh.” She doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t want to tell him to sort himself out, but she’s not sure she has the energy to do anything for him either. Plus she’s not exactly feeling that sexy right now.  

“I-it’s okay,” he stutters. “I…uh… I can sort myself out.”

Tegan shakes her head and squeezes him. “No, I wanna help.”

“Honey, you’re still sick.”

She sighs, her head back on his shoulder. “Well, at least let me watch then.”

She hears him cough awkwardly, as if he’s trying to swallow down something particularly difficult. 

“W-watch?”

“Mmmm. Y’know. You jerk yourself and I’ll… watch.”

“I think I might feel a bit self-conscious, baby.”

“Why? I’ve seen your dick before. And, spoiler alert, I know what happens at the end.”

She hears a grumbling deep in his throat. “I’ve never… done that before. In front of someone.”

“Oh. Well I promise I’d enjoy it.”

He moves his head and shoulder so that she has to look at him. “Would ya?”

She nods. “Here. Why don’t I help you?” 

Reaching down to undo the garish belt he’s wearing, she unzips his pants. He shuffles around to make it easier for her to release Little Elvis from his boxers, then moans softly as she pumps him up and down a couple of times. Letting go, she takes his hand from where it’s resting on his thigh and guides it towards his dick. He takes over stroking himself, enjoying the feeling of the kisses she starts to press to his neck and ear. His other hand reaches around to her ass, grabbing a handful and sighing softly to himself. She bites her lip, thinking about how else she can help him.

“You want me to do this?” She asks, slipping her hand in his boxers to massage his balls. 

He groans. “Yes please.”

She squeezes them gently a few times, and then starts to get other ideas. One of her fingers rubs the skin just below them, and he almost jumps. 

“Honey!”

She giggles. “No?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I swear you’re supposed ta be sick.”

She goes back to massaging, her lips pressing against his. “I am. I just thought you might like a little assistance.”

He kisses her and then pulls back again. “I don’t need yer finger up my asshole.”

Tegan can’t help herself, bursting out laughing, pulling her hand away from him to slap her thigh in amusement. 

“It wasn’t your arsehole, cariad. It was your taint.”

Elvis tilts his head to one side and huffs out a sigh. “Yer on very thin ice, y’know that? Even sick girls can get a spanking.”

She giggles, cuddling into him and kissing his collarbone. “Sorry, ‘raur. Please carry on. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

She doesn’t really, they hang around his neck as he kisses her, run over his chest, even wrap around his own hand to help him as he gets closer to release. But she does resist the temptation to put them in his boxers again. At least for now. 

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he breathes in her ear, his lips and teeth finding the lobe. 

“Let me see,” she replies, looking down as he kisses her neck and makes a mess of his hand and pants. 

“Oh fuck. You do like me wandering around in these panties.”

“Mmmm.”

They sit there for a while longer, until he decides he has to get cleaned up. 

“You enjoy that?” She calls after him, as he walks towards the bathroom. 

He turns and smiles. “More ‘an I thought I would.” He fixes her with an intense stare. “But not as much as I’d enjoy fucking that pussy a mine, baby. Hurry up and get well.”

***

Part 10

Taglist:

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

[kodasmind]

Target Run

Warning: none

Paring: Rhea Ripley x Reader

A/N: ENJOY 😛 (her smile is so 😊😊😊)

•

•

•

•

The sun beamed down on the bustling streets as you and Rhea stepped out of your apartment, ready for a leisurely day out. With no matches scheduled and no obligations to attend to, you both decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather and head to Target for some shopping.

As you made your way to the store, the chatter of passersby and the distant hum of traffic filled the air. Rhea looped her arm through yours, her presence grounding you with every step.

Once inside Target, you grabbed a shopping cart and began your adventure through the aisles, the possibilities of what to buy stretching out before you.

"So, what's first on the agenda?" Rhea asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

You grinned, pulling out the list you had meticulously prepared the night before. "Well, we definitely need groceries. But we could also use some new bedding and maybe some kitchen gadgets."

"Sounds like a plan," Rhea replied, falling into step beside you as you made your way towards the food section.

As you perused the shelves, carefully selecting items from your list, Rhea couldn't resist tossing a few extra snacks into the cart.

"Are these really necessary?" you teased, holding up a bag of chips with a raised eyebrow.

Rhea shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Hey, you never know when a snack attack might strike."

With your grocery list complete, you moved on to the bedding section, where you spent ages debating the merits of different sheet sets and comforters. Rhea, ever the patient companion, offered her opinion on thread counts and color schemes, making the decision-making process a little easier.

Next, you found yourselves in the kitchen gadgets aisle, marveling at the array of gadgets and gizmos on display. Rhea's eyes lit up as she spotted a sleek new blender, and you couldn't resist the urge to add it to your cart, envisioning all the delicious smoothies you could make together.

As you continued to wander through the store, your cart gradually filled with an eclectic mix of groceries, bedding, and kitchen gadgets. Occasionally, you caught glimpses of familiar faces among the other shoppers, their eyes widening in recognition as they spotted Rhea.

But she paid them no mind, her focus entirely on enjoying her day with you by her side.

Finally, as the sun began to set and the store lights flickered on overhead, you made your way to the checkout counter, unloading your purchases onto the conveyor belt.

As the cashier scanned your items, Rhea wrapped her arm around your waist, pulling you close as she pressed a kiss to your cheek. You leaned into her embrace, feeling a sense of warmth and contentment wash over you.

Once everything was paid for and bagged up, you and Rhea headed back out into the cool evening air, your arms laden with bags filled with treasures from your day of shopping.

"Thanks for coming with me today," Rhea said, squeezing your hand as you walked towards the car.

"Anytime," you replied with a smile, feeling grateful for the simple joy of spending a day with the person you loved, even if it was just running errands at Target.

[throwingawayhailstones]

Some interesting thoughts on Sonic's ideals (particularly in IDW)

*hides behind a fallen tree*

I honestly really like how he's portrayed in IDW. People harp on his morals and all that but I think the writers are trying to say something about people who have his mindset.

Sonic wants everyone to have the freedom to change. He prefers to spare his enemies when he has the choice and wants to save people because he's a good guy. Though it's clear he won't get too hung up if someone dies because of their own actions (see: Starline. Also the end of unleashed and forces. Sonic had no reason to think Eggman survived and was cool with it. Like he won't actively go out of his way to confirm a kill is what I'm saying). The problem with this is what if they don't ever choose to change? Sonic wants Metal to come around like Omega. He doesn't have to be a good guy perse but like maybe stop trying to kill him on sight and stop plotting you know? But we all know as long as Eggman exists that can't happen because he'll just reprogram Metal. And Eggman. He doesn't exactly "spare" Eggman but since he doesn't go out of his way to like kill him, despite being fully able to, Eggman can get back up and terrorize more people.

This leads to people like Surge and Kit and Lanolin who were deeply and personally hurt by Eggman (Starline came from Eggman) and blame Sonic because he's the one who has the power to stop him but doesn't take the initiative.

See the thing is, Sonic can only justify letting them go because he knows he'll just stop him the next time they shows up. He says this explicitly when he lets Metal go. He can go around with this confidence because he is strong. What about the normies? People like Lanolin? They don't get to do that because they aren't powerful. That's why they have shit like "jail".

We see how important being powerful is to Sonic's beliefs in the Metal Virus arc. Suddenly he can't whisk people out of harm's way. He can't spindash through his problems. You see his confidence crumble and you see him venting his frustrations at Eggman and Metal. You see him actually threatening to basically kill Eggman by infecting him.

He does understand why people don't like him and why they find his ideals frustrating. He's been in enough rough spots to empathize. He just believes that he's fast enough to deal with fallout.

He also isn't directly "forcing" anyone to adhere to his ideals. He believes in freedom so people have the freedom to disagree even if he doesn't like the outcome (see: metal). The problem is because of the scale (see: forces) people have to deal with the collateral damage. People have the freedom to change so you gotta deal with Eggman firebombing you crops every few months because you live too close to his base sorry bestie. Sonic is fast enough to save the day but because he's a *reactive* force rather than a *proactive* one, theres always going to be victims.

This reactive thing also funnily enough mirrors boost gameplay lmao

Will he change? No, probably not. But he'll def get tossed around the blender a few more times.

[bbongwater]

A wise old man once said: "Everyone's fussin' about with their newfangled personal whatchamacallits."

Thanks to Bill (a true PokéManiac), you no longer have to get a bigger bag for all of your beloved creatures -- just toss them into the Pokémon Storage System!

What a time to be alive.

--

Made with Blender 2.7

[swampstew]

Really Really

Breaking news: local cryptid @quinloki was found guilty of leaving tasty treats in my ask box. Feeding the thot after midnight. I let the whoremone monster out and it was feeling some type of way♥

Man worth 3 billion berri is still a virgin, so I threw him in the blender. Warnings: spicy; post-time skip Eustass Kid x AFAB Reader; it doesn't go all the way in :) WC: 1.2K

inspired by this gif

Impatient.                                            

Not a word typically used to describe yourself but after six long months aboard the Victoria Punk, the fierce Captain Kid had once again overlooked your playful flirting as he stormed to his workshop; a hint of red on the tips of his ears were the only sign he’d heard what you said.

You weren’t sure what his deal was – you’d never seen him hook up, not with anyone on the crew and not with anyone on islands the crew landed at. Sure he’d go into strip clubs or make out with random people at the bar from time to time but not once had you seen him spend the night off ship. Or seen a one-night stand stumble from his cabin.

It was puzzling.

A devilishly handsome, well-toned man like him had women and men swooning over him, flirting and spoiling him with compliments, drinks, and food to gain his favor. Kid didn’t always accept the tokens and he almost never accepted them from you. Food and drinks yes but flirting? Almost like it went over his spiked hair; a blush, smirk or scowl the only response he gave you.

It made you…desperate.

Was he really that disinterested or was there something else?

Someone else?

So you did what any rational person could do – you got Killer drunk and tried to weasel out information. But the son of a bitch was like a sealed vault, refused to give up anything about his best friend. And he teased you for it.

“D-you like him or something?” the blonde finally asked.

“I—” you stuttered, “I’m just wondering why! Does he not like sex or?”

Killer didn’t answer right away, swirling his cup before taking a contemplative sip from his straw. “It’s not that, so much as…” he took another sip, “He prioritizes his ambitions and dreams. That’s all.”

“What does that have to do with fucking?”

“Absolutely nothing. He just hasn’t.”

“…Hasn’t? As in had sex?”

Killer shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. That stunned you into silence.

“Really? A guy like him??”

“If you’re so interested in finding out – you should ask him yourself.”

“I’ve tried! I flirt with him, wear revealing clothes, he usually ignores me!”

Killer began coughing, putting his drink aside as he shuddered between suppressing laughter and trying to breathe.

“F-ff-ff- ahh no he doesn’t. He just pretends to.”

“WHAT?!”

“He’s not an idiot, he knows what you’re doing. But he won’t do anything about it since you’re his responsibility; unless you were to, well, be aggressively transparent.” With that, Killer left you alone in the galley.

Transparency.

And Kid’s known the whole damn time and not even acknowledged it. That was frustrating. So much so you decided to try again the next day and be as blunt as possible.

You knew his schedule by heart, you skipped breakfast to hide in his workshop. Wearing a short skirt and oversized sweater, you took a pair of scissors and got creative. Carefully snipping away at the fabric, you cut away at your outfit to expose your bra and panties, not quite getting naked, enough to be as blunt as possible about your intentions.

The sound of thudding boots growing closer suddenly made you nervous but you swallowed your anxiety and snipped the strap of your bra before tossing the scissors and turned away from the door.

“The hell are you doing in here? Why weren’t you at breakfast?" stunned to find you in his sanctuary, a place he expressly forbade anyone from.

You turned your head to the side with a pout on your face, “Didn’t want to eat. I want something else.”

Slamming the door shut, Kid removed his coat and threw it on the table before roughly grabbing your shoulder to face him. His face turned bright red as his golden eyes traveled up and down your body. Studying the way the slit up your skirt gave him a view of your panties, the way your breast threatened to spill over the edge of the cup of the destroyed bra.

You heard his breath sharply release from his lips, “What the…the fuck happened to you?”

You narrowed your eyes, “You did. This is what you’ve driven me to.”

He backed away from you with shock and surprise on his face, “I did what?!”

“I want to fuck you,” you walked towards him, hips, thighs, and breasts jiggling with each step, “I’ve tried flirting with you, dropped hints, given you a share of my loot, and literally hand fed you and you’ve NEVER reciprocated in any manner. So, is it me? Do you find me atrocious? Unfuckable?” your voice became gravelly from the internalized resentment and embarrassment you felt from the efforts you’d put in all this time. “Please, tell me. It’s killing me. If you don’t want me, I’ll stop. But just say something. Am I making a fool of myself for wanting you?”

Kid’s back hit the door, eyes wide as he listened to your rant, “I-wha-no! It’s not you, it’s…”

You stopped a few feet from him, so desperate to hear his answer. You could see the bulge outline in his pants.

“FUCK!” he snarled, smacking his own face to cover his flushed expression, fingers digging into his skin until deep red crescents marked him. “I’ve never had sex!” he finally confessed.

“Really?” you asked, not at all expecting that response. “But…why not? You’re hot as fuck!”

“I JUST HAVEN’T OKAY?!” he lashed out, making you step back from him, a little intimidated by his embarrassed rage. “I’ve got more important shit to do than fuck around and spawn a bunch of bastards,” he spat through grit teeth.

“…Condoms exist…”

“I KNOW THAT!”

Your hip clipped the table’s edge and you stumbled backwards. Before you fell, Kid grabbed your arm and pulled you up, in doing so you fell right into his bare chest. You could feel the goosebumps ripple across both your bodies from the touch but he didn’t move away.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, a bit ashamed from the confrontation, “I just needed to know if you found me attractive, at all. I’ll leave you alone.”

Still holding on to you he barked out, “Have you fucking seen yourself? Who wouldn’t be into you?!”

“Well, you? Considering you keep blowing me off,” you mumbled.

That made him laugh, “REALLY? Shit and here I thought I was being a decent Captain by not sleeping with my subordinates.”

“Really? You parroted in shock, that was surprisingly mature and unexpected. “But I’ve never seen you fuck around with anyone so I just thought—”

“Does this seem like I’m not interested?” he huffed, using his metal arm to grab your waist and pull you into him. Felt his erection against your lower belly. “Fuck me for trynna do the right thing.”

He made you walk backwards, still pressing his body into yours, “I get hard every day just looking at you. When you say cheeky shit, I have to come here and jerk off so I can fucking think clearly. You’re my biggest distraction but—” his hand ghosted up your arm to caress your cheek with surprising gentleness, “—I’ve never not been attracted to you.”

“Oh,” you hummed, still as stone to preserve the moment.

With a click of his tongue, Kid grabbed your chin and planted a wet kiss on you.

Your eyes were crossed from the feeling, lost in a haze as you felt him swing your body around until you were pushed back on top of his coat. The withdrawal of his touch brought you to reality, mouth gaping as he stood in front of you but did not initiate further contact.

“Show me what you like,” he rasped out. “Touch yourself. Teach me what to do.”

[kliikkz]

𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘪'𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 - g.listing x reader 

Summary: You and Georg have been "you and georg" for a while now - definitely more than friends but still less than a couple. Your arrangement seemed to be working fine until Georg spots a mystery bouquet of flowers at your place and his behavior starts to shift in unexpected ways.

warnings : Friends with benefits i guess. Light Angst. Cunnilingus. Vaginal Fingering. Spanking. Cum Play. Protected sex. Feelings realization. Female bodied reader

a/n: this was supposed to be a very short and very small oneshot but turned into a whole ass fic 😭😭 i love feeding my fellow georg fangirlies

5.2k words

“If you’re not ready in 15 minutes, I’m going without you,” Georg declares.

“Cool but it’s my friends we’re having dinner with, so that might be controversial,” you point out, nudging his elbows off your vanity so you can open the drawer in front of where he’s sitting.

“Oh, they like me better than you, it won’t be a problem,” he teases, handing you the beauty blender you were looking for.

You snatch it from his hand. “Hey, you literally weren’t even invited, you just asked if I was busy and said ‘oh that could be fun’ when I told you what I had planned.”

“I feel like my presence was assumed when they asked you,” he shrugs.

You toss the sponge at him and he laughs as you shoo him out of the room so you can finish putting yourself together.

You and Georg have been together for a few months, although neither of you have ever tried to discuss what “together” actually means. Your relationship seemed to be an endless string of implications. When you met, it was implied you liked each other. When you made out at a party a few weeks later, it was implied it was as friends. When you started sleeping together, it was implied it was casual. In your mind, you were something more than “friends with benefits” but still something less than a full-on relationship.

He puts a record on and has just crossed into the kitchen to help himself to a bottled water from your fridge when he notices a vase of flowers on the counter that he definitely didn’t send you.

“Fancy flowers,” he comments. “Who sent them?” He asks, despite immediately checking the card and seeing the message alongside what seems to be a masculine name:

“Thanks for last weekend, let’s do it again sometime ;)”

You’re rooting around in your closet, trying to find the top you had planned on wearing while your mind is focused on your mental checklist of everything you still have left to do before you leave; it takes a good 15 seconds for it to register that Georg has even said anything and another 10 before you distractedly call out “a friend” in response.

Georg sits on your couch and while his hands are turning the pages of some random magazine he found on your coffee table, his eyes are fixed on the bouquet he can still see sitting on the kitchen counter. You’ve never discussed exclusivity, he would have no right to be jealous. But he can’t deny the panic that ran through his body when he saw that card and he can’t keep his mind from racing now.

He thinks he’d almost feel better if he’d found evidence you were fucking someone else; he hates the thought of someone else touching you but he’s also confident that they couldn’t possibly make you feel the way he does in bed. He’s not worried about the sex. But flowers? That implies romance, implies thoughtfulness and intimacy, which are things he wouldn’t blame you for seeking elsewhere. He knows he hasn’t been offering that to you in the ways he could, in the ways you probably deserve.

He tortures himself with these thoughts a bit longer and then props himself in the doorway of your bedroom to check on your progress.

“Oh you’re still here? You were so quiet out there I figured you made good on your threat and you were already at the restaurant ordering without me,” you tease, pulling on your boots.

Georg gives a half-hearted chuckle in response. “You look nice,” he compliments you quietly.

You flash him a pleasant but puzzled smile; something’s off with him, you don’t think he’s ever said you look “nice” as long as you’ve known him and he never passes up a chance to banter with you.

He makes small talk but you notice the way his fingers are fiddling with the label of his water bottle and how his eyes hesitate to look for yours. By the time you’re ready, he’s nonchalantly mentioned the flowers three times and asked you to a party next weekend, when he usually never plans that far in advance.

You pause gathering your things as you realize what’s happening. He’s fucking jealous, you amusedly think to yourself. Part of you wants to tease him about it but there’s an underlying sense of nervousness to it that’s almost sweet. How could something as innocuous as a vase of flowers shake this man’s seemingly endless confidence?

“I wasn’t trying to be vague before,” you tell him. “I helped someone move last weekend; only a couple people showed up to help, it was pretty intense. That’s what the flowers are for.”

“Let’s do it again sometime, winky face?” He raises his eyebrows, casually drinking from his water bottle to show how unbothered he is.

You make a face. “I should’ve figured you’d read the card,” you tease. “I joked that the move was so brutal I’d sooner buy him the apartment than help again when the lease is up.” To punctuate your story, you walk over, peck him on the lips and affectionately straighten his shirt collar. “I don’t know what you’re thinking but I can tell you you’re probably overthinking it.”

Georg tightens his jaw and runs his tongue over his lips as he listens to you. “Didn’t even know you liked flowers,” he shrugs as you smile softly at him.

When he doesn’t immediately follow you out of the bedroom, you know his wheels must still be turning. You get your keys out of the dish and text your friends that you’re leaving now. He finally appears and just as you’re about to tell him you really need to get going, he grabs you and gives you the most over the top, absurdly intense kiss of your life. One hand twisted in your hair, one hand pressing you against him, tongue claiming your mouth as his. He’s clearly trying to prove a point - what and to who, you’re not quite sure - but he certainly proves it.

He pulls away, fire in his eyes and casually says, “You lock up, I’ll get the car started?” as if nothing happened.

You stand there, stunned for a moment, quickly attempt to repair your smudged lipstick and lock the door to meet him outside.

The car ride is mostly silent, save for the radio. Georg plants his hand on your thigh the second you get in the car and it doesn’t budge the entire time. When you grab drinks with your friends at the bar, his hand never leaves your back. During dinner, his arm snakes around your waist the second you slide in the booth next to him. To the outsider this would seem possessive and you’re guessing it partly is but you think you’re pretty good at reading Georg at this point and to you, it feels more complex than that.

He’s still his engaging and charming self, chatting endlessly with everyone about everything but you can tell he’s in his head and you’re not entirely sure why. You recall how unnerved he seemed back at your apartment. You think about the number of times he’s leaned in to whisper a joke or comment in your ear tonight. You feel the gentle way his fingers brush over your hip while you wait for the check and you start connecting the dots.

It may have started with jealousy but this goes deeper than some basic macho territorial bullshit. You’re fascinated as you consider this development. He never seemed to feel angry or betrayed at the thought of someone else holding your attention; he just seemed troubled. Sad. And now it feels like he’s constantly reassuring himself of your presence, like as long as he keeps touching you, keeps engaging you, you’re undeniably there with him.

Your head swims as you consider the implications of this. You never doubted you both cared for each other but is it more serious than that to him? To you? You focus on him talking with your friends and you don’t realize you’re staring until you feel his eyes on you. He looks at you with amused expectancy; you just shake your head and smile fondly.

Your friends say their goodbyes and you start down the street back to the car park. Georg reaches for your hand and it kind of breaks your heart so when you stop to wait for the crosswalk, you place his arm around you and snuggle into him. He looks at you quizzically, as if he’s surprised by your affection. He truly has no idea how transparent he is sometimes, you think to yourself as you mumble something about being cold.

As you make your way down the block, he starts chattering away about the night’s events and with each comment you burrow further into his embrace, appreciating the cool night air and the sound of his voice.

By time you’ve reached the parking structure, you’ve got your arms wrapped around him, inside his jacket. He sways with you as you wait for the elevator, “Am I dropping you back home?”

Your answer comes out muffled as you’ve decided to take this opportunity to bury your face in his chest. “Your place.”

He kisses the top of your head and clarifies, “Thought you had work tomorrow?”

As the elevator doors open, you say, “But your place is closer now” with a glimmer in your eye and you pull him, first into the elevator and then into you. You give him a kiss reminiscent of his over the top, absurdly intense one from earlier but yours has no underlying point to prove. You’ve decided you need him, only him and you want to be sure he knows that.

The car ride is once again silent but this time there is a different tension in the air. His hand finds its way onto your thigh again, though this time it’s definitely a few inches higher. You can’t help but study him, as breathtaking as ever, lit only by the glow of evening traffic. You’re now almost as lost in your thoughts as you know he was earlier. He was so perturbed by those goddamn flowers, why? If you had found a gift from someone you didn’t know at his place, would you be feeling the same way? You’re pretty sure you would.

He catches your gaze at a stop light or two but he doesn’t say anything, just gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze and turns back to the road. As soon as he shuts the engine off, you’re practically lunging across the car to get your lips back on his again. He indulges you for a minute and then breezily laughs, “let’s get you inside then” as he pries you off of him.

Once inside, it’s a dizzying clash of teeth, tongues, lips and limbs as you stumble up the stairs into the bedroom. You’re not sure exactly when it happened but suddenly he’s in his underwear and has you naked and spread in front of him.

He runs his fingers through your folds as he looks at you with a predatory glint in his eyes, asking, “Wet already, huh? This all for me?”

That’s apparently the extent of his teasing mood as he dives right in and starts eating you out before you even think to answer. You gasp and immediately tangle your fingers in his hair as he ruthlessly attacks your clit, first swirling it with the tip of his tongue and then sucking it in between his lips. The way he alternates broad strokes of his wide tongue with deliberate rapid fire flicks has you whimpering faster than you thought possible.

“Been wanting to taste you all evening, beautiful, thought we’d never get away,” he murmurs as he teasingly presses light kisses into your thighs.

“Georg…” you start, still attempting to catch your breath. “What is going on with you tonight…”

He chuckles and replies, “Says the woman who practically jumped me in the parking lot after dinner?” He pushes himself up your body to kiss you deeply, both of you groaning as you taste yourself on his tongue.

He pulls away just enough to continue, “Says the woman who could barely wait for me to put the car in park before she pounced again?”  He kisses you even harder, distracting you enough that you don’t notice his hands have begun to wander until you feel two fingers slowly dragging against your pussy.

You break the kiss with a moan and Georg seamlessly moves his mouth to your neck, giving several teasing bites and nips before he raises his head to look directly at you and say, “Says the woman who I suspect has been dripping for me since the kiss I gave her before we left for dinner?”

He pushes his fingers into you with ease and expertly starts working them. “Maybe even before? Has my girl been wanting me this badly all night?”

You feel your skin flush as you hear the words “my girl” come out of his mouth; this is new. That’s as far as your thought process gets because then he’s curling his fingers and all you can focus on is the way your walls are beginning to twitch and tighten around them, “Georg… please…” is the best response you can manage.

His hand that’s not buried inside you traces down your throat and over your breasts. “Please what, baby? Think you know you’re gonna have to do better than that,” he teases.

“… Want to cum… please…” you breathlessly pant out, rocking your hips against his fingers which have slowed to an agonizingly slow pace, keeping you just on the edge of orgasm.

“Oh don’t worry, pretty girl, you’ll cum alright,” he teases with his bottom lip fixed in a mock pout. “Gotta make it up to you, I obviously should’ve filled you the second I walked through your door tonight,” he speeds his fingers back up and adds his thumb into the mix, rubbing it against your clit, causing your legs to shake.

You grip his arm that’s working you over, digging your nails into his bicep as your entire body tenses and you pulse around his fingers. “That’s my girl, that was a good one, wasn’t it?” he coos as he pumps his fingers into you a few more times for good measure.

You can only breathe heavily in response; your mind and body are both reeling. There it is again: my girl. That kiss by your door, his hands on you all evening, now my girl. You’re not sure if it’s intentional or if his subconscious is giving him away, but he’s claiming you. You’re much more comfortable with that idea than you thought you’d be.

The second it seems like you’ve started to catch your breath,Georg withdraws his fingers from your body and sucks them clean, exaggeratedly groaning his approval. You reach out for him, hoping for a kiss but before you even realize what’s happening, he’s back between your legs lapping away at your center again. “Georg, what the fuck,” you cry out, legs involuntarily closing around him.

Unfazed, he easily spreads your legs back how he wants them and looks up at you, face obscenely wet and glistening from his task. “You tasted so good on my fingers, I wanted more straight from the source,” he shrugs and immediately returns to his mission.

You involuntarily let out a tiny moan at his remark before tugging on his hair to get his attention. “Too much” is all you manage to get out before he licks at your clit in just the right way to make you jolt and let out a guttural groan.

He pulls back and snickers against your thigh. “That’s what I thought, do I know my girl or do I know my girl? Know when you’re ready for another one before you even do, know how to leave you speechless with just a couple flicks of my tongue,” he sneers, rapidly fluttering over your clit in demonstration. “Know this pussy even better than you do, bet you’ve never had anyone else who can say that, have you?”  

You grab onto his shoulder and moan as soon as you hear that magic phrase, my girl, again. Georg’s dirty talk has always been a huge turn on for you but tonight the language is as telling as it is arousing: you are his. You decide that you like it, you want that and you like that he wants that.

You sigh deeply, disappointed but not surprised, when he pulls away just as you feel your climax begin to build. He kisses up your stomach until he reaches your tits, spreading sloppy kisses over one while he squeezes the other, rolling over the nipple with his thumb. You’re not quite sure why tenderness is your instinctual response but you go with it, softly running one hand through his hair and stroking his face with the other.

He looks up at you and his eyes are as breathtaking as always, glowing with both a familiar fire and also a softness you’ve only seen on occasion. You can’t help but smile as you tell him, “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that a complaint or a compliment?” He asks with a smirk as he turns his attention to your other breast, repeating his actions.

“Not sure… both maybe…” you reply, in a dreamy haze of fondness, amusement and desire.

“I’ll take it,” he mutters against your skin. Satisfied with his work on your chest, you see him start to move back down between your legs.

“Geo… no, need more,” you object, attempting to pull him back up to you.

“That’s what I’m tryna to give you here, baby,” he chuckles, allowing you to pull him up to your lips.

You frantically kiss him and grabble between your bodies until your hand finds his erection still confined in his boxers and you give it a squeeze. “God, Georg, honestly I just want your cock more than anything right now,” you hate how pitiful you sound but you also hope it’s enough that he’ll give you what you want.

Instead he looks you directly in the eye, grins and taunts, “But when don’t you want my cock more than anything?”

He impishly pecks your nose and confidently states, “First you cum on my tongue. Then you can cum on my cock.” And with that, he’s suddenly peppering quick kisses all the way back down your body, musing almost to himself, “No one else can make you feel this way, can they? Know how to get you off like this? Gets you this needy?”

He dives back in with a renewed sense of purpose and has you cumming within moments; you swear at a certain point you can feel him grin against your sensitive core, clearly reveling in the nonsensical murmurs you don’t even realize you’re letting out until you hear them yourself.

“Good girl, sound so pretty when you cum for me, taste even better,” he praises, pressing a final kiss to the inside of each of your thighs before he’s on his feet, finally stripping off his underwear and retrieving a condom from the bedside table.

You’re tired from his teasing but the anticipation of finally having him inside you fuels your decision to snatch the package from him and begin tugging at his cock as soon as he’s within arms reach. You roll the condom on him as he tucks your hair behind your ear and says, “Been so good tonight, baby, you decide how you want it.”

You purse your lips in amusement because while his offer appears generous, based on the tone of the evening and the charged mood you’re both in, there’s no way he doesn’t already know you’re about to choose his preferred position.

You reach up and kiss him lustfully one more time before you dramatically turn over and raise yourself up on all fours, looking over your shoulder at him with an expectant look. He raises an eyebrow at you and you playfully roll your eyes at him, “Are you going to pretend like you’re surprised or are you gonna fuck me?”

He grips your ass cheeks, kneading them in each hand, fondly clicking his tongue, “Cum twice already and still so impatient.”

You expect him to tease you; he always does and after the evening you’ve had, you assume you’re in for another tortuous display of dominance so it takes you by surprise when he’s suddenly sliding in to you. You hear his breathing become noticeably more pronounced as he buries himself and his fingers lightly trace down your spine, his actions pausing for just a beat longer than you’d like.

Without even giving it a second thought, you start eagerly moving against him. "Need me that badly you can’t even wait one second for me to catch my breath?” He taunts in a voice that’s both amused and aroused. He wraps his hand in your hair and yanks hard. “So desperate for me to wreck you, gotta fuck yourself on my cock?” He punctuates his question with a swift smack to your ass.

You attempt to scoff at his teasing but a simple, strained “fuck” leaves your lips instead as you steadily rock yourself back against him. He doesn’t seem to mind your initiative, responding to your movements with approving groans and keeping his large hands occupied by covering your ass, first with sharp slaps followed by firm yet tender rubbing to soothe your reddening skin.

You hear yourself chanting “More. Please. More.” in a rhythm matching the way you’re throwing your body back on him. He complies with your request, hand coming down on your backside multiple times in rapid succession and you cry out in satisfaction. You love the sting but you think you love the fact that you’ll be wearing his marks for days even more.

A particularly strong blow has your arms giving out, dropping your upper body down to the bed with a moan. He takes this as you handing over the reins and quickly moves his hands from your ass to your hips, grip digging into your skin as he takes over and starts pounding into you.  

“Goddamn you wrap around me so good, it’s like you were made to take my cock weren’t you, beautiful?” His praise has both your mind and body humming; it’s been a long evening and although you’ve already had two orgasms, you find yourself overwhelmed by the undeniable need to cum with him inside you.

He pushes down on the small of your back to pop your ass and fuck you at a better angle but the way his fingers firmly but gently fall on your skin reminds you of how he touched you earlier in the evening. In the restaurant. On the street. In the car. Always wanting to feel you, always confirming your presence, always reassuring the both of you that your rightful place was with him.

An unexpected wave of affection washes over you and suddenly you’re needing him in a much different way. You manage to feebly say, “Geo? Babe?” as you muster the strength to raise yourself back on one arm while you fling the other behind you, blindly searching for him.

You almost never call him pet names so it immediately jumps out at him; he notices the shifted tone in your voice and halts his actions. You turn your head to meet his gaze as he pants, “You alright? What’s happening?”

Your hand finally finds his resting on your hip and you give it a squeeze, “Changed my mind. Need more of you on me.”

The confusion and concern that were clouding his features softens into something familiar yet somehow undefinable as he gingerly pulls out and leans forward to give you the softest kiss you’ve received all evening. “Well, let’s do that then.”

You spin around to face him and sit back on your knees, pulling him into another soft, slow kiss, brushing his hair off his forehead. He basks in your tender attention for a moment before he’s guiding you back down onto the bed, situating himself to fully lay on top of you, between your legs, careful not to break your kiss until you’re ready.

He slips back inside you and before he even gets the chance to ask, a breathy “Yessss” is all the confirmation he needs to know that this is what you were craving. You wrap your legs around him and run your hands across his broad back, “Just wanted to feel more,” you explain.

Your eyes are closed, relishing the feel of his weight on you and the stretch of him inside you, so you don’t notice the way he silently studies you for a moment before he lifts himself up and starts thrusting into you again.

For all the filth that’s come out of your mouths this evening, this round finds you both unusually quiet, letting your joined symphony of moans, groans, “yeahs and “fucks say everything that needs to be expressed.

You feel him reach for your hand and move it to rest above you on the pillow, interlacing his fingers with yours; you respond with a squeeze and then one up him by turning your head to nip at his skin, simply because you can. He’s left his signature up and down your body tonight, it’s only fair you get to leave a small token of your appreciation on his.  

He hisses at the feel of your teeth lightly grazing his skin. “Come on, baby, play nice.”

“Since when do we do that?” You breathlessly reply and then bask in the glow of the grin you receive in response.

Still smiling, Georg shakes his head. “If you’re able to make smartass remarks like that, clearly I’m not doing my job here.”

He takes one of your legs from around his waist and lifts your thigh back towards your chest; your mouth opens to moan but nothing happens as he pulls almost entirely out and then fucks into you so much slower and deeper than before. He chuckles, “That’s more like it.”

You consider rolling your eyes at his teasing or panting out another sassy quip at him but the way he’s moving in you feels so otherworldly you honestly don’t care about anything else. You grab on to his forearm and dig your nails in.

“Feeling good, beautiful?” He reaches between you and mercilessly rubs your clit. “Who’s making you feel this good?”

The sound emanating from your throat might be his name but mainly sounds like a series of whimpers.

He rubs harder and thrusts deeper. “Didn’t hear you, speak up. Whose cock makes you feel like this?” You continue crying out nonsensically as you feel yourself on the verge of your third orgasm.

You need him close so you pull him down to you for a kiss. He sloppily licks into your mouth, panting against your lips. He’s almost as gone as you are. You bite at his bottom lip and say, with a bit more desperation than you anticipated, “Gonna cum for you, Geo.” He nods understandingly and pecks your lips once more.

His lips move to your neck as his thrusts speed up again; he’s determined now and you’re moaning in earnest. You feel that familiar burning in your core and your eyes instinctively flutter shut, savoring the fall into bliss.

“Uh-uh, eyes open, baby. Want you to look at me. Need to be sure you know whose cock it is you’re cumming on,” Georg commands.

You force yourself to focus on him as you start to unravel, your entire body on fire, tensing deliciously; your mind is screaming his name but only indecipherable whines fall from your lips. Georg is relentless as he fucks you through it, his thrusts never slow; no matter how impossibly tight your pussy squeezes around his cock, he never stops driving into you even rougher and deeper than before.

His eyes remain locked on yours, making the entire experience feel unbelievably more intimate. You swear you can feel every pent up emotion from the evening - the jealousy, the worry, the possessiveness, the passion, the… love? - in his gaze and you’ve never had a more intense orgasm, physically or emotionally.

As you come down from your high, you hear him praising you, “Yes, baby… love making you cum… you always give so much… always such a good girl for me.” His words alone would’ve earned a reaction from you but he sounds as wrecked as you feel, causing you to emit a deep and breathy moan at this realization. He’s panting so heavily you know his release won’t be far behind.

You feel like you’re mad with desire at this point; you’re beyond satisfied and you know you couldn’t possibly cum again but you still feel like you’re wanting something, you still need more of him. Feeling emboldened by watching Georg lose control and the euphoria still pulsing through your body, you find yourself digging your nails into his arms and muttering, “Want your cum, Georg.”

He lets out a grunt as his hips slam into yours. “Oh, you’re definitely about to get it,” he smirks.

You sigh partly out of exasperation and partly out of arousal for what you’re about to request. “No, Georg, I want it,” you pant. “Want you to cum on me, make me yours.”

His hips slow as he processes your words. “Fuck” is all he can manage to growl under his breath in response. He pulls out and you whimper at both the absence of him and the anticipation of what’s going to happen.

Georg peels off the condom and you can’t take your eyes off him as he wraps his long fingers around his cock and begins to stroke himself. It only takes a few tugs before he’s gasping and murmuring your name and you have to moan along with him when you feel his warm cum spurting onto your stomach and chest. He maintains a firm grip as the rhythm of his hand varies, making sure he squeezes out every last drop for you.

He hangs his head in exhaustion for a beat and then takes in the sight of you: fucked out, chest heaving, painted in his release. You catch him staring and offer him a tired yet mischievous smile; he seems to pick up on your wavelength and smirks as he runs a finger through the substance on your breasts and brings it up to your lips for you to suck off.

“Jesus, baby,” he groans, shaking his head almost as if he can’t believe his eyes. “Don’t move.” He affectionately rubs your thigh a few times before he moves off the bed and ducks into the bathroom, returning seconds later with a wet washcloth. He climbs back next to you on the bed and presses a passionate kiss to your lips before he starts gently cleaning you up; it’s quiet for a few moments and the intimacy is not lost on either of you. You reach up and brush his hair from his eyes.

“Hey,” you start, fondly. He smiles much softer than he has all night. “Hey yourself,” he giggles. You pause and feel a bit of leftover boldness coursing through you, so you comment, “You seem like you’ve got something on your mind. ” Georg bites his lip and exhales deeply, clearly considering how to answer. He looks down, avoiding your eyes, and fusses over a mark on your hip that’s sure to form into a gnarly bruise by morning.

“Sorry if I got a little crazy tonight, I know I‘m usually better at checking in with you,” he muses. You sit up and squeeze his shoulder. You feel the urge to reassure him but you can tell he’s on the verge of opening up and you don’t want to derail him.

You’re trying to find the courage to prompt him further when he surprises you by admitting, “It just really fuckin’ got to me when I thought… “ he trails off, looking away again. “I got weirded out about those flowers and I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry.” He tosses the washcloth onto the nightstand in exasperation. You give him a faint smile. “Geo, I told you —”“I know and I believe you but I just started thinking… and then I couldn’t stop,” he confesses quietly. 

He stands up and pulls on a pair of shorts before busying himself by starting to tidy the bed. You excuse yourself to the bathroom. You figure he could use some time to process whatever it is he’s still trying to work out so you wash your face, brush your teeth and slip on a t-shirt of his you find discarded on the counter. You venture back into the bedroom and find him tossing the pillows back onto the bed after having changed the sheets. He still looks lost inside his thoughts and you yearn to ease his mind. You walk over and hug him from behind, burying your face into his back; he gives your arms an affectionate squeeze. 

“I know we don’t really talk about this kind of thing but I feel like you should know I haven’t seen anybody else since we started talking,” you offer, your confession muffled with your face still pressed against his skin. “It hasn’t even been a conscious thing, I just… haven’t been interested, I guess.” Georg pulls you to his side and kisses the top of your head. “Thank you for telling me that,” he murmurs, rubbing your back.

You quickly come around and kneel on the bed in front of him so that you’re at his eye level and you wrap your arms around his neck. “And I liked everything that happened tonight; you know I would have told you otherwise,” you assert. He nods in acknowledgement so you continue, “I like hearing you tell me I’m your girl, I like when you make me feel like I’m yours… ” 

You feel tempted to look away, to fidget with the necklace he’s wearing but you resist.

 You look straight into his eyes, full of warmth and attentiveness, and state, “You know, I could be yours, if that’s something you decide you want.” 

Georg only lets your words hang in the air for a split second before he wraps his arms around you tightly and kisses you slowly; it’s intense and passionate but not in the same over the top, cocky way that he kissed you back at your apartment.

 This kiss is also trying to prove something but it’s a message meant only for you and he’s taking his time to make his point clear.

When your mouths finally separate, you take a deep breath and steady yourself on his arms. You open your eyes at him and grin.

“Was that your way of asking?”