#short thug

[secretagentsagainstwhatever]

People online fancasting live action Rapunzel: Sabrina Carpenter, Taylor Swift, Florence Pugh, Simone Ashley 🥺

Me: THE DISNEY VERSION OF RAPUNZEL IS 18 ONE EIGHT EIGHTEEN A TEENAGER!!!! (the og version is 12 but ya know that’s a whole separate story)

[marcmarcmomarc]

Kingdom Hearts IV predictions: Kingdom of Corona (Tangled)

Takes place after the movie.

Is visited by Donald and Goofy.

The inhabitants are thrilled to see Donald and Goofy again, but are sad to hear about Sora’s sacrifice.

Starring the voices of:

Rapunzel Fitzherbert: Kelsey Lansdowne

Eugene Fitzherbert: Zachary Levi

Queen Ariana: Kari Wahlgren

King Frederic: Clancy Brown

Captain of the Guard: M.C. Gainey

Hook Hand: Brad Garrett

Big Nose: Chris Marlow

Shorty: Paul F. Tompkins

Vladimir: Charles Halford

Attila Buckethead: Stephen Stanton

Sideburns Stabbington: Ron Perlman

Patchy Stabbington: Brian Hull

Pascal: Bob Bergen

Maximus: Nathan Greno

[melonisopod]

Not even a minute into this video and I'm clapping and cheering and crying and puking and shitting oh my god YES THANK YOU

[hollywoods-angel]

ive officially given up on pin curls until my hair grows to tit length

[lovemicheal]

ain’t even gotta look, turning my back

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Only Echoes Remained

The dark of night was still hours away. Even so, the pine trees in these Appalachian woods conspired with a thick fog and gray skies to suffocate the light, coating their world in a gray mist.

Despite the wintry cold trapped inside the car, and the stench of cigarettes caked into every piece of fabric, Braylon Turner was sweating bullets. Leroy had told him to keep the old car’s lights off while they drove through the woods, up a meandering and narrow path into the dark heart of Bumfucksville, Nowhere.

Leroy was also sitting on the backseat with Jimmy “Changa” Chance, keeping the muzzle of a revolver jammed into the spot where Jimmy’s jawbone connected to his wiry neck.

Gun metal had scraped the skin raw there, turning it a deep and uncomfortable red. The skin around it glistened with sweat, just like Braylon’s creased forehead.

Whenever Braylon met Leroy’s gaze in the rearview mirror, Leroy looked cool. Cold as ice.

Grim in his expression, Leroy mostly stared ahead, as if he was driving the car himself, while he kept that gun close to Jimmy, keeping the smaller man in a one-armed bear hug. He not only lorded twice the body mass over their hostage, he had something Jimmy didn’t: Leroy used to work as a gun-thug for one of the local gangs.

Now, coal from the mines had turned the edges of his fingernails black. Like the fingernail on his index finger, curved around the pistol’s trigger with skill and grim certainty.

Certainty that he could squeeze that trigger, and certainty that he had no qualms of painting the backseats red with Jimmy’s insides, whatever consequences be damned.

Leroy carried all that in his aura. A darkness. He had shot and maimed and killed people before.

The car slowed. Its old brakes squealed as the vehicle stopped.

At a crossroads.

“Where to next?” Braylon asked.

“Right,” Jimmy squeezed out.

Braylon stepped on the gas and they continued on.

Jimmy started whining again. “Look, guys, you might not give a shit about how much trouble I’ll get in by doin’ this? But you don’t know who you’re fuckin’ with if you wanna go—���

“We know and we don’t give two shits, you lil’ rat-shit weasel,” said Leroy. “We better be there soon, like you said, or I’m about to give this lil’ gun a test drive on separating your brains from your brainpan.”

He gave a painful shove of the gun’s muzzle into Jimmy’s neck for emphasis.

“Okay! Okay! Jesus, fuck, calm down, man! You’ll get your money back, okay?”

Braylon flinched. He didn’t care about the money. He cared about the twitch in his fingers, the sickness in his stomach, and the yearning for his next fix.

The money had always only ever paved the way. The goal had always only ever been the sweet release of the soaring heights beyond that.

Leroy, on the other hand, fundamentally disagreed. He growled. The former gun-thug might have genuinely wanted to hurt Jimmy.

“Our money,” he growled. A strange way to put it, as it had been, at this point, Leroy’s money that Braylon had smoked. “You, what—you get your rocks off on squeezin’ some poor assholes for all their savings while they kill themselves?”

Jimmy protested much and pointed at the rearview mirror to accuse Braylon. “Look, man! Look! You tried to sell some o’ that product, like every other two-bit junkie, and here—”

Leroy jammed the gun into Jimmy’s neck again and sneered.

“Shut the fuck up, weasel. You gonna complain now about dogs be eatin’ dogs? You’re lucky if I let you walk outta all this alive. I put other shit-kickers six feet under for less.”

Braylon slowed. The curves of the dirt road were treacherous, the path littered with muddy ditches—one mistake, and they’d get the car stuck, stranding them in some backwater woods for days. According to Martha, there was a clan of cannibals living out there, too.

Dirt and grit from the coal mines marked Braylon’s fingernails just like Leroy’s. Shaky hands danced between the weathered old steering wheel and the stick shift as he switched gears, making the car snake more slowly through the forest.

Leroy hissed at him.

“Don’t fuckin’ slow down now, man. We got places to be.”

“Why’d you… why’d you d-do this, anyway?” Braylon stammered out.

Leroy didn’t answer. He glowered into the rearview mirror, meeting Braylon’s gaze.

“Keep your eyes on the road, man.”

Braylon knew better. He did as Leroy said.

Part of Leroy just wanted his money back, but they were friends. They had been digging coal together for the past two years, drinking together sometimes, and sharing their grievances and grief in all the quiet moments in between.

Leroy had given up on his old dreams of big money. Whatever he was doing now, with Jimmy in his iron grip, he was doing all this for him.

His meaty fist dwarfed the silvery pistol in his clutches, just like he dwarfed the spindly Jimmy in his grip on the backseat.

Braylon licked his salty lips, hungry for some kind of freedom, hungry for the impending release he envisioned to be awaiting him at the end of this road.

That’s why he did as Leroy said. He kept his eyes trained on the prize, on wherever the dirt road curved around the trees and frosty mounds. He pictured himself inhaling those poisonous clouds of smoke, and finding the release from his lousy life that it always brought him, however ephemeral, however temporary—however harsh the crash back into reality ever followed. Time bled from future into past.

He’d soon be doing that, sitting on a porch, inhaling toxic smoke. Flying high, on strange wings, all horrendous pain be damned.

And then, they were there.

A small, old cabin awaited them in these woods, separated from a smaller shed. A rusty old pickup truck stood parked in the driveway. Ice had turned old leaves and pine needles into spiky clumps of dirt all around.

Even the snow stayed away from these grounds.

A bald, old, and grizzled-looking man stepped onto the cabin’s porch, sporting a stained apron and foggy plastic goggles strapped over his eyes. His silvery beard looked unkempt, but long, and speaking volumes of a long life to boot.

His rubber-gloved hands held nothing. His whole posture portended a quiet power, a certainty to rival the grim reaper’s very own image. The old cook stood still like a statue, staring at their car as they arrived, pulling onto his sorry lot.

The goggles and his stony expression masked whatever the old cook might have been feeling or thinking while he watched the three men emerge from the car.

Braylon, a sweaty and haggard mess he had never seen before in his life.

Jimmy “Changa” Chance, another sweaty mess, whom Leroy had beaten bloody enough to not kill him outright, but just bloody enough to make a point. Was his nose broken? He had sure complained about it enough on the long ride over.

And Leroy, of course—a mountain of muscle and bad attitude, exuding a cosmically dark aura, yet dressed simply in a plaid jacket and dirty jeans, like he had just crawled out of the coal mines where he worked with Braylon.

“Jimmy,” said the old cook, drawling out the name with deliberate contempt. Slowly, deliberately, he started removing his rubber gloves. Even slower than that, he said, “Never a pleasure to see your dumb ass ‘round these parts. Now, to what do I owe this dishonor? Thought I had made myself clear about our… business arrangement.”

Jimmy scoffed. It almost surfaced as a laugh, cut short when Leroy shoved him, forcing him down onto his knees, where the frozen dirt crunched.

Leroy answered in his stead. “Listen up, and listen carefully. I don’t give a shit whatever the hell your old business arrangements were, ‘cause we’re here for a different kind o’ business. The business o’ gettin’ our money back, and the business o’ getting my good friend here some o’ the product he’s owed after this little rat-shit right here kept fleecin’ ‘im for the shirt on his back.”

The old cook lifted his goggles, revealing a steely, cold gaze. He studied Leroy. Then he scanned Braylon up and down, piercing his soul whenever they made eye contact, however brief.

The cook didn’t even spare Jimmy another glance.

He didn’t offer any words in answer.

Leroy squinted.

“You hear me, or are you hard o’ hearin’ in your venerable age?”

The old cook smirked, scoffed.

“Hear you loud an’ clear, stranger,” the old cook grumbled. “I can offer you product, but I can’t offer you money. Ain’t got nothin’ here. I put my money in the bank, just in case some yahoos like you show up, tryin’ to rob little ol’ me.”

Fear bubbled up in Braylon’s gut. His attention bounced back and forth between Leroy and the meth cook, losing hope in them winning whatever kind of match this was.

Leroy wiggled his nose and frowned. He shook his head.

“And by ‘bank’, you mean that mean son of a bitch over in that holler we passed on the way here, ain’t that right?”

The meth cook slowly nodded, eyes locked onto Leroy. He grunted in the affirmative.

“Tom, man, come on, man,” Jimmy started babbling. He slapped his hands together, and still being on his knees, looked like he was praying to Old Tom Reed, the meth cook, like he was praying to God alimighty. “Come on, man! Give ‘em somethin’! Give ‘em whatever they want, I’ll make it up to you, okay? You ever hear about what this guy here did? This is Leroy Morin, he—”

Leroy kicked Jimmy in the hollow of his back, sending him his knees down deeper, face-first into the dirt, where new streaks of blood soon seeped out of fresh scratches.

“Shut the fuck up, rat-shit, I ain’t in the mood. I’m only gonna say it one more time, then I’m sendin’ you to your maker.”

Leroy cocked the hammer of his revolver to underline his words.

Jimmy complied. He didn’t even dare to get up from his knees, staying there on the ground, with stray pine needles flaking with the dirt from his leather coat.

The cook slowly bunched his gloves together in a fist, pursed his lips, and nodded.

“Sure,” he said, yet he locked his gaze onto Braylon instead of the gun-toting man he was answering. “I don’t want no trouble, and I ain’t gonna seek no quarrel with y’all. My daddy ain’t raised me that way.”

It was like he could sense the disease in him. Not just the addiction, or the visible discomfort that rode in alongside the pestilent horseman of withdrawal. But the greater sickness, the one deep within, the creeping death…

Did he know?

Asked the cook, Tom Reed, with the gravity of an executioner, “You wanna sample my product, son?”

Braylon licked his lips.

Was the meth cook going to try anything funny?

It didn’t feel that way.

That stony gaze, that grave-like certainty. Tom Reed exuded a darkness even more misty and overwhelming than Leroy’s presence.

Braylon shot Leroy a glance. His friend returned a cold stare.

Leroy almost sang when he threatened the old cook. “No funny business, Tom. Give him his fix, and we talk shop. Ain’t nobody else need to get hurt today.”

Then it all happened so fast. Anticipation contracted all time, compacting it into a tiny cube. The addiction drove Braylon, carrying him atop the waves of his dreamy haze.

Agreements were made, though nobody shook hands. The tiny flame of the lighter was cold, so cold, but the smoke burned so good.

Before long, the smoke from the pipe rose to join the gray mists in the Appalachian woods, as Braylon sat on Tom Reed’s porch, inhaling his favored poison, and it began to cloud, and eclipse everything. The smoke and its poison ate away at the frayed edges of time, fraying them even further—

Twilight turned brighter, the voices of the men speaking turned sharper, clearer, and that clarity all spilled, washing over into Braylon’s consciousness.

The air out here had never been fresher. Why, why did he hate his home state so much? Even between the skeletal trees in winter, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by supposed cannibals, and backwater gun-thugs, Braylon now saw beauty in everything. A fleeting insight, but a powerful one nevertheless.

Another hit. He was soaring. His mind was soaring. He felt so alive, and all the shit in his life felt so far behind him, like it had never even mattered to begin with.

Braylon even embraced the beauty in the death awaiting him. The uncertainty of it entered his consciousness—how much had he spent on the meth when he could have saved up to have a doctor find out if he really had the cancer that haunted his nightmares?—yet his mind painted it all with beautiful strokes, vague and emotional, filled with love, and self-destruction in equal parts. Ethereal, spectral, human.

Sacred dirt. Frozen, crunching underfoot. Flying high. Men and insects were all alike under God’s vast sky, Braylon reckoned.

Another hit, and he was swimming. An ocean upon an ocean, floating on the waves above darkest depths, riding a high so high that he was inches away from touching God in the heavens with his very own fingertips.

Or his brain was bleeding on the inside.

Then the demons attacked.

Winged shadows, huge, swooping down from silver skies as shadowy streaks of death, cutting through the peaceful forests with their braying cries, and their tearing claws, and beaks shaped like swords of unholy judgment.

The men screamed, scrambling inside, and the unreality of Braylon’s trip admixed with the horrible reality of their situation.

They cowered inside Tom Reed’s cabin, hidden from those hell-beasts.

And whatever clarity Braylon had imagined to perceive from the others talking all around him, he now barely grasped whatever they were saying until a new panic gripped him—all his skin slick with sweat, and dripping with the stink of his terror—and Leroy’s meaty fist gripping him by the fabric on his shoulder, shaking a shred of sense back into him.

“What the fuck,” Jimmy blubbered. “W-w-what in the ever-loving fuck are those things?”

“Demons,” breathed Braylon, firm with belief. Harbingers of doom, arriving on their leathery wings to drag him to hell.

Drag him down for all he had done, to his wife and son, to his neighbors, and even, to some extent, to his only friend left, Leroy.

Had he said that all out loud, or just thought it?

“Shut up. You’re high as a fuckin’ kite,” growled his friend. Leroy added, “You got any guns in here?”

The question wasn’t meant for him.

Tom, the old cook, shook his head in response.

“Don’t need ‘em, don’t need more risks of blowin’ my place sky-high when I got—”

Leroy snarled, “You fuckin’ kidding me? I only got this six-shooter, I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to take down even one o’ those things. They are gargantuan!”

Tom Reed peered out a window, hiding in the shadow of the corner nearby.

The old man kept his voice down, but failed to mask any hint of irony when he said, “I’d say ‘gargantuan’ is an exaggeration, but each of ‘em is about as big as your car, I reckon.”

By contrast, there was no exaggeration in his description. One of the two beasts had pounced on Braylon’s old Dodge, crushing the metal and blowing all windows out of their frames. The creature unfurled its massive wings to a frightening span, creating a menacing silhouette perched upon the car’s wreckage.

The other beast screeched from atop the cabin’s roof. More dust rained down when it pounded against the wood, thumping around, seeking a way inside.

“No, seriously though, what the fuck are those things?” Jimmy asked again. His voice shook like someone stuck in a powerful earthquake. “Lemme go! We can make a run for it, lemme go!”

His cheek smooshed against the dirty floors of Tom’s cabin, as Leroy kept Jimmy buried underneath him with all his weight and mass, pinning him down with his gun still leveled at Jimmy’s neck—as if he had to fear Jimmy running away more than the terrible creatures outside.

Braylon himself, he couldn’t make any sense of it. He curled up into a fetal position underneath a table, as if that would help anybody.

“Christ, man,” Leroy snarled, “get a grip.”

Time had stopped contracting. Now, it expanded, stretching thin, reaching into a dark infinity. Was this death? A different death than he had always envisioned for himself, a quiet darkness instead of the beeping devices all around him while he rested on a hospital bed?

Even so, Braylon had not seen how Leroy got up, releasing Jimmy, or how they had argued, screaming at each other, while more dust rained from the ceiling, because the beast trampled upon the roof, flapping its furious wings.

When the tears had started streaming, and clouding Braylon’s vision, he would never be able to say with certainty, for he screwed his eyes shut more than once in despair, clouding his sight entirely, turning everything into the senseless blur and cosmic joke that reality had descended into.

Jimmy ran from the cabin’s front door after their screaming match, panting in panic as he ran towards the trees, hoping to evade the winged beasts by seeking other cover.

“Idiot,” Leroy had muttered, peering outside after his lost hostage, mere seconds before the carnage.

The beast that had trashed Braylon’s car pounced on Jimmy—he didn’t even make it halfway to the trees. Claws shredded him, and a long, blade-like beak picked away at his insides. Thrashing human limbs turned limp. Mighty wings flapped; once, twice, always beating like thunderclaps, as the flying monster lifted off again, carrying Jimmy’s mangled corpse into the misty air.

Blood still splattered to the ground with red chunks before the creature disappeared with him.

“That’s a dinosaur,” Tom Reed muttered, wagging a finger at the foggy window, and taking fearful steps back away from it.

“Bull-shit,” Leroy drawled out in a snarl.

His eyes flashed with horror. The horror of helplessness, of not knowing what to do, or how to escape their predicament. They were under siege by these two beasts.

The pistol in his hand never looked tinier.

His eyes also flashed with knowing, with recognition. A glance he shot Tom’s way only confirmed that he believed what the meth cook had just said, even if he claimed the opposite. Even if he repeated it.

Tom didn’t bother disagreeing. He kept his eyes on the space outside.

The stretch to his old pickup truck. Short enough to make the run, but so far away that the creature on the rooftop could snatch any of them like the other had taken Jimmy.

Then more dust rained from the ceiling, and the wood of it began to groan and crack. The silhouette of that sword-beaked beast painted itself against the gloomy gray sky where its claws tore open a hole to the outside, and it screeched—

A screech so blood-curdling, so high-pitched, it made Braylon’s blood boil. He burned with dread, and he grew wings, wings to carry him away.

The haze never helped him, it never truly had. Like all other addicts, it was more convenient to believe the contrary, though. He always ran from his troubles, soared higher above the highs that he inhaled from his meth pipe, thinking that those troubles all looked so small and insignificant from the loftiest of heights.

His wings, they carried him outside. The high made him feel faster, stronger, luckier. Happier. Maybe if he just believed hard enough, the imagination would become a truth.

He remembered his son’s smile as he ran from Tom’s cabin. Braylon ran despite Leroy’s shouts, despite his only friend trying to stop him from running out into the woods.

Alone.

Some part of Braylon understood everything, but the high eclipsed the low. It was almost like he could see himself from the outside, a little man, a loser running away, running for his life. Pathetic, yet capable of survival.

He ran like hell and he made it. Unlike that little rat Jimmy, Braylon made it to the trees. And beyond.

The last he saw of Tom’s cabin was a glimpse of that winged hell-beast, rampaging on the cabin’s rooftop, shredding wood and sending splinters flying in every direction. The firecracker’s clap of Leroy shooting at the beast from inside the cabin. And the creature, high on its own bloodlust, perhaps distracted by a bullet, didn’t even notice Braylon running away.

And the silhouette of the other, carrying Jimmy’s corpse into misty hell, was long gone. Had he imagined it? Was all of this just a nightmare he was about to wake up from?

Braylon’s lungs screamed at him.

How long had he been running? Moments, minutes, or hours? His sides hurt, his feet barked, and fresh blood coated his hands wherever he had scratched and scraped his leathery palms on the dry, cold wood of the infinity of trees around him.

The woods spun in endless circles, and dizziness set in.

Had he truly gotten away, or just slipped into another purgatory, descending ever closer to hell?

The high was gone. Reality kicked him in the back, and the stomach, and the teeth.

Braylon was hurting all over, and his lungs would not permit him to run any farther. Guilt gripped him, and wind cut like a knife against the cold sweat on his forehead, all squeezing him down to his heart—

He had abandoned his only friend. He had abandoned Leroy.

As much as the world spun around him, he spun around in the opposite direction, lost in the woods, recognizing nothing, oblivious as to where to go.

He wanted to run back, to Tom’s cabin, to find and help Leroy, so they could both get the hell out of there. Or was he just selfish again? Knowing he couldn’t make it on his own?

How the hell could he have left him behind like that? What kind of monster was he?

“The pathetic kind,” he muttered to himself, in the middle of nowhere, crashing down onto his knees, sorrier than ever before in his sorry life.

More moments or minutes passed, and clarity crystallized with the same cutting coldness as the wintry winds howling all around him.

That’s when the chittering and scuttling sounds began. The shuffling, the squeaking, the chirping.

Buzzing.

Wings, far tinier than those of the pterodactyls that had attacked Tom’s cabin.

Swarms of them.

The forest grounds teemed with strange life. Insects the size of dogs covered those frozen grounds, swarming, chittering, chirping, and closing in on Braylon. From every side.

They vaguely reminded him of locusts with their sleek green limbs, but also of wasps for their slender, and deadly-looking shapes. Sticking to the ground, they scuttled and swarmed towards him.

And in that moment, Braylon felt no more panic. Only resignation. He knew deep down his time had come.

Still dizzy, he spun around, seeking for another way to run, and quickly giving up, surrendering to the bleak reality of his situation. The inevitability of it engulfed him.

It was almost liberating. With no decisions left to make, he only tasted his own sickness, and accepted defeat. He still hurt all over, and there was no way he could fight and win against these… things. There were so many of them.

He would try— just like a final gasp escapes the dying lungs—he would thrash and fight back, powered by the same animal instinct that drives any creature under the sun to fight back in the face of their impending doom. Future and past melted into present, coalescing with growing clarity.

Before the inevitable fight to delay his death, he saw no escape. The swarm of these huge locusts was all around him, offering nowhere to run to, no possibility of getting past the living flood of buzzing wings and snapping mandibles.

They were so fast as they scuttled towards him. He never could have outrun them, not even in the wildest dreams that came with his highs.

“I’m so sorry,” was the last thing he managed to utter.

Braylon wasn’t even sure whom it was meant for.

Everybody, probably.

Then the swarm converged on him and buried him alive. Started eating him alive. Snapping mandibles tore at flesh. The buzzing drowned out everything but the screams.

His own screams eclipsed his every thought for the next few minutes until he could scream no longer, and only echoes remained, coupled with the burning sensations of pain that accompanied him in the final moments of his gruesome death.

Echoes through time.

[fourtwentybuds]

🚨It is going down tonight🚨

[poetgenius]

Thug Shaker MindControl

I found myself lost in a screen,

Watching thug shakers and thug hunters,

Their wild moves, so mesmerizing, Their actions, so seductive and thrilling.

But soon I found, I was trapped, Addicted to this cycle of obsession,

And I knew, deep down inside, That I had to break free from this aggression.

So I made a choice, to change my ways, To find a new path, to a better life,

To leave behind, those thug shakers, And focus on becoming, a greater man, and a better human.

It wasn't easy, this journey of mine, To break free from those addictive screens,

But with perseverance, and a steadfast mind, I conquered this addiction, and achieved my dreams.

Now I stand, with my head held high, Proud of the person, that I've become

, No longer lost, in those thug shaker eyes, But filled with hope, for what's yet to come.

[deadgirlsam]

slept for 18 hours -3- today's a day off though so thank fuck for that

[roughridingrednecks]

BigBoy

[womb-complex]

Grrr I’m stressing over things to wear for my interview

[ditzybat]

i love the headcannon that both tim and cass look scarily alike, to the point they could be twins.

like they both share the same general lithe build, they’re the same short height, cass has a short bob while tim has his baby mullet, their training is similar due to their backgrounds with lady shiva and the loa, and (depending on your headcanon) both waisan- so i can definitely see instances where they’re confused for each other or where they mess with everyone around them.

cass on patrol in red robin gear so tim can go on a date with bernard:

random thugs seconds away from being one hit k.o’d: yo since when did red robin start melting into the shadows like an eldritch horror?

jason: hey tim -

cass: wrong.

jason: no, im pretty sure you’re tim, i gave you that scar right there in your neck

cass: nu-uh, this is from cain

jason:

cass:

jason: well this got awkward…

steph hugging tim from behind: hey babe

tim: wrong wayne

steph: ew, i should’ve known, your ass isnt nearly as —

tim walking away with his fingers in his ears: lalalalala im not listening to you

damian: i think you’re the only one in this family i respect

tim who has been silently hanging out with him for the past 3 hours: aw thanks damian, i’ve come to love you like a brother too

damian: drake? i thought you were cassandra, my apologies, i retract my previous statement

tim: don’t care, you love me, don’t try to deny it

lady shiva hugging both tim and cass: my beautiful twins, such well trained weapons, unfortunate that you both ended up with cain

bruce pulling his children back: tim isnt yours…

shiva: well that cant be right, he’s s the spitting image of my sister carolyn, and that birth was far too painful to only produce one small child

tim: woah full circle, my drag-sona is called caroline, maybe you are my mom, i wouldn’t put it past janet drake to adopt

bruce: tim no, you’re not even the same type of asian

cass: too late, we’re blood

shiva: see!

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Disney princess Danny

It’s known that animals can sense death. Instances where pets gravitate to someone on their death bed and dogs barking at ghosts. Danny already knew this from before he half died, so he was expecting animals to rat him out with their sixth sense or become aggressive or cower from him. Instead, they all behaved the complete opposite than he anticipated.

Stray cats come running to rub against his legs, dogs nearly pull arms out of their owners sockets to get close to him, birds bring him trinkets, raccoons lead him to trash cans full of food, and even squirrels and rats get close to just sit on his shoulders. It’s… weird, but not unwelcome. He always loved animals.

Danny had come to semi-trust the animals that come to him. They know where the good food is and drinking water, they know when to steer away from a certain area right before something happens, and they always know when a person is bad or okay. So when an animal leads him somewhere, he follows. Sometimes they need help and he’s the one they go to. He’s helped plenty of raccoons out of garbage bins and cats out of gutters to have a good relationship with the animals of the streets.

What he isn’t expecting is to be led to Robin again and again.

The first time it was a cat. A mangy old Tom cat that rubbed against his torn up jeans and looked back with - Danny swears- a raised eyebrow. Danny follows and soon enough he finds himself standing a few paces away from Robin who is kneeling down to give clean water to the momma cat and her three kittens.

Robin freezes and so does Danny. They stare at each other.

“Um, hi?”

Robin straightens immediately, leaving the water on the ground where the cats can drink. Tom cat swaggers over to guard them.

“Civilian. Is there something I can assist you with?”

The dude is probably a year or two younger than Danny himself and he has to suppress a smile at the formal tone.

“Oh, uh, no? The cat just led me here.”

He can see Robin glance at the Tom cat who was now licking himself.

“Is that so?”

“Yea. Sorry to interrupt. Animals just like me for some reason.”

The three kittens one by one all totter over to him on unsteady legs after they had their fill. The orange one starts trying to climb his pant leg with its short and sharp claws digging into the jean material.

“They really like me.”

He carefully sits down crossed legged so the others could also climb all over him. Robin watches for a moment silently and when he sees Danny react well to the little pricks from tiny claws, he seems it safe enough to return to patrol.

The second time it’s a couple of rats that lure him away to find Robin fighting off more thugs than he probably should by himself. So taking the rats’ movements as encouragement, he takes the closest thing, a piece of plywood, and hit the nearest guy over the head with it. The guy crumbles like a wet sock and Danny is moving on to the next thug.

They sweep the floor with these guys with only a few splinters and a twisted ankle.

“It was dangerous to intervene,” Robin tells him. “I had it handled.”

“Yea, I know.”

The vigilante didn’t seem to be expecting that response from his stunned silence. He straightens as much as he can with bruised ribs.

“Well, I’m glad you know your mistake. Don’t let it happen again.”

Danny neither agrees nor disagrees, just shrugs and allow the rats to climb up his leg to his shoulder. Robin looks at them curiously. Danny gives a salute before leaving. Robin gives him a nod.

The third time it happened the roles are reversed.

Some people from the local gang are bullying the lonely, homeless teen to run drugs for them. They don’t seem to understand the word ‘no’. It gets to the point where Danny finds himself with his back against the wall and all his exits blocked with a guy shoving him again and again.

“Stop it!”

“I’ll stop if you agree.”

“I’m not doing it!”

Frank the raccoon and his buddy Bobby launch themselves at the guy’s ankles. The guy shrieks and pulls a gun.

“No!”

Before Danny can dive for it, a projectile comes out of nowhere to knock it out of his hands. He can’t even process what happened before the three are running away, two raccoons chattering at their heels before coming back to crowd him in worry.

Danny looks up to see Robin with a sword out threateningly, staring at where the three fled. He sheaths the sword after a few seconds.

“Are you okay?”

Danny realizes he’s breathing a little heavy and slows down a bit as he leans over to pet the top of the two heads.

“I’m- yea, I’m okay. Thanks for the save. Those guys were jerks.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

Robin is staring at the raccoons and it takes Danny a long moment to piece things together.

“Did- did they lead you to me?”

Robin doesn’t answer right away.

“You have loyal friends.”

Danny smiles at the weird compliment. Looking down at the two heroes of the evening Danny is also inclined to agree.

The fourth time is funny in a way Danny doesn’t know how to describe.

It was the pigeons. They were at fault of course for how Robin’s secret identity was outed. By pigeons.

The grey birds swarmed Danny and settled in a cloud of feathers. One holding something in its beak before plopping it down in his lap like a golden retriever. It flaps off as Danny picks up the obvious wallet clip holding quite a bit of cash and a student ID. The card says Damian Wayne from Gotham Academy. Just then Robin comes skidding around the corner, clearly out of breath and freezes.

Danny looks down at the clip in his hand and back up at the vigilante. He looks at the crazy amount of birds around him and again at the vigilante.

Said vigilante straightens and approaches like he called Danny there.

“If I could have that so I could return it to its proper owner.”

He holds out a hand with false arrogance, but Danny can see the nervousness in his stance. Danny looks down one last time before putting the clip in the outstretched hand without a word.

Robin nods once, pockets the ID and money, and immediately leaves.

The fifth time just cements what Danny had already figured out.

He was at the park. Not Ivy’s park of course, the one where people actually like to go. He was helping the squirrels find and hide acorns when he’s nearly knocked over by a massive black dog.

“Titus!”

The end of the Great Dane’s leash is a familiar face. Damian Wayne’s eyes widen in recognition as he finally sees who Titus was so excited to get to.

“Uh-“

Danny has to close his mouth quickly or else the massive tongue on his face would have turned into a French kiss.

“Titus! Heel!”

Danny laughs at the embarrassed blush on the other’s face, obviously not used to his companion going off the rails like this.

“It’s alright. We both know how animals like me.”

Damian narrows his eyes to analyze the teen. Danny wasn’t about to pretend and Damian looked like he was debating whether to follow his lead or not. There was literally no one within hearing distance.

“Have you told anyone?”

Danny thought about redirecting, but thought better of it. He actually liked Robin and what he did.

“Nope. I haven’t and I won’t. I swear.”

Damian tilts his head and then looks down at Titus. He seems to come to a decision before looking back at Danny.

“You’re homeless, are you not?”

Didn’t think they were being that direct but sure.

“Yea?”

“I will pay you in food and shelter to take care of my animals.”

Danny blinks. Then actually considers the offer.

“What kind of animals? How many we talking?”

Damian grins.

The family finds out pretty quickly when a teen they’ve never seen before walks into the Batcave with two pails of food for the bats, Titus at his heels and Alfred the cat perched contently on his shoulders.

Duke stares and Bruce short circuits.

“Um, who are you?”

“Hi! I’m Danny. Damian employed me to take care of the animals.”

“O…kay?”

“And where is Damian?” Bruce sounds like it physically hurts to ask and Danny does not envy Damian’s position right now.

“Upstairs. I think he said he was going to his art studio.”

Bruce marches past the boy to the stairs before stopping abruptly and turning to Danny and Duke.

“Don’t touch anything. Watch him.”

Duke and Danny blink at each other for a moment as Bruce disappears up the stairs.

“I’m Duke by the way.”

Danny grins.

[rnbria]

JET Magazine July 15, 1996 issue.

Look at all of that wonderful music that's being played regularly even now.

[sttoru]

𖠵 I’M YOURS.

𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you visit your husband during his work hours to hand him his lunch which he forgot at home. his subordinates are surprised to see their superior act so gentle with you—a total opposite to how he usually is when finding and punishing outlaws.

tags. wild west sheriff!kento nanami x wife!female reader. fluff, smut. set in the wild west (1860’s - 1890’s). blǒwjob. size difference (reader short), p in v -> unprotected, breeding themes, creampié, semi-public, hair pulling. traditional views of marriage. nicknames: darling, sugar, sweetheart. wc: 6.4k

the southern parts of the county are sweltering under an unrelenting sun, and most of the townsfolk have retreated indoors to escape the heat. kento nanami - the town’s sheriff - is taking a quick break, having just returned from breaking up a violent brawl at the local saloon. damn drunkards, he thinks as he shakes his head. they have been causing havoc all afternoon, threatening to turn the place into a shooting gallery. he had to put them in their place.

kento strolls to a nearby window, silently critiquing the poor job done on the grimy glass. his eyes scan the wagons that roll in and out of town to keep watch for anything out of the ordinary. but before long, his thoughts wander, and he found himself thinking of you. his dearest. his beloved. his world— his wife.

the blonde man wonders what you’re doing right now. are you preparing supper, or perhaps knitting him another one of those scarves in preperation for the colder weather?

one of his hands slips into the pockets of his slacks, fingers brushing against the handkerchief you gifted him. he smiles as he traces the embroidered flowers. their colors are still vibrant despite the constant wear. it has become his lucky charm over the years.

kento sighs as he catches a glimpse of a couple in the distance. they share a kiss, the woman waving her partner off with a handkerchief of her own as her husband leaves on his horse. the sight has his jaw clenching as guilt creeps in. he had left home in such a hurry this morning, that he hasn't kissed you goodbye properly. he hopes that you didn’t take it personally.

it is a small thing, but he makes a mental note to apologise for that later.

kento turns around from the window he’s been staring out at for the past couple minutes as one of the deputies hustles a trussed up outlaw into the office. the other male slams the wooden door shut behind them which rattles the place. the outlaw is a scruffy looking fellow and his wild eyes dart nervously between kento and the shotgun-toting deputy.

the blond sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. just when he thought he could have a peaceful break... duty calls.

“got ourselves a lil’ troublemaker here, sheriff,” jake says and gives the outlaw a rough shove forward. the man stumbles, nearly falling to his knees before catching himself.

kento’s jaw clenches as he looks the outlaw up and down, his hazel eyes hardening. he aims to keep the peace in this small town, and that means dealing with the dregs of society from time to time. anything to keep the folk safe. especially if it meant protecting his dear wife.

“ye damn pieces of shit,” the outlaw spits, glaring defiantly at the two authoritive figures standing in front of him, “i ain't done nothin’ wrong, ya hear?”

there it is; the cliché line nearly every sentenced outlaw utters whenever they’re caught. kento runs a hand through his hair and scoffs as a muscle in his jaw ticks. one thing he hates are shameless outlaws who claim to have done no wrong.

this man before him has been on countless bounty posters, plastered all over the county. wanted dead or alive, for assault, murder and robbery. bart cavanaugh, the thug’s name is.

kento barks out a harsh laugh, but his face doesn’t show an ounce of emotion. the deputy shifts on his feet. the young man had seen that face on the sheriff countless times before. it’s intimidating and scary, the tension in the room palpable.

“done nothin’ wrong? boy, y’ve been stealin’ and killin’ yer way through half the damn county. and now y' got the audacity to stand there and lie to my face?”

kento steps forward and looms over the outlaw, his broad shoulders squared. his hand drifts to rest on the butt of his holstered revolver. the metal is cool and reassuring against his palm.

“jake, go fetch the preacher. tell him to start diggin' a new grave,” kento orders without taking his piercing eyes off the outlaw. his free hand shoots forward to grab a good handful of the man’s matted hair, yanking it back roughly. the sheriff’s eyes are cold and calculating, “looks like we got us a hangin’ to do ‘fore sundown.”

the outlaw’s eyes widened in fear and he tries to take a step back, but kento’s strength is not to be matched. “but... but you can’t!” he stammers, “i got my rights, i-i'll have ya know that!”

“rights?” kento huffs and releases the thug with a rough shove, dusting his hand off on his blouse as if he touched something filthy. “the only right ye got is the right to wait here and take what's comin’ for ya.”

it did not take long before the outlaw is sentenced, hauled outside and led toward the gallows. kento stretches his arms above his head, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders. another task crossed off the list. he can only hope that the rest of his break will pass quietly without any more disturbances.

the exhausted sheriff drops into the wooden chair behind his desk and leans back with the nth sigh of the day. his fingers fumble with the drawer, and after a moment of rummaging, he pulls out a cigar. he strikes a match and lights it up before placing the stick between his lips. kento closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting the burn of the tobacco settle his mind.

minutes slip by in silence—just the quiet flicker of the lamp and the rhythmic sound of his own breathing. then, the front door creaks.

kento’s eyes flicker open. a loud prayer sounds in his head; please lord above don't let it be another caught outlaw. not another deputy or bounty hunter with some new problem to throw his way.

however, when he looks up, all the weight on his shoulders vanishes in an instant. there you are - his wife - standing in the doorway like an angel sent to pull him from the depths of his workday hell. the stress, the frustration, all of it fades away in your presence.

kento squints through the haze of cigar smoke as you walk inside with a beaming smile on your face. fuck, you're beautiful. a dream come true.

he takes a long drag and holds it in his lungs before exhaling slowly. the smoke curls around his tired face. his hazel-colored eyes narrow as they rake over your figure. a little provocative, he thinks, not wearing a shawl on your exposed shoulders. especially around these parts of town—with other men lurking that aren’t your husband.

“well, well, if it ain’t my sweet lil' wife,” the blonde rumbles, setting the cigar down in the ashtray. kento leans back in his chair which causes the wooden furniture to creak under his muscular frame. “what brings you ‘round these parts, darlin'?”

it is unusual for you to visit him during work hours. normally, you’d be at the house, attending to your duties. taking care of your cozy home, or perhaps socialising with the other wives around town at one of your regular gatherings. kento didn’t expect to see you here, yet the sight of you is a welcome surprise. even more so when you look so radiant, as if the sunlight itself has wrapped around you.

“ah, you forgot your lunch dear,” you explain with a warm smile. your voice carries a familiar tone that always seems to soothe your husband. you nod politely to his colleagues who’re staring at you in awe and curiosity. you continue, “i started to worry. i can’t possibly have my husband starvin’ at work, now can i? ain't so proper as y’r wife.”

your words make kento’s heart lighten. the smile that has faded from his face the second he left you this morning, finally finds it way back. his entire demeanour softens and his body relaxes.

the two deputies, who have been going about their duties in the background, can’t help but glance over at the scene unfolding. they exchange a bemused look as they watch kento’s demeanor shift the moment you walked into the office. it’s almost comical how quickly the stern, commanding sheriff transforms into a doting and affectionate husband.

kento stands up, his tall, imposing figure towering you as he approaches. the gun belt slung low on his hips clinks softly with each step along with the spurs on his boots. he reaches out, taking the cloth wrapped box from your dainty hands. his calloused fingers brush against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

“well, much obliged, sugar. yer a real sight for sore eyes,” kento comments, his deep voice lowering to an intimate rumble. he sets the box down on the desk before stepping closer to you. his eyes search for yours while his hands gently rub your sides.

“any time,” you shyly duck your head as you sense the tension between kento and you building up. it’s always like this between you two. the honeymoon phase? for you it’s not a phase, it’s a forever thing. until death do you part.

your hands reach up, slithering from his sides to his chest to straighten his sheriff’s badge. “has work been okay, hun?” you murmur in a honeyed voice, the one that drives kento crazy. neither of you seem to care about his co-workers standing around, lost in your own little bubble.

kento’s hand slides from your side to your throat, fingers skimming over your pulse point, enjoying the rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch. “work’s been a pain in the ass, darlin’. same ol’ song and dance,” he replies while his half lidded eyes dart all over your pretty face, “but now that y’re here, it's startin’ to look up.”

your conversation is casual, yet the underlying tension tells you there is more to it. even the deputies become aware of what’s playing in the middle of the office. or more so, what's about to happen if the passion in both kento and his wife’s eyes come to life.

kento can’t help but smirk as you press yourself against him. your soft curves mold to the hard planes of his muscular body, a stark contrast to the gentle hands that hold you close. his eyes darken once he catches you looking up at him through those long lashes of yours. that’s his damn weakness.

“y’know, seein' you here, lookin' like sin in that dress—it’s making me think all sorts of improper thoughts,” he starts in his deep voice. your husband lowers his head to whisper in your ear, “thoughts about bendin’ you over my desk and showin’ ya what happens to naughty little wives who distract their husbands at work.”

a shiver runs down your spine even though this is exactly what you wanted. you came here to deliver kento’s lunch, yes, but you've also missed his attention, affection and most importantly his touch. due to his job, he’s not at home for almost the entire day.

you don’t want to come off as clingy, but when you have a man like kento to call yours, you can’t help but want to be greedy.

the same goes for him as well. kento is ever the devoted lover, head over heels for you, and that includes feeling a great sense of physical attraction to you. he can’t help it—especially when you look so adorable, playing the role of the dutiful wife, visiting him at work to drop off his lunch. it’s a massive turn on.

“l-later. there are others here,” you try to play your erotic interaction off, even as you feel the insistent press of kento's clothed cock against your lower belly. your cheeks heat up as you realise that this bit of proximity had already turned your husband on.

kento licks a stripe up your earlobe, his teeth grazing the flesh before he soothes it with his slick tongue. he knows he shouldn’t be so explicit with you, not here in his office where anyone could walk in. but he simply cannot resist your charms. that pretty body and voice of yours are like a siren’s call to him.

however, he also notices your hesistance because of the company you have. kento, ever the thoughtful man, glances up at the deputies sitting around the office. his gaze hardens and his voice is filled with authority, “don't y’all got better things to do than sittin’ ‘round here?”

it’s a hidden message that all men in the room clearly understood. kento wanted them out and as soon as possible so he can take care of his wife. his duties are put on hold for as long as you need him by your side. he trusts his coworkers to deal with the rest while he’s busy attending to your needs.

the deputies scramble to their feet and grab their stetsons, hurrying out of the office with a chorus of 'yes, sir!' and 'right away, sir!' some smirk knowingly as they make their way out into the muddy streets. they know all too well about kento’s soft spot—the one woman he’d do anything for. even if it means that he ignores his work for a while.

within seconds, the office clears out, leaving kento and you alone. he turns back to you and his eyes instantly roam over your feminine curves. from the swell of your soft breasts to the flare of your hips. oh, his mouth immediately starts to water.

“now, where were we?” the blond man hums. he stalks forward until your back hits the wall with a inaudible thud. you swallow thickly as you look up at kento, who’s staring back at you like you’re a five course meal.

but beneath that passionate gaze is something so intimate. so much more gentle and loving. with every touch, his eyes still search for yours, wordlessly confirming your consent. it’s a habit of his—ever since he took your innocence on your wedding night.

kento’s hands slide down to grab your thighs. he hoists you up and encourages you to wrap your legs around the dip of his waist, holding you between his body and the wall. his eyes flicker downwards to where the skirt of your dress rides up and exposes more of your soft skin to his greedy touch.

“i need you,” your lover breathes against your lips. his mouth is an inch from yours, eager to capture it in a kiss. kento groans the second he feels your clothed cunt press against his throbbing bulge. his fingers dig into the plush flesh of your ass, “shit. i need you now.”

not a second more is wasted as your husband crashes his lips against yours. he presses you back against the wall, moaning into your mouth. this is what he missed the most. your touch, your taste— it makes him feel alive. like all his hard work is worth it.

your fingers curl into his blond locks, tugging at them as your lips move in sync. your tongues roll around each other and your lower bodies move accordingly, grinding for fiction. “are ye sure? right here?” you ask between gasps, voice muffled as his lips interlock with yours repeatedly.

kento pulls away, but not fully. he can’t let you go in any way or form. his head instantly dives into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. he immediately latches onto your throat and kisses his way down to your collarbone.

this is exactly what he needs after a hard day. the familiar perfume mixing with the faint scent of your arousal and something so homey—it’s dizzying.

“never been more sure,” your husband groans once he feels your nails gently drag down from his nape to his back, slipping beneath the collar of his blouse. little minx, he thinks, knowing exactly what makes a man weak.

kento tilts his head back so he can look into your eyes. your gaze catches his and you’re taken aback by how handsome he looks. he always does, of course, but this sight just makes you clench around nothing. it leaves you throbbing in your underwear.

the way his neat hair has now turned messy, locks covering his half-lidded eyes, biceps straining against the material of his blouse, sharp jaw clenching with the effort to hold himself back from completely ravaging you. . .

you’re soaked.

kento grins at the way your kiss-swollen lips fall apart in a small ‘o’ as you admire him. he knows he looks good and it boosts his confidence. “keep lookin’ at me like that,” he encourages as his lower body grinds against yours.

you can feel the thick outline of his dick pressing and rubbing against your clothed cunt and it causes you to jerk in place. your moans get swallowed by your husband’s lips once more, his mouth not giving you a moment to breathe as he kisses you more demandingly this time.

kento carries you to his desk, not once separating your lips from his. he sits down on his chair and settles you down on his thick thighs. your arms immediately wrap around his neck to deepen the kiss.

the steamy make out session continues for a while, both of you breathless. you finally pull back for some air and open your eyes to meet your husband’s. the way he’s looking at you, like you’re his entire world, makes you weak in the knees.

“let me take care of ya first,” you suggest in a hoarse whisper against his lips. you feel kento stiffen beneath you, his cock throbbing impatiently in his slacks at the implication.

“go right on ahead,” he bites his lip and watches your wandering hands drag down from his shoulders to his chest. the muscle in his jaw ticks as he tries his best not to intervene—to grab and bend you over his desk already.

kento’s breath catches in his throat as your delicate hands worked at his belt, the leather creaking softly as you undo the buckle. he watches, transfixed, as you tug his pants down.

suddenly, his large hand reaches out to wrap around your smaller one, squeezing it. “wait,” kento hisses and his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. he’s trying so hard not to lose control.

he takes a deep breath after closing his eyes, hips bucking lightly against your warm palm as it rests against the deliciously big bulge in his undergarments. you gently drop to your knees in front of him while giving him some time to regain his composure.

when kento opens his eyes again, he lets out a low growl from the back of his throat at the sight of you looking up at him with those big eyes. so ready, so eager to please your husband. it can make him bust a nut in his underwear.

“go on,” he whispers gruffly, letting go of your hand but not before giving it a quick kiss. that gentleman side of his never fails to make an appearance, even during sinful moments like these.

you nod and smile in excitement. you lick your lips before hooking your fingers beneath the material of the jockstraps. you slowly tug it down and free his aching cock from its confines. the thick length springs up, gently slapping against his lower stomach and leaving a smear of sticky pre-cum on the fabric of his blouse.

kento’s cock was a thing of beauty—long, thick, and girthy, with a bulbous head already glistening with arousal. veins puls along the shaft, and a faint clump of blonde curls dusted the base. the musky scent of his desire fill your nostrils, making your head swim with need.

the pre-cum trickles enticingly from the slit of his tip, a drop slithering down slowly to his heavy balls. it’s evident how much you affect the man and it makes your tummy do a flip.

“mmh— kento. y’re so hard already,” you moan as your pink tongue lolls out to lap up the sticky liquid from the head. you give it a couple small licks to tease your partner, a coy grin playing at your lips.

kento growls, one hand coming down to tangle in your hair at the contact. “fuckk, sugar,” he instinctively thrusts his hips forward, the swollen head of his cock brushing against your soft cheek, leaving pearly drops of pre-cum on your skin. “been thinkin’ about this sweet lil’ mouth all damn day. dreamin’ about them pretty lips wrapped around my dick,” he breathes heavily.

the once composed sheriff is a total mess. he squeezes the base of his dick as he gently taps your cheek with it, trying to coax your lips to part. “c’mon. ye can’t keep this from me any longer,” kento grunts with his brows furrowed.

when you blow some warm air on his tip, he throws his head back at the contact. he’s aching for relief and sitting there teasing him. he could manhandle you to comply, but he’s simply too needy for your touch to do so.

kento gulps before looking down at you. his expression is a mix of frustration, pleasure and neediness. his cheeks are flushed, blonde locks covering his eyes. he breathes out his plea in a shaky tone;

“please.”

your jaw drops at that unexpected moment of vulnerability. it’s thrilling and causes you to immediately give in to his charms. you silently hum in agreement before wrapping your lips around his tip, swallowing inch after inch slowly.

a guttural groan tore from kento’s throat as your hot, eager mouth engulfs his twitching cock. the sensation of your tongue swirling around the sensitive head, lapping up the pre that still leaks steadily from the head, was almost more than he could bear. his fingers tighten in your hair, gripping the strands as he fought the urge to thrust deep into your throat and take his pleasure.

“awh shit,” kento growls. his voice is strained with pleasure at this point, not even able to say things properly. “yer mouth feels so fuckin’ good ‘round my dick.” he watches through heavy-lidded eyes as you take him deeper, his thick length disappearing inch by inch between your plump and kiss-swollen lips. the sight of you, on your knees before him, servicing him with such enthusiasm, sends a surge of pure primal satisfaction through him.

you redouble your efforts and bob your head. up and down, up and down—a hypnotic rhythm that has the man in front of you wrapped around your little finger.

“such a good little wife—yeah, jus’ like that,” kento’s hips rock up to your downward movements, driving his cock deeper into the tight, wet heat of your mouth.

he can feel the wet muscles fluttering around him, could hear the obscene sounds of your gagging and slurping as you struggle to take him all the way. but you didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. instead, you start sucking him with a fervor that has him seeing stars.

kento’s eyes roll back and he’s trying his best not to cum on spot. he wants to last longer, wants to relish the feeling of you pleasuring him and most importantly—he wants to spend his cum well. in a place where it can take root, where it’d serve its intended purpose.

inside you.

but it’s hard. so hard. especially when you’re watching his every reaction, eyes so captivating and alluring as you suck the soul out of him.

“don’t—oh lord,” kento grits his teeth as your hands cup his balls and squeeze them, rolling them in your palm. the dual sensations of your mouth and hands working in tandem had his breath coming in harsh pants, his muscular chest heaving with the force of it.

your husband’s head tilts backwards, the chair creaking beneath him as he grips the armrests with white knuckles. he’s lost in the sensation of you worshipping his dick, your moans vibrating around his shaft as you slurp and suck with abandon. he knows he will not last much longer at this rate, knows he is going to paint your mouth white with his seed any second now.

kento doesn’t really want to, but he also does. he’s conflicted, though it’s already too late. one particular suck and his tip hitting the deepest parts of your throat sends him over the edge.

“ah, fuck! cummin’, sweetheart!” he moans loudly, his eyes squeezed shut as the first spurts of his hot seed flow from his cock. he can’t stop it, even as he tries to pull your head off due to the overstimulation.

when you finally let his dick go with a lewd, wet pop, kento gasps for air, pushing the hairs away from your face. you’re looking so debauched, so lost in the pleasure, it sends his blood rushing southwards. again.

“there ye go. swallow it all down f’ me,” he mutters quietly, voice rough as his thumb swipes away at the cum on the corners of your mouth. he watches your throat work as you drink down the taste of him.

before you can catch your breath, kento hauls you up off the floor and onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist tightly. he feels the renewed throb of his erection pressing insistently against your thigh, already aching for more.

“dammit, darlin’,” he clicks his tongue, his voice rough and ragged with lust. “y’ve got me so fuckin’ worked up— can’t hold back no more.” his callused hands slide down to grab your round ass, kneading the flesh roughly as he grinds your clothed cunt against his wet dick.

kento stands abruptly and sweeps the contents of his desk onto the floor with a crash. papers flutter everywhere as he bends you over the now empty surface, the rough wood digging into your soft skin. he can’t care less about those important documents. not when he has his wife in front of him.

he flips the hem of your dress up, the material pooling around your waist to bare your underwear-clad ass. you’re already so wet, your pussy lips clinging to the soaked fabric of your undergarments, outlining your cunt perfectly. it’s a sight that makes kento weak in the knees.

“look at this sweet lil’ ass,” the blonde man rasps, delivering a sharp smack to one cheek. the sound echoes through the office, followed by your startled yelp. “she’s g’nna be hurtin’ when i’m done with her, i bet.”

you arch your back in response to the slaps against your bottom, “mhh, kento. need you real bad.” your ass rippling with each smack to it, along with your soft voice begging for him, makes your husband dizzy.

with a muttered curse, kento rips your underwear off, the flimsy fabric tearing like tissue paper in his large hands. he tosses the ruined garment aside, leaving you bare and exposed to his ravenous touch. his callused fingers delve between your thighs, finding you dripping wet and ready.

“tsk. would ya look at that,” he groans, plunging two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your tight cunt. “yer fuckin’ soaked. practically beggin’ for my cock like the needy lil’ slut you are.”

you can only moan in response, your hips bucking back against his invading fingers. those nasty words being said by your usual sweet lover makes you crave more. the obscene squelch of your arousal fills the air as he pumps his digits in and out of your fluttering pussy. you can feel every ridge and vein on his fingers as they stretch you open so well, preparing you for his thick cock.

“that’s it, baby,” kento encourages, his thumb finding your clit beneath its hood and rubbing the sensitive nub in rough circles. “get this sweet cunt nice and ready f’ me. am gonna make you feel so good, i promise.”

kento’s fingers pump faster, plunging in and out of your dripping pussy with wild abandon. the wet, sloppy sounds of your arousal fill the room as your slick walls clench greedily around the invading digits. he can feel you getting closer, your body tensing and quivering as he worked you towards a peak.

“cummin’ already? naughty girl,” kento growls, his voice a low, dominant rumble, “can’t have that.”

with a harsh tug, he yanks his fingers from your weeping cunt, leaving you empty and aching. “kennnn,” you whine as your fingernails dig into the wooden desk beneath you. you wiggle your hips back in frustration, needing more.

kento can see your hole clenching around air, trying to draw something back inside. the sight makes him groan, his cock throbbing painfully between his thick thighs. he’s such a weak man when it comes to you.

“i hear ya— i hear ya,” he mutters, giving in quickly to your needy whine. your dear husband can’t tease you when you’re basically begging him to take you. he grips himself in one hand, stroking his shaft as he rubs the swollen head over your dripping slit.

kento slides the engorged tip teasingly along your slick folds to coat himself in your arousal as he aligns your lower bodies. with a single thrust of his hips, he buries himself fully inside you. his heavy balls slap against your ass with a faint, meaty smack.

“fuuuck!” kento cusses and his voice echoes off the office walls as he hilts his dick in your wet pussy. no matter how many times he ruins your cunt, it’s still as tight as the first time. “fuckin’ hell, sugar,” he breathes out shakily.

your silken walls grip him like a vice, the slick muscles fluttering and clenching around his fat dick. he pauses for just a moment to savore the exquisite sensation of being buried inside his wife's perfect little cunt.

however, he cannot hold back for long. gripping your hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped dents on your flesh, he begins to move, his thighs flexing as he sets a relentless rhythm. the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room as he fucks into you. the ancient desk creaks and shakes with each forceful thrust. it’s a wonder that old thing isn’t breaking.

“tha’s it, take it,” kento snarls. he punctuates each word with a sharp snap of his hips. the feeling of his slick dick slamming into you over and over has him nearly tearing up from pleasure. this is the way to forget about all his earlier problems

“doing so good, honey. yer squeezin’ the life outta me—good girl,” he praises in-between movements. no matter how much he gets lost in the haze of lust, he’s still the sweet nanami kento you know.

his fingers dig into the meat of your ass, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh as he drives into you again and again. you’re overwhelmed by the stretch, the pure pleasure of his dick molding your insides to fit him and him only.

your toes curl as you struggle to lay steady on your tummy. “o-oh, mmh. right there,” your eyes roll back and your body jolts back and forth in sync with his thrusts. your lower tummy and cunt are tingling, needing more stimulation to build up to that mind-blowing orgasm.

“faster, deeper, please— please,” you mewl. you can’t bring yourself to care about the possibility of others hearing you outside the sheriff’s office. let the town folk gossip and whatnot. at the end of the day, you’re the one winning by having a husband like kento.

your lover leans over your arched back, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against your shoulder blades. he kisses the back of your head with a smile playing on his lips, “as you wish.”

one hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair. kento fists it tightly, using it as a handle to yank your head back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch. the new angle lets him drive even deeper into you, his hard cock kissing your cervix with each rough thrust.

kento’s dick plunges inside your cunt with wild abandon and you’re loving it. your sweet noises intensify and you can’t think about anything else but the feeling of you being split open. the tip of his dick touches the deepest parts of you and it’s painful—but the pain is nothing compared to the mind numbing pleasure.

“there we go. gotta get all up in there, aye?” kento pants harshly against the side of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin. his other hand reaches around to flick your clit before coming to rest on your lower tummy, “that way i can ensure y’re g’nna end up with a swollen belly.”

the implications of his words make you shudder. you know kento’s always been a family man. always dropping hints of wanting to start a family with you when you’re ready. and he never misses the opportunity to pump you full of his potent cum when you do try for a baby.

“k-ken,” you bite your lip at the thought of it. of succeeding to conceive this time. it’d be because of this lewd moment, in his office out all places. it’s so naughty to the point it’s driving you insane.

kento notices how your body is reacting to his dirty talk and grins to himself. he isn’t clueless—he can feel the way you clench around his dick, as if you’re trying to suck every drop of cum out of his sack. “hm? yer cunt is agreein’ with me, it seems,” he hums.

your lover bites your shoulder as his hips pound against your rear with a strength that’s nearly inhuman. your insides are being turned to mush while you’re drowning in ecstasy.

“yer g’nna make such a good momma,” kento continues to whisper those words in your ears, simply to drive you to the brink of an orgasm. he kisses your earlobe lovingly as his deep voice carries on, “can’t wait to see this beautiful body change to carry my child.”

the dirty talk sure is working. he can feel you tensing, could hear the breathy moans and whimpers spilling from your lips as he brings you closer to the edge. he knows your body—knows every inch of you—and he uses that knowledge drive you utterly mad.

“ah, fuck, ken! honey,” you whine. the contrast between his honeyed voice and rough thrusts that send electric jolts down your spine, is maddening. you can feel the knot tightening in your belly, threatening to snap any second now.

kento’s eyes darken and he grunts in response. the hand that’s been playing with your clit moves to hold onto your hip again for leverage, pounding into you with a passion you’ve never felt before.

“i know,” he mutters gruffly as he watches his cock disappear into your greedy cunt, “i know, sugar. just give yerself t’ me. let go.”

that’s all it really takes. kento feels your body go rigid beneath him as your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave. your walls clamp down around his pistoning cock like a silken vise, fluttering and rippling as you cum hard.

you cry out due to your mind-blowing orgasm. your thighs tremble and your body convulses uncontrollably on the desk—eyes closed as your senses focus on the remaining pleasure.

“fuck, yes— yes yes yes,” kento grunts as your slick fluids gush out around his dick. he can feel the warm, slick heat of your juices splash against his balls and drip down his thighs. the sight of you coming undone on his dick, the sound of your screams of ecstasy filling the room, pushes him over the edge as well.

kento slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt in your spasming, sensitive pussy. his cock jerks and throbs inside you as thick ropes of cum erupt from the tip. he can feel each spurt of his load, can count the pulsing jets of cum as he pump you full with it.

“take it—let me breed ya real good,” he pants while grinding his hips against your ass to properly empty himself inside your pulsing cunt. kento shudders as his hips lazily move in small, shallow circles, “get it all nice ‘n deep in there.. yeaaah, good job.”

his grip on your hair tightens for a moment, forcing you to arch you back even more as he slowly rides his orgasm out, his release seeming to go on and on. he senses his hot seed sloshing inside you, can already picture it flooding your fertile womb and taking root.

finally, with a shuddering groan, kento collapses against your back. his large frame easily blankets your smaller one. he notices your body trembling beneath him, could hear the soft whimpers and mewls spilling from you lips as you came down from your high as well. despite that, he stays buried inside you, not wanting to lose a single drop of his cum.

“yer so perfect,” your lover whispers and nuzzles his face into your neck, “the most perfect woman a man could ask for.” that gentleman side of his now makes a full return, as it always does after a particularly rough session. kento takes aftercare quite seriously.

his hands rub your sides and massage your body in places he knows will be sore later on. his lips leave trails of kisses from your neck to your shoulders and back—a testament of his love for you.

after making sure you’re okay, kento eases himself up off your back, his softening dick slipping from your tender folds with a squelch. he looks down to see your combined fluids leaking out from your slit, dripping down your thighs to pool on the rough wood beneath you.

the sight makes him bite back a groan. if it wasn’t for the ounce of self control left inside of him, he’d go for a second round. but he can’t. his coworkers will be back soon anyway.

kento helps you up as well, his hands gripping your waist to steady you as your shaky legs find their footing. “mmh, my lovely wife,” he smiles at you as he cups your face into his hands. he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and pulls you into a hug, “thank you so much. don’t think i would’ve even survived today if ye didn’t show up.”

you giggle at kento’s dramatics and hug him back tightly, body slowly recovering from the intense passion you two just shared. the fog on the nearby window, the steamy tension and the scent of sex still lingers in the air—something you have to take care of soon before others come to visit.

but for now, you’ll just enjoy the warmth of your husband’s embrace. that’s all what really matters.