#that or it never occurred to me at all to use it until recently

[minimoll7]

So I finally beat the Cuphead DLC a few days ago. Took me a long time since I just really wasn’t in the mood to play it. Plus with my hand issues, sometimes I get to worried about playing the game (as it does take a lot out of my hands if I’m not careful). Anyways, it was excellent! But the crackshot man, that’s such a good weapon and combined with my controller’s turbo button (which has to options, either hold whatever button you want to use OR it’ll basically press the button for you, the latter of which I used), makes the game so much more easier

I just went and did all the bosses from isles 1 and 2 and wow, it was fast. Like ridiculously fast. It may have been a long time since I fought those bosses, but I still remember their attack patterns pretty well and I already am decently good at the game but this made me feel like a master almost lol having both the crackshot and turbo really helps speed things up xD plus the turbo helps with my hands to, which was originally why I began to use it. Didn’t realize how much it helps

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons

I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere

You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”

Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”

He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.

The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."

Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.

"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."

As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.

"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"

He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.

The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.

He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.

"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."

He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.

He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.

Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.

The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.

He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.

After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.

His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.

[orionremastered]

could you do a batfam x oblivious reader who’s so close to finding out they’re a vigilante, but she doesn’t even know if that makes sense? like nightwing crawling in through the window when he thought she was asleep, only for her to be awake and go “wrong house?” not realizing it’s her boyfriend.. who thought she was asleep

this made me laugh. very good thinking brains y'all have

Masterlist

Oblivious

Dick Grayson

The sound of your window sliding open prompts you to look up from where you lie your head on the pillow. You can't seem to get to sleep and maybe it's a good thing— you grab for the lamp on the bedside table and raise it high over your head.

Climbing through the window, however, is not a common thief. It's Nightwing.

"What are you doing here?"

The vigilante freezes, slowly looking up to meet your eyes. "I was told there was domestic abuse occurring in this apartment," he says smoothly. "You have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Where is he?"

You look over to Dick's spot on the bed and only just now do you realise it's empty. There's a note written on paper that reads, OUT TO GET FOOD.

"He's grocery shopping."

"Ah, wrong apartment, then. Sorry to bother you." The vigilante then ducks outside.

Jason Todd

A loud crash prompts you to wake up— far earlier than you're used to. The sun isn't even up yet. Glancing to the side of your bed, you forget Jason's out on a business trip, what ever his business is.

You carefully climb out of bed, creeping to the bedroom door and slowly pushing it open. In your living stands Red Hood himself, dismantling an assault rifle.

"What are you doing in my house?"

The vigilante whips his head around, frozen like a deer in headlights. There's a long few minutes of silence where the two of you stare at each other.

"Gun's not working. I'll be out in a minute, just need to fix it. My apologies."

"Oh," you say, shrugging your shoulders. "Stay safe, then."

Red Hood nods, watching you return to your bed with a quiet sigh.

Tim Drake

Waking up at your usual time and kissing Tim gently on the forehead, almost as a reward for sleeping.

After eating breakfast as quickly as you could, you were surprised to see Tim still asleep and give him another gentle kiss, this time on the nose.

You've only got half an hour until you have to go to work, so you rush to the bathroom to get ready.

The Red Robin suit is draped over the shower wall, unmistakeable.

In your bathroom.

"Tim?" You shout, forgetting your boyfriend's need to sleep. "Tim!"

"What?" he replies groggily, slowly getting out of bed.

"The Red Robin suit is in my bathroom."

"Oh, uh, he asked me to clean it for him. We're sort of like, friends. I guess. It's weird."

"You never told me that," you say.

"It's a recent thing. Sorry."

You shrug and get ready for work, ignoring the suit at is it hangs in your bathroom.

Damian Wayne

"Emergency at work," your boyfriend had said. He gets a lot of those, you think. "Be back in the morning. Maybe later."

Now, going to sleep late— towards midnight, where Damian would have already dragged you into bed— you realised you didn't have on of his shirts to sleep in.

When he wasn't with you to sleep, you always sleep in one of his shirts.

You begin scrummaging through his wardrobe— which you never do— only for a shirt. You find one, your favourite black one, and pull it out.

Underneath the shirt, revealed as you yank it from the drawer, is a katanna.

"Oh. Oh."

It's late. You're tired. You've got the shirt.

It's probably just an antique piece anyway. Rich people have all sorts of things.

[iceunhie]

art of the fan!

premise: wherein jiaoqiu’s fan does half the work and reaps twice the effect.

warnings: gn!reader, 1.4k words, potential jiaoqiu ooc, written before his release. use of petnames and suffixes. please read the terminology guide below to understand their use in the plot, very ‘walk him like a dog’ core, though in this case fox would be more appropriate, haha.

a/n: guess who’s back with a oneshot (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠) here is my humble offering to the jiaoqiu nation, i did my best

jiaoqiu—for some reason—has made it his life’s mission to perpetually get under your skin.

recently, he has employed shady methods, most particularly instilling almost unfair use of his fan in order to get away with things he normally can't, poking at the strings in your heart like how a stick hits a hornet’s nest.

“yi sheng, is there a purpose for this?” you exclaim, with the foxian man sighing in faux disappointment. the sarcastic way of addressing his title does make his face spasm—but unfortunately for you, today, it seems it does little to dampen his mischief.

you are in the humiliating position of being in the sly man’s lap; aggrieved that your current predicament warrants unfair treatment that borders on harassment (an exaggeration, jiaoqiu has never been improper to that extent).

not to mention, his fan is aimed at your chin, making you look up at him while he applies ointment to a rather nasty bruise around your lip, with the gall to hum as he does so.

“ah, ah. don't move.” he holds the feathered fan under your chin, eyes ever closed while a placid smile graces his face, retaining his signature cunning. jiaoqiu has lost his mind. you keep to yourself, ignoring the heat in your cheeks that had made an appearance since earlier—because why else would he do this? (and why in the name of aeons would you let him? something must be wrong with your brain today.) “if you do not let me do this, that unsightly bruise might fester, you know.”

“you’re too close.”

“well, you were too far.”

“i am sitting on your lap, yi sheng. how close do you want us to be?” you roll your eyes, earning jiaoqiu a poke at your face, followed by his hand squishing at the fat on your cheeks. “hey, lwet goh of me…”

“still with the formalities... surely now you can address me by my name, can you?” jiaoqiu coaxes, like saying it might wash away all the fatigue in the world, because every inch of his being, from the tips of his ears to the veins in his heart and the wisps of his soul, his yearning and pining echoes and resounds in the cavity of his chest that holds only you, you, you.

what, jiaoqiu wonders, would it take for him to be the sole beholder of your brilliance? his hands holding yours, gripping faithfully and unfalteringly, your fates bound by knots; crimson in nature, entwined forevermore? his eyes soften because of course they do—for you mold him into a being devoted to commemorating your existence into his flesh, your voice settling in the marrow of his bones.

you falter, your heartbeat loud. jiaoqiu notices. of course he does. “yi sheng—”

“jiaoqiu.”

“yi—”

“qiu-er.”

“....” he can hear your heart thundering in your chest—thump, thump—and it has never occurred to him to praise his foxian senses until now. his smile widens, a fang poking out with the white of his teeth. “i'm waiting, baobei.” your face glows with warmth, and jiaoqiu fights the urge to swallow you up whole right then and there.

(he resists it often when it comes to you.)

“you’re so stubborn!” you say after much deliberation, rejection flat and heavy. jiaoqiu deflates, just a bit, and petulantly rubs ointment on the other bruises littering your face. (his ears show his displeasure, drooping down, comically flat against his head.)

“hmph. and you’re too stingy.”

“all the more reason not to, then!”

still not enough, huh? jiaoqiu wonders if he'll ever get you to crack; if you'll ever mirror the expression of his adoration—swishing tail and perked up ears aside. still, his touch is gentle, like the embers of a fire hugging you for warmth, a blazing sensation in which all the greed in the world falls short compared to his need to touch you, to perceive you. “will i ever hear my name on your lips? you seem to have no issue addressing others so casually.”

“and who exactly are these others?” you raise a brow at him. jiaoqiu shrugs, nonchalant. as though it didn't bother him (he's seething).

you note that he speaks with contempt, bitterness filtering his soft-spoken words. his tail wags rapidly. pfft, so… so childish! (and a little cute, but you don't say it for obvious reasons.)

“well, for starters, the madam general, the dozing general, yunli, the herbalists near the red fox theater, the stair sweepers....”

“wait, wait, that's too many! and the stair sweepers, really?!”

“i’ll avoid answering further questions.”

“you look like you've swallowed vinegar, laoshi.” you croon, biting where you can at the weakened fox you've made, defiantly lowering your chin still held captive by jiaoqiu’s fan. “besides, i merely do it to cut all at one stroke. after all, it is you, yi sheng—” you relish in jiaoqiu’s expression when you get eerily close, noses almost touching, “that insisted i ought to call you by that title, did you not? who knew you were so easy to displease.”

his face constricts, and his hands lower, one hand gripping firm at your waist, and jiaoqiu reels away from you, hiding his face behind his fan as his cheeks tint themselves scarlet. his pride would not allow him to refute, and you knew that very well. “that...”

because you know him. know his ticks, his tells—jiaoqiu does not know if that is love. but his willingness to drop his guard, to let you slip by his foxy exterior—to allow you to burrow and fuse yourself into the tapestry of his being, that of which the fibers of his soul accept and wholeheartedly make room for you; constricting his breath, perceiving you. (he doesn't know if you're in love with him yet, but he is. maybe he always will be.)

your lips quirk up instead, the apples of your cheeks forming while smile lines grace your features, that of which he cannot look away from, cannot close his eyes from; for what use is closing one’s eyes when his sight was granted to him to behold you?

jiaoqiu’s saving grace is that you were kinder for your own good. if he could keep that kindness to himself, then….

“as expected, it's so weird when you're silent,” you laugh, and jiaoqiu’s stare rushes to behold you, the echo of your joy forming his heart anew. “jiaoqiu. there, you petulant fox. happy now?”

and the way he looks at you—his pupils expanding, eyes wide, jiaoqiu loves. the entire universe could crumble and turn to ashes this instant, and he would not look away.

“...i’m not.” you look at him with playful scorn. really, after all this trouble, your eyes seem to say. he chuckles dryly, forcing himself to laugh, because jiaoqiu wants to keep this euphoria and let it sink into his ears, his lungs and his brain. he wants to bottle the sound of your voice forming his name and setting his body ablaze like golden starlight in a place no one can hear but him.

“not what?” facing you, holding you, he can't even begin to breathe. jiaoqiu thinks this might be love, sprouting from his eyes and filling the corners of his veins, circulating fully, wholly, and utterly.

“i’m not happy at all.” he speaks your name like the growing embers of a wildfire, burning his throat and letting jiaoqiu dare to perceive you. “it’s lacking. it will always be lacking.”

and because you were you, you know exactly where to fan the flames. “ever the cunning one, aren't you, qiu-er?”

jiaoqiu thinks it's time you had enough of your fun. again, he's never had reason to praise his senses—but when he hears the deafening beats that increase as he looks at you even more—he thinks that maybe being a foxian is a decision fate was wise in undertaking.

he dips his head low, and before you can question why his fan covered your faces, a soft sensation floods your senses, warming you to the core when you feel the plush of his lips on yours. you feel his smile against your mouth, and the teasing bite down your lower lip makes your eyes turn to saucers.

this sly fox…!

pulling away, jiaoqiu hides his face behind his fan again, almost gloating when he takes in your aghast expression. “well, it's not so lacking anymore, i suppose.”

you glare. “that ointment of yours is useless now that you've kissed it away, you know.”

jiaoqiu brings the hand by your side to his lips, kissing your knuckles, devoting himself to every atom that comprises you, every cell that unravels and ties itself to create you; and he’ll adore you, chasing and basking in the warm daylight you bestow him.

“i can always kiss it better, anyway.” he ruffles your hair, the smile in his eyes mischievous and utterly unfair, because it's sincere, and blinding ....and jiaoqiu is already uncaring of the rapid wag of his tail. “didn’t you say it yourself? i am cunning, after all.”

BONUS: how to tame a foxian in one go!

“baobei, you certainly know how to leave someone breathless.”

“don’t follow me.”

“you’re not denying it though.”

“qiu’er, you’ll be demoted back to yi sheng.”

“huh?! thats cruel! wait, i said i’m sorry—!”

— terminology guide.

· [ 事半功倍 / half the work, twice the effect ] — (an idiom) the right approach leads to the desired/better results; jiaoqiu wanted reader to call him by his name affectionately, and the right ‘approach’ refers to making use of both the fan and the opportunity to kiss reader (which he got and more with minimal effort)

· [ 一刀切 / to cut all at one stroke ] — (idiom) one solution or ‘one size fits all’, reference to how reader doesn't want to refer to jiaoqiu as his name nor do they want to be mistaken to be in a relationship with him (playfully), so they refer to him as yi sheng ( 医生 ) so people don't get confused and see how jiaoqiu absolutely hates it (menace)

other: bao bei ‹ 宝贝 | baby/babe › , -er ‹ friendly and affectionate suffix often used in a teasing way › , yi sheng ‹ 医生 | doctor › laoshi ‹ 老师/老師 | teacher, used often in a certain part of china. used formally for instructors and teachers* ›

*as for why reader refers to jiaoqiu as laoshi aka teacher, jiaoqiu is a counselor (based on given canon information) and they use it to rile him up (since they use it sarcastically—because jiaoqiu was basically ordering them/instructing them to stay still while treating them ^^; hope this makes sense !

tidbit note: when reader says ‘consumed vinegar’ it is a funny way to show that he's jealous, because vinegar is sour (just like jiaoqiu's mood!)

note: hello! i apologize for being so late and so inconsistent with my posts, life has been busy lately with my job. as recompense, have a oneshot… lol. also, this fic wouldn't have happened without the lovely consultation of my friend and mootie @lowkeyren who helped me with making sure i was using the appropriate terms of affectionate address for reader and jiaoqiu, haha. can you tell i loved playing around with his character? even though he isn't out yet TT personally, i think i quite like the dynamic between reader and jiaoqiu; although this may be ooc in some point in time. he just gives off the vibe of a teasing smug bastard… who is a pathetic mess for his lover. or is it just me?? well, who knows…

@ ICEUNHIE: do not plagiarize, repost or steal my work.

[ew-selfish-art]

DPxDC Au: Normally when Danny vandalizes ancient cave walls and historic places on his 'favor' missions for Clockwork, he gets sent back to erase them. But no, apparently this time, when Danny added his actual phone number into some painting, he's not allowed to go back and fix it. Ugh.

...

Tim has had the painting of Bruce professionally reviewed a few times since the old Bat was retrieved from the time stream. He's not entirely sure how the painting still exists, he's not even sure that it matters any more... But one day Tim catches something new in the painting.

It was small, and it could've just been the light at first but... Is that a phone number in the background?? It looks like black marker on the black curtains and it makes him feel feral. The family is kinder this time about how they think he's gone crazy- but each one of them admit that they can't remember a phone number ever being present.

The lab reports that the number was added over the paint- and that it's an ink based marking akin to a sharpie but like, hundreds of years old. So... It's been added recently but not at all recently enough for Tim to have an explanation.

Tim doesn't want to hear any more of his family members opinions on the matter and he certainly isn't going to just, stop investigating or something stupid like that. So, he takes the painting to the tower, gathers his team (Cassie, Kon and Bart), and they call the number in the middle of the night after a lot of planning/back-and-forth/catastrophizing.

It doesn't answer until the final ring, and the static that comes through the phone is bone chilling. A deep, monstrous groan which echoed with agony fills the room.

"I have a math test in like, three hours, who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you calling in the middle of the night?" The voice now complains, still sounding vaguely inhuman despite it's very human word choices.

"Your number is in a historical painting, we had a few questions but uh, you can call us back later?" Tim cringes as he says it but he hadn't planned on having to reply to someone trying to go back to bed. Or someone who was apparently also a teenager. (He had so, so many contingency plans for like, every kind of villain, alien or demon. lame.)

"...Ugh. might as well." The voice calls out, agreeing with a sigh that echos so deeply the team can feel it in their bones.

"Cool. Good luck on your test?" Tim offers.

"Mph." And the line hangs up.

...

Danny is at lunch with Sam and Tucker when he remembers the late night call. He'd spent the morning bitching about never getting a full night of sleep and it finally occurred to him what had happened. Of course his friends think it's hilarious that CW wouldn't let him erase his number. Of course they do.

They stop laughing when Danny calls the number back.

"Hello, this is Red Robin of Gotham. I have Superboy, Wonder girl and Impulse present with me. How did your math test go?"

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil,

I write to you because I find myself without answers, and who better to turn to than you, the person who has arguably raised the most questions in my life due to your lovely stories.

I currently live with my dad and step mother, his two sons (my brothers) and her two children. There are a lot of us in one space right now and it’s safe to say we don’t get along very well.

Getting to the point, I want to live on my own. I have the means to do so (hypothetically). I have a job and a car and savings put back, but up until recently it hadn’t occurred to me that leaving was an option. I always thought it wasn’t allowed for some reason. That there would be consequences for revoking my presence from them like I’m their favorite toy instead of a person.

The fear, I suppose, is that they won’t forgive me for leaving. That I’ll leave and fail somehow. That I won’t be able to come back from the hubris that is thinking I could do things on my own. Truly though, the real danger is that I’ll never be in a place where I can be myself without some all consuming guilt gnawing at my stomach.

The question is whether or not to deal with the current circumstances or risk losing everything for the chance at success.

Can you get the things you want and keep the things you have?

Sincerely, a huge fan wishing they had a beloved Bentley to live in and offering condolences for the rant.

As a parent, you are doing your job when your children leave the nest and become independent. It means you did something right.

As a child, it's always scary to leave. But it's necessary. You aren't punishing the people you are leaving. You are beginning your journey to independence.

[lordprettyflackotara]

party monster || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. TW: partying, drug usage (cocaine guys), fred’s ooc sorry not sorry, paranoia, etc. just overall v mature themes. OBVIOUSLY DO NOT DO COCAINE. this has a lot of plot ;)

Fred Weasley was never one to turn down an invitation to a party. Especially not one from Mattheo Riddle, to a Slytherin party.

Fred had felt like he had seen it all. He had watched the Hufflepuffs get giggly over champagne, Gryffindors try muggle grass for the first time, and Ravenclaws make tame mixed drinks that sent their minds into oblivion.

Slytherin’s on the other hand, went as hard as Fred liked. Of course muggle grass and alcohol was provided. The usual sex addicts were on the prowl for someone new to warm their bed. But what Fred enjoyed about the Slytherins the most, was their lack of fear to try muggle substances.

The most recent substance the most fearless had been trying was cocaine.

George refused to attend Slytherin parties, frowning upon the houses entirety. Truthfully Fred used to be the same way, until Mattheo offered him his first joint. The dark lords son had introduced him to an entire new world of highs, ones that Fred couldn’t find anywhere else.

For the past year the core Slytherins had been trying different pills, ones Theodore had been smuggling from a muggle born Hufflepuff who was naive enough to think they were being used for medical purposes. Fred had been to enough of these parties to where no one questioned his presence. If anything, he was often greeted and offered a cigarette at the very least.

It was highly unusual for other houses to venture into the Slytherins events, old superstitions still highly believed in. Fred would’ve been the same way, if it weren’t for Mattheo. It was an unlikely friendship, one no one could understand. Not George, Not Draco, no one. The ginger scanned the room, excited to find his friend. Word on the street about cocaine being smuggled into Hogwarts was spreading like wildfire. Fred knew he had to be one of the first ones to try it.

Strolling up confidently to the couch Mattheo always sat, the ginger waved. One of Penelope Clearwaters friends sat in Mattheo’s lap, her blue uniform making her stick out like a sore thumb. Mattheo grinned at the sight of Fred, gently pushing the girl away from sucking more hickies onto his neck. “Why don’t you go take a few shots with Pansy and i’ll meet you over there in a second?” He suggested. The girl glanced at Fred, taking the hint and starting her journey of finding Pansy.

Theodore Nott sat on the other side of the couch, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. “My favorite Gryffindor, welcome to another rager,” Mattheo chuckled, gesturing to the party that was occurring around them. Fred took a seat beside the brunette, greeting Theodore as well. “So Riddle, what do you have for me? You know I love to try whatever new hits the market,” Fred asked. Mattheo reached into his pocket, holding up a small plastic baggy of white powder.

Fred’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. Previously he was under the impression that all muggle party substances were in the form of small pills. “That looks like it’s going to taste like shit,” Fred pointed out. A genuine chuckle escaped Mattheo’s lips as he grabbed a small metal tray. “Thats because it does, you don’t swallow it, you snort it,” He explained. Fred watched curiously as he poured the powder onto the tray. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wand.

Mattheo used the tip to slice it into three tiny lines, the small amount only furthering his curiosity. “How many milligrams is that per line?” Fred asked, trying to get a better grasp on the drug in front of him. Once Mattheo made sure the lines looked even, he set his wand aside. “Doesnt work like that. Nott, wanna lead by example?” He asked, gesturing the tray to him.

Theodore didn’t seem to hesitate at all, his nose hovering over one of the lines and inhaling it without a second thought. His lack of hesitance made Fred more confident. “Alright alright let me see what all of this hype is about,” The ginger interjected. Fred was determined to ‘one up’ Theo, the potions master always a bit too cocky for his liking. (Even if he thoroughly enjoyed spending hangovers with him.)

Fred mimicked Theo’s actions, holding one side of his nose as he inhaled the first line. Flames seem to spread through his nostril, the ginger deciding to ignore it and to snort the other line as well. Sharp pain washed over Fred’s senses, the feeling of the powder sliding down the back of his throat making him cough. “Look at that! Atta boy,” Mattheo said encouragingly, patting Fred on the back. As the brunette took a cigarette out of the box Theo gestured to him, he gestured to the party.

“Let’s get out there, shall we?”

Fred had never felt more talkative in his life. From Pansy, to Blaise, to Slytherins he didn’t know, he could not stop talking. Sober, Fred was a very social person. But he knew when to let the conversation fizzle out. But as of right now? That concept didn’t exist. He felt utterly invincible, as if the world itself existed around him for his pleasure and his only. His throat had gone numb, unable to feel the shots he downed repeatedly.

As he was talking to Blaise about his latest prank, his eyes briefly flickered to you. You were mesmerizing, a girl he had never seen before. Fred ensured to keep track of girls in his year, knowing which ones were taken and what not. But you looked to be the same age as him and he had never seen you a day in his life. You stood by the alcohol table, pouring raw tequila down your throat. Without excusing himself Fred left, abandoning his conversation with a way too drunk Blaise.

Fred knew he had to meet you, something about you calling to him. Even as you downed the liquor your hips swayed to the music, your curves intriguing Fred even more. The ginger didn’t feel one ounce of nervousness, the coke having imbedded in his mind. “Hey there, mind if I have a swig?” Fred asked. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, before handing him the bottle. “Thanks,” He said, taking a drink. Fred’s throat was completely numb, the firey liquid not affecting him at all.

He handed the bottle back to you, giving you a sly grin. Your lips were painted a dark red, your beautiful eyes accompanied by flattering dark makeup. The kind Fred could only imagine a Slytherin could pull off. “You have something right here,” You replied, pointing to your upper lip. In a sudden movement you stepped forward, wiping the very top of Fred’s lip. You held up your thumb, the faintest sprinkle of white powder coating the pad of your thumb.

“Thanks, been a wild night. When new muggle stuff comes in it’s always exciting to try it,” Fred said, unscathed by your action. If anything he was into it, thrilled that you were so touchy. “It always is, isn’t it?” You say, taking another swig of the bottle. Fred couldn’t help but grin, thrilled that a girl as hot as you understood his enthusiasm. It was difficult finding another student so adventurous, yet here you stood.

A girl behind you waved at Fred, a friend of Pansy’s. Fred waved back, making a mental note to talk to her later. “So, a lion playing with snakes?” You ask, creating conversation. He hadn’t realized he had just been standing there, his eyes flickering in every direction. Soaking in the party, the music, you, the lights, Pansy’s friend-

“I’m a good friend of Riddle’s, great isn’t he?” Fred said. He gestured to the brunette who was currently dancing on top of a table, his tie loose and hanging around his shoulders. A cigarette hung on his lips, his hips occupied by grinding on the Hufflepuff in front of him. You nodded in agreement, shrugging. After tonight Fred made another mental note to ask Mattheo about you. You were awfully quiet for a Slytherin.

“A real charmer, that’s for sure,” You replied, your words laced with sarcasm. Your eyes flickered to Fred, shooting him a playful smile. “As are you. I see where he learns it from,” You continue, biting your lower lip. Flattery was the gingers weakness, a cocky smile creeping across his lips. “Hey, you wanna get out of here? My dorms gonna be empty. Roommates crashing with one of the boys,” You ask, pointing to the dungeons. Fred knew about the girls rooms being in the dungeons all too well, his visits down there frequent.

“Sure, lead the way little witch,” Fred purred. You grabbed his large hand, your skin cold to the touch. You led him through the hot swaying bodies, your hand gripping his his. As you both approached the staircase to go down further Fred looked over his shoulder, his eyes landing on Mattheo. The brunettes eyebrows were furrowed as he watched him, mouthing a clear question: ‘you good?’

Fred smiled and nodded, shooting him a thumbs up as he followed you down the dungeons. If there was anything Fred knew about Slytherins, without stereotyping them too much, was that they cared about appearances. They kept precise upkeep about their looks, (maybe not including Mattheo), that it teetered towards an unhealthy amount. In Fred’s opinion anyway. He didn’t have to deal with strict parents with pureblood ideologies, so he didn’t feel like he had room to judge.

As you led him further down the staircase he noticed several mirrors in between portraits, for students to use while heading up to the common room. Fred’s focus mainly was on himself, noticing how large his pupils were. You both reached towards the end of the staircase, Fred’s eyes still focused on the mirror. For a split second he squinted, noticing he didn’t see you. His hand was being held in mid air, your fingers not entangled around his palm like he saw before him.

Questioning was on the tip of his tongue, your abrupt words cutting him off. “My dorm is further down and I need you, now,” You say urgently, palming at Fred’s shirt. His eyes flickered to yours, unsure. “Did you see that? You weren’t in the reflection,” Fred asked, completely ignoring your statement. You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the girls bathroom on the right side of the hall. “You’re paranoid, do you want to fuck or not?” You asked.

Fred shook his head, trying to rationalize with himself. He had a hot witch standing in front of him and he was about to fuck up a one night stand because of some muggle drug. “Absolutely,” Fred agreed, allowing you to lead him into the bathroom. Admittedly this was one place Fred hadn’t been, his knowledge of the room little to none. He was surprised that a velvet green couch sat almost in the center of the room. Would that have been his style choice? Absolutely not. Do witches tend to take their time in the restrooms gossiping? Fred believed so.

Your lips were on him before he could process it, his back hitting the couch. You tasted like raw alcohol, his tastebuds flooded with the sensation as you got on top of him. Fred was typically dominant, but he never minded a Slytherin topping him. You were so confident, tugging your shirt over your heard before reattaching your lips to his. Your touch made Fred want to immediately submit, his cock growing harder by the minute as you straddled him.

“Hard already? Naughty naughty gryffindor,” You teased, biting his bottom lip. Fred groaned, his hands flying to your waist. He guided you to grind against him, his cock growing achingly hard. You kissed down the side of his face to his neck, sucking at his sweet spot. Fred squeezed your thighs, whimpering as your lips littered his skin with marks. You kissed down his clothed chest, all the way down to his aching cock.

You teasingly kissed his hard on, maintaining eye contact as you did so. The ginger bucked his hips towards, throwing his head back as you unbuckled his belt. “If you want me to suck your cock you’re going to have to beg Freddie,” You say, unbuttoning his jeans. Spews of pleas left his lips faster than he would like to admit, “Fuck, please, touch me, please.”

A brief concern of how you knew his name crossed his mind, the worry fading as you shoved his boxers and jeans down his thighs. Fred was decently known, maybe you had known him for an infamous prank or-

His spinning thoughts came to a screeching halt as you took him into your mouth. Fred couldn’t control his noises, you taking control of him and his pleasure one of the hottest things he had ever seen. As you bobbed your head up and down on his cock, Fred chopped up his previous mental ramble to paranoia. Most likely he was coming down from his high, his body adjusting his mind back to normal.

Fred didn’t even know your name, but the moans he was making made it sound like he did. He was pure putty at your hands, willingly and merciless at your disposal. His tip brushed against the back of your throat, expectancy of the sound of gagging ensuing. Except it didn’t. Fred looked down at you in awe, your eyes meeting his. You didn’t have a gag reflex? What kind of magic was this?

He roughly grabbed the back of your head, pushing you down further onto his cock. You took his length with ease, saliva pooling to the base of his shaft. “Merlin, you’re a goddess right? Sent to me from above?” Fred panted, his mind trying to wrap around you. You pulled off of his cock, his hands not affecting your movement. He thought he had applied a decent amount of pressure, even if it was involuntary. What were you? Were you some kind of-

“Maybe, maybe you’re just my personal pet. My babies get the best treatment you know,” You purred. The ginger had no idea what you were rambling about, but what he did know, was that he wanted you to fuck him. “Ride me, fuck, please ride me,” He whined. Most girls would’ve asked for foreplay, head, or something along those lines. But you didn’t ask for either, instead lifting up your skirt and shoving your panties to the side. You guided his tip up and down your drenched folds, the feeling of your warm slick enough to make Fred groan.

He couldn’t understand why he felt so sensitive, his body on cloud nine just from your simple touch. You sank down onto his cock with ease, your walls clenching around him. Fred threw his head back, unable to formulate coherent words as you began to ride him. You seemed unfazed by his size, riding him like you had been doing so for years. Fred was not only unable to speak, but completely and utterly speechless.

You didn’t seem real, his unrealistic expectations for a hookup playing out in front of him. You leaned forward, one hand placed on his throat while the other tugged at his hair. “You like that huh? Feel good Freddie?” You asked. Fred groaned an agreement, his cock brushing against your g spot with every roll of your hips. Most witches would tire out by now, opting to switch positions. Yet you didn’t, your body not seeming to tire as you squeezed at the sides of his throat.

“So good, Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me,” Fred moaned as you licked up the side of his neck. He felt his orgasm approaching, the ginger flustered by the feeling. Was it the coke that was going to make him bust quick? Or was it how well you were riding him? His eyes wondered over your shoulder, landing on a large full length mirror. The presence of the mirror wasn’t surprising, but what was, was your absence. You weren’t present in the reflection, Fred’s head beginning to spin.

“Uh, you’re not in the m-mirror, I-” Fred stuttered, his high approaching faster than he wanted it to. He wanted to go all night with you, but why weren’t you showing up in the mirror? You sat up, your breast bouncing as you continued to ride him.

“You’re being paranoid Freddie, now why don’t you go ahead and cum for me?”

Fred’s hips stuttered as he came inside of your cunt, his head rolling back onto the couch. His ears were ringing, any sounds of you or the party dulling out into nothingness. He began seeing stars, his vision fading out completely. His senses had seemed to given up, Fred’s body unable to sustain itself, passing out.

\/

Fred had woken up a lot of strange places after a party. Most times he woke up beside a witch whose name he didn’t know. Other times he would wake up in random places, one time including the whomping willow. (To this day, no one has any idea how he survived OR got a good nights sleep.) Where Fred had never been woken up before, was in the male Slytherin dorms. Nor, had he ever been violently shaken awake by someone. Faintly he could hear a familiar voice calling out to him, but the words were incoherent.

“Fred! Wake the fuck up!”

He jolted awake, his heart pounding out of his chest as he sat up. Scattered,he looked around, unaware of where he was. His eyes landed on Mattheo and Draco, both of which seemed extremely concerned. “W-what..?” Fred stumbled out. His head was pounding with a rager headache, his body felt drained and spent. “Pansy found you uh-” Draco began, before shooting Mattheo a look that he should speak instead. Mattheo sighed, handing Fred a glass of water.

“She found you in the girls bathroom passed out with your pants pulled down and you uh, came all over yourself,” Mattheo informed him. Fred could feel himself turning red, clutching the water in his hand. His eyes widened in disbelief, becoming dizzy again as he rested his hand on his forehead to keep himself propped up.

“Do you have any idea how you ended up like that dude?” Mattheo asked, keeping his voice even. Bags hung under his eyes, his knee bouncing anxiously. It was rare Fred ever saw Mattheo sober, but he could definitely tell he was. You raced through the gingers mind, embarrassment flooding over him. You weren’t real? None of it was real?

A knock on the door alerted the trio, the Slytherins eyes landing on the new comer. “Well shit I see the party monsters awake,” Theodore said, waltzing in. His confidence made Fred uneasy, his stomach churning. “Do you happen to remember what happened last night?” He asked him, his voice breaking. Theo nodded, taking a seat. “Why don’t you drink some water and i’ll tell you all about it?”

Theo didn’t know Fred well by any means. Sometimes he questioned what Mattheo saw in the ginger, the prankster a bit too full of himself. It was a coincidence he saw him by the alcohol table, talking to himself. At first Theo assumed he was yelling to someone, or even on a muggle phone a lot of Gryffinors used. Cautiously Theo rounded the table, raising his eyebrows as Fred offered the bottle of tequila he had been cuddling to the air in front of him.

The brunette couldn’t believe his eyes, watching dumbfounded as Astoria Greengrass gave him a wave. Briefly his eyes flickered upwards at the Slytherin, before returning to the void in front of him. With a confused expression Theo decided it was none of his business, returning back to Mattheo with new drinks in hand. He figured he was just high, anyways. Unknowingly Mattheo had recommended Fred to Astoria, who was looking for a quick hook up to help her get over her ex.

A dumbfounded Astoria had beat Theo to Mattheo, her lips moving a mile a minute. She was weirded out by Fred’s behavior, the ginger confirmed to be talking to the air. Mattheo’s eyes flickered upwards, watching as Fred was heading towards the stairs. His hand was held out in front of him, a goofy smile spread across his lips. He made eye contact with Mattheo, who managed to communicate through all the noise and ask if he was good.

Fred seemed more than good, excitedly nodding and heading down to the dungeons. It wasn’t until the next morning Pansy came running, trying to get the boys to help her carry Fred before anyone saw him.

As the group sat in Mattheo’s room you watched from the shadows, invisible to everyone around you. You had died from a cocaine overdose in 1970, the curse of your afterlife being that no one could see you. The only time anyone did, was when they had done the drug themselves. You didn’t quite understand the logistics of it, other ghost able to see you, but no being with a beating heart could.

You had been shocked Fred had seen you at the alcohol table, after being used to being unseen for so long. As cocky and mischievous as you knew Fred to be from watching, you liked him. So much so that you knew scaring the ever loving fuck out of him was going to be the only way he would never touch the horrid stuff again. Party monsters like Fred, often times danced on the line between life and death. Their bodies, from what you could understand, would be into overdrive. That crossover allowed him to see you.

You thoroughly enjoyed fucking Fred, even if the ginger now regretted it. And as much as you wished you could see him again, you knew he deserved a better chance at life. “Bloody hell, i’m never touching that stuff again,” Fred groaned, cupping his pounding head. You smiled at his confession, walking up to Draco’s side. You stood beside him, the blonde unaware of your presence. Your mission was complete, Fred would be on a better path now. You smiled to yourself, watching as the ginger lifted his head.

His eyes widened, centered on you.

“What the actual fuck are you doing here?!”

He can see you?

a/n: can yall tell im into plot twist rn? lol. might do a part two if yall want it >:)

[crushmeeren]

♡ Master List Link

❥ Bakugou / Fem Reader / Todoroki

❥ Everyone involved in this is 18+/aged up.

Warnings; angst/comfort, cursing, vaginal sex, anal sex (double penetration), pussy eating, blow jobs, squirting

Note; This is my first time writing for this pairing and I’ve wanted to for so long.

It’s normal when you and Katsuki argue. It’s normal when Shouto and Katsuki argue. What isn’t normal, are the fights you and Shouto get into.

It only occurs once in a while, but when it does — you end the night miserably with a lump in your throat and an icy chill that shreds and rearranges your stomach.

Unfortunately, despite doing your damndest to avoid arguing with Shouto, this past week has had you itching to chew him out.

Shouto’s assured you and Katsuki at least three times this week that he was going to be home from work to eat dinner with you. Yet each time he’s shown up so late that Katsuki has put the leftovers in the fridge and you two went to sleep.

And this is not even remotely the first time you’ve dealt with this.

It’s not as if you don’t all understand that being a hero will never be a job where you have the privilege of scheduled hours. Shit happens, and it happens often. And Shouto’s not the only one who gets the short end of the stick.

This wouldn’t even get under your skin so badly if he at least could’ve let either of you know he wasn’t going to make it. He hasn’t even done that. He’s been letting his phone die and not bothering to charge it.

“Pick up the fucking phone, Shouto.” You know you have a bitchy attitude, but you’re speaking to his voicemail again.

You exhale a drawn out sigh through your nose and shift in place to unstick your thighs from the leather material of the bar stool you’re currently occupying.

Your kitchen smells amazing because of Katsuki’s cooking and you get even more pissed about all the effort the blonde is putting into this just for Shouto to disregard it.

You set your phone down too harshly, not realizing until you hear an ominous crack of glass that makes you wince. Gingerly you pick it back up and only notice a few hairline cracks, thank god.

“I’m not buying you another new fucking phone,” Katsuki pipes up, sounding much too amused from where he’s stirring something at the stove.

You glare at his back, scoffing in response.

“Well if a certain someone would answer their damn phone I wouldn’t be breaking this one!”

Katsuki is aware of how upset this situation has been making you. He’s been encouraging you not to worry about it because “Shouto has always been an air-headed idiot.” You chastise the blonde when he makes those remarks but you somewhat agree.

He’s so intelligent when it comes to hero work, but relationships have always been….. alien to him.

“So strawberry shortcake’s blowing us off again?” Katsuki asks with no small amount of annoyance.

Your gaze flickers to the blonde’s broad back, studying the way his muscles roll and flex along the edges of his black tank top as he stirs fried rice.

Your brows pull together, scowling as you drum your fingers on the counter top.

“I guess so,” you murmur, sounding and feeling defeated. The sting in your eyes that signals oncoming tears is no surprise. Shouto’s recent behavior has been weighing heavily on your heart. You sniffle as quietly as you can.

Does he even want to be with us anymore?? Does he love me?

You realize you may be overreacting but you can’t help it.

Katsuki has got to be a mind reader — or he most likely heard you sniffling. His palms start crackling as he notices you’re about to cry. He pauses, turning the stove off just to be cautious, and wipes the sweat from his hands on his sweatpants.

He pivots in place and strides over to you with a scowl on his face, taking in the steady stream of tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

“Look at me, idiot,” he says affectionately, crossing his arms over his chest as he comes to a stop. You stubbornly refuse to turn your chair his direction.

He makes a frustrated noise and grips the back of your chair, physically swiveling you to face him. He steps in between your thighs and you tilt your head downwards, still refusing to meet his gaze. You obnoxiously sniffle. Katsuki scoffs, reaching a hand out to grip your chin.

His thumb and pointer fingers cradle your chin, gently guiding your head up. His sharp expression softens as scarlet eyes flit across your face, taking in how heartbroken you truly look.

A new wave of tears track down your cheeks, a small sob escaping and shaking your shoulders.

“I — I just don’t understand Kat. Why doesn’t Shouto want to come home?” You cry, voice cracking pitifully. You use the backs of his hands to wipe away the never ending tears.

Katsuki can’t stand seeing you this way. He wraps his arms around your head and shoves your face into his chest, smoothing a hand over your upper back in hopes of providing some sort of comfort.

Eagerly, you return his embrace. The warmth of his skin bleeding through the material of his tank top as it catches your sorrow.

“Baby,” he whispers lowly, soothingly. “Shouto‘s not doing this on purpose. I know you know that. His cocksucker of a father is working him to the bone.”

It does little to quell the ache in your chest even if he’s right.

You don’t respond, the build up of frustration and grief from the past couple weeks spilling out of you and onto Katsuki. He kisses the top of your head, resting his cheek there and allowing you to cry until you start to get lightheaded and empty.

Eventually your sobbing subsides and you release the death grip you had on your boyfriend’s shirt. He frees you as you lean backwards slightly, staring up at him with a pout. Your eyes are swollen and heavy, but you feel lighter.

Katsuki gives you a half smile, using his thumbs to tenderly wipe away the excess tears under your eyes.

“I’ll still kick his ass if you want,” Katsuki jokes halfheartedly. You laugh softly, the corners of your mouth tilting upwards involuntarily.

He grins fully at you, bending down to press your foreheads together. He places his big hands on your thighs and plants a chaste kiss on your lips.

You respond enthusiastically, sliding your hands up his chest and slipping them around his neck as your lips connect over and over.

He smiles into the kiss and tilts his head minutely, biting playfully on your bottom lip until you open up for him. The glide of his tongue against yours has arousal burning desperately in your lower belly.

You let out a breathy moan and Katsuki’s fingers tighten on your legs before he breaks the rapidly blazing kiss.

Your chest heaves as you catch your breath, catching a whiff of fried rice that reminds you Katsuki had been cooking. The blonde retreats to his full height.

“Kat,” you say reluctantly, grabbing his attention. “I’m not sure I can eat anything right now. I just want to go to bed.” You chew on your bottom lip, fiddling with your thumbs.

He frames your face with his hands, a smirk worming its way onto his mouth.

“Then let me take your ass to bed so you can be my pillow princess for the night,” he says confidently, winking when your eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

A pleasant flush travels through your entire body, cheeks feverish as you let out a startled laugh.

Once you nod in agreement Katsuki slips his hands under your thighs and hefts you up out of your seat. You laugh brightly, embracing his waist with your legs and holding onto his neck.

Within a few moments Katsuki’s got you both naked and he’s slipping under the sheets of your bed. Your legs part for him easily, tugging him up and over you until he fits like a puzzle.

When his cock pushes inside of you it’s everything you weren’t aware you needed that night. He rolls his hips sweet and slow until your spine’s bowing off the mattress and you’re crying out his name, being sure to leave scratches on his back.

Later on Katsuki ventures back to the kitchen to put away the food from earlier. He decides he’s going to wait for the dumbass and give him a piece of his mind when he returns home.

Katsuki waits…and waits until he’s sitting up straight and nodding off on the couch.

He uses his fists to rub his eyes and checks the time on his phone only to see that it’s past midnight. Katsuki’s temper flares and he swiftly has to remove his hands from the couch cushions for fear of blasting it to smithereens.

He leaves Shouto a colorful message on a sticky note and promptly goes back to the warmth of the bed and snuggles into your chest until he passes out.

It’s after 1:00 am when a chilly arm circles your waist and tugs you back into a toned chest. Your brain is sluggish in your barely there consciousness but you’re able to recognize that it’s Shouto’s presence behind you. Katsuki’s on your other side, leaving you in the middle.

It’s become somewhat of a habit between the three of you to welcome each other with a few kisses when someone arrives home late. So when you don’t flip over you’re sure Shouto’s confused.

Your chest hurts when you think about facing your boyfriend. Ignoring him is probably hurting him, yet you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

When it’s clear that you won’t be speaking to him as you pull the blanket up over your shoulder, Shouto tightens his arm and tickles the nape of your neck with a soft exhale.

You don’t speak to Shouto for about two days. The man tries to talk to you, truly he does, but you keep him at arms length.

The first night you return home from patrol, battered and bruised with a headache from hell as you stumble in the front door.

You’d been messaging Katsuki throughout the day, the blonde hero keeping you up to date on Shouto.

He did fail to mention they must’ve had their own argument about the situation, if the recently acquired burn marks on the wall have anything to say about it.

When you make it to your bedroom, it seems they must’ve made up. They’re entangled and naked in the sheets so that solves that mystery. The soft light from the bathroom night illuminates them enough that you can see Shouto’s head pillowed on his chest.

Your stomach drops at the sight, the dull ache of betrayal surprising you as it tries to carve a hole in your chest.

At any other time, you’d love seeing them together. However you and Shouto are still caught up in this ridiculous fight that seems to be more one sided than anything.

With a quiet groan you move into the bathroom, stripping off your filthy clothing and stepping into the shower.

You stand under the scalding water and scrub off the layer of grime you picked up during your shift. As you run the wash cloth over your skin you imagine you’re chipping at the depressing emotions you’re riddled with as well, willing them to go down the drain.

Once you’ve managed to get clean and dressed in one of Katsuki’s oversized T-shirt’s, you find yourself standing unsettled at the edge of your bed. Staring as you contemplate what to do.

An uneasy sensation worms under your skin, lurking as you weigh the options of staying or not. Ultimately you decide to go sleep on the couch.

You make haste with quiet footsteps until Shouto murmurs something unintelligible in his sleep. Your pulse stutters as you still, waiting to see what he does.

He says nothing more and you release the breath you weren’t aware you were holding, sneaking out to the living room.

You settle in on the couch, curling up in a ball underneath multiple throw blankets. Your chest squeezes while you wrestle with your mind until you convince yourself you have to reconcile with Shouto tomorrow.

Shouto wakes the next morning sporting a gray cloud overhead when his alarm goes off. He’s staring intensely at Katsuki’s side profile, admiring how handsome he is. The breeze from the fan brushes over his back and his brows scrunch together in confusion at the absence of your body heat.

He rolls over, eyes widening as he begins to panic when he doesn’t see you there.

Shouto’s heart jumps to his throat as he tumbles out of bed, snagging the blanket around his ankle and jostling Katsuki awake as he goes.

“Oi, idiot! What the fuck are you doing?” Katsuki rasps at an ear splitting volume. He sits up ramrod straight and wears a furious scowl. His gaze narrows as it lands on Shouto who freezes under the heavy glare.

Shouto says your name, glancing at the door as he fidgets in place.

“Where is she? Why isn’t she in bed?” Shouto’s low voice asks, an anxious edge marring it.

Katsuki’s lip curls and his cheeks flush a rosy pink as he rises from the bed. It forces Shouto to take a step back in bewilderment as he’s met with the blonde’s rage.

“You idiot,” Katsuki snarls venomously, shoving a finger into his boyfriend’s chest. “She is here, but she’s sleeping on the couch. You’ve been fucking us off as if we mean nothing to you for the past two weeks and you wonder why she doesn’t want to be in the same bed as you?” Katsuki laughs meanly, pushing Shouto out of his pathway with a lone finger before moving to his dresser. “I thought you were smarter than that,” he sneers, chin raising defiantly.

“I didn’t —,”

Katsuki cuts Shouto off, the muscle in his jaw twitching as his fists curl.

“Don’t you even fucking dare say you didn’t mean to. I don’t give a shit. Fix it Shouto, or I’ll take you on in a fight you won’t win.”

He slams the door to their bathroom shut so hard the frame rattles.

Shouto sinks down onto the edge of the mattress as if Katsuki knocked his knees out from under him. He was too stunned to even get a word in edgewise.

Shouto… knew you were upset, but he wasn’t aware it was this bad.

He stands on wobbly legs, stomach rolling painfully as he robotically gets ready for his shift. He can’t recall the last time he felt so numb.

The second you hear Shouto leave is when you finally open your eyes. You had heard the pair fighting and pretended to be asleep, not wanting a blow out fight to erupt between the three of you.

You feel so guilty, hoping and praying Shouto doesn’t get distracted by this entire ordeal while he’s out on patrol.

This fight isn’t worth risking his life over.

You have to make up with him tonight, it’s gone on far too long.

Shouto’s one of your soulmates, and you’ve loved every second you’ve had the privilege of being a part of his life.

Your footsteps are quiet as you shuffle to your now deserted bed, flopping down and crawling under the covers to wait for Katsuki’s return.

It’s not too late into the evening when the front door finally opens. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for the conversation the three of you would be having tonight.

You’d been nervously biting your nails and lounging on the couch with your feet tucked under you while Katsuki was, to nobody’s surprise, cooking something once again.

You spring out of your seat as Shouto locks the front door, striding to stand a few feet in front of him with a sheepish smile.

His expressions brightens like the sun when he sees you and you don’t even try to stop the grin that tugs at your lips.

In the next moment he’s hugging you, burying his face into your neck as he lifts you off the floor by your waist. Relief unfurls warmly behind your rib cage as you return the affectionate embrace, securing your legs around his waist.

He smells clean as he always does, something similar to a note of cinnamon tickling your nose in the addictive cologne that he wears.

“I’m sorry,” Shouto whispers tenderly, shifting so his forehead rests against your temple when he speaks. He noses at your cheek when you nod, repeating the same phrase so he knows you are too.

“You fuckers just gonna stand here all night?” Katsuki complains with no real heat behind it. You didn’t even hear him approach. You laugh, unwinding yourself from Shouto as he places you back on your feet.

Katsuki’s standing with his hands on his hips, wearing a soft smile that makes him look five years younger.

You tease him and Shouto joins in until the blonde is blushing and cursing you both to hell.

After what feels like the longest conversation of your life, you find yourself on your knees and elbows between Katsuki’s spread thighs. Your ass is high in the air for Shouto who’s settled behind you.

Katsuki’s rock hard, propped up by a couple pillows. He strokes his cock leisurely, biting the tip of his tongue as he leers down at you. You wink up at him and he grins coyly.

Shouto grips your ass and spreads you open. The cool air on your pussy makes your breath hitch.

You moan lowly, nails sinking into Katsuki’s thighs and forehead coming to rest on the blonde’s belly when Shouto’s tongue flicks at your clit. Dragging it up through your lips and swirling it over your rim.

You push yourself up, bracing a hand on either side of Katsuki’s hips as Shouto teases your rim with a slick finger. The blonde smirks when your jaw drops.

“Look at you baby girl, all fucked out and Sho’s barely touched your pussy,” he coos meanly, fisting his cock a little faster.

You attempt to respond but Shouto’s a shit who chooses that exact moment to slide a finger in your ass all the way to his knuckle.

“Shouto,” you choke out. “Keep going, give me another finger,” you plead, rocking back towards him. Shouto obeys, pushing in a second finger with ease and you whine. Your head drops between your shoulders and it gives you the view of Katsuki’s cock twitching in his grip when you let out more noises.

Katsuki notices your stare.

“Yeah? Wanna suck on my cock baby?” Katsuki asks with a lilt to his voice as though he’s offering someone an irresistible treat, cradling your cheek with his free hand and rubbing under your eye with his thumb.

“I do,” you confirm with an eager nod. You bend down to do just that but Katsuki’s shakes his head with a tsk and halts you with a hand around your throat. You glance up at him confused. He ignores you and levels Shouto with a look.

“Whatcha think, Shouto? Should I let the princess suck me off till you stretch her out?”

Shouto keeps thrusting his fingers, scissoring them a bit as he hums in agreement.

“I think so, yes,” Shouto affirms, something playful in his tone.

Katsuki grins wolfishly at you, placing a hand on the back of your head and pushing until you open your mouth and swallow half the cock pointed up at you in one go. You moan at the feel of his thick shaft on your tongue, bobbing your head slowly and chasing Katsuki when his hips jerk upwards.

“Jesus Christ baby, you have a velvet mouth,” Katsuki praises, husky moans filling the air.

You let Katsuki distract you as Shouto slips a third finger inside your ass, placing his thumb on your clit and rubbing tight circles to balance out the pain and pleasure.

Only a couple minutes later and Katsuki is starting to fidget in place.

“Think you can deep throat me?” Katsuki pants, eyelids fluttering as he waits for your answer. You hum which is the best you can do to say yes, even if your jaw is aching.

The pressure on the back of your skull increases and you relax your throat as his tip pushes past the muscle. You panic only briefly when your airway is cutoff, but hearing the way Katsuki cries out with a high pitched moan as he fills out your throat is worth it. You squeeze your eyes shut as tears gather at your lash line.

“You’re so goddamn hot. Look at those pretty lips stretched so filthy around me. You love sucking cock don’t you?” Katsuki taunts, head tilting backwards with a breathy moan when you whine in response.

He keeps you choking on his dick with a firm hold for at least ten seconds. Until you’re starting to claw at his thighs, until you’re starting to resist, and then suddenly you’re being pulled off him. Your lungs burn, coughing and swallowing air as Shouto takes his fingers from you.

You’re spun around and sat on Katsuki’s lap faster than you can blink as the blonde sits up straighter, saliva covered cock sliding between your ass. Your eyes open wide as you meet Shouto’s yearning mismatched gaze and he gives you a half smile.

Katsuki bends his knees and plants his feet so you’re cradled in his lap, thrusting so his cock catches briefly on your rim before sliding upwards.

“I want you baby,” Shouto tells you sincerely, running his knuckles over your cheekbone. You grin adoringly at him in return, lids fluttering as Katsuki rolls his hips against you once more.

“Someone’s impatient,” you try to tease, but it comes out partially strangled. “I want you too Shouto.”

Katsuki snorts behind you, patting your ass to get you to rise up a bit. You do so automatically.

“Well fuck me then, right?” Katsuki teases as he grips his shaft and lines himself up with you. Shouto rolls his eyes playfully.

“Well she is about to sit on your cock,” Shouto deadpans. You try to cover a laugh by slapping a hand over your mouth.

“You’re a fucking comedian aren’t ya Sho?” Katsuki says with a strained voice as you start to sink down on him. You gasp loudly when he pushes past your tight, slick rim and he moans.

Shouto stays silent, keeping his eyes locked with yours while you take in the blonde’s cock until you’re sitting completely in his lap. It aches, a dull throb as you shift around to get comfortable. Desperate for the pain to go away you start to rise up and down on the cock splitting you open, bracing your weight on Katsuki’s knees.

Shouto squeezes the base of his shaft, twitching in his own grip because the sight of you riding Katsuki, tits bouncing inches from his face is making him want to cum. Now.

The blonde holds your hips, biceps flexing as he helps you move, impatiently working for the pleasure you know is near by. Soon enough, the pain starts to fade and a warm shiver takes it place at the base of your spine, slithering through your veins unabashedly.

You stare at Shouto with half lidded eyes, studying the way his skin flushes as he watches the two of you silently, fisting his cock teasingly. The other hero shuffles closer, leaning forward as you begin slowing to a crawling pace when he gets in your personal space. Katsuki, surprisingly, holds his tongue when you do.

Shouto kisses you then, slightly chapped lips meeting yours. You bring your arms up to play with the soft hair at the nape of his neck, scratching at his scalp and humming against his mouth.

When you can’t breathe any longer you break away, tongue poking out to run over your bottom lip. Shouto peers over your shoulder at Katsuki.

“Can I be inside her now?” He asks restlessly and you practically hear Katsuki’s eye roll.

“So fucking needy,” Katsuki mutters. “Lean back on my chest baby, I’m gonna cum if we stay like this anyways.”

You press one more kiss to Shouto’s mouth and recline until your back hits a solid, warm chest. Katsuki grips under your knees and pulls your thighs back towards you.

You steady yourself by hanging onto to the blonde’s forearms, biting your tongue when Shouto crawls forward. He settles on his knees, stroking his cock as he tilts his head and gawks at the place Katsuki disappears inside you. Gaze flickering over your pussy on display just for him.

“C’mon Shouto, what’re you waiting for?” You encourage him, the anticipation racing down your spine. You involuntarily clench around Katsuki and the blonde hisses when he speaks.

“God, Shouto hurry the fuck up.”

Shouto does hurry the fuck up.

He steadies his cock head against your pussy and begins a leisure press, sliding in in in until you’re completely filled.

They both allow you time to adjust, whispering praise and toe curling, filthy sweet nothings into your ears.

Katsuki is unable to move in his position underneath you both, so Shouto takes control. He helps the blonde support your thighs and essentially fucks you both with deliberate and brain melting thrusts until Katsuki cums first with a choked off cry of Shouto’s name.

Shouto tells him how pretty he is like that and the blonde buries his face in the back of your shoulder.

You’re quick to follow when Shouto curls his hips just right and then your pussy’s suffocating him. You’re scratching at his toned chest and arching your back, leaving angry red lines near his collarbone.

Shouto falls over the edge just knowing he pushed you both to your peak.

As you all soak in the hazy afterglow, you try to catch your breath, leaning your entire weight on Katsuki’s chest as Shouto gingerly pulls his cock out.

“Get the hell off me, my legs are falling asleep,” Katsuki complains playfully. You smack his thigh sharply in retaliation and he laughs.

“Fuck off, I’m going.” Delicately you sit up and rise off him, rolling to the side and flopping onto your stomach with a wariness about how sore you’ll be tomorrow.

You’re unsure what happens next, drifting off until you wake up later in the night clean and with an oversized shirt on again.

You recognize this one as Shouto’s.

Grinning to yourself you turn and check on both men to find them out like lights.

You settle back down between them right where you belong and sleep better than you have for weeks.

[mazamba]

Sponsored By

Ironically, the most eventful day in the careers of Mr. and Mrs. Fenton had nothing to do with ghosts. The two had just returned from the supermarket and were carrying in the groceries, when the shadow in the corner began to speak.

"We need to talk."

"GHOST!"

The couple were on their back before they could draw their weapons.

"You are the foremost experts in the field of ecto-biology," said Batman as if he hadn't just brought down a three hundred pound man and a ninth-degree black-belt before either of them could realize he'd moved, "I have questions regarding your sponsor."

"Sweetie, is the Batman in our living room?" asked Jack.

"I do believe he is," replied Maddie as she stood up and patted the dust off her clothes, "you know, you could have called for an appointment. We'd have made time."

"In the 80's, the two of you had your doctorate studies rescinded due to your studies in what you called "ecto-science"," he stated, ignoring their indignation, "yet you now live in an upper-middle class neighborhood and spend thousands of dollars a year on technology that didn't have a proper proof-of-concept until recently."

"What's your point?" asked Jack.

"Where is the money coming from?"

"If you must know, we have a sponsor," replied Maddie, "after our dean proved to be too small-minded for our research, we were approached by a man who was more open to the possibility of inter-dimensional research."

"He wanted us to study ghosts!" cut in Jack, "He even gave us our very first sample of ectoplasm!"

"That one sample was the backbone of our research for years, until we got our portal running."

"You never asked where he got that sample from?"

"He seemed like a trust-worthy fellow," dismissed Maddie, "all he asks is for copies of our experiments and for ectoplasm from our portal."

"What sort of experiments?"

"Well, at first we needed to verify the psycho-active behavior of the sample," recalled Maddie, "if you give me a second, I have my research around here somewhere."

"You took the sample to several morgues," Batman told them, "the sample's most drastic and extreme behavior occurred when it was placed close to bodies who had a history of violent and anti-social behavior in life."

"Maddie, the League's reading our papers!" Jack giggled excitedly, "But yes, it's how we know that all ghosts are evil ectoplasmic scum!"

"You never questioned the origin of the sample?"

"It was the only sample we had," pointed out Maddie, "but it's properties matched all of our theories."

"The man you spoke with was Ra's al Ghul," he informed them, dropping a folder full of pictures and documents for them to peruse, "thousands of years ago, Ra's found a well of green water that is now known as a Lazarus Pit. Using its power, he has rejuvenated himself time and again to maintain his position as the head of the League of Assassins. After some experimentation, he found the same pits could keep his forces alive, even in death.

"Over time, the League came across a problem that threatened their continued existence. They were consuming the Pit's water faster than it was replenishing itself. After much experimentation, they found a solution. At the moment of death, when the human soul passes over to the Infinite Realms, what you call the Ghost Zone, a small amount of ectoplasm leaks over to our side."

"Wait, you don't mean...?" Maddie trailed off, horror settling in.

"Ra's killed people en masse to replenish his pool," affirmed Batman, "further experimentation revealed that people who died in a state of extreme fear or pain provided more ferocious soldiers. That is where your sample came from.

"In it's neutral state, ectoplasm reacts equally to all emotional ranges. Repeated exposure to emotional extremes will imprint the ectoplasm, causing it to react more strongly to a specific emotional range than to others. The negative emotions of Ra's victims imprinted on the ectoplasm, resulting in your skewed results."

"Wait, how would you know that?" demanded Maddie, "We're the foremost experts on ecto-science and we didn't know that!"

He pulled out a thick folder and slammed it onto the table.

"I had my research peer-reviewed."

"By who?" asked Jack, "We looked all over and couldn't find anyone in the scientific community!"

"You weren't looking in the right place. There is a branch of the Justice League that specializes in the supernatural, ghosts and demons chief among them. They want me to bring you in."

"Really!? Did you hear that Mads! We're being recruited by the Justice League!"

"They want me to arrest you," Batman corrected them, "for illegal poaching of innocent and neutral spirits, particularly after last week's attack on their newest member, Danny Phantom."

"The Ghost Boy!?" roared Jack, "That no-good ectoscum made the League before we did!?"

"I have watched his fights. He takes care to avoid collateral damage and only appears when other ghosts attack, sometimes at great personal cost."

"Look, Mr. Batman," sighed Maddie in a condescending tone, "we've fought the ghost boy for years. He has a history of crime and violence. If you look far enough, you'll find-."

Batman had no time for nonsense.

"The League has already looked into the incidents. All show indications of either coercion or mind control."

"Ghosts are deceitful and conniving-!"

"We have already established that your initial sample skewed your results," he cut Jack off, "this would imply that all of your research and experiments need to be reassessed, including your opinions towards ghosts in general.

"Regarding Ra's al Ghul, you will need to continue working with him. Cutting contact suddenly may put you and your family in danger."

That caught their attention.

"What do we need to do?" asked Jack, all jokes and outrage immediately tossed out the window.

"Keep doing your research with this new information in mind. Your experiments have been applied to the Lazarus Pits, resulting in unstable results. Recent subjects have come out in a mindless rage, while others have shown no effect on their mind, and yet others have had no effect. Ra's is already skeptical of your continued collaboration. If you provide him with research based off this new information, he may decide you are not worth his time or money. When it comes to Ra's, your best option is dismissal to irrelevance. You do not want to make an enemy out of him."

"It's not just that," admitted Maddie, "if we were the only ones being affected, we'd simply let him know we're exploring new horizons outside of ecto-science. The thing is, we have two children, one in college and one near graduation."

He gave them a card. "Call that number. All of their college expenses will be taken care of."

"I... Bruce Wayne?" read out Jack.

"We've collaborated before, he is trustworthy," he reassured them, "the next part is up to you. Will you be scientists, or poachers?"

Their lights flickered, and he was gone.

[rewrittenwrongs]

Having thoughts about the League of Assassins. It’s pretty common among them to form hierchy/ranking around who’s a better fighter and who beat/killed who. I can’t remember if it’s canon but I like the idea that to prove your teacher has taught you all they have to teach you must kill them (not sure how that applies to history/math/whatever but. Moving on.) Working off of that idea, a lot of assassins in the organisation would already respect Tim for causing the death/defeat of the Council of Spiders; assassins that are so skilled they kill other assassins for fun. Him then TRICKING RA’S AL GHUL AND BLOWING UP (almost??) ALL OF HIS BASES, AND THEN OUTSMARTING HIM AGAIN WHEN HE TRIES TO DESTROY EVERYTHING BATMAN HAS BUILT, I feel like it’s reasonable to assume a lot of them would’ve decided Tim is the bigger threat or at least proved himself very formidable and a large threat. I imagine a lot of them would’ve sought him out in Gotham and pledged loyalty to him (kind of like Minions seeking out the evilest leader thanks for that thought brain), maybe doing full on traditional rituals to prove the transferring of their loyalty, like blood oaths or ritual spars idk, maybe giving him gifts or displaying their skills so he accepts them as allies rather than being disrespected and killing or maiming them since that’s the standard they expect in the League.

And Tim is uh. Very confused. Very surprised. And also trying hard not to show it. He accepts all the gifts and pledges and shit, because he sure as fuck ain’t gonna turn them back to Ra’s, but after that he doesn’t really know what to do with them. He hires a bunch of them at Wayne Enterprise and Drake Industries, tasks a bunch of them with working for Red Hood on the down low, maybe sends a couple on undercover missions to Arkham Asylum so they start treating inmates as actual human beings and stop using shock therapy or something, and makes sure to write them all up fair contracts and great pay with good work bonuses and plenty of leave, and makes sure most or all of them start going to therapy. The assassins love their new leader and would do practically anything for him.

But anyway, all that aside. I’ve had those thoughts in my head for more than a month. Something that just recently occurred to me is Mara al Ghul. Damian’s cousin. Another child raised by the League of Assassins, only this one never left.

Until, that is, she watches this freshly-immunocompromised vigilante arguably outsmart her grandfather twice, and decides he is the bigger threat, actually, I want to be on his good side when he takes over the world.

So now Tim is being forced into basically adopting this feral child, who’s only experience in American society was undercover missions to kill people, who thinks decapitated heads are reasonable gifts, who’s introduction to Tim was something batshit insane like dumping the Joker’s head in his lap because the Joker is Gotham’s most dangerous rogue and of course Tim will appreciate having him gone. But even with a well crafted facade she can tell Tim is unnerved and horrified, so she must be doing something wrong. Maybe it was because the Joker is Batman’s enemy and not Tim’s specifically? But Tim doesn’t have any arch nemesis aside from maybe Ra’s who she obviously can’t kill, so she does more research into Tim’s life and background and finds out Captain Boomerang killed his father so next she brings Tim HIS head and she can already tell he’s much more pleased this time. But there’s still that edge of unsettlement and wariness, and he’s acting so strange around her, so she digs deeper and finds out about the Titans Tower incident but Tim sent all these other assassins to work for red hood so they must be on good terms, and then she finds out about all the bad blood between him and Damian and Dick so she starts trying to kill them next, starting with Damian obviously (a mix of jealousy over him leaving the league and a good amount of cousin rivalry/cain instinct), but Tim stops the fight and tells her to stand down and now she’s scared that he’s going to punish her and Ra’s’ punishments were always so harsh and perhaps this time she can’t quite fight down the urge to hide.

Meanwhile, Tim is being dragged through a parent arc kicking and screaming, the bats are wondering why the hell there are suddenly so many assassins only after they scare off Ra’s, Jason is more or less vibing because he thinks the assassins are from Talia and the Joker’s dead so of course he’s ecstatic (even tho he wishes he knew who did it so he can thank them), Dick and Damian are still reeling from learning Bruce is alive/getting him back from the time stream when all of a sudden this masked child comes out of nowhere mid patrol and attacks Damian, and isn’t backing down even though Dick arrived quickly but when Red Robin arrives and yells stop she’s already three rooftops away by the time he’s done speaking. Everyone is tired and doesn’t know what the hell is going on except mayybe Oracle.

[jesswritesthat]

Todoroki Shōto: Smile

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~1k, fluff, humour

• Todoroki is acting differently, and it all started after an ‘interview’ with Mount Lady.

Warnings: None

>>>>——————————>

It was a very suspicious change, a small difference you wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t know Todoroki as well as you do.

The fire and ice hero had never had an issue when in your presence before, at least once passing the initial barrier of awkwardness when you’d first met. Todoroki wasn’t adapted to friendship or social interaction on a more casual level, and he was still learning now, but that didn’t explain the sudden change in behaviour.

Shōto wasn’t one to smile often, but recently he’d started to do so around you during heartwarming moments or after a witty comment. At least until he’d started covering them with his hand, burying his face in a jacket, or simply turning his head away from you. At first, you thought it was a coincidence but he didn’t display the same actions toward other classmates, at least not as often.

Unfortunely, Shōto was difficult to read in this situation as he hadn’t treated you any differently than before aside from concealing his smile, which meant you’d have to ask him directly if you wanted to understand.

It was an evening after class that you’d caught him in the dorms and asked to go for a walk around the grounds together. Once in the privacy of your own company, you brought up the concept when he’d once again diverted his gaze in your opposing direction when laughing.

“Hey Shōto, why are you always turning away from me when you smile?” You’d spoken casually, an airy tone used to lighten the subject but there was still a moment of contemplative silence before he spoke.

“I… I don’t want you to die.”

“I’d like to think you wouldn’t spontaneously set me aflame or freeze me to death.” A brief laugh escaped you, but he seemed happy.

“Never (Y/n). It was just something someone said, don’t worry about it.” Then he changed the subject, a sign he was embarrassed to elaborate at this current time.

———

The likelihood of getting further insight without directly prying Shōto was unlikely, and so you received enlightenment courtesy of an offhanded comment made to Izuku the following week.

“Has Shoto mentioned about not wanting you to die?”

“Hm? Not recently.” The green haired teen shook his head, but looked at you buzzing with curiosity.

“Ah. Then it’s just me he’s acting weird around, he refuses to smile.”

This comment allowed for Izuku to configure the situation for a second before sparking to life with renewed enthusiasm.

“I think I might know what you mean! He did an interview with Mount Lady but took it too literally I bet.” The young hero hurriedly explained the scenario that occurred during their Interview Training Lesson.

That’s when it all made sense, he’d mistaken Mount Ladys’ compliment on his attractiveness for the cause of a death toll. Amusing. Even more so to think you’d be one of his victims - you have to correct that right away.

“Shōto?” You’d knocked on his dorm, and naturally he’d opened the door to your right away with a degree of concern.

“(Y/n), are you okay?”

“Yes, I wanted to talk to you about the other day.”

He tilted his head slightly in curiosity but welcomed you in to his classic Japanese style room nonetheless.

“You don’t smile at me anymore, so I don’t drop dead.” It was spoken as a statement rather than like questioning his actions, as you knew it all too well.

“…It sounds ridiculous when you say it.” A hand awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck with a deadpan expression on his face when meeting your bemused features.

Once solidifying your composure, which took a minute as admittedly it was a challenge in itself to withhold your laughter for the sake of understanding his feelings.

“Two things.” You held up two digits whilst Shōto nodded sincerely, ready for you to continue.

“People are highly unlikely to die if you smile at them, Mount Lady was joking.”

“Yeah I figured. Based on both past experience and the fact Uraraka is still alive.” The icyhot user tiredly sighed, offering a small but guilty quirk of his lips.

“Which brings me to my second point, why were you so conscious of smiling around me? Especially since Ochaco got a smile out of you.” You crossed your arms now with a hint of mirth lacing your tone, rather intrigued by his potential explanation. However his voice remained confident and sincere, replying as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you’re the one I care about most. As you are the last person I’d want to inadvertently kill, it makes sense to be so conscious of my actions toward you doesn’t it?”

Now you were left speechless, just like he was during the initial interview, only able to stare at him blankly.

“Shōto you… care about me most?”

“Did it not come across that way? I always try to be—“ His voice was genuinely worried he hadn’t given you the right impression, you could already see him thinking of ways to correct his mistake, which is why you cut him off with assurance.

“No no it did, I just thought— nevermind. Please don’t hide your smile from me anymore, I likely won’t die upon seeing it.”

This time, when a soft smile graced his lips when looking at you, he didn’t attempt to shy away of cover it with his hand. The gesture of course was reciprocated.

———

Izuku was the one to find you pondering the matter later on though, despite the situation already being resolved.

“I assume you figured it all out with Todoroki?”

“Oh yeah, he said something that caught me off guard though.” It was the dampening tone you’d used that lead Midoriya to take a seat beside you, kind and upbeat tone ringing true.

“Really? Want to talk about it?”

“Well, he said he was so conscious about smiling around me because I’m the one he cares about the most. I didn’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Todoroki is a person who’d give you time to consider. I am glad he finally confessed to you though.”

It was silent for a moment, your mind felt like a record short-circuiting and repeating his words with declining clarity, meanwhile Izuku seemed oblivious to the personal intel he’d accidentally divulged after misreading the events.

“…”

“…”

“Um… Izuku.” You took a deep, preparing breath. “He didn’t confess to me.”

You saw the sheer panic wash over him like a tidal wave, his freckled skin significantly paler which is when the frantic apologies set in.

“I’m so sorry (L/n)! I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, Todoroki is going to hate me! Forgive me for misinterpreting the situation - I’ll have to tell him I’ve ruined his—“

Quickly you waved your hands in surrender, a feeble attempt at calming him prior to justifying your lack of anxiety compared to his.

“No, it’s okay Izuku. There’s no need for any of that.”

“Huh?! But I—“ His voice was still raised slightly, searching you for any kind of reasoning.

“I like him too. Now it’s even, you know both of our feelings.” The soft smile you wore, and your honest words, reverted the boy back to his original state - once again his cheery self.

“You do? That is good news, but what do you intend to do with that information?”

“I’ll wait until he’s ready to tell me himself.” It was a gentle shrug that accompanied your reply, content to do so.

“I understand (L/n).” The bright boy smiled brightly, to which you gladly accepted and hummed in thought.

“Besides, I’m interested to see what a confession from Todoroki Shōto would be like.”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[boxturret]

Voya-Nui: An Overview

Hello,

This will be somewhat similar to my 1/10th scale Mata Nui posts, discussing the floating island of Voya-Nui based upon recently revealed information, mainly dealing with its size and role in the initial story.

Warning, this post is embarrassingly long.

Any who have the misfortune of knowing me know I have a rather selective view of what constitutes Bionicle. Essentially I consider Bionicle to have run from 1998 to mid 2002. As a kid I was a die hard fan until 06, where a combination of the marketing and the sets just not being very good caused me to gradually lose interest until I just got one set in 07 and never again bought a Bionicle.

All this preamble is to say that for the longest time I never really knew all that much about Voya-Nui, apart from it being the namesake of a terrible game. Later on, as I got back in to the hobby I heard rumors, dark, twisted rumors. They spoke of a stick making the island fly underwater through a hole, that the island itself was ejected from the body of the robot and left a Voya-Nui sized hole in a continent. Just the ravings of a mad man, so I threw it in the bin along with everything in Bionicle after the Toa go in to the Bohrok hives in 02 and moved on with my life.

Fast forward to now, and Christian Faber starts releasing some development materials through a humanoid water fowl, and this very interesting image is among what's released

This image made everything click for me and I fell in love with Voya-Nui as a concept.

But I think before revealing the original intent, its important to explain the "canon" sequence of events surrounding the so called "Island of Doom"

ISLAND OF DOOM, A PRIMER

Okay so there's a big robot sleeping in an ocean, one day its heart pops and a chunk of land that was on top of the heart breaks out of its chest and starts floating in the ocean. The island, I must add, survived this event, as the hole it left is the same shape and size as the final island.

Now the island floats around for a bit, the volcanic crater on it eventually builds up a large land mass in the middle of the bay, the people on it (yes there were people on the island when it got ejected, and they survived the event) decide that this is the best place to build a city.

It turns out that wasn't the best place to build a city as the new land mass breaks off and somehow anchors it to the sea floor.

Eventually some guys show up and break the anchor cord and the island, inexplicably, sinks down under the water, and manages to go right back in to the hole it made and everything returns to normal.

In some blog post it was explained that there was a magic wand that fixed everything that was used at the same moment.

This is the canonical sequence of events.

More like island of dumb¹.

THE ORIGINAL CONCEPTS

Okay now that all that unpleasantness is out of the way, we can start with the actually interesting things.

There are so many details to cover here, I think the best way to organise them would be to present everything roughly chronologically.

The scenario is the same, a massive robot crash lands in a large ocean, its completely under the water outside of its face, upon which the larger island of Mata Nui forms.

From the beginning its very different, there's no large landmass over the heart (in fact the very idea of the robot itself being full of various domes with islands in them is very suspect but this post is already long enough). The heart is a reactor, and consists of a massive spherical cavity in the chest. Something occurs and the heart pops open, a small panel or valve on the perimeter of the reactor core's wall bursts out of the chest of the robot. Through this hole sea water begins to flood in-this is important!

The ejected panel floats, and some sort of system within it cools it down, causing the sea water to freeze, essentially turning it in to a massive iceberg. There's also mentions of it being magnetic, the final island is described as looking somewhat like a magnet run over a factory floor. It probably also attracted debris from the sea bed as it floated through the seas. As you can see in that diagram the core is filled with massive long cables and the island eventually gets anchored by a long cable, so that's possibly where that came from!

Over years the island grows and grows as it floats around the oceans, being buffeted around by the currents. Eventually part of it becomes unstable and breaks off, sinking to the ocean floor, and since a large cable was attached to both pieces, it anchors the island in place.

Now we get to the crucial part. In the canon depiction of events the most baffling thing is why does breaking the anchor rope make it sink? Now we come back to this image:

When the panel popped out it left a hole. Water is pouring back in to the hole, forming a giant whirlpool. The robot is so massive that even after all these years of constant flooding the cavity on the inside is still not even half full. Voya-Nui was caught in the whirlpool's strong currents when the island broke up. This impromptu anchor stopped it just as it was about be pulled in! Then the super strong currents from the whirlpool gave it the distinctive curved shape.

So now we know why destroying the cable holding it in place causes the floating island to sink: once untethered its free to be pulled in to the whirlpool! The island that formed around the panel would break off and the panel would basically be a giant plug and stop the flow of water flooding in to the reactor.

Figuring this all out was such a revelation, taking one of the most nonsensical sequences of events in the series and transforming it in to this completely logical scenario which, from the point of view of the characters involved, is still quite mysterious and oblique, but when looked at from the perspective of repairing this giant robot it makes perfect sense.

And we were robbed. Imagine the Mata Nui rising sequence of animations starting off with a whole island being pulled in to a whirlpool.

THE CORE

This is getting a bit beyond the main focus of the island, but I just want to talk about the core itself because there were a few interesting tidbits there as well. Its a very evocative setting which I feel suffered greatly and few of the interesting parts were conveyed well in the story.

The water streaming through the hole is described as having some sort of light emitting reaction to the part of the reactor its hitting, lighting the whole chamber. Steam from the reaction swirls upwards and vaporised materials from the heat of the reaction collect on the roof, forming massive stalactites that eventually fall, creating this jagged forest of stone needles within the massive pool of water, water which's temperature varies depending on how close it is to the reaction.

Really seems a shame that in the final story it was simplified down to "sky" and "swamp". Just imagine, this forest of stone, shrouded in fog, lit by this flickering unearthly light emanating from the centre. You have the added aspect of once Voya-Nui has returned to its rightful place the water fall would cease, leading to the light dwindling until the whole area is pitch black.

MISCELLANEOUS OTHER NOTES

One major feature of the island that was missing from the earlier ice and rock version is the massive lava crater, supposedly from the mask of life². I had been toying with the idea that the volcano formed the rest of the island around the panel, but with how much larger the island was it just didn't make sense, so the ice and magnetism really helped out there!

Its said that the ice formed as some sort of self defence mechanism, like an organ freezing itself to preserve itself in an emergency. Personally though I have this little idea that the panel was actually something like the cooling system for the reactor, and without it the reactor was going to over heat, but luckily it was kept just cool enough by the falling water. The cooling system, being linked somehow to the main robot, detects that the reactor was over heating and starts working over time to cool it, leading to it freezing the surrounding ocean and making itself in to a massive iceberg, but as it wasn't connected to the robot's core and nothing it did had any effect, it ends up overheating itself, causing the pool of lava on the top. But that's just a little fan idea.

Another one I have is that the island, when it was floating freely, may have passed next to Mata Nui, close enough to be sailed too, at some point far in the past. Explaining how there would be inhabitants on it despite it getting shot out of the robot like a bullet.

Also it would be remiss of me to not mention that even though the canon depiction of events makes no sense, the whirlpool is briefly seen in the 100% ending of the torture device Bionicle Heroes.

But this is much smaller, and seems to only have just opened up in the bay. Rather than being something to do with the hole it made it seems this is more about how the mask they were seeking went underwater.

SCALE!

Time to talk sizes!³

This drawing is especially useful here, as it shows all 3 major objects in question all relative to each other. Yes Voya-Nui is there, its the tiny little dot on the bottom right. So I simply took the height maps for Voya-Nui, used them to make a quick little model in the same fashion as my Mata Nui, and brought in my old GSR model. I scaled them all to the Mata Nui from my last posts, and guess what! It all lines up perfectly.

The Voya-Nui Model is the exact right size it should be, according to this map:

And what was more impressive, was that the GSR turned out to be pretty much bang on with this even older concept art:

Scaling the GSR was a more bit awkward, as the final design is more gangly compared to this drawing, but lining up the torsos worked really well!

And now let us visit the 1/10th scale Mata Nui and meet Geroge. A new island has floated up off Ta-Wahi beach and he want's to explore a bit!

Excuse the monochrome island, the height maps I'm using are actually quite different from the final island.

There is a height map more accurate to the final island, but that one didn't have an underside. The little islets in the bay were also neat.

The large lava lake in the centre is roughly 250 metres across. Its nothing compared to Mata Nui's caldera, but its still very huge when you get down to the ground level.

The panel that forms the centre of the island is massive as well.

Approximately 550m wide, and 900m tall. Just think of the massive reactor core this thing popped out of!

Seeing it separate from the island really puts it in perspective.

Imagine this thing shooting out of the robot's chest like a bullet.

I'll just quickly mention, earlier on I posted that map of all the internal islands. If you use the size of metru nui on there you can scale Voya-Nui appropriately, and you end up with this.

Its less a small panel popping out of the heart and more the scene from Alien at this point.

CONCLUSION

This has been quite a rambly post, but there was just so much information to cover. I left out a lot of details. This whole thing just makes me very excited, sorry.

I just think its such a beautifully elegant scenario that really adds a lot to the setting and story, rather than just having yet another new island, but this time the island is mean. I find it quite interesting how everything would have sorted itself out, if not for the island breaking in half. There's no Machiavellian plots, no scheming, no betrayal, just an unfortunate occurrence that makes a bad situation worse, and everyone has to work to fix it. It was utterly butchered in the final story. It makes me quite sad for what could have been. Just picture it, this floating island getting pulled towards a massive whirlpool, the outer island breaking off as it spirals deep down underwater until this long, tarnished metal plug is revealed to have been at the centre. With a huge impact it closes up the hole, fitting back perfectly where it came from, managing to avert the disaster of the flood waters growing ever higher inside the core of this robot.

But in any case, really the important take away is, Voya-Nui is just a rip off of Noah's Island when you get down to it.

I'll leave you with a photograph of George waving hello to his large friend.

Have a nice day/night[delete whichever is inappropriate]!

¹-You know its true. ²-Not to be confused with the Mask o' Flight, the film staring a swarm of Tahnok. ³-Please note, I am using 1 kio = .1 km as per my previous posts, if this offends you simply multiply every number in this post by 43.75966487787¾⁴ ⁴-Yes even this one.

While I was working on this I made some more revelations about the core which will probably need its own post. ;_; This thing already took 3 days to make....

[pumpkinspiceeddie]

kinktober 3: Steve/Eddie & voice kink

Rated E • no UD, modern era, sex worker Eddie, phone sex, slight feminization, dom!Eddie (no one’s surprised)

For @lawrencebshoggoth 😘😏

Steve was grocery shopping, trying to decide what he wants to meal prep for the week. When a warm sensation floods his belly, his dick hardening in his slacks. The fuck?

Searching around him, he can’t figure out what is happening. Why is his body reacting like this to salad?

A voice from the next aisle finally registers to him.

“No, Chrissy! I’m not letting you set up my uncle with random women for your sick amusement!”

At first he can’t place the voice, but his now fully hard dick knows it instantly.

“Oh fuck,” Steve mumbles. He leaves his cart and races to the front door before he’s aware of what he’s doing.

In his beemer, he takes deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart and the throbbing between his legs.

It had started as a misclick on his favorite site, a happy accident. Steve had never ventured into spicy audios before, but soon he was addicted and the velvety voice of PuppetMaster was his go-to way of getting off.

The knowledge that this person who had become one of his only sexual fantasies was out there and close by had Steve feeling ashamed yet unbelievably turned on. He took a paid day from work and spent a lot of time … taking care of himself.

“That’s it, baby. Look so good all spread out for me. Oh, fuck,” the strangers deep voice rolled across him as he fucked into his fist.

It felt more dirty now, the humiliation factor ratcheting up as he listened. The fact that there was a real person to complete the fantasy made it even more tantalizing.

He couldn’t even tell anyone about it. At work he felt like his skin was too tight, the lights too bright.

After a very long week, Steve didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was going to shake out of his skin. The audios weren’t enough anymore. His brain cycled through versions of the man speaking, but couldn’t land on one. He would get so obsessed about trying to think of a face that he couldn’t finish.

A few beers later, Steve found himself blindly searching the name online.

He almost dropped his phone when a TikTok account popped up.

This definitely didn’t help matters. But his dick was back on board. The man was beautiful, much more so than his meager imagination could come up with. The long wavy hair, big brown eyes. His lips.

He’d snuck his hand down before he realized. Then he froze. Was this too far? Jerking it to this stranger’s social media?

There weren’t a lot of videos, and he was irritated to find that the man wasn’t using his own voice, mostly lip syncing popular sounds. Scrolling down, his thumb found an earlier video. It was a comical thirst trap set up, but the way the man’s arms came up to grab the top of the doorframe showing off his tattooed biceps and ribs, the way his eyes darkened as he swept his gaze down the camera made his breath catch.

Steve let the video loop until he came twice.

Then a message slid down from the top of the page. With the man’s tiny circle face.

Hey there

Oh no. How had this happened?

He swiped back to the video and realized not only had he followed the page, in his exuberance he’d spammed that video with emojis.

It occurred to him that he could just ignore it. Delete the message, his account, the app, never have to think about this again.

But his stupid dick had him going back to the man’s page. His profile didn’t give much information. But there was a link.

“Holy shit,” Steve gasped as the page loaded.

He had never allowed himself to explore OnlyFans, given his track record with this new addiction. He didn’t understand most of the jargon he was skimming over, but it hit him that there was an untapped treasure trove of content from this man who had been the source of all of his recent orgasms.

He subscribed and didn’t blink at whatever dollar amount was charged.

Then he got a second message.

PuppetMaster: You work fast, pretty

His brain helpfully supplied the voice and the face to go along with it and his dick stirred. The way this stranger had overhauled his body should be concerning. But all he could do now was go along with it.

Steve clicked on the notification and tried to come up with something to say.

PuppetMaster: Oh, now he’s shy

PuppetMaster: I don’t want to scare you away

He gulped, then started typing.

SteveH1102: You’re not going to scare me away. But I might scare you

PuppetMaster: Oh?

PuppetMaster: Cute little thing like you? I doubt it

Steve smiled in spite of himself.

SteveH1102: I’ve, let’s say, enjoyed your work that I’ve found elsewhere but just discovered your actual page

His heart was beating so fast, his anxious energy didn’t allow him to keep laying across his couch. He got up to pace around his apartment.

PuppetMaster: Well that’s not scary. I’m glad you found your way to me

“Christ,” Steve whispered.

SteveH1102: The thing is, you aren’t from around Indianapolis, are you?

There was a longer pause between messages now, and he was waiting for some notification that he was blocked or otherwise in trouble. He grabbed another beer from the fridge and drank half of it in a long pull.

PuppetMaster: Maybe I didn't give you enough credit, handsome. That would send chills up anyone’s spine

SteveH1102: I’m sorry, I probably could’ve worded it better. I’m sort of drinking. I’m pretty sure I overheard you on the phone at the grocery store and well, recognized your voice

A thought popped into his head. Without allowing the man to respond, he started typing again.

SteveH1102: This is actually you, right? Not like an assistant or like a catfish situation?

PuppetMaster: It’s all me, baby. It’s cute you think I’m big enough to have outsourced my porn site

SteveH1102: Could we video call?

He blinked as he realized he sent it. Counted to thirty and still didn’t have a response.

SteveH1102: I’d pay for your time, or however this works. Of course

There was a pop-up requiring some more details from him and a payment that he quickly clicked through.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve breathed as he stared at the live video. The other man was smart enough to throw a light on, and was either on a computer or had turned his phone sideways.

“Same to you. Your profile picture doesn’t do you justice.”

It was definitely him, and getting to watch the voice he’d become addicted to come from those lips made chills travel down his body.

Steve huffed a laugh, walking quickly back over to his couch next to the only lamp that was on. When he’d dropped down onto a rough throw pillow he also remembered he’d taken his shirt off.

“You gunna give me a show, handsome? Getting comfy?”

Steve tried to bite back the moan that escaped, he really did. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea after all.

“Why not? I’m having fun.”

He gaped at the smirk across the beautiful face and winced as he realized he’d spoken that aloud.

“Convinced it’s me, yet? Are you going to tell me what you were thinking when you put all kinds of heart eyes on my TikTok?”

Steve knew this teasing commanding tone and wasn’t surprised when his cock started filling again.

“I didn’t mean to, ma- um, it was a mistake. I was-”

He received a low growl and a full mischievous grin.

“It’s Eddie, by the way. But you can call me master if you want. I’ll let you know if you do anything I don’t like, and I’d appreciate if you’d do the same.”

“Oh my god.” Steve felt way too in over his head to have this conversation.

“So your hand just slipped,” Eddie continued, ignoring him. There was a low chuckle, and his face got bigger in the screen. “Were you doing something naughty, pretty boy?”

Steve whined and his hips jolted on their own accord.

“I think that’s a yes, then. Is there somewhere you can prop your phone up, Stevie? So I can see you better? And you don’t have to hold it?”

He blinked, unsure of what was happening, but then searched around quickly. He set his beer bottle down on the coffee table and stuck his phone in front of it. It was a bit of an awkward angle, but Eddie hummed at him.

“There’s a good boy. Still got your work pants on? Came home all stressed and decided to come look for me?”

He dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from dipping his hand into his pants.

“E-eddie,” he gasped.

Eddie clicked his tongue at him. “Now, now, pretty. We both know that’s not what you want to call me. Go ahead, try again.”

Steve had a silent war with himself while they stared at each other.

“Or we could talk about the weather, or music or whatever,” Eddie teased.

He giggled, and his mouth betrayed him again. “I would probably get off just from that anyways.”

Eddie’s face brightened and he laughed, low and filthy. “Oh yeah? Maybe we’ll try that sometime. C’mon, show me. Let me see you.”

He groaned, covering his face instead.

“Don’t you dare.” Eddie’s hardened voice had him moving his hands instantly. “What a good boy you are for me. Now, I’m sure you wanna come as much as I do- uh huh, now we’ve got his attention. Slide those expensive pants down.”

Steve swallowed hard, raising his hips as he wiggled out of his slacks.

Eddie yanked his shirt off quickly, like he wasn’t willing to miss a second of Steve. It sent an even more powerful wave of warmth through him. He was lightly muscled, but most of his chest and arms were covered with dark ink. Steve wanted to lick every inch.

“Please,” he whined.

“I know, baby. We’re getting there. You look so good, all desperate and writhing.”

It was so close to his favorite audios that he gasped.

“Ohhh, so that’s what you’ve been enjoying, Stevie? Those do seem to get spread far and wide. Speaking of… why don’t you lose your panties, honey. Let me see all of you.”

The word panties almost had him coming already, the humiliation burning in his belly. Biting his lip, he pulled the waistband of his briefs down, quickly leaning back at Eddie’s snapped fingers when he blocked the camera.

“Well, big boy, now what should we do about that?”

His dick was, predictably, hard and dripping. Again. He would’ve been impressed by his refraction period if he wasn’t literally following directions from this sex god.

Steve couldn’t speak as he realized Eddie had also stripped, but he was keeping below his belly button out of camera view as his hand moved.

“Really glad you found me tonight, pretty boy. Look at you,” Eddie purred.

He couldn’t keep his hand from sliding down his length, and the deep groan that burst out from him.

Neither of them said anything as they soaked in the view and each other’s noises, but Steve couldn’t hold back the whine at Eddie’s growled, “Hands off.”

His dick twitched against his belly as he stared almost unseeingly at his phone. Eddie still kept his own hands and dick out of view. He was suddenly more desperate to see Eddie’s hands working himself over than coming.

“Please,” he croaked. “Eddie- I need-”

“You can wait,” Eddie responded coolly.

“No, please. Can I see you? Wanna see your cock!”

The moan from his phone made him shiver, but he wasn’t prepared for the sinful look that spread across Eddie’s face.

“Oh yeah? More than you want to touch yourself?”

Steve whimpered but nodded.

“You’re so precious, Stevie. Say it again.”

The order made more precome slide down his dick and he clenched his hands in the cushion under him. “Please let me see you, Eds? Please?”

Eddie reached up and did something to make the angle different. “Such nice begging, baby.”

He licked his lips unconsciously, thinking about how full his mouth would be with that thick cock shoved into it.

“Gods, your mouth, Stevie. I stared so hard at those lips in your picture. They’d look so good stretched around me.”

Eddie was apparently a talker, while Steve only managed to whimper and try to keep his hands away from his persistent problem.

“Being so good for me, pretty. I want to bite those moles on your thigh. No, don’t hide. You’re fucking delicious, Stevie.”

Eddie’s hand quickened, twisting around the head. “You want my come so bad, don’t you slut?”

He could only whine and nod, sliding further down the couch as if he could get physically closer for him.

“Want it in your mouth? Or across your tits?”

Steve gasped and closed his eyes against the burn of humiliation that almost had him coming apart.

Eddie hummed. “Yeah, rub it into your chest hair and down to your pretty cock.”

He opened his eyes in time to watch Eddie grunt, mesmerized as his muscles bunched and he threw his head back as he came hard. His head shot up at Steve’s small, “Oh, oh, oh fuck!”

He’d never come untouched before.

Gasping, rocking through the aftershocks as he came down, he nervously looked back at Eddie. The look of pure want and fire in his eyes made him groan softly.

“So, Stevie, what was it you said about living in the area?”

[heavyhitterheaux]

Best Friend's Boyfriend (NSFW)

Synopsis: You and Jack run in the same circle of friends, and you both have feelings for each other but are scared to admit them. Your best friend knows how much you like him and swears that he doesn't like you back. Instead of helping you to ask Jack out on a date, she starts to date him all in a plan to make you jealous. But you get the last laugh in the end.

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Best Friend!Reader

Requested by: an amazing anon 💕

Do not engage if you are underage

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

A sigh escaped your lips as you took another swig of your drink and looked over to your left and rolled your eyes.

She was all over him.

Again.

Her being your “friend” Skylar.

Him being one of your close friends, Jack.

You and Jack had been friends since you met in middle school at the age of eleven and you didn't meet Skylar until you moved to Atlanta with Jack.

Your entire group of friends decided to spend a week in Denver staying at an expensive top of the line cabin since it had been awhile since you all had seen one another.

Well since they had seen you.

In the back of your mind, you were debating on if you were going to leave and cut your trip short because you weren't quite sure how much more you could take.

Recently, you and Skylar had spent some time together when you confessed to her in confidence that you saw Jack more than a friend, but you weren't quite sure if he felt the same way towards you.

So what did she do?

Go out on a date with him despite your feelings and they had been together for the past two months.

After that occurred, you distanced yourself from the both of them and when Jack would try to invite you somewhere, you steadily declined. He had been missing you and was very excited when you said yes when he asked you to come to Denver.

However, the only reason that you agreed was because you had been told Skylar would not be in attendance. So when you arrived, you immediately wanted to walk back out the door and go home.

Even though she was all over him, Jack looked uninterested, but your thoughts were interrupted by Urban coming to sit next to you. Besides Skylar, he was the only one who knew how you felt about Jack.

Urban had told you time and time again to tell him, but being as shy as you were, you decided against it.

“You okay? If I would’ve known…”

“It's fine, Urby. Don't worry about it. Just have to make the best of it I guess.” You replied while shrugging.

“If it makes you feel any better, Jack is not as interested in her as she thinks he is. Probably won't last too much longer.”

“But it’s the fact that she calls herself my friend and then goes behind my back and….”

Urban immediately cut you off.

“She's not your friend. Friends don't do what she did.”

“I have a feeling that she used me to get to him. Urban, you know I’m quiet and wouldn't harm a fly. She took advantage of that.” You confessed as you poured yourself another glass of some wine that Jack had bought for you since he knew red was your favorite. It was a new brand that you had never tried before.

“I know, but karma's a bitch. She’ll get hers.”

“And it seems as if she doesn't care. She acts like nothing happened between us. How? How can she do that? I told her how I felt and…”

“Tell him how you feel. That's who matters in all this anyway.” Your eyes went wide at Urban's suggestion and you quickly shook your head no.

“I guarantee you that it will go better than you think. He really misses you.”

Before you could have a chance to respond, Jack made his way over to the both of you and picked you up and brought you into a hug.

Urban simply smirked as he looked behind you and Jack to see Skylar rolling her eyes at the scene in front of her.

The one thing that Urban didn't tell you was the fact that Jack liked you as well. Jack thought the feelings weren't reciprocated and when Skylar approached him to ask him out on a date, he figured why not?

Even though he had been around her for a few years because of you two being friends, he didn't notice that something was off until he had spent more time with her when it was just the two of them. He often talked about you, but all Skylar would do is talk down about you and that was one thing he put a stop to immediately.

He didn't know why he kept her around for so long, but quickly made a decision that when this trip was over, he was done with her. He had a feeling that was why you would decline when he asked you to hang out with him. He also noticed how the two of you seemed to have drifted apart within the last year, and not just recently.

However, Urban didn't like her from the moment you introduced her to them.

“I missed you.” Jack said as he whispered in your ear before hugging you tighter and you immediately melted into his arms.

“I missed you too, bubs.”

“I have you for an entire week and I'm definitely taking advantage of it. Did you like the wine I got for you? I know red is your favorite and my mom said that you might like it.”

“It's really good and I'm definitely getting a few bottles when we get back home. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Always.” Jack said as his hands rested on your waist and he quickly reached up and poked your nose making you laugh.

A minute later Sunni and Cope came through the front door with bags of food since no one had wanted to cook when you all had gotten there and set them on the counter in the kitchen. All of you decided to simply relax the first night and then do different things around Denver for the remainder of the time that you were there.

“Finally! I'm starving!” Exclaimed Urban who was hot on their trail.

You and Jack laughed and it looked like he wanted to tell you something before Skylar had called his name.

One thing you did notice was him sighing when she did it, wondering what that was about.

“Babe! Can you fix my plate and bring it to me!?”

“Sure.” Jack said quietly, but he still had his eyes on you.

“We’ll continue this later.” He said as he leaned down to whisper it and you immediately nodded.

—

“What movie are we watching?” You asked as everyone had gotten their food and made their way back into the living room.

“Y/N! Come and sit by me.” Skylar piped up and said and you looked at her confused. Jack was hoping that you would say yes while Urban stifled a laugh once he saw the look on your face.

“Sorry, Urban already asked me.” You answered without missing a beat and going to sit next to him.

“The Nun!” Cope suggested and you knew for a fact that you would probably have to sleep in Urban's room if everyone agreed on that.

“I’m not watching any scary shit. Next.” Sunni said and Cope rolled his eyes.

“Bad Boys 3! The next one is coming out in a few months.” Jack said as he was scrolling through his phone.

“I still can't believe he slapped Chris Rock.”

“I don't see how anyone finds him funny anyway.” You said remembering all the movies that you had seen him in.

You had fallen asleep during every single one.

“I second that. When it first happened, I thought it was a joke.”

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

Jack glanced over at Skylar who was now downing another wine cooler and he noticed that she hadn't stopped drinking since they had gotten there earlier in the day.

“Uhh Skylar, do you want me to get you some water?” He asked concerned and she quickly turned up her nose at him.

“For what? If I wanted it, I would have gotten it.”

“I was just asking.” Jack replied as he held his hands up in defense and you quickly rolled your eyes.

One thing Skylar could not do was hold her liquor. It would go one of two ways, her crying and throwing up, or her being knocked out for hours. You were hoping it was the latter so you would be able to have Jack to yourself for a while.

—

The movie had finally ended and Skylar having gotten drunk off her ass was now passed out on the couch which you weren't surprised by. However, you were caught off guard when Jack asked you to help take her upstairs.

“Um, sure.”

You weren't quite sure exactly what you were helping with since Jack could easily carry her but said yes anyway.

He told you to go first up the steps as he slung Skylar easily over his shoulder. You couldn't wait to go to sleep yourself in the hopes of tomorrow being a better day for you.

All Jack did was lay her on the bed and once you turned around to leave, he caught your hand.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah? What's wrong?” You asked after growing suddenly concerned.

Jack held your hand for a few minutes before opening his mouth and responding to you.

“I… should have never said yes to going on a date with her when I knew that you were the person that I wanted. I didn't know if you felt the same way so the easiest thing to do was to distract myself.”

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest before it suddenly felt as if it had dropped down to your stomach.

“It wasn't supposed to be like this and I quickly learned that she only wants me because of what my name is attached to. I don't like her as a person at all. Now I see what Urb was talking about.”

“Jack….”

“Let me finish. You know she's a heavy sleeper and the last thing she is about to do is wake up. I've liked you since I met you but was entirely too scared to say anything.”

“I… I told Skylar how I felt about you and instead of helping me figure out a way to approach you about it, she goes and asks you out for herself. She continues to act like nothing happened as if we're still close but that was…. Friends don't do what she did.”

You felt as if a weight had been lifted off your chest once everything was finally out in the open.

“So that's why you've been avoiding me for two months?” Jack asked as he pinched your cheek.

“I didn't want to, but I felt as if distance was best.”

You said as you shrugged.

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Never do that again.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

You turned to walk away once more when Jack had suddenly stopped you and captured you in a kiss catching you off guard. You eagerly kissed him back and the two of you were in a full blown makeout session when Jack's hand snuck under your shirt. He smiled when he came to the realization that you weren't wearing a bra.

“I need this off of you.” He said as he massaged your left breast and kissed down your neck.

“But… she's right there.”

“So, what's your point babe? I know you want this just as much as I do. But just say the word if you want me to stop.”

Jack was met with silence and he easily got your shirt off in one swift movement as he laughed and kissed the shell of your ear.

“I didn't think so.”

Jack's hand quickly reached into your shorts and began to rub small circles along your clit and he simply smirked noticing how wet you were.

“Mmm, all of that for me, huh?” He asked as he moved his fingers up to his mouth to taste you.

All you could do was eagerly nod as he cupped your face to kiss you once more.

“You taste so good, but I want more. I need you to do something for me, pretty girl.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go and lay on the bed.”

“I..”

“Keep quiet and don't make a sound because I’ll stop. Lay on the bed and I'm going to fuck you right next to her.”

Your adrenaline was pumping at the thought of getting caught, but the last thing you were going to tell Jack was no. Slipping off your shorts, you did as you were told as you noticed Skylar had rolled to the other side of the bed and let out a loud snore as Jack quickly undressed and began stroking himself while peering down at you making your mouth water.

Jack then climbed on top of you leaving a trail of kisses down your body until he got to your most prized possession and spread your legs apart and he took one long lick making you gasp.

“Shh, stay quiet for me. Look how pretty this pussy is.”

Your hand instantly went over your mouth in an attempt to keep quiet as Jack pleasured you. He then inserted two of his fingers as he sucked on your clit. A moan escaped your mouth for a quick second, but you quickly recovered in the hopes of not waking Skylar up.

“You taste so good, baby. I can't wait until you cum all over my face.”

Not trusting your voice because you knew the second your mouth opened that a moan would escape, you eagerly nodded your head as you started to roll your nipples in between your fingers as Jack continued to give you his undivided attention.

You didn't know how much time had passed, but Jack had made you release all over his face multiple times before you slowly felt him slide into you. The sensation made you gasp and he quickly kissed you to make sure you stayed quiet.

Your arms instantly went around his neck as he began to increase his pace. Jack had taken one of your nipples in his mouth when you felt Skylar move. You know Jack felt it too, but all he did was bite down which he knew was going to lead to you squirming. Once he lifted his head back up, he smirked at you before continuing to pound into you.

“You’re taking me so well, pretty girl.”

“Jack…” That was the first time you had moaned his name all night which quickly gave him an ego boost as it escaped from your lips.

“I’m…..”

“Close? Me too. Come on then, baby. Cum for me, cum all over this dick that's rightfully yours.”

That was all it took as you reached your peak with Jack then releasing all over your chest and stomach.

All that could be heard was heavy breathing as both of you were trying to catch your breath. Jack was still hovering over you and leaned down to kiss you as his fingers started to slowly rub small circles along your clit once more. He quickly heard your whimpers and smirked.

“Hmm, didn't take you for a girl who would fuck her best friend's boyfriend.”

“All she did was keep my spot warm until I could rightfully take my place. Now it's my turn. Lay down and let me ride you.” You said as you leaned up to kiss him.

[achaoticeternal]

you matter to me.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x READER

summary: they all told you it would be difficult to love him. word count: 0.9k a/n: listen to you matter to me - sara bareilles warnings: sweet, sweet fluff; not proof reader; afab reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"I thought I would find you here," Aemond turned his head to see you approaching him, your figure descending from the stairs.

He had just seen his strong nephews observe his training sessions with Ser Criston. At least until they ran back under the protective gaze of their mother, Rhaenyra.

"My lady," He looked at you with a slight smirk, setting his sword down on the table of the armory. A part of him wished you had arrived earlier so that you could see another one of his victories in sparring against the Kingsmen, "How might I be of service?"

You offered him a warm smile with your simple response, "I just wanted to see you..."

Your relationship with the prince was... interesting. With your family being in direct service to the Throne, you had practically grown up in the Keep with the Targaryen children. Though you had been close friends with Aemond for years, things had only recently shifted. Every time his brother or nephews tormented him, his studies or training frustrated him, and even when he lost his eye... you were there to comfort him. It shouldn't have been that shocking when nearly three moons ago, the Queen and your Lord Father announced the betrothal between you and the prince.

"Do you think you have time to take a walk with me through the gardens?" You asked politely.

Aemond reflected for a moment before offering a curt nod, "As long as you do not mind walking with me after I've trained."

"I never mind walking with you, my prince," You smiled to him, looking at him with a loving look that he hadn't quite expected, "I find myself quite lucky to have the chance to have your company as often as I do."

The corners of his lips tipped upwards for just a moment before settling back into their typical half-smirk. Aemond offered out his arm to you which you willingly accepted. Upon tucking yourself into his side, you wiped off a patch of dirt on the sleeve of his shirt that must've gotten there during his sparring.

As you walk through the fine gardens of the Keep, you passed by plenty of other nobles who were there to hear the trial that would occur the next day. They would bow their heads to both of you, but very few sparred any words to the pair. Yet as soon as they were passed you both, their faint whispers could be heard.

To be betrothed to a Targaryen prince used to be an honor... That poor girl, I do hope he treats her decently, at least... Such a beauty, wasted on such a beast...

With each encounter and following remark, Aemond grew more tense. His jaw was clenched and his posture had stiffened up, making him isolated from you despite your close proximity.

But as soon as you saw him wince slightly, no doubt due to the pain his scar would cause him, you suggested you both return inside.

"Are you tired of the gardens?" He snipped at you, "Or tired of being seen with the One-Eyed Prince?"

Though he had sparked quite the attitude, you replied calmly, "My prince, I know when you are in pain and I do not wish for it to turn into a headache from the noise and bustle of the Keep. Please, allow me to help you... let me take care of you..."

Aemond begrudgingly allowed you to return with him to his private chambers, though a maid also accompanied the pair of you. Just because you were betrothed did not mean you were allowed to be completely unchaperoned. After unbuckling his eye patch, you gingerly pressed the cool, damp cloth on the edges of the scar.

"If it hurts too much, I can have Milk of the Poppy sent for," You told him so that he may consider it.

"No, no," He shook his head slightly, "I've seen what it has done to my father and I do not wish for that."

When he waved your hand away from his face, you instead took to sitting beside him as he rested. You grabbed the eyepatch from his nightstand and gently began to clean the fine leather.

Aemond watchfully observed as your cleaned his patch. He watched as you carefully wiped each crevice and even the strap that rested around his head. The kind gestures caused a warmth to spread through his chest.

Suddenly, he felt guilty once more for snapping at you in the gardens earlier that hour, "My lady, you are too considerate for helping me."

"I do not mind it, my prince," You shrugged off the words as you returned the patch and cloth to their spots on the dresser.

"It is too much, more than I deserve, I'm afraid," He shook his head, his eye refusing to meet yours.

Softly, you rested your hand atop of his, "It is not too much. I do it because I lo—"

You stopped yourself, not wanting to burden him with words he was not quite prepared to hear. Then, you intertwined your fingers with his before speaking once more, "I do it because you matter to me, which is never too much to ask from someone who truly cares for you."

Aemond did not respond with his words. Instead, he simply looked to you. But it was a look that said a thousand words, as he gently squeezed your intertwined hands three times.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　　 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

[marinas-drafts]

Honeymoon

A Sky High Lovin’ segment, the swingin’ 60’s

Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu

Warnings 18+: (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🌷🎀🌷

Repost here from my main: @precious-little-scoundrel

There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.

He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.

He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.

The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.

Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.

You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”

He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”

Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.

He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.

He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.

“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.

It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.

“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.

He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.

“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.

You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.

If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.

“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.

“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”

“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”

You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.

It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.

“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.

“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”

That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?

He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.

Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.

And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.

He earned your trust.

“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.

“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.

“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.

“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”

You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.

His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.

His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.

“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?

���Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,

“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”

The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-

“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.

You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.

You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”

He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.

You flush red hot at the sight of him

lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.

He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.

“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.

“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”

He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.

“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.

He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.

You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.

“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”

You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.

You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.

“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.

He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.

“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.

The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.

His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”

You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow

“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.

It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.

Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”

You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.

“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”

Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.

“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”

The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.

“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”

“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”

You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.

“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”

“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.

He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”

You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.

“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.

“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.

“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.

“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.

“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”

“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.

He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.

“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”

With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.

You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.

You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.

You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.

He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.

The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:

“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”

It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.

Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.

“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”

It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.

“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”

His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.

“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.

“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.

Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.

Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”

You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.

“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.

“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.

You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.

Married life, he could get used to this.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels

“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.

This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.

Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.

Hope y’all enjoyed. This is a repost from my (currently censored) main blog @precious-little-scoundrel and in turn it’s a repost from the original written over a year ago on my deleted OG Elvis blog@aconflagrationofmyown I want to start collecting my fics here in case anything happens with my main. Xoxo