#them gettin high is so real

[siriuslygay1981]

Sirius- Hey, how much is in this?

James- IDK dude, I just took a small piece

*Sirius taking a small bite of the edible*

-Three mins later-

S- Man I think I should've gotten a bigger bite, it's not hittin

- ten minutes later-

*Cue Sirius giggling and hanging upside down on the bed high as hell*

[sleepyjim2]

yap sesh in the tags ! <3 nothing new im just frustrated abt my disordered sleep schedule as always . woke up at 5 pm and i will probably be failing my All Dayer and going to sleep shortly At 8 am and then sleeping for 1 billion years

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part Nine: The Expo

Your eyes widen to saucers as you climb out of John’s work van. The event hall in front of you is huge - the largest in the city. A big, glass dome with a high-end hotel attached. It glows in the morning sun. Lines of people have already formed out front. You passed them on your way around to the vendor entrance. It’s the twentieth anniversary for the Tattoo Expo, apparently, which means they expect massive crowds.

“I hate that Kyle couldn’t come.” You frown as a security worker hands over your badge. It’s fancy - heavy weight with brightly colored, neo-traditional graphics. Something about having the word VENDOR hanging around your neck makes your heart skip.

John sighs, heaving one of the boxes of his books onto your dolly. “Yeah. He tried but he couldn’t get his head out of the toilet long enough to do much of anythin’.”

You wrinkle your nose. Apparently he had caught some nasty stomach bug, poor guy. You thought about calling and checking in on him, but you worried that was too clingy. After… everything, you don’t want to come off as anything other than normal about it. Which you are. Totally normal.

At least Johnny was home for the day to help him out.

“Has Simon ever come?” You ask, titling the dolly pack to push into the convention hall.

John’s arms flex as he fights with his rolling tool box to get the handle back out so he can pull it. He just had to wear a sleeveless muscle tee, didn’t he? It’s rude, frankly. You look over his more rarely exposed shoulder and upper arm pieces - some more faded than others. Some more colorful, some better crafted. Part of you wants to reach out - to trace them the same way you want to with Simon. You want to ask him in detail about each one. Maybe he’ll let you, someday.

“Can you actually picture Simon in a convention hall?” He chuckles eventually, finally getting the toolbox rolling properly.

You laugh. “Guess not.”

The 141 booth sits in the center of the floor, surrounded by a few other big-name shops and figures in the community. You glance around at them, only recognizing a few. You don’t get much time to look around. There are only a couple hours designated for set up and you have to help hang all the flash options, get the cash box sorted, and be ready for the flood when it comes. You’ve mentally prepared for chaos, reading through pretty much every reddit and twitter thread you could find about convention disasters. You know that won’t happen here, and even if something did, John wouldn’t abandon you to it. Still, you feel better being mentally prepared for anything - no matter how unrealistic.

“Why do you still do these?” You ask, pinning one of the large flash sheets to the display board. “I mean - you don’t exactly have to get your name out there.”

“I enjoy them- the community. I was here when this was still bein’ held underground in an old warehouse.” John looks around, eyes scanning the rows of artists. He doesn’t share his thoughts, just stands there quietly for a moment with his hands on his hips. After a few beats he grumbles quietly, “Gettin’ old…”

You focus on setting up the front table where you’ll be stationed. John brought a few prints of work as well as several copies of his book. He brought a few signed ones as well, only selling them for about twenty more bucks than the usual price. You asked why he doesn’t mark them up more, but he just shrugged you off with a mutter of ‘I’m not all that’ before moving on to another task. You decided it was best not to argue that he is, indeed, all that. His books are literally filled until the late fall.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so proud of setting up a decently aesthetically pleasing display all on your own when you’re surrounded by real artists, but you still grin wide with your hands on your hips. It’s simple, with cards for each of the boys lining one sit and a roll of tattoo tickets for the day beside the cash box. The table cloth with the shop’s name looks nearly identical to the sign. One might call it lazy marketing, you find it charming.

“Somethin’ happen with you and Kyle?” John asks suddenly, back turned as he messes with something in his rolling tool box full of supplies.

You freeze, eyes wide and mouth dry. Did Kyle say something? You thought you’d been normal about it. Kyle hadn’t acted any differently - which shouldn’t have hurt your feelings - and you were sure you’d met him with the same level of normalcy. The past weeks race through your mind. Every moment, every interaction, picking each apart into threads in milliseconds.

“Uh, no? Why?” It comes out squeaky. Unsure. Lord, you really are a terrible liar.

John hums. He’s quiet for barely a beat, a moment that seems to stretch for lifetimes. You can almost feel your cells aging while you wait. “You’ve been quieter than usual around him. Just wanted t’make sure.”

“Oh.” Had you? You thought you’d been the same as always. Both of you totally moved on from… the incident. Well, except for those few times you caught yourself staring - zoning out while thinking about the way his lips pressed to yours. Imagining Kyle pulling you into the back room again. Another kiss with less nervousness and more heat. Actually bending you over the desk properly-

“Y’with me, love?” John snaps you back to reality.

“Yeah!” You jump and stutter. “Yeah. No. We’re fine. I’m… fine.”

You wonder if the giant guy in the weird homemade mask at the booth across from yours would smash your head in if you paid him. Let him free you from the torment of embarrassment. It had been eating away at you, if you’re honest with yourself, and now lying right to John’s face just feels… awful. He’ll find out. You know he will. Maybe he already knows as that was a test. Fuck if it was, you totally just failed.

The clock turns to nine, and you have no choice but to let that be a problem for your future self.

Something you realize rather quickly as the attendees begin to flood the hall is that John is a god here. People don’t meet his eye. They speak meekly, even to you, with voices low and faces flushed. The line for your booth stretches down the walkway as soon as the doors open - appointment tickets practically flying out of your hands. You overhear a pair of friends muttering about sleeping outside overnight to get in early enough for John’s booth. It makes your head spin.

You wonder if they’d still act that way if they saw him snoring open-mouthed at the desk in the back room mid-afternoon.

“Thought I heard 141 got a new front desk girl.” A syrupy southern accident lilts above you just as you finish selling tickets. He’s handsome. Blonde and blue eyed with a little scar gracing his cheekbone. Not much younger than John, you don’t think. Probably around Simon’s age.

You slip on your usual customer service smile. “Hello! How can I-”

“Graves.” John grunts behind you, not even looking up from the work in front of him. “What d’you want?”

“Just wanted to come see how you were.” The man - Graves - grins wide. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “And to meet your new front of house. Philip.”

You take the hand he holds out, giving a perfunctory shake and your name. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that John doesn’t like this guy, whoever he is, and you’re inclined to trust his judgement. You opt for basic small talk. “Are you an artist?”

Graves nods. “I own Shadow & Co. It’s a few blocks over from your place.”

Oh. You’d heard of them. They came highly recommended when you were looking for artists in the area initially. In the end you opted for John based entirely on vibes. The Shadow building is far too modern - to minimalist - for your liking. Too corporate.

“Y’know, we’re looking for a new desk girl as well.” Graves smiles. You do your best not to sneer at his use of desk girl. “We’re growing pretty quick - even if you wanted to split your time-”

“She’s full time with us.” John snaps - blatant irritation lining the edges of his voice. He still doesn’t turn around.

The blonde man pauses, glancing between you. Something passes over his eyes - some implicit knowing that you don’t quite get - but it’s gone just as fast as it came. He digs into his pocket, flipping open a too-new wallet and pulling out a business card. “Well, if you ever want to work somewhere more exciting-” you nearly laugh at that. “-give us a call, hm?”

You glance up to his face, then back down at the card. John’s tattoo gun continues to buzz behind you, but you can tell he’s slowed down. He’s listening. Before even really thinking you extend your hand, pushing the card he holds away from you.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m very happy here.”

Philip scoffs, dropping the card on the table. “Keep us in mind, yeah?”

He disappears into the crowd easily - blending in just like his shop’s namesake. Your nose wrinkles. You snatch up the card and tear it in two. “Dickhead.”

You think you hear John chuckling behind you, but can’t be sure over the roar of the convention.

The day flies by - people bustle by your booth. You run out of signed books just over halfway through - prints not long after. Your voice feels hoarse from talking to so many people. The hall has grown quite hot and you’re sure that your hair looks insane at this point. Either way, you’re having a great time. You get to talk to a with full body trash polka that you like for some reason. You get to meet one of the people involved in the stage competition - her massive thigh piece holding some of the best color work you’ve ever seen. All in all, despite the discomfort, you think this ranks in your top ten favorite days. Maybe top five.

“Excuse me?” Murmurs a voice so soft you almost miss it entirely over the roar of the convention. When you look up, you’re met with a painfully young face. Definitely not old enough for the 17+ entrance requirement.

“Hi!” You put on your warmest smile. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh, I was just…” They stutter, shifting in place. “I- Are there any signed copies left?”

You look them over, a too-familiar pang in your chest. You know those eyes, that anxiety. The jumpy way they look around at the people passing by and tug at their sleeves. Your teeth sink into your lip and you look over at the three blanks that make up your entire left over stock. Glancing over your shoulder, you see John finishing with his current client - giving the man a firm handshake before turning to clean up his station. There’s a fifteen minute break until the next one - his last for the night - and as much as you don’t want to take up his precious little time to set up…

“Let me check!” You squeak, shaky as you grab one of the blanks with all the subtlety of a brick over the head and cross the few feet over to where John sits. You lean over to speak in his ear, low enough that the kid won’t hear you. “John?”

“Hm?” He hums, turning slightly on his stool.

“Can you sign this one?” You chew your lip. “I know you had a set amount but this kid looks so…”

He glances behind you at the teenager in question, bashfully staring at their feet.

“I’m sorry, I know you need to set up for the next-”

John cuts you off by taking the book from your hands and standing.

“Thanks, dove.” He gives you that lovely, warm smile and rolls his shoulders before making his way over to the front table.

The teenager’s eyes go so wide you think they might pop out of their head. You decide to hang back and not interrupt their moment. John sets the book on the table and grabs a sharpie from your back up stash of pens. The kid mumbles something you can’t understand. John’s voice lowers as well. You can’t hear them, but you watch John scrawl something in the book and hand it over. He pushes away the crumpled, messy wad of cash the teenager tries to give him, shaking his head and saying something else that you don’t catch. The kid looks like they’re about to cry, a wide, wet grin splitting their face as they say goodbye and practically prance away.

You melt, shoulders slouching and what you’re sure is a very stupid smile breaking out across your lips. You don’t know why you doubted him for even a moment.

“What’s that face?” John scoffs, cocking a brow at you.

“Nothing.” You shake your head and re-take your spot at the table.

The ending of the convention is rather uneventful. Some of the other booths begin clearing up early. You take the time to count the cash box - which is absolutely stuffed to the brim. John rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck about five times in the span of a few minutes. Maybe you could convince them to do a company yoga class. It’s easy to see how tense and tired they get. You file that idea away for later.

Luckily most of the booth set up belonged to the venue and, since you sold out of books and prints, you don’t have haul those back to the van. All you have to take is John’s rolling toolbox and tattooing table. All things that easily fit in your bag and dolly. Thank god. Neither of you speak much on the drive back to the shop - opting for comfortable silence. Your ears ring ever so slightly from the noise of the convention hall. When you were in it, you hadn’t realized just how loud it was. John’s eyes are locked on the road, the slight glow from the setting sun warming his skin.

The sun just disappears over the horizon as you put the last of the equipment in the backroom - stacked rather messily but that’s another problem for future you. You’ve been working for a grand total of fourteen hours and, somehow, it still has yet to hit you. Adrenaline and excited energy still pulse under your skin.

John sighs loudly, crossing each arm over his chest to stretch them out. “Could really go for a scotch right now. You want a nightcap?”

Your cheeks warm, still riding high from the excitement of the day you agree easily. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He gives you a gentle smile, softened further by the low street lights. “Let me show you a spot.”

The place John leads you to is small. Local. You sit at the bar and take a moment to look around. Three pool tables take up half the floor space. It looks like a small tournament is going on - a white board showing the matches and who will go against who next. Two ski-ball machines are tucked in a corner beside the bathroom, currently taken up by two younger men who you aren’t completely sure are drinking age. The lights and music are both low. One of the bartenders is posted up on the opposite end of the bar with two other people watching Shin Godzilla on the mounted television. It’s cozy and oh-so very John Price.

You get an easy sipper, something fruity and sweet as a treat for the long day you’ve had. It’s nice against the warmth of the summer evening. A heat that’s only aggravated by the one that settles in your spine whenever the guys are around. John especially.

“Think that kid was a little young for the event…” You blurt in a poor attempt to make conversation.

John nods along. “Definitely.”

“That was really nice of you. I didn’t want to… I don’t know.” You murmur, unsure why exactly the words won’t stop. You blame the drinks and exhaustion. Seems realistic enough. “They just seemed so sad.”

“Wasn’t nice. Just the right thing t’do.” John shrugs. His words come slow, almost as if he’s unsure if he should say them. Though, you find it hard to believe he has ever been unsure about anything in his life. “I know what its like… to need t’escape. Lied about my age just to enlist.”

Your eyes widen. “R-really?”

He hums. “They didn’t care much back then.”

For some reason you never thought about John’s childhood - his homelife. You know he has a mom somewhere. Kyle let it slip a couple of times - said she’s a really good cook. John doesn’t volunteer information about himself often, you gathered that much. He’s worse than Simon, somehow, which says a fucking lot.

“Did-” you mull over your words. “You didn’t grow up around here, yeah?”

It’s a clumsy attempt at getting him to talk, but it works well enough. He nods. “Hereford. My mum’s still out there.”

Score. “Do you visit her much?”

John shrugs, chuckling. “When I can. I could move back home and it wouldn’t be enough for her.”

You snicker.

“She’s the best woman I’ve ever known…” He murmurs, eyes far away. It’s only for a moment, but they look past you. Defocused in a way that seems to out of character for the hyper-aware man.

Your faces are close. Hunched in like school kids exchanging secrets and gossip during recess. Your eyes dart from his to his lips and back. It’s confusing. All of this. The intimacy you have with each of them in these moments is overwhelming. You like Kyle - you liked kissing Kyle - you really shouldn’t be wanting that from your boss, though. A co-worker is bad enough but John… John is off limits. You know that. Even so, you find yourself subconsciously leaning just a bit closer, eyes roving over the freckles you don’t see standing further away and the grey flecks in his eyes. You think, for barely a millisecond, that he leans in too.

Until he sits up straight, tossing back what little is left of his drink. “Let’s head out. Could go for a smoke.”

You nod, swallowing down your thoughts and following him out of the bar like a lost puppy. You’d follow him to the end of the earth, you think. Even if it hurts that you can’t get as close as you want, you’d go anywhere for him. Yeah, that’s definitely the drink and tiredness talking. Part of you also knows that it is undoubtedly true.

John rounds a corner to the side of the bar. It’s moderately lit, a single street lamp just down the way giving you just enough light to see. You lean against the wall beside John, the exhaustion beginning to cling to your eyes.

“Are you?” John asks suddenly.

“Hm?” You hum, unsure of what he’s asking about.

“Happy here?” He cuts the end off a cigar he pulled from the silver box that lives in his back pocket.

In the low light of the alley, his pupils overtake most of his irises. Dark and intense as he looks you over from head to toe. You see it, suddenly. The god that the others do. He’s not as physically large as Simon, or as loud as Johnny, but he fills every inch of any space he enters regardless. You suppose you became so used to being in that radius that you forgot just how much presence he carries. You’ve wrapped yourself in it like a blanket. A shield.

Your cheeks warm and you shuffle your feet. “I… yeah.”

“Good.” John sighs out a cloud of smoke. “It’d be a pain in the arse to replace you. The boys care about you too much.”

You stare up at him. You can feel something on the edge of his tone - some weight that you don’t understand. There always seems to be another layer to the things he says. Implications that you can’t understand, context that you’re missing. Part of you wants to ask, needs to ask, but the words get stuck in your throat. What would you say? You’re not even entirely sure what you need to ask. You know they care about you, and you care for them in turn, so why does it feel like there’s something missing?

“Does the boys include you?” You blurt, one again wishing that big guy from the convention was here to smash your head in like wile e. cayote and the anvil.

He looks you up and down, slightly taken aback while you debate on bolting. “Thought that was obvious.”

You scoff, still flustered. “You’re hard to read.”

“Am I, now?”

You nod. A comfortable silence falls over you, despite the awkwardness surely emanating from you. Your lip catches between your teeth, eyes on your feet. “John?”

“Dove?” He tilts his head, once again leaning ever so slightly closer to you.

“Thank you. For everything.” You murmur, voice low and unsure. “It’s… it’s really good here.”

“Think nothin’ of it, love.”

You look up at those pretty blue eyes. They always make your chest ache with some deep hole you haven’t been able to pin down. At first you could blame it on wanting to do well - to be a good employee. It’s more than that, though. It starts in your chest and seeps it’s way through the rest of you. A want. A craving. That’s the word. You crave those eyes on you. The weight of his hands, the fortitude of him.

You’re not sure who closes the gap - whether it’s you or him - but either way it closes. It’s too natural for the context of your relationship. You slot together too well. It’s not like with Kyle. John carries an intensity with him that Kyle never could. His beard scratches not unpleasantly. His lips are warm - you can taste hints of scotch and his cigar. He smells of spice and earth. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders - unsure of where to put them.

This is wrong. It’s messy. You already lied about Kyle, which he’ll surely find out. If he hasn’t already. What about Johnny? Or Simon? Will they think less of you? Are you less for this? For impulsively kissing your boss in some back alley? Will Kyle be angry if he finds out? Your thoughts surge, all chaotic waves crashing against each other in an attempt to make sense of this situation you find yourself in.

John’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer into him. Your arms drape around his neck as you push onto your tips toes to meet him.

That’s a problem for future you.

A/N: Sorry this part took so long, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to escalate it or not but I want to get a move on with these boys

[k9wa]

⟁ A BULLET A DAY, ft. BOOTHILL.

⠀ — where teasing, annoying, poking and prodding all fall under the same category; flirting.

⚠︎︎ more mechanic! reader, gn, boothill being an idiot, flirting, suggestive, he has fake teeth to me, something about tension + leaving him high and dry is soooo ….

from this request !

it’s a miracle, truly, how boothill manages to be so tempting and endearing yet so utterly irritating and infuriating at the same time. 

and it’s hot, sure, but that just makes it all the more annoying, leaves you frustrated and with an odd pool in your stomach.  

boothill managed his way into your supply of bullets, happily tossing back the brass casings like a simple snack. it was a genius idea at the time, really, giving him a stomach that can store ammunition. though had you expected him to chew on the damn things instead of swallowing them— you know, like he was intended to— you would’ve just given him a little side bag to save yourself the work.

you half hoped the lead stuffing the things would seep into his still intact brain, but chastised yourself for the thought soon after having it. you don’t hate him that much. your brain should check back and try the thought again in twenty minutes. 

“y’know what’d be real neat, buttercup?” boothill’s legs were kicked up lazily on your workbench as he sat next to you, waiting for you to finish a small modification on his revolver. “spikes in my boots.” he lifted a foot up, rolling his ankle a bit. “you know, them retractable ones. be able t’a have some real fun with those things.”

you snorted, his efforts to dodge his synesthesia beacon as entertaining as always.

“since when do i take requests?” you asked, eyes focused down on your work— far too used to his antics to lift your head anymore.

“since when d’you deny gettin’ to tinker with me?”

he brought his feet down to the floor and leaned forward on his thighs, the denim of his pants tightening around them. “what, gonna make me say please and thank ya now?” 

you truly wanted to reply, say it wasn’t a half bad idea and that you’d look into the upgrade. until he started shaking a few bullets around in his palm like they were fucking almonds.

now boothill noticed the clench of your jaw, and oh how he revelled in it. he’s fully aware how the crunching of brass and lead peeves you, ie. you telling him to knock it off an hour ago— (“it ain’t hurtin’ nobody, is it now?”—) but you’re just so darn cute when you’re ticked off. he’s gotta push your buttons just a lil bit. 

“somethin’ the matter?” the way his sharp teeth gleamed through that damn grin weren’t doing anything to help. 

he took a bullet between his thumb and forefinger, the shiny gunmetal digits pinching the ammunition as he held it up next to you. “d’ya care for one, sugar plum?”

fine, you thought. two can play that game.

you tore your attention away from the old steel revolver, finally turning to look at him. boothill prepared for an insult, one he’d tell you was ‘flatterin’ and all,’ but it didn’t come.

you leaned towards his hand, keeping your eyes locked with his that glowed a familiar and faint red. 

then you took the bullet between your tongue and top front teeth, gently pulling it out of his hands with your mouth.

his smirk actually dropped— you’d think someone stuck an infected usb into his ear with all the ideas that flooded the forefront of his brain, making his circuits just tingle with excitement. something about the hot single mechanic in his area.

you turned back to your desk, removing the bullet from your teeth and twirling it between your fingers idly as you gave a once over to his revolver, as if nothing had happened.

boothill blinked, chuckling gruffly with a shake of his head as he slumped back in his chair, flicking another bullet into the air with his thumb and catching it in his palm with a gentle clink! the cyborg gave a low whistle as he kicked his feet back up.

“ain’t you somethin’,” he drawled, earning a chuckle from you. “y’sure know how t’keep a man on his toes, don’t ya buttercup?” 

“i dunno what you mean, boothill.” you only offered a hum, willfully ignorant to boothill’s colourful imagination.

“oh i’m real sure y’don’t.” he shook his head, another chuckle rumbling his chest and sending a shiver down your neck.

“say,” he leaned towards you, his shoulder to yours, feeling a little lucky and dropping his voice to a knee-weakening purr, “if that pretty mouth a’yers likes metal, i’m more’en happy t’a—” 

“all done.”

all bets go down the drain. boothill deadpanned as you clicked the barrel of his gun into place and handed it back to him, standing up to stretch your arms.

“shops closed for today,” you fold them, leaning back against your bench. “you better get a move on before i have to kick you out.”

boothill’s eyes trailed up your figure, taking his sweet time finding your face. the cowboy raised an eyebrow into a cocky arch despite him swearing his body was on the verge of its cooling protocol. 

“you keep woundin’ me, sugar.” 

“i dunno what you mean, boothill.”

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[cvnntagious]

mama

☆ fratboy!chris sturniolo blurb for @chrissexygf...

Chris looked at you as you watched him pry your legs open, giving in to his touch against your better judgement. His pink lips wet with your saliva placed a kiss on your knee, trailing them down your leg to stop at the inside of your thigh. His eyes never left yours, glimmering with excitement and the afterglow of a high he'd just come down from. It felt like he'd waited for this moment forever.

"Lemme in it," He rasped, finger running up your pelvis to stop at the waistband of your pajama pants. A strange, but not out of character way of asking if he could finally hit.

As soon as you nodded, Chris licked his lips, tasting your lipgloss on them. He wasted no time in pulling your pants off of you, tossing them somewhere behind him. Shamelessly ogling, his fingers reach up to press the apparent wet spot on your cotton underwear. The action eliciting a hiss, his eyes flicked up to your face for a moment before he began tracing patterns around the area.

You whined under your breath at the teasing, causing Chris to smirk at the quiet noise. His tongue flattened to lick your aching core through the fabric, free hand holding your thigh down when he felt you try to close your legs around his head. "mm-mm," He made a noise of disagreement, shaking his head as he lifted it between your legs, "You alright, Mama, m'gonna be real nice to you tonight if ya stop all that fuckin' movin'."

With a pleading look on your face, you nodded obediently. At that, he looked back down at your core, his fingers tugging down your panties to comepletely expose it to him for the first time. "Fuck," He groaned at the sight, cunt leaking and lips wet with your liquids.

There was no warning when he swiped his finger down your folds to gather some of your juices on the tip of it, spreading them slightly as he did so. A small squeal left your mouth when the finger glided over your bud, Chris' smirk only growing when he looked up at you once more.

He kept eye contact while he slid that same finger into his mouth, groaning as he swirled his tongue around it and tasted you, then taking it out with a pop. "Yeah— Yeah, you're gettin' it good," He gave you a smug grin, sharp canines peeking out from his lips.

"Chris, y—"

He cut you off with a shush, slapping the inside of your thigh and rubbing the pain away in what felt like the same motion, causing your eyes to widen momentarily. "Don't worry, Mama," He said simply, kissing your throbbing folds before he lifted himself off of his forearms, "M'not gonna waste my time eatin' that right now, I already done that before."

You watched his every move, crawling up the bed to hoover over you, "I'm trynna feel your insides, ya feel?" He clarified, hand reaching between both of you to unbuckle his belt, "Just like y'said I could."

"Well, yeah, but-"

At that alone, Chris' eyes met yours with a burning intensity, no longer worried about the belt he'd just pulled out of the loops of his jeans in his hand. "What, y'don't want it no more?" He lifted himself more so he was now higher above you - further away from your face.

With a sigh at his heckling, you grabbed onto his bicep firmly, trying to get his full attention. "Chris," You repeated, "I'm telling you not to forget the condom in your back pocket." You spoke in a playfully frustrated tone, rolling your eyes at the way he struggled not to talk all the time.

Chris chuckled, shaking his head as he reached into his back pocket, "How'd you kn-"

"I accidentally pulled it out when you asked me to grab your wallet for you earlier," You answered before he could finish, hand reaching up further to now play with the tufts of curly brown hair at the base of his skull, "While that guy was buying that stuff from you."

The way he bit his lip while you spoke had you leaking more, likely onto the bed beneath you. His eyelids dropped a bit as he chuckled again, this time deeper and more prolonged. Then, he shuffled his jeans off and brought the gold magnum up to your face, slapping your nose with it, "So you think i'd forget this?" His tone was teasing, like something like that were impossible for him to do.

Without another word as you shook your head, he slipped his already hard length out of his boxers, discarding them in the same area he'd tossed your pajama pants. He pumped his length with his fingers above you, one hand propping himself up on the pillow beside your head as he hummed. The condom then slid onto his erection without a second glance to it, lining himself up with your small hole.

His tip prodded at your entrance for a moment before he used the same fingers to spread your wetness all over the condom, making sure it was ready to slip inside you. With that, he began to push into your cunt, watching the way your face twisted at the stretch. He only got in about half way before he slowly pulled back, feeling your walls clench around him when he then thrusted once more into you, bottoming out with a pleased groan.

Even with the condom, you both could feel everything, sensitive and receptive to each other. Almost instantly your legs lifted to give him more access, knees bending at his sides. "Mhm— that's what I been waiting for, " He muttered before slowly pulling back again, this time beginning to rock his hips into you.

He kept a steady pace as you gasped, head throwing back into the pillow. His free hand lowered to grab your hip, lifting your shirt slightly to get a better grip with your push skin. You let out some "oh's" as he picked up his pace, keeping his eyes trained on the way your face twitched and twisted.

As much as he wanted to keep his face close to yours, he wanted to feel all the depths of your inside more, lifting himself so he was now just on his knees in front of you. He grabbed the back of your knee to push your leg back as he fucked into you, loving the way you began whining with each thrust. "This shit's fuckin' perfect, Mama," He assured you through gritted teeth, his thrust seeming to increase in speed with each word, "Such good pussy."

His praises along with his powerful thrusts causing your guys' skin to clap loudly had you moaning and gasping loudly, lip finding its way between your teeth. You whimpered beneath him each time he hit your g-spot, and Chris felt your legs begin to tremble. Even so, he couldn't just give you up that easy, his hand grabbing a fist full of the bottom of your shirt to pull you into him so you could meet his movements. "ah- ohhh," He began mocking your moans, sly grin on his face, "Y'want it, hm?"

You nodded eagerly, eyes screwing shut as moan after moan fell from your lips. "I told you, Mama," He chuckled, refraining from moaning himself, "Told you I was gonna give you that good shit... How ya feelin' now?"

"S- so good," You struggled to get out, voice strained by the way his dick fogged your brain.

Chris licked his lips as you felt him twitch inside you, indicating he was close just like you. "I bet it is," He replied cockily, allowing himself to purse his lips together and let out hums of pleasure for a moment, "M'gonna give you what you want, okay? 'N you gonna give me what I want — Jus' gotta say my name, pretty."

It wasn't easy, but you obeyed, hissing out his name a few times when he'd thrust real good into you. Then, you felt that pressure in the pit of your stomach snap, chanting his name like a prayer as you came on his cock. And with that, Chris let out a few load groans, his cum following yours and filling up the rubber interception on his dick.

He rocked both of you through your highs, thrusts slowing each time until it eventually came to a stop. Both of you panted, and Chris lowered himself back down, this time putting his weight onto you. "Lucky s'our first time," Chris mumbled just loud enough for you to hear, his cheek smashed into your chest, "I'd be goin' another if it wasn't."

○

"hope that pussy tight, mama / this love at first sight, mama / you the type i like, mama." -rob49

w/c : 1.4k

[hanasnx]

" DOUBLE BUBBLE DISCO QUEEN " — katsuki bakugou.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem bratty pink!reader ノ pussy whipped bakugou ノ established relationship ノ explicit sexual content ノ p in v ノ degradation: f receiving ノ reader has pink hair and pink style.

KATSUKI BAKUGOU didn’t know what to make of you at first. He’d never admit you were intimidating, but your commitment to one color made him nauseous. Pink was everything he saw you sport, as if you couldn’t have a style outside of it. Even your hair sprouted from your scalp in a soft pink shade. Regardless of his initial apprehension, somehow he was roped into a relationship with you. Now he carries your many bags, opens doors for you, holds your hand when you start yapping too much. You annoy him, and yet he sticks with you.

He’s come to respect you, and even like you a little bit. Not that you give him any choice. He can’t be fooled by your soft appearance, you’re just as domineering as he is. You’re spoiled rotten, and high maintenance as hell. It’s taken him loads of tries to get it right, to treat you exactly how you believe you deserve to. It’s difficult—next to impossible—but you make it worth it, don’t you?

When you spread those legs, all pretty and eager for him, things go quiet. For once, things go his way. Katsuki’s never considered himself to be a pussy-driven guy until he met you. Suddenly, he’s letting you bully him into all kinds of things just for a glimpse of that kitty. He’d feel shame if his mouth wasn’t watering right now staring down at those drippy lips, open and waiting for him.

“C’mon, Katsu. Wanna feel you.” you whine with a coy smile to your lips, impatient and brows upturned. Just as you wiggle your hips enticingly, mean and callused hands envelope them, pinning your ass to the mattress.

Gripping the base, he feeds himself into your hole, sniffing out the give until you moan just from the stretch, and he sighs with goddamn relief. As if he’s finally getting payback for everything you throw at him. You’re a damn bitch, and you know he thinks so, but getting this tight cunt gives you a blank slate. After he’s good and fucked his fill, he’ll be ready to take your attitude again. For now, he keeps a palm over that smart mouth of yours, just so you don’t ruin the moment.

“Mmf—“ he grunts, scooping an arm under your knee to pick your leg up, giving himself a little more room inside you. “Even this princess pussy’s a brat…Clenching down on me.” he speaks through his teeth, rutting in and out to hollow out a space for himself. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, you know that?” A bold-faced lie, but you take it anyway, nodding to him. Anything to get him to keep going, anything to get him to make you loosen up so he can fuck you for real. His palm over your mouth remains, and you smell his sweet scent of sweat.

“Running me ‘round, dangling this cunt in front of me knowing I’ll do whatever for it. Tch, you’re so damn annoying.” His words in your ear sends a powerful shudder down your spine, fluttering your eyelashes. You slick, lubing up his entry as he keeps pushing in and in. Even without seeing his face, breathing hard through your nose over his third pinky knuckle, you can feel him grin next to you. You know it's wolfish just from the sound of his reply, “You like hearing that shit, huh?” His husky voice grates your ears and you whimper pitifully under his weight.

His hips increase their fervor, getting excited over the new room in your hole, setting an immediate bruising pace just to be a jerk.

“For someone so spoiled, struttin’ ‘round like you can buy anything you want with daddy’s money, you sure like gettin’ called out on it.” That's what he's here for.

@HANASNX 2024 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[nanaslutt]

pls super nasty smut w todo where we are his favorite idol 🙏

Todo FUCKS and i know it………

contains: fem reader, fanboy!Todo, protected sex, quickie, hair pulling, dirty talk, rough sex, backshots, dacraphillia, using panties as a gag :3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Todo had been waiting for this moment his whole life.. he was finally going to meet his idol. The large man stood behind a group of shorter guys, all giggling as they watched you hug a sweet-looking fan. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, he was so close he could smell your perfume. Just the annoyingly giddy group of boys in front of him and it would be his turn.

He had gone over this exact moment over and over in his head. You looked so pretty in your light pink dress, frilly thigh highs to match, that squished the fat of your thighs at the top, making his eyes roll back in his head in disbelief at how anyone could look so perfect. Todo had been a fan for years, he had watched every show you had been on, every special, he had seen every magazine, poster, and any form of media there was of you he had seen; he would like to own all of it but his collection was quite impressive already.

"Thank you for your support!" You spoke kindly, averting your body to shake hands with the boys instead of hugging them. You could tell he looked dejected, but the boy smelled like BO and you had noticed his lock screen when he went to take a selfie with you-- it was of a young-looking anime girl in a bikini.. not exactly the kind of guy you wanted up in your personal space, but by the way he gripped his hand and stared at it in awe when he walked away you could tell he was more than satisfied.

You sighed, growing tired from meeting all the fans, sure you loved seeing all their cute faces and tears of appreciation, some even bringing you gifts, but you had been standing in the same spot for almost five hours now, the heels you were wearing felt like they were slowly melting into your feet and becoming one with the skin. You looked over to your manager, keeping a faux smile on your face as you did so, but widening your eyes to let her know you were going to cry if you didn't get a break soon.

"U-um, H-hello my name is Todo Ali Its-" A deep voice broke you out of your silent plea to your manager, snapping your neck to behind you a man more than twice your size stood in front of you, fiddling with his hands in his pockets as he took everything in. You knew you had quite the male-dominated audience, but this man didn't fit the description for your usual fans.

He was handsome, extremely fit; so much so it looked like his pecs were going to burst through his shirt and you could faintly make out the indents of his abs; he smelled amazing, which was refreshing after all this teen boy musk, his voice sent tingles down your spine, and he hadn't immediately tried to touch you in some way when he stepped into your space. "Hi there big guy~" You responded, reaching your arm out to grab onto his bicep, stroking it friendly (also simultaneously trying to cop a feel.)

Todo blushed, you were touching him right now, not just touching him you were stroking his arm. He had to take a deep breath in order to not pass out. "I've been a fan for so long when I found out you were coming to Kyoto I-" Your giggles cut him off, your sharp acrylics lightly scratching down his arm as you pulled one of his hands out of his pockets and took it in yours; you couldn't help but notice how much larger it was than yours. "I'm so glad you came Todo~" You cooed, swinging your hips in circles as you looked up at him from under your lashes.

Todo froze, his face turning an even darker shade of crimson. He gulped, watching you caress his fingers with your smaller, more delicate ones. You were so much shorter in real life, the size difference between the two of you was making his brain short circut, and simultaneously all of the blood that was being drained from his head was getting sent to.. another head. "Y-yeah?" He replied, giving you a quick one over before he swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth.

A lightbulb went off in your head at that moment. This was a handsome man who looked to be about the same age as you, he looked like he could bend you in every way your body would allow him to, and you bet he wanted to, from the way he was blushing and shaking with adrenaline. He must've thought he was being sneaky when he would steal glances down the low cut of your dress that showed off a generous amount of your cleavage.

You're not sure where this sudden arousal came from. Maybe a combination of being an idol with such a strict team; never allowing you enough time to go on dates; your exhaustion, you were on your ovulation week.. and Todo had been the first person you saw today who was handsome AND didn't try to invade your personal bubble in some way; combined with all the other amazing things about him. You were about to go on a break anyways, this might just be perfect, you thought.

"Yeah~ It's so refreshing to see someone like you here, you're so handsome and you speak so politely ~" He felt his pants get tighter at the compliment, briefly looking down at them he prayed you wouldn't see the imprint through his pants. You looked around, making sure no one was close enough to hear before you leaned it, standing on your tippytoes you used one of your hands to steady yourself on his solid chest. Taking the thin material of his shirt between your fingers, you pulled him down so your lips were by his ear.

"To be honest, a lot of these guys are sooo creepy~" Todo could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, the loud beat of his racing heart almost drowning out your sultry voice, "But you would never treat me like them.. would you Todo?" The man was sure he was at full attention down there, he tried to adjust his shirt subtly enough so you wouldn't see him while you were by the crook of his neck, but he was sorely mistaken. You grabbed his wrist, stopping him from covering the now very obvious tent in his pants.

From what you could tell, the outline looked huge, what about this man wasn't? You smiled at him, tipping your head to the side. "I've never done this before, but I think I like you Todo~" You spoke. The world seemed to slow down, everything around you besides your voice was drowned out in the man's ears as you spoke your next words. "I'm about to take a little break, wanna help me relax?" Todo swallowed, hard, before nodding his head and watching a sinister little smile appear on your face.

--

"Fuck f-fuck Ohm-" A massive hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your loud cries. "Shhh pretty girl, stay quiet for me okay? Know you can." Todo cooed. Was this really the same man who was blushing and stuttering just a couple minutes ago when you finally met for the first time? He must've imagined the exact scenario before because he was fucking giving it to you.

Todo stood behind you, your back to his chest, arched agaisnt his pelvis as he fucked into you harder than anyone has. He had one hand wrapped around your body, rubbing your sensitive clit between his fingers and his other hand was pressed over your mouth. One of your hands was steading yourself agaisnt the sink ledge, the other gripping his wrist as you looked at him with teary eyes and scrunched eyebrows through the little bathroom mirror he was fucking you in front of.

Your panties had been pulled down your thighs hastily and stored away safely in Todo's pants. "That's a good girl~ Fuck, you look so pretty." He groaned. You watched his eyes look down between where the two of you were connected, shaking his head and his jaw dropping in a little o as he watched his thick cock split you open, your sore walls having to make quite the stretch to fit him inside. "Your pussy is eating me up-" He moaned, pulling his lip between his teeth as he gave you harsh thrusts, relishing in the loud squelches that met his ears.

"You needed this, huh?" He asked, bringing his eyes up to make contact with yours once more. You nodded against his hand, tears of pleasure falling down your face at the precision with which he was fucking straight into your sweet spot, making your legs feel like jello. Todo let up on your clit, his hand digging in his pocket briefly before he pulled out your panties. His hips stilled against your ass, burring his cock as deep as he could inside you as he released the hand on your mouth, brining the other holding your panties to meet your lips.

He balled them up before pressing them agaisnt you, "Open." He instructed. You were quick to follow, opening your mouth you let him press the fabric between your lips, the taste of yourself flooding onto your tongue when he used two fingers to push the fabric deeper into your mouth, making sure you would keep in in. "Good girl." His deep voice praised, making you giggle against the fabric. You were able to notice when all the motion from his thrusting ceased that he was shaking like a leaf.

You were wondering how he was staying so calm and composed, but in reality, he wasn't all that composed. Todo was grateful for the short break when he pushed your panties into your mouth; using them as a gag so he could use his hands elsewhere. Truthfully every time he looked into the mirror and caught your eyes on him he felt like he was going to cum, it was a miracle he was able to hold out for this long. The only thought keeping him going was not to embarrass himself in front of you, but god the though of cumming inside his favorite idol was right there on the forefront of his brain with it.

He pushed your lower back down into a mean arch, your forearms resting against the sink as you waited with bated breath for him to continue. He knew you didn't have a lot of time, so if he was going to bring it home soon he was gonna make sure you had the best orgasm on his cock before you went back out there. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, gripping strongly before he started fucking into you again, this time rougher and faster than before.

Immediately cries and muffled wines filled the room, more tears quickly welling up in your eyes as he bullied his cock into your tight cunt, yanking your head back by your hair to make your arch deeper. Surely he was messing up your hair, and your makeup would absolutely need a touchup, but you couldn't exactly find it in yourself to care at the moment. Todo's groans and heavy breathing into your ear was so erotic, making the coil in your stomach tighten with your impending orgasm.

"Fuck, I can't believe I have you on my dick like this." He breathed exasperatedly, his eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure. "And you're crying from it-" He finished, yanking your hair back, resulting in a loud wine from you, the fabric doing little to conceal that one. "Todooo~" You spoke his name through the fabric, the sound successfully reaching his dick, making it jump inside you. Todo grit his teeth, without a second thought he released your hair and ripped the panties out of your mouth, throwing them down on the sink.

He grabbed the side of your face, not letting up his incessant hips as he fucked into your sloppily, his hips losing rhythm, "A-again say my name again-" Todo begged against your lips, your skin grazing each other as your slack jaw moaned against his mouth. "F-fuck Todo!!" You cried, resulting in a groan from the man as he pressed your lips together, slotting his tongue with yours in a messy kiss, filled with lust and need. "Again." You heard him speak against your lips, his thrust speeding up, you felt your own arousal drip down your thighs.

"Todo-" thrust "Again." thrust "Fuck! F-fuuck! Todo I'm cumming, you're gonna make me c-cum!" You gasped into his mouth. He quieted you with his own, his moans increasing in volume as his own high rapidly approached him. At the exact moment, your jaw went slack against his lips as he felt your cunt squeeze him rhythmically, his own orgasm crashed over him. "C-cumming- f-fuck-" He pretended his cum wasn't currently filling up the condom he had on, and instead was shooting deep inside you, filling up your womb.

Your legs were shaking and wobbling as you came around him, his shallow thrusts working you through one of the most intense orgasms you've ever had. Todo groaned long and loudly against your lips, both of your jaws open and eyes squeezed shut as the two of you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasms together. The room was filled with your pants and gasps as the two of you frantically tried to catch your breath. "Fuck.. thank you, did so good, thank you," Todo whispered.

You turned your head forward once more, staring at Todo behind you, who currently had his eyes glued to your cunt as he slid his massive softening girth out of the comfort of your warm walls. You winced in overstimulation as he slid out of you, leaving your walls with a lewd squelch. "Sorry, are you feeling alright?" He asked, holding your hips in his large hands and rubbing the skin there. "I'm more than alright Todo, my legs are a little compromised but other than that I'm alright~" You reassured, rubbing your hand atop his, making his blush deepen.

The man looked back down between the two of you as he started pulling the used condom off of his cock, cringing at the feeling. "Todo." Your voice echoed into his ears, making him look up at you, blushing at the use of his name--he would never get sick of it. "I'm not leaving this room till I have your number in my phone." You said, picking up your cutely decorated phone from the sink in front of you and waving it side to side.

You've never seen someone nod so eagerly in your life, making you giggle. "Need to take care of you first." He said, kissing the back of your neck, throwing the tied condom in the trash by his feet before his hands started to make work on smoothing out your wrinkled dress. "Todo, I have an entire team out there for that, you can take care of me by putting my mind at ease and letting me know that this will happen again, by giving me~ your phone numberrr~" You drawled, turning your body around as he held your hips, your hand pressing the device into his chest.

The man hesitantly took your phone in his hand, staring at you with disbelief. You leaned into his large frame, pressing a kiss to his solid chest and making him gasp before you pulled back, bringing your hand up to his head to push away any stray hairs he had, "I like you, you better call me~"

[scare-ard--sleigh]

oooOOOOO just kidding no extra workies for me [dabs]

[banj0possum]

Sweet Hero Of Mine

Yandere! Antihero x GN! Hero! Reader

im back little stinkers <333

Edit!! Nsfw mentions removed! Replaced with..Elias being a dork ?

CW: Stalking, Creep behavior, Suggestive talk about reader, slight masochism

🪲 Elias was never into the whole Superhero thing.

🪲 He hated the constant swarming of reporters and fans screaming for his attention. He didn't want to be treated like a celebrity; he just wants to fight crime where people refuse to help.

🪲 That's why he avoided ever displaying himself like that. He preferred to stay in the shadows and kept his deeds out of the picture, but there are always rats scurrying around ready for another big scoop.

🪲 He could only scoff amusingly as he sees his little escapade last night being reported on tv with a blurry photo of him on the rooftops with the words "Mysterious Vigilante Strikes Again!"

🪲 He can admit, seeing them being so absorbed in what he does is pretty entertaining, he can feel his ego go up a bit.

🪲 Soon enough he gets tired of the incessant yap of interviewees talking about him and reaches for the remote.

🪲 His body freezes though when the reporter mentions some 'new hero' and he turns back to the TV.

🪲 His eyes are blessed with the cutest sight of a person dressed in a hero outfit with a logo on their chest. Their warm smile seems to radiate happiness as they talk to the reporter. Is this the new hero they've been talking about recently?

🪲 They ask for their opinion on the vigilante situation and he almost melts over their soft voice.

🪲 "I believe this guy has good intentions. Which is great and all but if it's endangering people and their properties, I think it's time they think about how running around and punching people in a suit isn't being heroic, it's being obnoxious!"

🪲 There goes his ego..

🪲 And perhaps his clean pants..

🪲 He starts researching all about this new hero. Who do they think they are?! This little brat has to be taught a lesson!

🪲 He stalks your social media, every fan account, every news atricl about your deeds, everything.

🪲 For for blackmail of course! Maybe he can find some dirt on you..in this fan account that makes thirst edits of you..

🪲 Soon enough he starts tracking you and your appearances. Every fight with a villain or any burning building with people that need saving, he's there with a high-grade camera that can snap all the rips and tears in your suit...for blackmail!

🪲 He's real happy that he wore a trench coat to your most recent battle or else everyone would have probably seen his growing boner whenever you throw a punch that connected to your opponent.

🪲 He's combing through the photos he took of you and shivers over your sweaty form and aggressive face.

🪲 He imagines meeting you, perhaps having a battle of his own, being pinned down by you, having your arms grappling and squeezing on his body. Perhaps you'd even say something degrading to him with that sweet voice of yours..

🪲 So that's what he does.

🪲 You were doing some last-minute night patrols after a long day of crime fighting and interviews when you hear a deep gravelly voice behind you.

🪲 "Hey there hero~"

🪲 You look back and see a large muscular man in a suit that looked like the armor of some insect.

🪲 "Huh, didn't expect to meet you here vigilante!" I joke.

🪲 "Oh please, call me Beetle~" He smirks as he walks closer to you. God you're even cuter in person..

🪲 "Well, Beetle, you are aware that you're kinda sorta wanted for a lotta stuff right?"

🪲 "Is it worse than the shit those pieces of scum done? Unlike youre pretty little ass I'm actually gettin bad guys off the streets.~" He teases, putting a hand on the wall and leaning close to your face. He's trying not to swoon over your stern face.

🪲 "Unlike you, I'm keeping people safe! Although I do commend your...unique sense of justice.."

🪲 *internal squealing*

🪲 He's a little surprised that you're so nice, unlike some other douchey heroes he knows.

🪲 He lets out a chuckle "That's new..Thanks goody-two-shoes.."

🪲 You give him a teasing face "Hey I'm not that much of an angel!"

🪲 "Oh~? Well o me you are, sweet hero of mine~"

🪲 You two become quick friends, even having missions together.

🪲 His obsession got worse from there.

🪲 Riding in your superhero vehicle, he rarely looks anywhere but at you driving, explaining to him the mission that he barely cares about other than the fact that it's an excuse to be with you.

🪲 Every time you take his hand to lead him somewhere, he makes sure to burn the feeling into his mind. Oftentimes he's the one doing whatever it takes to have physical contact with you, but it's way better whenever you initiate it.

🪲 You love taking pictures together. Of course he never smiles when you take one but when he's back at home, he's staring at it with the biggest, goofiest grin.

🪲 He loves taking pictures too, only he prefers ones with you and you alone. Sometimes it would be things you like so he wouldn't forget.

🪲 You blush, flattered over him remembering your favorite drink.

🪲 He'd memorize anything you say and put it in a top secret file named "My Love"

🪲 Oh my god please degrade him jokingly.

🪲 Bully him, push him around, be playfully rough with him!! Sure it's all in good fun but he's feeding his guilty pleasure whenever you treat him like shit while also being so sweet to him.

🪲 Pull him down suddenly by his suit's collar whenever you want to whisper something to him or show him something, he loves it. Although be warned, he might moan a little..

🪲 He's crazy for you, insane even, bonkers almost!!

🪲 He comes home seeing you in a superhero gala at one of the fanciest buildings in the city.

🪲 The bone-breaking grip on his beer bottle almost cracks the bottle when he sees you being accompanied by some other hero.

🪲 They're being all close with you and making you laugh, he can feel his jealousy rise within his body at the sight of your adorable smile, one that wasn't because of his jokes, his company!

🪲 Maybe it's about time he gives this superhero thing a try..

[mimasroom2]

My tennis star! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Secretly dating jock!ellie

C/w: smut but for like 2 seconds. Mention of weed lol. Uhh that’s it this is pretty laid back. This is my first time using those fake texting things I think I like it? Idk

W/c: ≈ 800

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

- She plays tennis bc I said so 🎾

- She’d win a match and she’d post on her instagram story something REAL cheesy like “only reason why we won is because someone special was in the crowd💖” and everyone thinks she’s talking ab a guy but it’s really you >•<

- She’d pull you aside into an empty hallway and lean over you with her arm up (yknow. The classic masc move.) and whisper “You comin’ to the game tonight, baby?”

- It’s so fucking cheesy but you swear she makes your knees weak every time she talks with her sexy ass voice.

- “Too bad I can’t have a massive ass sign that says your name on it all big or something.” You grin widely and she laughs, leaning in to give you a soft kiss.

- You guys go on dates to the mall so she can buy new workout clothes & equipment. Every time you guys see someone you know in a store you split up and pretend to be looking at different things on other ends of the store. Eventually when they leave you two come back together and giggle.

- “Heya stranger.” She grins, showing you some knee high socks she found while she was pretending to look around.

- Only your two best friends know ab you and Ellie, so you’re always having to make up excuses as to why you’re going to the tennis games.

- “They needed help with grilling hot dogs and hamburgers for the game, and you know I always need more service hours!”

- “Man I’m sorry I can’t go to the movies tonight. I already told the tennis coach I’d do face painting for the little kids that come😕”

- You’re studying at your desk when the first message from Ellie absolutely jumpscares you. The girl really needs to learn about context 🙄

- Absolutely all the girls in the crowd and on the opposing team would swoon over her. She lovesssss the attention and always waves at the crowd and blows kisses to them. Sometimes she winks at the girls on the other team to purposefully distract them as they’re serving. You don’t feel jealous though because you know as soon as the game’s over you’re going back to her place to celebrate ;)

- You feel so fucking lucky you’re dating a jock as her toned muscular arm is pumping in and out of you.

- “Fuck,, guess all that racket swinging comes in handy when I’m fucking you, hm?” She smirks, and she was actually right. She could practically finger you forever and never get tired.

- She’s a perfectionist with her playing and in bed. She’d have to make you cum at least twice before she’s satisfied.

- The next morning Ellie has to leave early for practice so she lets you stay in her room to sleep in. She texts you a WHOLE BUNCH, effectively spamming your phone and waking you up:

- She comes up to you one day out of the blue and says “Hey y/n, I’m like so serious can you hide all my stoner shit until this season is over…?” You knew she smoked but she told you she only does it when she’s off in tennis, so you’re surprised when she hands you a shoebox full of all her stuff.

- “Yeah ‘m fine. Coach has been gettin’ on to me. Jus’ more stressed out is all.” Is all she has to say when you ask about it. She runs her hands through her hair, thinking you’re frustrated with her. You’re just glad she trusts you enough to make her keep her promises to herself.

- She’d ask you what your favorite color is and get a special racket in that color for whenever you see her play. She’d say it’s her lucky racket :,)

- You were never super into sports but you loveeeee spending time with Ellie, so she decides to give you some one on one lessons.

- “Yeah, thas’ it, baby.” She’d mutter in your ear from behind you. She’s holding the racket with you and helping you swing your arms the right way.

- You guys didn’t expect to see anyone on the tennis court this early, so when other people come and Ellie recognizes them, she quickly guides you guys behind a tree.

- Your stomach is filled with butterflies as she tucks your loose hair behind your ear and kisses you !!

- You feel like a little kid playing in the woods again because now you and Ellie are sneaking around the park/tennis court trying not to be seen by the other people

- She gets really cocky sometimes and posts soft launches of you on her insta stories

- It would be a picture of you in her lap WAHH! Her tattooed hand is on your thigh with the caption “keeping me occupied”

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

[himbofan4444]

Could you do a story where a genius chemistry major gets caught up in the jocks hazing rituals and they turn him into a jock slowly by melting his brains into cum leading to the finale where he cums his brains out along the quarterbacks ass

I don’t want to sound conceded or like I’m cocky or anything, but I’m technically a genius. Like my IQ is high enough to classify me as a genius. I’ve been called perfect before because I’m really intelligent and rather muscular thanks to my time in the gym and my time playing football. I’m gonna sound like a total pick-me, but I’ve never really fit in. I’m so much more intelligent than every other guy that was on the team. But now that I’m in college, I’m hoping I can find at least one guy I can relate to.

My first day of college wasn’t great… The guys are literally the exact same as the ones from high school in mannerism and mentality. I guess I’ll just be out of place yet again. There’s a “sacred” hazing ritual that all new coming football players must partake in. I haven’t been told much but I know it’s humiliating. I step foot in the locker room, the putrid stench of stale musk and sweat fills my nose. Honestly I don’t mind the smell; I’ve grown used to it after years of exposure to it. There’s a line of freshmen standing shirtless just like me. I enter the end of the line and wait for further instruction.

The quarterback paces in front of the group of us, marching like a general. He stops in front of me and looks me up and down, his eyes resting on my crotch for an uncomfortably long time.

“Last year, one of our linebackers graduated. He was renowned for his massive horse cock. Since he left, we haven’t had someone to replace him and the team fuck stick. I think this man will be a perfect replacement!” the quarterback shouts, leading to a round of applause from the existing members and a weak clap from the upcoming ones. I look around, confused by his questionable proclamation.

The quarterback pulls out a battered football helmet and inserts it on my head. The helmet is tight and squeezes my head. God it kind of hurts. I chuckle, “Oh I uh- Thank you…?”

“Yeah you’ll be thankin’ me real soon, bro,” the quarterback said, a smirk on his face. A flash of calmness washes over me, instantly numbing my anxieties and concerns. My dick jumps to life, sticking straight out in front of me. The other guys laugh at my obvious boner.

My dick isn’t that big, only about 5 inches, but it looks… bigger. The size of my boner continues climbing, soon becoming about 11 inches and thick as a beer can. The amount of blood required to keep me hard seems to be coming straight from my brain, leaving me lightheaded and dizzy. Then my dick starts leaking precum. Buckets of precum. My brain feels weird, almost like it’s a liquid. I can feel it sloshing around in my skull. I feel a weird draining feeling, like my skull is a faucet and it’s pouring down my torso. I feel the dripping stop when the liquid reaches my balls, inflating them in size to better match the girth of my horse cock.

God it’s gettin’ hard tuh think… It’s like my brain just been switched off. “Huhuhu,” I laugh dully, rubbing my massive dick through my pants.

I look down to see the quarterback on his hands and knees with his pants pulled down. He’s presenting his big… fuckable ass… Oh my god he’s so hot. Fuck… It’s getting harder to… Oh fuck! My dick unleashes a cascading shot of thick cum on his ass. I fall to my knees, still dizzy and very disoriented.

The established football players clap and cheer me on, someone taking off my helmet and giving me a noogie. Now I’m one of the star linebackers on the team and more importantly, I’m the brainless fuck stick of the team, willing to shove my huge dick up anyone’s ass without a thought.

[ddejavvu]

can you write something about how the gang handles a really emotional Curtis sister... Like she literally doesn't even know why shes crying most of the time she just is. She is literally me

send me requests for the outsiders!

--

At Dallas's groan, "Ah, here come the fuckin' waterworks again," all eyes are on you. You'd been hoping to fly under the radar, but now that seven pairs of eyes are staring at you, your tears escape hot and free down your cheeks.

"It's- I'm fine!" You insist, voice thick and choppy as you rush for the bathroom. You don't shut the door, because even if you did you know someone would have barged in. It's predictably Darry and Soda, but Two-Bit lingers in the hallway, peering in worriedly.

"You're okay, kid." Darry encourages you, a strong hand on your shoulder to help you get yourself under control, "Somethin' the matter?"

"What's with the tears, Baby Curtis?" Two asks, "Movie gettin' to 'ya?"

It's a horror movie- it's safe to say you're not sniffling over blood and guts.

"No, it's-" You sniffle, letting Sodapop tug you into his side where he's now perched on the lid of the toilet. He slings an arm around your waist and you lean gratefully into his side, thankful for the pressure of a body against yours.

"It's nothing. I don't know." You shrug helplessly, and Two smiles- kindly, not teasingly.

"You've got a condition or somethin'." He decides, traipsing back into the living room, "We oughta turn you in to a doctor, have them diagnose you with some crazy new brain condition. Maybe they could name it after you, kid."

"Yeah, Crybaby Curtis syndrome," Steve snickers, and Soda shouts a halfhearted, 'Be nice!' to his friend despite not being able to see him.

"Lay off, Steve," Johnny groans, and you hear Ponyboy chime in with a fervent, 'Yeah!' that he would have kept to himself had Johnny not led the charge. Despite having the upper hand, Ponyboy still struggles to pick fights with Steve. Usually it's a losing battle.

"Come on, kiddo." Darry urges, and Soda sticks close to your side as you shuffle back into the living room. Dallas doesn't move aside to give you your old seat back where he's stretched out over half of it, but he also doesn't protest when you throw your leg over his own to fit on the cushion.

"You've gotta man up, kid." Dally decides, snatching his cigarette out of his mouth and blowing the smoke into your face, "Can't be burstin' into tears all the time. People are gonna think you're weak."

"I am weak," You concede feebly, wiping at one last tear that streaks down your cheeks, "I don't know why it happens most'uh the time. Just does."

"Some people are just like that." Johnny smiles kindly at you, and you appreciate his sweetness, "We ain't gonna judge you."

"It'll be great for gettin' out of trouble," Sodapop grins mischieviously at you, "Just think, when you're a wild child in high school, and you're comin' home drunk at 2AM, Darry's gonna yell at you. Just flash him those teary eyes of yours and he'll get all soft for 'ya, he'll let you off real easy."

"Hey- Don't you go givin' her any ideas." Darry points a warning finger at Soda, and Ponyboy scoffs, surely jealous at the prospect of your secret weapon.

You share a secret smile with Soda, though, one that's hidden from both of your brothers. Two-Bit catches it and snorts, "Damn, Darry. I'm not itchin' to be you in a few years."

"Well then you'd better start hangin' out at your own house every once in a while," Darry glares at him, "You spend so much time here I'm gonna give you a chore on the chore chart."

"I don't even do chores at my own place," Two-Bit snickers, like the suggestion is the funniest one he's ever heard. He stretches his arm out behind your head, resting it on your far shoulder, "Just call me whenever you're goin' to those parties, Y/N, and I'll get drunker'n you, make you look like a saint in comparison."

"Dally's a saint in comparison to you, Two-Bit," Ponyboy gripes, "Just don't climb through my window expecting me to help you sneak past Darry."

"Now I mean it, boys," Darry snaps, "Don't go givin' her ideas! Conversation over."

Dallas waits all of three seconds before leaning down, tucking his face beside your ear so that he can drawl, "I'll teach you how to sneak past him if you can go without cryin' for a day."

"Deal." You hold out a pinky for him to link with his own, and if anyone else in Tulsa had offered it, they'd have gotten slugged. Instead, Dallas's finger curls around yours, and he shoots you a shit-eating grin, eyes glimmering dangerously, "24 hours, crybaby. Don't let me down."

[valve3nthusiast]

Decepticon and Autobot propaganda definitely got weirder as the war went on and I'd personally like to believe that there's officially sanctioned patriotic pornography. for my own amusement

Somewhere out there is small porn studio barely skating past the censors by claiming their work is glorifying the superiority of Lord Megatron, when everything they shoot is cheesily scripted and horrendously acted pornos of "Megatron" spiking any and every high ranking 'con they had a vaguely similarly-shaped actor for (but like,,,, they're probably quietly funded enough to stay afloat by Tarn and his cuck kink tbh)

With a shoestring budget and audacity, they end up producing such gems as "Our Glorious Leader Foils His Traitorous Commander's Evil Plot With His Massive Fusion Cannon!" and"Loyal Officers Kneel For The Throne To Recive Our Emperor's Magnificent Throbbing Favor" and "Decepticon High Command Non-Stop Penetrating Action" just to name a few. There are many, many other works of similar... Artistic Value, that end up getting made fun of at Autobot movie nights for all eternity

Autobots of course prefer tastefully written Prime-kink erotica, except for Optimus Prime himself, who still can't find the person that gave the go ahead for propaganda division to write a series of spicy romance novellas about him. This haunts him at every officer's meeting. Someone will be presenting about troop movements or smth and he'll be staring into the middle distance wondering no, Prowl wouldn't... right?

The neutrals might not need propaganda, but of course they're still making porn so some are gettin freakay with it. Given how long they live I bet if cybertronians have copyright law itd be a fucking mess. They probably can't get away with using real names, but there are definitely some very thinly veiled stand-ins for various Autobots and Decepticons fucking in numerous offensive arrangements

Of course you can't throw a rock without hitting a vid starring a blue and red truck and a gray mechanism of indeterminable alt-mode, but that got old fast, and the neutrals started to get creative. The poor sucker that personally received a Cease and Desist from both the heads of the Autobot and Decepticon intelligence divisions went so underground that no one knows who to credit for the smash hit spy vs spy romance novel they wrote. sad

And like. neutrals making crossfaction porn isn't explicitly policed by either faction. but if someone wants to make a vid about Legally Distinct not-Skywarp getting stuck in a wall via teleporting accident and having his ports pounded by the not-Autobots, then they have to reckon with the very real chance that Skywarp the Actual Person will show up to beat the shit out of them

Idk where I was going with this. If you want to make me laugh come up with a terrible name for a terrible cybertronian porno and put it in the comments or replies or whatever the fuck it's called. peace

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Hi Lovely, just dropping by to say that you can totally decline weigh ins if not extremely necessary. You're a fantastic writer, you've got excellent music taste and clearly are funny at hell. Plus you can probably lift every twat nurse who tuts and scoffs at you, they shouldn't every judge you.

If you're up for it, I'd die for some NikPrice in a proper sex shop (Not a gag/gimmick one) or maybe a lil NikPrice who want to bring in a certain delightfully sassy sergeant to their dynamic.

Head up, we are all here to support you!

😊

Thank you for this, Selkie. It was a massive boost going in. So, Nikprice in a sex shop, eh? Well, obviously I had to visit Prowler to, uh, check it still looks the same as the last time I visited. Here we go...

Nik and John visit ProwlerRED in Soho as Nik helps John take those first tentative steps in exploring his sexuality.

cw: fetishwear, inexperienced and nervous sub, teasing Nikolai.

Price stood opposite the shop and stared at the giant white paw on the black banner between the ground and first floor, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat, his beanie pulled low around his ears to disguise the hot flush colouring them a deep red.

They stood at the crossroads. Passersby dipped into the gutter to get around them on their way down Old Compton Street and Price stepped back a little further as a cyclist hopped the pavement, swerving a stationary taxi that was blocked from turning into Dean Street. Price's eyes would make it to the window eventually, but first he needed to get over the road.

"We should go in," Nik said, exhaling the last breath of cigarette smoke as he ground it out under his boot. This had been his idea. He had spotted Price eyeing up some of the leathermen at the bar the previous evening, and teased his interest out of him under the duvet of their exorbitantly expensive hotel bed. It was hard to keep secrets from Nik when his hands and mouth were on ya... Some kinda witchcraft.

Price knew what leathermen were. It was impossible not to when your old man had been both a sergeant in the armed forces and a keen biker. It was a joining of the two things together; the latent homoeroticism of a career and a hobby that had been, at the time, completely male dominated. His old man had been predictably foul in his judgements of his fellow soldiers, but Price had been fascinated. He'd avoided looking too deeply at why he found them so--

Price was... he was interested, alright? Something about the way that the leather looked on a man's body; the harnesses, the jackets, the jock straps. He didn't much care for the caps or the police shirts. If he wanted to wear a cap, he'd give in to Mac's relentless naggin' and get promoted, you know, wear a cap that came with a bloody salary increase, and Peelers weren't exactly high in his esteem.

It was the smell and the texture of the leather against sweat, the slide of it across hard and soft curves as leashes and harnesses shifted, the sound of belts snapping together, watching the dominant partner haul their willing subordinate around and the responding trust. The relief and pleasure on faces that weren't covered by masks, moans muffled by gags. That looked good. Real good.

Imagining Nik's hand wound through a--

Price swallowed.

"John?"

"Hold up, I'm gettin' there. Don't rush me." Price bristled, shoulders rising up around his ears. He didn't even need to look at Nik to know what his face was doin'; Price could feel his grin like atmospheric pressure and it rankled him. "This ain't funny, Nik."

"It is funny," Nik said, arms folded across his big chest, open palm tapping his own elbow. "This is not live fire fight or hostage situation. You need to relax."

"I'm perfectly relaxed," Price said, immediately dropping his shoulders and sniffing when Nik raised his eyebrow. He bounced on his toes and coughed, aiming for nonchalant, but knew his eyes were wider than a rabbit's gazing into oncoming headlights. "See, fine."

"It is just a shop."

"I can see that."

"The owner is half your size."

"Oh yeah? You well acquainted?"

"Fairly."

"Course y'are." Price's cheeks reddened and he scrubbed a hand through his beard. "Alright. Ground rules. Nothin' that's sharp or... Let's just stick to the harness."

Nik hummed and started crossing the road. Price tried to grab his arm to get at least some verbal agreement, but Nik had already skipped up the opposite curb and was looking through the window. Price waited for a black cab to pass and then jogged over to stand at his side. He could see himself in the reflection of the window, hunkered low. "Is that a leather pig mask?"

"Da," Nik said, examining a full body harness with a metal cock ring at the groin. Price hazarded a glance at what had Nik so interested and his heart skipped a beat, his fingers curling into fists inside his pockets . Nik tapped his elbow. "Come." Price let Nik take his elbow and drag him through the door on the corner of the building, his breath held for... fuck knows what reason.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. The same smell as the bar the evening before, except without the added layer of sweat that had made his mouth water. It was sharp, clean. Behind the mannequins in the window were two railings of leather harnesses, and along the walls were racks of leather shirts and trousers. Fairly... innocuous, really. It could have been a biker's shop if it had helmets instead of masks, and less lube on the shelves.

"Hey," called a faintly accented voice from behind the counter, Price would guess Polish but Nik would get a better read. "Let me know if you need anything." She had enough metal in her mouth that kissing her would risk a stab wound, and Price found himself counting the studs when Nik cleared his throat.

"Da, thank you, we may need help with sizing."

She shrugged. "The best thing to do is try 'em on. There's a changing room round the corner," she jutted her thumb over her shoulder, "and two downstairs with the toys and bondage. Just no underwear, yeah?" With that, she turned back to untangling the pile of leather paraphernalia and hangers on the counter.

Nik seemed distracted by something on the far wall, so Price took the opportunity to examine the shelves behind the shop assistant. Aromas. A fair number of them, in fact. Price had seen a few of the lads holding them at the bar, but googling "aroma" and "disk cleaner" had yielded completely innocuous Amazon searches.

"You will not need those, solnyshko," Nik called, so Price continued to tentatively explore, hands still stuffed deep in his pockets.

His gaze wandered to a pile of flyers at the edge of the counter. "Boot blacking," Price murmured. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Da," Nik said softly, appearing at his shoulder with two harnesses in his hand. "It is a kink, but also good for repairing tired equipment."

"Fuckin 'ell, gettin' the troopers to buff their boots proper is like pullin' teeth, and these lot do it for jollies? Is he... Is he lickin' it?"

Nik chuckled and took the flyer out of Price's hand, stroking a finger over the bristles on Price's chin before twining their fingers together. "Perhaps if you put on a jock strap and licked their boots they might be more, hmm, proactive, no?"

"I'll run it by brass," Price said with a wry smirk, letting Nik pull him down the narrow staircase to the basement level.

His eyes blew wide once they'd adjusted to the dim lighting. Now that was what he had actually expected when Nik had said "fetish shop". The walls were crammed with an assortment of delightful looking torture devices from whips to gags to masks that covered everything but the mouth. There was a rack of staggeringly big silicone cocks, and Price felt the heat creeping back up his neck again at how bloody real some of them looked. And big. So fuckin' big.

He was so out of his bloody depth here.

The display case to the right of the stairs as they reached the bottom was filled with the weirdest collection of dildos he had ever seen in his life. He stooped down, hands on his knees, and peered inside. "Fuck me, that one's thicker than my thigh. Nik, there's no... Nik, come here. There's no way that fits. What the fuck is that meant to be?" He pressed his fingertip to the glass at what looked like a tentacle with little nodules all over it.

"John, here." Nik beckoned him over and Price sidled over to stand at his side, casting one final alarmed look into the display case. On the wall, there was an array of cuffs and collars, all with slightly different fastenings, studs and coloured linings. Nik took one of Price's hands and placed it on the nearest pair of cuffs, pressing against Price's back, his chin on his shoulder, palm on his belly to keep him close. "Choose."

"I thought we said just the harness..." Price murmured, but he could barely hear the words leave his own mouth, too fixated on the feel and smell of expensive leather. His toes curled in his boots as he pressed his fingers inside the circle of a cuff, slipping out the other side to nudge one of the metal links and stroke around the smooth edge of the buckle.

These weren't the laughably flimsy handcuffs Price had used previously in his, admittedly, limited sex life. The kind where the plastic broke through the cheap fur and cut your skin if you pulled too hard. Tokenisitic in their restraint. These were sturdy, unyielding; they would be completely unbreakable, even by a body like his. The thought of Nik securing Price's wrists to the headboard, working his hands down his body, made Price's damn prick twitch.

Nik nuzzled the side of his neck, bringing him back to the present, and he picked up a solid black pair like the ones he had seen on a man last night. They had a single silver loop each and a thick buckle. The leather was stiff, clean and unblemished, and Price flexed them a little in his palms. "Uh, these." His reward was a soft kiss just beneath his ear, and Nik reached a little higher to pluck the matching collar from the top row of hooks.

"Try them on, with your shirt off," Nik said. "I will wait here. Take your time." He placed the harness in Price's hands and nudged him towards the narrow changing cubicle. Price hesitated, glancing back up at the stairs and then into the shop proper. Nik placed a palm at the small of his back and pressed his nose to the side of Price's face. "It is fine. I will not allow anyone to see."

"Right, yeah..." Price ducked beneath a silk sash hanging from the railing as Nik nudged him forward. He figured if people were down here looking for a birch to take stripes out of them, seeing some battered old soldier in a leather harness wouldn't faze them too much. And that's what he told himself as he yanked the curtain across and shucked his shirt over his head.

The harness seemed to have more buckles than entirely necessary at first inspection, and he turned it over and over in his hands, checking the model on the label to work out how it should sit. It was sturdy, with silver studs and thick metal, and he felt that same throb of arousal as he handled it.

"John, is ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine, jus'... workin' it out."

In the end, Price pulled open one of the side buckles and ducked into it. The leather was chill on his skin and his nipples pulled tight as he sat the straps just above them. Once he'd fastened the buckle back in place, he glanced into the mirror through his eyebrows, hesitant.

The yellowing bruise on his ribs from the last op was beginning to fade, the scrapes all but healed into thin pink lines, and he had the usual litany of scars he was used to seeing by now.

He looked... good.

It sat well around his shoulders, framing the furred curves of his chest by sitting just above the line of his nipples, the silver d-ring between his tits. The straps beneath his arms sat just above his obliques, following the line of muscle comfortably.

Fuck, it made him look... made him look broad, strong, with his jeans belted at his narrow hips, his operation-ready athletic physique well-complemented, and he stood up a little straighter, jutting his chin. He'd expected to feel like a dog, maybe a bit demeaned, but when he flexed into the leather, heard the stiff straps creak a bit, he felt fuckin' powerful.

Next were the cuffs. He wrapped them around each wrist, turning them around until the silver rings sat on the top and the buckles beneath. The lining was slightly padded, lending to a snug fit.

"How does it feel?" Nik asked, close to the curtain.

"Yeah, s'nice. Like, uh, it fits well."

Price grabbed the collar and then pushed the curtain aside a bit, his eyes fixed on the floor as he felt the heat creeping up his neck again. He heard Nik's breath catch and then a soft curse whispered in awestruck Russian.

"Not bad, right?" Price asked, trying for cocksure but coming out shy.

Nik said nothing. He took the collar from Price's hand and wrapped it carefully around his neck, using his forefinger to stop the leather biting as he threaded the strap through. The moment it pulled tight enough for Price to feel it, he let out a soft gasp, his hands lifting to latch onto Nik's wrist, a sudden panic beating a little harder in his chest.

"Easy, solnyshko," Nik said gently, leaning in to kiss him. Price's grip relaxed, and he drew in a shaky breath. Nik took his hands. "Here, let me show you how it would feel with your wrists secure. If you feel unsafe, you must tell me, da?"

"Is... Is anyone down here?"

"Nyet. We are alone."

"Ye-yeah, right... Yeah." Price swallowed as Nik moved his arms behind his back, lifting each wrist until he could attach the cuffs to the d-ring at the back of the harness. When Nik was done, he stepped back, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the shop as he appraised the man before him.

"Krasivyy..." Nik said, reaching to lift Price's chin from where it was tilted down. John kept his head up as Nik's hands roamed his body, following the line of the leather straps over his clavicles to his upper chest, leaving goosebumps of pleasure in his wake.

Price watched Nik's eyes darken with desire and felt like the hottest piece of arse this side of the Thames; he flexed cheekily into the straps and Nik's lips twitched. The control in this wasn't so clear cut, was it? Price had assumed he'd be the one under the boot, but watching Nik's reaction made it clear he had more power than he'd assumed. Nik was enraptured, his arousal clear in the heated caress of his palms and fingers.

Price wanted to lean into his hands, arch like a damn cat. His stomach pulled tight as Nik stroked just above his nipples, following the line of the harness beneath his arms and making him flex and shiver. It was too much, too sensitive, and he let out a soft, strangled noise, squirming as heat gathered in his hips. He couldn't stop Nik from touching him, couldn't push his hands away, and that made his blood run south, hot and urgent. "Mm, Nik... Please... I..."

"You are... breath taking like this," Nik said, lifting a hand to hook the collar and draw Price to him. The experience of being drawn to Nik's chest like that, having to trust those strong arms would catch him, made Price groan softly. He buried his face into Nik's neck, arching only when Nik's hands swept down his back, gently stroking the burn scars at the base before dropping lower to squeeze his arse. "If I could, I would have you here."

"Fuck," Price breathed, grinding forward to feel the hard line of Nik's cock. "Guess we're buyin' this then..."

"Da, and one or two other things."

"Nik."

"Nothing sharp. Nothing to hurt you, John. I promise."

"You could never hurt me." Price had never been so certain of anything in his life.

Nik took the back of the harness and pulled Price away from him, lifting his chin so their eyes met. "This is important. So listen," Nik said. "Sometimes hurt is not physical pain in this. It can be feeling unsafe, it can be feeling too overwhelmed. I may push too far, and you must be honest with me."

Nik looked so serious and Price could only nod, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. Fuck, Nik cared about him so fuckin' much and it made Price's heart feel all kinds of warm. "So, what... We, uh, we need safe words and the like?" He flashed a lopsided grin and Nik kissed him on the forehead with a low chuckle.

"Da. We will discuss. Now, get dressed. I wish to get you back to the hotel."

"Yes, sir."

"John..."

"Sorry, couldn't help it."

"If you wish to call me sir in our bedroom, then I would not be opposed."

"Bet you fuckin' wouldn't..."

"I see you are going to be, what to say... a brat." Nik swatted Price's arse before he undid the cuffs from the back of the harness and drew the curtain across.

Price almost felt sad about taking the harness off, savouring the phantom sensation of it on his skin even when he pulled his t-shirt and coat back on. He lingered in the cubicle, squeezing his prick through his jeans with a grimace, and only re-emerged once it had calmed enough to be bloody discreet.

Nik was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He was holding a coil of rope, a leash and what looked to be an anal toy of some kind. "It is remote control," Nik said with a roguish little smirk when he saw Price looking, before jogging up the stairs.

"Bloody 'ell," Price breathed, following behind him.

Nik flashed the plastic and purchased the lot, despite Price fumbling through his coat for his wallet. "This is treat for me," Nik said when Price glared at him, plucking the opaque black bags from the counter.

"'M worried what I've unleashed here," Price replied once Nik had thanked the assistant and they were heading for the door.

"Ah, I believe it is I that have leashed you, no?"

"Ha-fucking-ha, corny bastard."

Nik grabbed John's hand and looked far too proud of himself, his smile so bright and handsome that Price's heart felt light. He didn't let go of Price's hand as they strolled back towards the station, and Price felt his heart swell as he glanced down at their intertwined fingers, his lower lip between his teeth.

Today was a day of firsts: his first visit to a bloody sex shop, and the first time in his life he had ever held a lover's hand, head up, chest out, as he walked down the street. When in London, eh?

[kennytheworkingclasshero]

Alongside Stan, we've also seen Kenny experience addiction issues. Most notably in the episode Major Boobage, where he spends the majority of the time favouring the escapism that cat pee offers him from his day to day life. Kenny is often spending his time taking care of his sister, dealing with his parents' own inebriation and their tendencies towards domestic abuse, as well as having to go through painful deaths over and over again. The relief and happiness he feels when he is able to go into another world, where he is experiencing the things that he loves (good looking women, obviously), is enough to make him do it again and again (despite how worried his friends are).

This is similar to Stan, as seen in Ass Burgers when he has to come to terms with his parents divorce, as well as developing depression and a sense of cynicism in the world. He takes to alcohol very easily in order to numb the pain and be able to make it through his day.

Kenny and Stan are both victims of addiction being passed down genetically; Kenny with his parents being addicts and Stan with his father and grandfather being addicts. However, I do think their reactions to addiction is very different, and it all comes down to the environment in which they were raised.

For Kenny, he grew up with two parents who were very clearly addicts. There was no hiding it, they were always drunk or high and their kids knew that. Kenny as Mysterion even asked them to stop getting high as frequently as they do, which is seen in the episode Mysterion Rises when Carol says they did what he asked and they "stopped gettin' high every night." Kenny has deep rooted trauma which stems from his parents addiction and what happens because of it, like neglect and domestic violence. That is why when Gerald is giving his speech at the end of Major Boobage and he says "Problem is, the more you go into that world, the more you need to go. Until you start blowing off all the real people who care about you." Kenny resonates with this, looking down guiltily and saying to himself "Yeah, I guess so."

Him and his siblings experience this everyday and that has real material effects on their lives. This is seen in The Poor Kid when the McCormick siblings are taken into foster care because of their parents neglect. Karen asks why her mom and dad went to jail and Kenny replies with sentiments that are similar to Geralds speech, of them "blowing off" the people that care for them in real life; "Sometimes, people do stupid things. Sometimes they don't realize what should have come first. Until it's too late."

He doesn't want to become like his parents, he wants to put his family (and more specifically, his little sister) first. Because she's all he's got, because he has taken on the role of her caregiver due to his parents struggle with addiction. If he gives into his own 'needs', who will be there for her? That is why he restrains himself and that is why the way he has been brought up, despite being surrounded by addicts from a young age, has made him want to distance himself from substances.

This is not to say that Stan's upbringing didn't have an effect on his addiction, but the Marshes are able to put on the front of a more put together family due to their economic status, in a way the McCormick's simply cannot. They are middle class, Randy has a good job, they live on the 'good' side of town. Randy is a terrible father and an idiot, who doesn't put much effort into his family members lives, but he is a functioning alcoholic. It is easier to hide and therefore, Stan's trauma is not as clearly linked to substances and addiction as Kenny's is. Stan also does not hold much responsibility for other family members in the way that Kenny does and because of this, it is easier for him to fall into his addiction in the way Kenny isn't. Stan isn't even particularly introduced to alcohol by his father, but rather a group of cynics.

However, this does not absolve Randy from his responsibility for his son's addiction or trauma. It still stems from Randy, but it also functions differently from Kenny's.

[melancholicbutterflies]

You Don’t Own Me

Summary: You’re tired of Elvis always telling you what you can and cannot do as his wife. You decide to pushback. He puts you in your place.

Warnings: underage, smut, dubious consent, bdsm themes (dd/lg), cursing, yandere!Elvis themes, breeding kink, 18+ (cannot stress this enough!) 

Word Count: 4,046

It was a decision you would come to regret, but you were young and naive, and dreaming of a better life. 

You met him at your high school. Elvis, up and coming rock ‘n roll sensation, had just returned from two years in the service and had successfully reformed his bad boy image in the eyes of parents everywhere. As such, he was permitted in venues since objected to (and the ones of teenage girls’ wet dreams). 

Elvis the Pelvis was coming to your school, and students and teachers alike were all abuzz. Growing up in a very Christian family, you weren’t allowed to watch his performances, and knew only what you heard from friends of less strict upbringings, and the odd radio programming when you snuck into the teacher’s lounge. 

Nothing could prepare you for what he looked like up close. Thick, dark hair that was somewhat cartoonish framed a devilishly handsome, tanned face with high cheekbones, sultry eyes, and a snarling smile that beckoned you. And he was tall, taller than any of the boys in class (although they were much younger, you had to concede). Still, he looked dapper in his suit, his well-loved acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, devil hips cocked to one side. 

He was a stunner, all right, and you were as good as gone. 

You watched as he gave each and every person his undivided attention, all smiles and bashful head ducks. You wouldn’t have pegged him for humble, couldn’t imagine him being so with the amount of talent and charm and good looks he’d been endowed with, but he surpassed your every expectation. He was here to teach some scripture, and at some point he wove in some music, too. His voice was like a siren’s, no business singing such innocently devout lyrics. 

At the end everyone clapped, and he went to signing autographs; the line took up the whole classroom and wrapped around the hallway as other students from classes that broke out joined in. 

When it was your turn, he started, “who should I make it out to?” Pen poised, eyes tired as he lifted them to look at you with a waning smile, and he stopped. Nearly dropped the pad of paper then and there as he stared at you. You stared back, entranced, and found you were the first to break eye contact. “Well, it’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N, huh” he snapped out of his reverie, eyes alight with... something, as he licked his lips. “What a pretty name for a pretty gal,” he scribbled something on the pad of paper, barely legible, but finished with a heart. His next words you couldn’t predict in your most wondrous of fantasies: 

“Say, you wouldn’t wanna grab a burger and shake with me one o’ these days, would ya? Or am I gettin’ ahead of myself?” 

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, in shock. He laughed, hair flopping as his head tossed back. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

You nodded vigorously, finally finding your words, albeit breathily. “Yes!” 

“It’s a date,” he said lowly, gaze now stuck on your lips. 

It was nothing short of sweet. You avoided your coworkers interested looks as you sat down with Elvis, who’d held your purse as you slid in the booth opposite. You were hungry and he vocalized he liked a girl who ate and set down a tip that was more than you made in a shift. Ice cream followed, a nice walk in the park, and he drove you home, politely not commenting on the sort of neighborhood you lived in. “I had a nice time,” he said in the low light of the fading sun, leaning in real close. “I did, too.” You said it as you looked down in your lap until he picked your chin up, forcing your gaze to his. You thought he looked sinful for someone so religious. 

“Good, because I really wanna kiss you, Y/N.”

You stopped him with a hand at his clavicle. “I can’t.” Looking backward, he saw a figure by the window, felt your sudden nervousness. It was about more than just want, and thankfully he understood. “Sure, baby, I get it. You’re unspoiled, aren’t you?” His eyes implored you. 

Reticently, you nodded, not fully understanding his meaning but knowing enough. 

It should have concerned you how happy he looked at that. 

Pretty soon he showed up everywhere. At the local diner, your ballet lessons, even one late night you were out walking your dog, Marnie. You could have sworn you saw a car at the end of the street, eyes watching under darkness. It was unnerving, it was exciting; you hadn’t experienced the weight of someone’s entire attention on you before now.

If you were less naive, you might have questioned why a grown man who had plenty else to do was expending so much effort getting to know you. It all became clear one day when he took you out to dinner, not just at any restaurant, but the fanciest one in town, followed by a romantic moon-lit walk at the beach and kneeled before you in the sand asking you to marry him. 

You said yes, of course, and he looked like the happiest man alive as he wrapped you up in a breathtaking kiss. You two couldn’t wait to get to his hotel, and made love right then and there, the sounds of the ocean waves lapping in the distance. 

He wanted to marry at once, and only a few days later you were at the courthouse exchanging vows. None of your friends could come (they were all in school), and only a few of his came, including his father, who hadn’t exactly looked favorably on you, but knew his son couldn’t be reasoned with once he set his mind to something. The colonel scowled in the corner, smoking his pipe up a storm. Your mom and dad wanted nothing to do with the whole affair and had all too happily washed their hands of you, signing paperwork to allow you to wed before your eighteenth birthday. 

When it was time to say, ‘I do’, you did so enthusiastically, and a beautiful smile broke out on his handsome face. He pulled you in, thumbing your bridal veil, and kissed you like a man possessed. You were forever changed in that moment. 

Mrs. Elvis Presley. It was like a dream come true.

And for a while, it was. 

Elvis was attentive, doting, a true joy to be around. He took care of everything for you. You wanted for nothing. You were happy, happier than you ever thought possible in your short and, up till now, wretched life. Elvis changed everything for you, and you were eternally grateful. 

But, like all dreams, there came a time when reality set in. The bubble burst. Oh, boy, did it ever. 

It started with little things, at first. 

Before he’d met you, you worked at a diner waiting tables. Now that you were married, he claimed there was no reason to keep waitressing. “Waste of time,” he remarked, “’sides, who’d wanna keep on their feet like that all day long when you don’t have’ta? Nuh-uh, didn’t think so. You’ll put in your notice tomorrah’.” 

You thought to object, but he had a point. It was enjoyable enough to you, sure, passed the time all right, and gave you some pocket change to buy things for yourself that your parents never would. But now with Elvis occupying your days, and making just about a hundred times what you ever did after a full day’s work just sitting around, what was the point? Your coworkers, as nice as they were, were hardly reason enough. 

So you promptly shut your mouth and smiled, giving him a big hug, and that was that. 

Then it was your hair: 

“Oh, doll,” he crooned one night after a heavy bout of lovemaking, running his meaty paw through your thick, wavy hair. “Wouldn’t you look good with straightened hair?” 

You turned to him in mild surprise, still blissed out. “You never said a thing about my hair before. Don’t you like it?”

“Oh, ‘course I do, baby. I just thought you might like to keep up with the fashion is all. All them girls have their hair straight these days.” 

“I guess that’s true.” You admitted. “And, say, maybe you ‘oughta darken it while you’re at it. Might be nice to have us match, you know.” You touched a hand to your hair, furrowing your brows as he leaned in to nuzzle your neck, applying light, sweet kisses there. It was awfully distracting, your hand falling limp on the bed as you gasped. 

“Promise me you’ll think ‘bout it, at least...” He murmured low between kisses that went ever lower. “Oh, sure.” 

“Good girl,” he growled, and he said something about “...have Jer make an appointment at that salon o’ Sandy’s.” And he proceeded to eat you out. 

As time went on, that charming, subtle needling to shift your behaviors in his favor turned meaner:

Once before a press conference, he stopped you in the hallway, seizing your arm. “Hey, what’s wrong—” you winced as he twisted it around harshly in an effort to inspect your hand. “Quit it, E, that hurts.” 

“What is this?” He looked at you angrily, disappointed, even. 

“What is what?” You didn’t see anything other than your ring, which was where it should be, on your ring finger without anything out of the ordinary. When you saw where his eyes were directed, you realized he meant your nail polish. 

“So it’s a little chipped. Who cares?”

“Who cares?” He seethed. “I care, and if you had any sense in ya you would too! Everything you do reflects on me, little girl, so when you look like a cheap hussy, you make me look bad. Make ‘em think I can’t take care of my baby. Get it?” 

He wasn’t shouting, he wasn’t even raising his voice, but the venom dripping from his quiet wrath was so much worse. 

Tears built at the corner of your eyes and you ducked your head, turning on your heel to run back toward the bedroom before he caught you by the arm again. You thought he’d apologize, say he overreacted. He didn’t. Instead he said: “Dry those eyes, girl, and put on a smile. I don’t care if it ain’t real, but I won’t have ya embarrassin’ me.” 

It only snowballed from there.

Your whole wardrobe was thrown out, and a new one replaced to match with Elvis’. You didn’t finish school, didn’t do ballet anymore. You still cooked and baked now and then, but only on special occasions. Mary did all the real cooking in the house, and she already knew what Elvis liked and she did it well. Drinking, although technically not even legal, was forbidden (“a lady shouldn’t drink, you’ll get sloppy and less chivalrous men than myself’ll take advantage. Don’t want that, do ya?”)

Want to go to the movie with some friends? Think again. Boys weren’t allowed anywhere in your vicinity: he barely let Red, trusted bodyguard of the Memphis Mafia, guard you. He said he didn’t like his wandering eye one time. Personally, you thought he was delusional, but didn’t bother arguing since you hadn’t exactly taken a liking to the man. 

Your friends were more acquaintances now, and when you saw them, you didn’t know what to say. They’d moved on, had new friends or new boyfriends. They felt you abandoned them (you did, although not intentionally). You never felt more alone in your life, and yet you were never alone; Elvis made sure of that, always having someone stay behind to watch you when he couldn’t.

Eventually it was the summer, your first summer as a married couple in fact, and you were invited to your cousin’s wedding. It was her high school sweetheart; they got the bug from you and wanted to get hitched as soon as they graduated high school. You were hellbent on making it to that wedding, come hell or high water. Elvis, as your husband, was of course also invited and expected as your plus one. They were renting out a small venue in Nashville, and the bride-to-be wanted you as her bridesmaid if not the maid-of-honor (a role you suspected in the back of your mind would have easily been yours pre-Elvis, but post-Elvis you was less reliable, and you couldn’t fault her for making that decision). 

Elvis’ first reaction to it surprised you. After all, he’d hardly wanted you to leave his side and had grown increasingly controlling. So when he said, “Sure, hunny,” you almost questioned if you’d imagined it.

You were ecstatic. “Oh, thank you, Elvis. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Each word of gratitude was punctured by a kiss all over his face and any other bare patch of skin you could reach. He laughed that booming laugh of his and pulled you in to give you a proper one. “Well, if that’s the way you were gonna thank me I ‘oughta have more o’ your friends get married!” 

This was Fall. Now that it was summertime, and the wedding weekend was upon you, he put his foot down. 

“No,” he said simply, not even sparing you a glance as he casually strummed his acoustic guitar, legs spread apart on the couch. Your mouth nearly fell to the floor, and you felt a distinct ringing in your ears, your heartbeat speeding up. Blinking, you saw a few of his Mafia crew milling about, pretending they’d gone deaf and blind as your temper rose. 

“What?” You screeched. 

You did. 

You almost forgot what it sounded like, your defiance. It was spectacular, and you thought you had never felt so angry in your life. 

And you had a right to, damn it. You did everything this man said and more. You dyed your hair black, you straightened it to his liking, you always had a fresh paint of nails, you wore the dresses he picked out for you, even the ones with the ruffles that you couldn’t stand, and wanted to make you tear your eyes out of your sockets. You stopped working because he said so (although that was not entirely something worth fighting). But you left school, and you stopped talking to your friends for months until they stopped trying so hard and all you had was him and his damn Mafia. The girlfriends and wives didn’t even hardly talk to you. You were too young and there was very little in common. 

You think you spewed all this out to him in your rage, not thinking it even made sense, but you wanted him to feel what he put you through, and being his wasn’t enough if you didn’t have a life outside of his wants and desires. 

Finally, chest heaving, out of words to say in your tirade, you saw him through blurry, teary eyes. He’d frozen, shoulders hunched, body tensed for a fight. He looked around the room, but he needn’t — his Mafia was nowhere to be seen now. His eyes cut to you, dark and stormy, as he rose to his full height and strode towards your panting figure. 

It was a sight to behold, your husband so angry. He’d been cross with you — lord knew he’d been annoyed on many an occasion — but enraged was new. It felt like the point of no return. Like he’d really hurt you this time, all those words about never laying a hand on a woman falling by the wayside.

“Now, Elvis, hold on now—”

“Long past time for that, baby. You been backsassin’ me and I won’t stand for it.”

Your eyes cut to the side, seeing a crack in the doorway.

“Don’t you even think about it, lil’ girl.” Elvis growled. You yelped as he took you in his arms, forcefully tugging you to the couch where he fell back against it, the momentum leaving you to fall across his lap in a rather unlady-like manner. 

“Elvis, please, I’m sorry,” you began, attempting in vain to rise from the precarious position he had you in. His arm only tightened its hold around your waist much like a boa constrictor around its prey. “Should’a thought ‘a that before you went off like that. Now, sit tight and take your punishment.” 

He hit you, then. He actually did it. But it wasn’t across your face or strangling your neck like you’d heard some women claiming of their husbands. He’d pulled up your dress so that it hung your belly and pulled down your lace underwear so that you were bare-bottomed and smacked your butt with his open palm, rings and all. 

You gasped first, shocked that it had happened, and that it felt like it did; the contrast of his warm skin and the cold metal rings was a contrast you hadn’t known you needed. Then as one became two, and two became three, and four and five, and so on... you’d lost track, a strange feeling built up in your lower abdomen that felt familiar yet also foreign. 

Were you... enjoying this absurd, perverted version of punishment?  Surely you weren’t getting turned on by your husband beating you like an errant child? 

And yet... you couldn’t deny the flare of hot want flowing through you, and you certainly couldn’t deny the wet stickiness that started collecting in your bared cunt. You had to bite your lip from making your desire audible; you were angry, aghast that your husband would go to such lengths for simply voicing your very legitimate frustrations to him. 

When a slap fell slightly lower, just catching the bottom of your pussy lips, you couldn’t contain your excitement. A moan slipped past your lips. 

Elvis froze, cock hardening in his pants some.

Your eyes widened, cursing yourself internally. The last thing you wanted was for the bastard to know some part of you was enjoying yourself. You wouldn’t look at him, burying your head in the side of his thigh, even as you felt that hot and searing gaze of his on you. You were humiliated, something you hadn’t thought possible after what he’d already done. 

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice deeper, thick with lust. “Seems my baby likes this more than she should.” 

“Please, Elvis, let me go,” you begged.” You’ve had your fun, being humiliated like this is punishment enough.” 

He laughed, barrel chest vibrating against you. “Oh, hunny, I ain’t nearly done with you. In fact,” he circled your ass with his palm, your slick wetting his fingers now. “The fun’s just begun.” 

“What—” You interjected, only to cry out loudly (or perhaps moan, it was some contrived version of the two), as he promptly pushed his fingers deep into your crevice, the warm, wet walls hugging his long digits with gusto. 

He hissed, “oh, baby girl, that vice of yours just about does my head in. I need to be inside you now.” He started fumbling with his slacks, the belt coming undone in record time as he pulled his rock-hard cock out of his boxers. He gave it a good tug, grimacing at the action. The tip was red and weeping, practically twitching with need. 

“C’mere,” he said, positioning you where he wanted you like a doll. “On all fours, that’s right, just like that hunny.” Your knees met the carpeted floor, hair falling around you like a curtain as your head bent. You know he could go deep like this, but usually you had sex facing one another. He could piss you off to no end, but sex was always a sacred thing between you two. This felt cold, unfeeling. Fucking was what it was; he could care less to see you, he only wanted to possess you. You felt cheap, a plaything — and yet your cunt continued to thud with need. 

“Jesus, you’re a pretty sight,” he rubbed his cock over your pussy lips, grab at your ass, take another smack of it and delighting in the jiggle of it. “Please, Elvis, just...” You pleaded, and he cut a look at you. “Don’t think you’re much in the position to be makin’ any sorta demands, doll.” 

You hung your head, sighing, waiting for him to get his fill. “Oh, hell,” he said, “you’re lucky I can’t hardly wait anymore either.” And with that he pushed into you, causing a surprised yelp to leave your throat. Pulling on your hair, causing your back to arch towards him, he set a punishing, brutal pace, one that hard you seeing stars. In this position, he could hit your g-spot dead on, and hit it he did. 

“Oh, godddd,” you groaned, scraping a hand back to hold onto his arm holding onto you. He huffed a laugh that turned strangled toward the end. “Not God, darlin’, but close.” 

You would have snorted at the cheesy line if you weren’t full of his cock. 

“Nothin’ to say?” He taunted. “That’s a real shame. To think you just needed some good dick to quiet down. Bet you ain’t never had one good as me.” 

It wasn’t a statement, he expected an answer, but you were too far gone in the blissed-out feeling to recognize it.

Smacking your sore ass harshly, he repeated his words. “Ain’t you? Say it, or I swear to God I’ll stop right now and won’t let you come.” 

“Yes, E, yes! You’re the best I’ve had,” you cried as the building sensation waned. “That ain’t my name, try again.” 

“Daddy,” you whispered, feeling some shame about it. You always felt weird about calling him that even though your relationship with you father had never been close, but he demanded you refer to him in that way. 

“Daddy what?”

“Daddy you’re the best I’ve ever had,” you admitted. He smiled; really, you would have said anything to have him keep fucking you the way he was.

“That���s right,” he pet your head, slipping his cock back into your tight hole as your eyes rolled back in your head. “You’re my good girl when you’re like this, almost forgotten you was bad earlier. Throwin’ a temper tantrum back there after all I done for you. Ungrateful. And for what? Some weddin’ you felt you needed to go to?” He tutted you, each word punctured by a punishing stab at your cervix; the pain intermingled with pleasure to create a heady concoction leaving you at a loss of words. Intelligible ones, anyhow. 

“Ye-ah...” you moaned. 

“What was that?” Elvis goaded, pinching your swinging titties between his hands. 

“A-agree, I w-was bein’ bad.” 

“Right. ‘Cause the only person you should be worryin’ about is me. Your husband.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed deeply. “Need you just as much, more than ‘em. Can’t have you halfway ‘cross the state if somethin’ came up.” 

He soothed your head, running his fingers through your dampening hair. “Need my yittle baby by my side, and she needs her daddy,” he cooed in the baby-talk language he loved so much. 

You nodded, more so due to the buildup in your pelvic region. He groaned, feeling the tighening in his balls as your walls started fluttering around him. 

“Shit, hunny, you got me ready to burst. You gon’ take it? Take all my lovin’?” 

“Yes, Daddy! I’ll take it all.” 

“Gonna fill you up,” he mumbled, hips moving erratically now. “Fill you up with my babies ‘till your big and swollen with my seed. Shi-itt—!” 

You cried out at the sensation of his warmth shooting into you, triggering your orgasm. 

“Agh!” He yelled, falling over you, hips slowly still moving as if to fuck more into you. You collapsed on the floor, and he was right behind you. You two laid on the floor in the fading light that spilled through the French windows. 

Turning so that he was looking at you, he pulled your face to his in a deep, slow kiss. “You gonna let Daddy take care of you?” 

You hesitated, knowing what he wanted of you. “Yes, Daddy. I’ll make the call tonight.” 

He grinned, looking every bit the angel and devil as he hovered over you. “Good girl.”