#A lesson to be learned

[boonoonoonus]

A Lesson to be Learned Pt 1

Smoke returns to Annie and finds out that he's not the only person who's been having nookie in the 7 years that passed. But of course, for him it doesn't count, but for Annie? It's a PROBLEM.

A/N: This is based on a prompt someone posted of Smoke finding Annie with someone else and losing his mind. If you happen to know who made that prompt, please tag them so I can say thank you. Also ENJOY! Shout out to my co-writer who RP'ed Annie.

Warnings: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, dual narratives with Annie's side and Smoke's

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Smoke wasn’t pleased.

He sniffed the air, his lip curled into a half snarl as his eyes traced the figure disappearing into the distance. Beau-Dallas had looked somewhat stricken at seeing him pull into the plot of land, and even after laying flowers on baby girls resting spot, something still felt off to him.

Still, he put such thoughts to the back of his mind as he walked to the door. When Annie opened the door, a half-smile crossed her lips, and he felt his expression quickly clear. He turned his head to rest his eyes on her, “how you be?” his voice rough and raw.

Something had told Annie that today was going to be a pivotal day, but she had hoped it was the day he would finally release her, allowing her to enjoy her own flesh without guilt. Instead, she felt her heart pounding as she heard the car rumbling in the distance. She’d rushed Beau-Dallas out the door, but she knew it was too late, that he’d been noticed when she really didn’t want to draw attention to herself. Granted, Beau-Dallas hadn’t needed much rushing, a letdown of a man in all manner of ways.

However, the minute she'd realised who had come knocking at her door, her stomach dropped into her gut and her legs went weak. Of course, he would appear today. The last person she expected to see. The worst person, even at a time like this. "Why you here Smoke?" She asks through a crack in the doorway. She doesn't let him in. She can’t. She tries to hold it together, fronting and pretending a moral high ground she knows he wouldn't allow. He'd left her. Not the other way around, but he wouldn't see it that way. She knew that, like she knew his love for her.

"We through with Chicago. And this home." Smoke didn't have to say it was his home, that was implied, a given actually, because Annie was always his home, had been his home since he married her, given her his last name, and seeded her right. If he wasn't gallivanting across the land with Stack, trying to keep that boy alive and with a head firmly on his shoulders, then he was with Annie. There were no other options, no other tethers for him on this land, but his brother and his woman.

Funny how it was only after so many years away, did he remember where home was.

"Well, welcome home." She offered drily, not budging an inch and refusing to stand down despite a rising panic. "You seen your daughter, you seen me. What more you want?" He didn't deserve any more emotion from her, though her heart ached at her words, at their distance. But, her traitorous heart whispered, he'd been the one to leave. No money, and no half arsed messages sent over the years could replace his missing presence. She hadn’t wanted that; she’d wanted him.

"Woman," Smoke planted his feet on either side of her doorway, unmoving. He'd expected resistance, but this callousness was unlike his wife. He could have budged past her, pushed her to the side and entered the shop HE had built, on the land HE had paid for, for HIS wife, but he'd remembered enough southern manners to speak to her from between a clenched jaw and act polite. "I know you hurt, and I know I ain't shit, but you’se my home, ain't nowhere else I 'spose to be, but with you and baby girl."

"Smoke, I done already moved on. I had how many years? Living without you?" How many nights had she slept alone? How many times had she touched herself in private thinking about a cock she missed and a man she loved. How many times had she cursed, remembering his mouth, his hands. And here, he was again, two arms, two legs, two eyes and a brain that worked. Against her will, and her better judgement, she felt herself start to soften. She missed him bad. She missed his hands, his slick mouth, his dick pressed deep in her pussy, her mouth, even her arse. That’s where he'd taken first, back when they'd been too young - too young to be doing anything really, and especially too young to spring up a child neither could care for.

Smoke closed his eyes and breathed deeply. As a man of few words, he'd married a woman who fought primarily with hers because she balanced him out, she could be his mouth piece and he her strength. But on a day like today, he could feel nothing but rising blood pressure from Annie's antics. "Yeah, and I'm motherfuckin' Jim Crow. Let me in, Annie."

She wondered distantly what habits her man may have picked up, as the frustration Beau-Dallas antics inside of her throbbed again, what sort of women he’d held down and fucked while they were apart. Had he licked them? Touched them tender? Did Smoke give them the good good as he’d always given her?

Her heart ached.

“Why? What are you planning, Smoke?” She asks because she knows what will happen if she lets him in. She wonders what he would do once he spread her legs and found another man’s seed. Would he beat her? Hurt her? Take her other hole instead? What would it be? She shook her head to clear her thoughts and shortened the space, pressing the door closed a little more. There was no need to open the door to old demons.

"We not having this conversation on the street for any ole nigga to hear Annie." The idea that their business would be public fodder and affect her business was the only thing that kept Smoke from pulling the door off the hinges and taking his woman into hand. It was hard enough to be back in Clarksdale after so many years, and though the reputation of the Smokestack twins preceded them, Smoke didn't want to take anymore chances with someone who didn't know the rules that ran the town, not after the incident earlier with Terry and the Maybell Plantation nigga outside the Chow’s. "Open the door, Annie, and let me through. You ain't gon' like what I'll do if you don't, and baby girl don't need to see her mama getting her shit popped."

Against her better judgment, she lets him in. Resolved to what seems inevitable now. When she steps back to let the door swing open, she feels a twinge from down below. A burning heat that only increases when she gets a whiff of Smoke’s scent after so long. She’d been aroused ever since she realised who it was at her door, but God it aches something different to have him so close, passing her space to get inside. Her body, after all these tests, these trials and tribulations, hasn’t forgotten. And no sloppy half-hearted coupling with a man whose cock couldn’t even fill her up right would change it.

When Annie opens the door, Smoke breezes past her, his hand already outstretched for his pipe. Once it's in his mouth, he doesn't hesitate to sit down and reach out for the good ganja he knew she kept hidden underneath the shop counter. She's pottering around, trying to keep busy and trying to avoid his eyes, and he can't help but let his eyes roam over her body in want. She's wearing his colour. A blue dress, light cotton so it stains easily with sweat under her arms, around her neck, and when she bends over a bit, he sees the sweat has formed crescent shapes on the places where the fabric rests under her booty cheeks when she stands. A fire burns inside, further fuelled when he pulls his hand back from under the counter and pulls the ganja, but also a soft scrap of fabric alongside it.

Panties.

Soiled, white panties.

Smirking, Smoke slowly put them in his pocket and patted the fabric. "Why you catching an attitude Baby? Ain't like you to cuss me."

Now that she let him in, Annie started to ponder her options. Enraging him further wasn’t it. It was too late, and she couldn’t hide the evidence of what she’d been doing, not with her dress clinging to her body with sweat and that man’s seed rolling down her leg. So, what was left?

Appeasement.

She breathed deeply, trying to stop the shaking in her hands. The ointment was still out. She’d needed it for that man, her pussy hadn’t been too interested in his ministrations and there was only so much juice she could pull from her own puss in front a man that didn’t stir her loins. She eyed it discreetly on the counter, wondered if Smoke noticed it, remembered it as the same ointment he’d used time and time again to ease into her back passage.

“How long ‘ave you been gone Smoke? Was I supposed to be happy you back? Forgive just like that?” She didn’t want to. She deserved to be upset. Deserved to seek out someone after so long; she wasn’t meant to be a widow indefinitely. Or till he remembered he had pussy at home. She was too loving, too pretty, too powerful to be left so alone for so long. He couldn’t just waltz back in, not after he left, and he couldn’t look at her with those eyes and make her feel guilty.

Smoke's eyes watched her keenly. She purposefully kept just outside the span of his arms, so he wouldn't pull her close. Yet, she turned to him as she cussed him out, hands on hips as she breathed a little deeply. "Seven years, baby, I know. Seven long years." He closed his eyes and shook his head to rid himself of the memories of the long nights, the nights without her, his heart breaking all over again. "But, I'm back, Annie and baby girl, she's at rest." He breathed deeply and took a few puffs on the pipe. "Papa's home for good. Stack an' me, we gon' open up a Juke joint, an' I'm gonna build you that house I promised you, an' we gon' have babies, give baby girl some siblings to look over, and we gon’ be happy, Annie. Together again, I promise yah." He stood up, placing the pipe to his side and though her body was stiff, reluctant, he pulled her close. His nose finding her neck.

She digested the information slowly, leaning away from Smoke, somewhat distrusting, though her body yearned desperately for his touch to quell the heat. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Settle down, and Smoke didn’t exactly go together, especially when Stack was involved. A voice that sounded a little too similarly to Mary chastised her, told her to keep her suspicion. Still, it’s a fight not to melt right into his arms. Strong hands, a familiar scent, a broad chest. His voice lights something up within her, and she finds some tears collecting in the corner of her eyes. She’d been thinking about trying again, finding someone to give her a child. Probably a son. Someone to keep her company when everyone left, someone who would stay. And here came Smoke. “I missed you.” And that was the truth.

They hadn’t talked about trying again. Too lost in grief, but he was ready now, and he wanted their future back. "I missed you, too.” It's easy to pull her close, her chest heaving and pillow soft, without her brassiere pressed against his own, and capture her lips. She tastes as she always does, as she tasted in their youth, and he can't help but grasp her chin and cheek with his hands, pulling her into his orbit. She's his once more, and it's glorious.

Kissing Smoke never ceased to amaze her. The pure sensuality of it. Lips on lips, teeth, spit, and the single-minded energy that seemed intent on devouring her. She leans in with more and more fervour, her body increasingly primed for something and pussy leaking in new bursts for what she knew what was come next, what she desired to come next, her mind strays away from her trepidation, from her fear of the situation happening between her legs.

Annie is warm beneath his hands and Smoke can't help but slap her ass when his hands travel down her back to clutch at her curves. She moans into his mouth and he grins, drawing her close and digging his hands into her ass as he rhythmically slapped her ass so it continued to shake, one cheek then the next. "Shake that shit for papa," he says pulling back from the kiss to look into her eyes. He reached his hands further down, hiking up her dress onto her hips. Smoke didn't need to look, his hands knew exactly how to find her button and warm centre. So his fingers roughly part her second lips, groaning as he heard the loud wet sound as the lips separated."You miss me, baby?"

Her man doesn’t miss a step, and soon she’s enveloped in warm, familiar pressure. Holding on to her upset and anger is futile in the face of those eyes, fuck his hands know exactly where to go. He obviously hasn’t forgotten her body after all this time. A flick to her clit sends another warm wave all through her and she presses back on his fingers hungrily.

This is what she’s been craving what she missed. His hands on her. His words, filth and all.

She’s moaning now. Soft and plaintive at first, but increasing with strength.

"How can you—“ She can’t even finish the sentence. Rage flooding through her, intercepting her lust and longing. “How are you—gon’ fix your mouth to ask—If I missed ?” She missed him every day. In the beginning, she’d been so damn sad. It faded somewhat with time. As did the pitying glances and words people sent her way. But to ask?

They had a child for christ sake. She'd cradled the babe in her arms and cried for days. How many times had she wished he were with her? How many times had different folk run roughshod over her because they knew he had abandoned her.

She's warm, wet, and the room smells like sweat - like sex, but he can't focus on that because she's unbridled rage and upset in his arms. "Hush," he soothes her, "jus' playin. I know you missed me, I missed you too." That's an understatement. He thought of her constantly. In Germany, in England, in France, in the day, in the night, when he ate, when he slept, even when he was balls deep in some woman he couldn't remember, he had missed his woman.

His Annie.

Not for the first time, Annie thinks, ‘I must be a fool.’ Only a fool would cave like this at the first sign of contriteness, the first sign of apology from a man like Elijah Moore. She was that very fool.

It’s not enough, can’t be. There’s too much time for the two of them to make up for, but the same way she’d know what would be when she let this devil of a man enter her house again. Is the same way she knows she’ll take this paltry offering anyway.

“Elijah…” She says his name out loud for the first time. Not the moniker, not the mask. Her man. Long gone. Now back.

“You realise how much you embarrassed me, yes?” He had more than an apology to make up for. She needed her pride reinforced here. Not just his ego. And she knew he had one.

Even now, with another man’s seed inside her, he still thought he owned her. Still felt entitled to her body—her womb, even. And she’d given in to him still. She doesn’t understand, can’t fathom the pull he’s got on her.

“Tell me you’ll make it right.” That’s all she’s asking. Maybe it’s too much.

Maybe all he can offer her is some good dick and a pleasurable time, some handsome to brighten her day and all the trouble that came with him. Maybe. But something in her still trusts him. She had to. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be letting him talk her out of her metaphorical draws like this.

Smoke was not a man of words, so it was hard to bring forth what was needed, but he looked deep and he scoured his soul. She’s moaning now. Soft and plaintive at first, but increasing with strength, and Smoke can’t help the satisfaction brewing in his body as he toys with her honey pot.

"I'll make it right, baby, Papa will make it right." She was his second baby, their baby girl his third and Stack the first, but Annie had always been his special one. His gorgeous babe, who looked glorious with her sweat-slicked skin.

It wasn't just his sexual attraction, it was the desire, the way her body moved when in euphoria, the love he knew she felt for him in her heart and her power, tingling under her skin and warming his soul.

She groans in upset when he removes his fingers, and he can’t help his smirk as he brings his fingers close to his face. He stopped, glancing between his fingers and her face. “Baby, you creamin'?”

Annie stares up into gorgeous, complex eyes and knows without a doubt that she's in trouble. Her man was a vengeful person. And there’d be hell to pay for the unfortunate man she’d just lain with. As well as herself.

That alone is enough to make her pussy throb in anticipation and increasing fear.

In the past Elijah had shown jealousy before and she’d played it off and been able to reassure him that it wasn’t any other man’s but his.

Now with her caught redhanded, pussy still wet from another mans seed? Not a chance in hell. Lord how long would he hold this over her head?

No subpar sex was worth this. She should have just touched herself and gone to sleep. This is where lust led her.

Punishment.

“I sure wasn’t before.” She acknowledged the event that had occurred previously and held her breath.

His nose catches the scent, and Smoke feels anger like he’s never felt before. His mind runs through the clues, her sweaty skin, clammy hands and reluctance to open the door. Her wet pussy that was loose and open to his touch. “This shit smells like seed” The admission is all over her face and it takes every inch of self control in Smoke to not flip the table and do something drastic to her. “You gave my pussy to some field nigga in the Delta?”

Smoke feels an unbridled rage, that can't be tempered by her wide innocent expression and her mouth set in a pout. A wicked woman is his wife. A wicked, wicked woman.

In a quick motion, he has his hand around her neck, loosely, very loosely. Just enough to scare her, but nothing serious and stares into her eyes.

"Annie?" He asks in warning.

[fleshia]

“ perverts “ — filet crochet by me

[lucybellwood]

Desperately trying to finish listening to this audiobook before Libby repos my shit

[batsyheere]

"So, handling your archnemesis," Danny starts. The room falls quiet, heads slowly turning to look at the man as he writes the words on the chalkboard. When finished, the characters somehow both messy and neat at once, Danny places the chalk back down and claps his hands.

"I typically call them fruitloops. Often they're in a better position than you are- older, richer, more powerful. They may have some sort of status that protects them when facing the public."

Tim wondered where Dick was right now, and if he was laughing. His brain was lagging like a computer as he tried to process what Danny was saying, and how seriously a few of his fellow teen vigilantes were taking this.

"Some of their more common tactics are-" the chalk was picked back up, and Danny writes as he speaks.

"Manipulation, isolation, conditioning, and empathy."

MICE.

Tim stares at the board, and quietly slips put his phone.

-What have I done to deserve this.

Enjoy your lessons Tim-

His head thumps against the desk. Conner leans over, gives him a pat on the shoulder but returns to taking notes as Danny goes on to explain the conditioning tactic.

[bunchabears]

LOOK AT ME, IT'S -10 DEGREES AND I'M HERE HARVESTING ASIATIC CLAMS

[sunny-knight]

TIMELINES MUST PASS

Time Will Pass @forgettable-au fan animation :3

Decided to practice some animation with this wonderful song/animation meme/trend???

Inspiration credit:

@mannawanna on Youtube!

@Sherrickmadds on Instagram!

heheheheheHEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAAHAHAAAAHAHAAHAHA I LOVE THESE GUYS SO MUCH AND THIS AUDIO JUST FELT TOO PERFECT FOR EM!!! ON WE GO TO THE ANALYSIS

The direct actions:

Sans smiles at Wingdings, who does not return it

Sans is bothered and upset by this, before closing his eyes and accepting it.

They go back to staring up at the ceiling, except Sans looks sadder now.

Wingdings continues to sing, content with this.

GASTERING TIME

Cut to the present day-post papyrus day,

Gaster is belting out happily while Sans is horrified at what his…brother??? has turned into.

Before they both come to a (reluctant on Sans’ half) acceptance at the situation.

What they’re supposed to translate to:

Sans encourages Wingdings to come out of his comfort zone. Instead of staying in the lab 247 and shutting out the rest of the world while still wanting to make it a better place with his inventions- why not grab some food at Grillbys?? (I just thought of how funny it is that Sans can’t get Papyrus to enjoy Grillbys either, for different reasons but still. CMON GUYS- GO GET SOME GREASY FOOD WITH YOUR BROTHER)

But he shuts this idea down constantly, no matter how subtle or direct Sans is, he can’t seem to stop his brother from going down an incredibly self destructive route. When he closes his eyes and looks back up at the ceiling…I wouldn’t call that “giving up on Wingdings” but definitely trying less hard. He cant force him to do anything so why try

(ofc Alphys comes in- BUT THIS IS A 24 SECOND ANIMATION, WE DONT HAVE TIME FOR THAT- CHOP CHOP!) (also just as an aside i love that when Sans realizes he cant force Wingdings outside he just brings the outside to him 😭😭)

But Wingdings is fully content with this “giving up”. He gets his way!!!

Thats when we see an interaction between these two, YEARS later. Sans is, needless to say, pretty horrified at whats happened to him (we’re ignoring lack of memories in this situation btw) but Gaster is thrilled and tells Sans that basically “I wont be here for long, i just wanted to say that despite my actions I promise I loved you” which Sans feels many emotions at- but “grief” bundles those all up in a nice trauma bow.

Gaster then goes on to say basically “this has been fun, but this is probably the last time we will ever interact because I have business to attend to, and you have Papyrus’ to attend to!!!” Sans reluctantly accepts this. Again. Gaster always staying within his comfort zone and Sans just going along with it because he cant force his stubborn as hell brother to do anything.

Basically long story short, Sans is not happy in either of these situations. Both times Wingdings puts his work above his brother.

[paranormeow7]

liberal hunger games posting is so funny because like. the hunger games are sold as books for teenagers. these are generally basic political statements about war and capitalism and exploitation meant to be understood by teenagers. these are not radical stances. we should have all learned these things by now. but one thing I have noticed is that the American public just simply do not know a lot of things about the world that other people already know, and even more embarrassingly, they end up needing to learn these things from children’s media. It’s not a good look to realize that you need to be kind to others because you watched a Bluey episode about it at the age of 25.

if you are seeing this post donate to @mosabsdr

[boonoonoonus]

A Lesson to be Learned Pt 2

Smoke returns to Annie and finds out that he's not the only person who's been having nookie in the 7 years that passed. But of course, for him it doesn't count, but for Annie? It's a PROBLEM.

A/N: This is based on a prompt someone posted of Smoke finding Annie with someone else and losing his mind. If you happen to know who made that prompt, please tag them so I can say thank you. Also ENJOY! Shout out to my co-writer who RP'ed Annie.

Warnings: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, dual narratives with Annie's side and Smoke's, Object penetration, An@l

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Annie inhales and exhales slowly, trying to find her words, tonguing them from behind her teeth. “How many women did you lay with while you were gone?” She didn’t believe for a second that a man as gorgeous and as magnetic as he hadn't taken lovers in the years apart. When he got gone, he was supposed to stay gone, for good. Most men left and never came back. How was she supposed to know he would? Was she supposed to wait for him?

She already knew the answer, as unfair as it was.

“You come here, not even asking, demanding I take you back, in my house, in my bed and in my body. As if everything is ok. How’d you think I’ve been Elijah?”

How many men had inquired, asked, and begged for her time? How long was she supposed to live like a widow? The unfortunate man she slept with had been one of the more useful but persistent ones, but he wasn't a love for her. The help he’d provided her and the community she looked after wasn’t small. But Elijah wouldn’t care about any of that.

All he saw was an infringement on his property.

It's not anger.

It's a seething rage that can't be tempered by her reasonable words or questions. He's hers, as much as she is his, but his dick wasn't the equivalent to her puss, not the same puss that had carried his seed and nurtured their daughter.

She was supposed to be his from the moment he married her; it didn't matter how long he was away, she belonged at his side, with him. Not bent over taking another man's seed.

"Motherfucking Beau-Dallas? That nigga you gave my puss to? Annie? Girl, if you wanted another nigga you coulda fucked Stack."

He found he meant that shit. If she needed reprieve, it should have been Stack. Though he knew it wouldn't have worked logistically, it felt right. Well, more right than this. This shit hurt his heart something fierce.

Annie doesn’t dignify the words coming out of her man’s mouth with a reply. Together, they both face the awkward, painful silence that follows. She eyed the man who had taken her virginity up and down, her hands finding their place at her hips.

“What do you want, Elijah? What are you expecting from me?” She wants him to spell it out. What would satisfy the evil spirit in him, and what would pacify both their woes for the moment?

Before, she’d thought (naive, hopeful) lying down with him would be enough. But no, how could he not notice? Fool her for bothering to hope.

Smoke looks into her eyes and doesn't say a word. He has no words left inside of him, just anger. He places his pipe at her side and squeezes her neck one more time in warning. 'Stay your ass here' he says with his eyes and she nods.

Nothing has changed in her shop, or in their house, so he knows exactly where to pull her wash basin and ambles to the stand pipe. As it shudders to life, he finds himself clenching his fist once, then twice, repeating the motion over and over again. A nervous habit he developed when they couldn't find tobacco in the trenches and rations hadn't come in yet. Something to ground him when there was nothing else.

The water spurts to life, and he fills the basin, his hands getting wet in the process. When he returns to the shop, he closes the back door behind him with a bang and sets the basin on the counter.

“Wash that nigga’s shit out’cha”

Annie stares from the basin, then back at Elijah. With a resigned look, she decides to do as he asks, moving towards the basin. In her mind, she would take it, go somewhere else to rinse and come back. That is not, however, what her man has in mind.

Annie takes the basin in hand and raises her skirt, hitching it on her hip, but he doesn't want that. Her main shop door is wide open and she's in full view of the empty street, but even if she wasn't, Smoke wouldn't, couldn't, find it in him to care. Instead, he presses down on her shoulders, forcing her into a squat. Then he kicks her legs wider and she gasps as her hips creek to life and her pussy comes into full view. He spies the dried seed along her thigh, pittance compared to what he always filled her with, but it also doesn't detract from the holy place between her legs.

Kneeling at her side, Annie watches as he picks up the mug, with the broken handles and calmly fills it with water before pressing it into her hands. With shaking hands, Annie spread her second lips with two fingers, a sight she knows Elijah delights in with his widening eyes and glance down.

She pours the cold water between her spread legs, choking down the cry of the cold touching her skin.

“Inside too,” Elijah’s voice is firm, and she finds herself nodding and tilting her pelvis and trying to clean herself from the seed dried in her hair and crevices.

“At least you kept my bush intact, though you givin’ away my puss like it's field rations.” The commentary, slick as usual, stings. Not for the first time, she realises he wouldn’t be forgetting this anytime soon. And that odd comment on Stack aside, she would just have to press through it.

“It’s all for you. You gon’ keep fussing?”

Her position is awkward, and the focused, heavy attention leaves her feeling self-conscious. The aim here was to clean herself, but her man seemed to be dallying a lot on a sight that obviously pissed him off.

She was too nonchalant for a woman who had been caught cheating, breaking her wedding vows and giving away her hoodoo puss to the unworthy and uninitiated. Did she not understand the gravity of her actions? Did she not care?

"Clearly it ain't when you leaking another man's seed" his words had venom, and he could see the pain register in her face, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

He glanced around and stifled a grin when his eyes landed on exactly what he needed. Picking up her oil funnel, he threw it into the air and caught it again.

Stooping at her side, he allowed himself to grin as she met his eye with trepidation. “I want my shit clean Annie” he grunted and rammed the end of the funnel deep inside her, pulling a yelp from her lips. He was glad, shit deserved to pain her the same way it pained him something fierce.

On some level, Smoke knew he was being irrational. He’d been gone seven years, and in that time frame he and Stack had fucked plenty of women, some alone, some together.

"Use that and wash my puss out clean,"

Oh. So that’s how it was gonna be.

The next few moments take on an almost ritualistic quality. Annie stares up at Elijah Moore and feels … indifferent. She knew who he was when they’d jumped that broom together, and she knew who he was now as he requested vindictively for her to purge herself.

The pain and discomfort were secondary to the humiliation of the moment. All of which were brought on by her own sloppy actions. She knew she should have rolled some dice and thrown some bones, but she had been needy, and it had been seven days without relief. ‘This is where lust gets you,’ she thinks and then has to let go. Her pussy throbs once more but this time in distress as she works to “clear” the liquid from inside.

Annie's too calm, too collected. So Smoke shoves it deeper, harsher into her and tips water into the funnel. She cries out, "Elijah, my puss. That hurts!" and he can't feel anything but smug satisfaction. He's cruel, but it doesn't matter. The wind blows through the open door, and she shivers as she tries to wash out the seed.

It's probably long gone. Smoke didn't see too much when she bent over, and Beau-Dallas wasn't known as a particularly fertile man. Then again, he couldn't speak. Smoke didn't have any living children either. Although he had a lot more dead ones than Beau-Dallas, some American, many, many international ones, but none that he claimed as his baby girl. But, even then, his promise had always been to seed Annie's pussy only and as such he wouldn't let another woman bear his child. Pity she hadn't kept her side of the bargain and ensured no one had his pussy when he'd made sure that no woman on American land took his seed without taking tea with it too to ensure her soil was fallow.

With his free hand, he pinches her long nipple tightly and wrings it to the side. "You gon' make it up to me? How Mrs. Moore?"

She’d said nary a word about ‘making it up to him.’ Factually, it should be the other way around. He’d left her, not the other way around, but logic has no place here.

Consciously, she knows to bow her head. “Anything you want, Papa.” She's starting to get some ideas. Granted, half of it was things that would make her squirt, but the other half was pure punishment. She’s only been figged once, but if it had to happen again—and it soothed her man’s ire some then she could bear it again.

But that was a last resort. “You know it’s yours.” This part is said through the ever increasing discomfort as she struggles to flush the last of it out. “I’m at your mercy, big man… so whatever you like. Spank it, hurt it, break it. Ain’t that what's on your mind right now?”

Elijah was obviously hurting. And making it her job to fix.

It was the 'Papa' that did it for him. Dropping the funnel in the basin, Smoke sank three thick fingers into Annie and growled when she cried out. He stretched his fingers and smirked, clearly Beau-Dallas didn't pack anything worth shit in his pants because Annie was tight, a lil loose and wet at the entrance, but past that first inch, she was tight, tight, tight. Licking up her neck, he pulled them both to their feet and roughly bent Annie forward over the counter so she could watch the door

She was shaking something fierce but Smoke was more than happy, hoping that someone would pass by them and see her slutted out, see how he kept his wife ready and willing beneath him.

He pulled up her dress, showing miles of beautiful brown skin, stretch marks and rippling ass. He kicked her legs apart and slapped her ass so hard it jiggled and screamed. She'd never like being handled roughly, shied away from a good spanking, but she'd have no choice now.

He rained slaps against her bare ass and pussy, the sounds loud in the air and her cries mixing with the claps. Annie's ass was pulsing with blood and her pussy lips engorged and wetting his fingers each time he slapped the plump lips.

Punishment it was.

Annie doesn’t try to stifle anything, sounds forced out of her, and Elijah spanks her raw. He uses enough force to leave a mark, but not too much more than that. She knows she should feel grateful; her husband always knew his limits, unlike many other men. But she’s also feeling hard done by and antsy about it all.

How many licks till he felt satisfied, how much anguish could he possibly wring out of her?

“Papa—‘m sorry.” She finally breaks down to apologise. Pride was thrown clean off, and a future of scrutiny lay before her. “—‘m sorry. Papa, it’s yours ‘m sorry. I won’t do it again.” She seeks out all the contriteness she can muster, now mired with fear and more upset. Why’d he have to be so rough? He knew she hated it when he was rough.

Lifting his hand from beating her booty to a blooming red, Smoke looked over his handiwork. Her purpling ass cheeks, dripping wet cooze and winking rosebud. It was that sight that made him groan. Quickly and efficiently, he brought down his trousers and underwear, placing his guns on either side of Annie's head on the counter with a thud. With a hand he pulled one of her ass cheeks to the side, groaning at the sound of her wet puss separating. He leaned in close and ran his tongue over her booty hole before spitting on it and with his other hand lining up his dick. Anticipating what he was about to do, his Annie sobbed against the counter, saying, "No, Papa. You too big, an nothin’ been in there since you left."

Smoke helped his tip onto her winking rosebud, he smeared his precum over it, getting it a little wet - that’s all the prep she’d get from him - and started to push.

"Good."

Annie realises much too late where she went wrong. Held tight and too firm, she understands she should have started crying and carrying on immediately. From the moment she saw her man, even. She shouldn’t have played it cool. Shouldn’t have gotten Elijah all worked up to the point that he was now so god damned intent on brutalizing her poor hole.

Through tears and cries and moans she tries and fails to let him in, too tight and not nearly enough preparation for the monster between his legs masquerading as a pecker. But just like her bad decisions from before it was just too late.

With one hand on her ass, slapping her shit, Smoke reached over his hand and pinched her long nipple, as he rode her ass. Annie sobbed into the counter, eyes leaking water and Smoke felt some of his anger abate slightly - only slightly. He eased himself into her hole, all too many inches to count, up in her guts. He planted his feet firmly on the wood floor and thrust into her so hard her head hit the table as he rearranged her guts.

Annie sobs, and the stretch alone almost makes her faint. Somehow, she doesn’t maintain consciousness as he forces his way inside. She can’t feel much more past her pain and discomfort, that which goes up by several notches when he pulls back to thrust back in.

The movement makes her scream, and she fights not to bite her tongue through her moans of complaint and apology. His name, intermingled with endearments and other pleas, fell from her lips like rain. Together, they participate in some twisted, synchronous version of unholy communion. He seeking appeasement, she seeking grace.

It's tight and rough, and a part of Smoke regrets going in dry, so much so that he reaches for the ointment she keeps on the counter and dips two fingers in the jar. When he pulls out so only the tip remains inside, he slathers his length and then flexes his cheeks and sinks back into her, smoother, but no less painful for her. That was better. With his hand on her breast, he pulled her onto his chest as he arched back himself and fucked her deep.

Some of her crying recedes when he adds some lubricant, but she can’t quite pull it all together; it’s just too much. This man was always too much. Through tears, she asks, “This what you’ve been missing?”

She can’t force the words out like ‘you satisfied?’ or ‘when will it be enough?’ but that’s what she means. Being held by him carries its own immense pressure and oppression; it means the entire time since he came in, since he held her down and forced his way inside her, she hadn’t once thought, not seriously, about fighting back. It just didn’t make sense. To fight him would be to drag things on, to act on the anger that coated her love and longing for him. She didn't want to drag this on any further. She wanted him satisfied, pacified. She wanted her gentleman back, and to get him, she had to get through this first.

Each slow thrust—now with less strain and drag on her walls—pulls something in her. Launching her racing heart back from the absolute, painful despair from before and into something more queer. With her face, ass, and hole so hot and under pressure it started to walk the thin cruel line of being almost but not quite … enough. Almost pleasurable but not enough, almost good but not enough.

She knew what would make it enough, though. But had no confidence to ask. It takes her asking him that question to draw him back into himself, to realise who is beneath him, outside of the cloud of anger all around him. Leaning over her, resting his weight on her back, Smoke wraps his arms around Annie's body and his fingers trail across her body, leaving fire in his wake. Reaching between her thick thighs, he found her nub and began rolling his finger over her button, bringing moans up from deep in her chest as he dug out her back passage.

"This what I been missing baby, you up under me. Now slip me some sweetness Ma," he commands and she shifts her head to the side and purses her lips.

Smoke doesn't hesitate, angling his head so that they could lip lock, tongues battling for dominance as his sweat dripped down onto her face. Annie can feel the moment, Smoke comes back to himself and waits anxiously for the relief it would bring. Her man—this man would lose his entire head when he was angry. And there was no going around it. Not till he cooled, not till he was satisfied. When she kisses him, she bites him too. Not taken by his words or his actions. He’d already punished her, broke her, split her open till she screamed. What came after that was compensation.

Still, she grabs a firm hold of the pleasure, soft and hesitant, unfurling within her. He man could be oh so good, when he wanted to be.

-----------------------------------------------------

AN: The rest of this chapter is corrupted .... I'm PISSED but we will have a part 3, possibly 4, hope you enjoyed and apologies for it being short KMT.

[pie-bean]

Nooo my ipad baby has discovered the stock market 😰

[tofupixel]

dog for @stgroversfire

ok bro im trying my best

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Abby and Gregory discover Michael is an artist too

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Who is this sassy lost child?

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[keferon]

I keep drawing Roddy as this (•‿•) thing lol. I need to give him a proper design asap haha

[ceaseless-rambler]

Being bullied on tumblr dot com (people keep reblogging my awful posts)

[tippenfunkaport]

You know, it would be amazing if Hollywood learned the right lesson from the success of Nimona. Something like "Hey, maybe don't throw out a nearly done movie as a tax write off" or "people want queer stories" or even "don't be afraid to take some storytelling risks and be original" but you just know they're going to come away with some absolutely batshit takeaway like, "next time delete all the evidence and burn it to the ground so the gays can't make us look bad!"