#WITH QUERY EXPANSION

[lordmattuk]

I have now added search to my directory

Here is some news for the three or four people aware of my directory project. For those reading this that have not heard yet – I have been working on a directory of the very best bits of the Internet. As sections mature (and I figure out what I am doing), I will create GitHub repositories where anyone can contribute entries. Each entry is an XML file carrying all the data needed to display it…

[ervotica]

maybe mean!rafe x crybaby!reader? he gets mad at her for not sitting down on the couch with him and he yells at her, dragging her by her wrist and forcing her to sit with him… only if you’re okay with it(I’ve never requested anything before)

warnings; mean!rafe, dom/sub undertones, brat taming, crybaby!reader, barry is a shit stirrer but we love him for it <3

a/n; thanks for the request, angel! hope you enjoy🥰 (side note; may or may not be thinking abt being rafe & barry’s shared gf😍 they’re just too hot together jfc)

You get agitated in a sort of frenzied way that has always driven Rafe insane; you start to twitch, tapping heel clad feet and cracking knuckles until the sound of it has his jaw ticking in vexation.

You're rocking back and forth on your heels, red solo cup clutched between clammy palms; you can see Rafe in your peripheral vision, never letting him too far out of your line of sight in fear of being left to fend for yourself at one of these parties packed with drug-addled teenagers.

The smell of cheap, stale beer and sweat pervades your senses and you cringe, the blaring music paired with the way Rafe is staring you down- cerulean eyes piercing straight through you- forcing your brain into overdrive.

"Would you quit it and come sit down already?" Rafe snaps, thick digits outstretched as an offering for you to take; your lip spills into a pout, tightness pulling at every inch of your skin as the tension pools and gathers between your crumpled brows.

"I don't wanna," you whine, dragging out every syllable plaintively until he's standing, storming towards you with a thunderous expression carved into his features that you're not often on the receiving end of.

"I told you to fucking sit down! What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Can't even do as you're told, can you?"

You feel the tears tickling at your waterline the second he raises his voice, your gaze snapping up to him as the first wave spills over your wide eyes.

"For God's sake, kid. Come sit down," he grouses. His tone softens when your expression crumples and he hooks a thick bicep around your neck, drawing you into the warm expanse of his chest. You're pulled along in short, shuffling steps until your bum hits the leather couch and Rafe's bruising grip digs into your calves to splay them haphazardly across his lap.

"You're mean," you sniff, backs of your fingers smearing across your teary eyes until they're caked in black. He pinches your thigh before delivering a firm swat to the afflicted area, his arms a vice around your squirming body as you try to free yourself.

“I told you to sit down and be fuckin’ quiet. Take a nap or something, cranky pants.” He rolls his eyes, fingers spreading across your jaw to settle your head in the hollow of his shoulder.

You grumble something indecipherable before he feels you go slack on top of him, lashes fluttering as you fight the fog of fatigue that invades every inch of your skull. He smears a kiss along the curve of your forehead.

“Y’alright, Princess?” Barry queries, only amused by Rafe’s sudden glaring of daggers at the shorter man. ���Country club bein’ mean, huh?”

“She’s fine,” Rafe snips as you stir and start to whine once again. “Just bein’ a brat. Needs a rest ‘s all.”

“Rafe.”

“I swear to fuckin’ God, kid. You be quiet or I will spank you raw in front of all these people.”

You sigh and curl up and into his embrace, exhaustion settling heavy in your bones once he cages you into his chest with a firm squeeze.

“Good girl.”

[luvjunie]

— braiding his hair

pairing: earth 42!miles x fem!reader

summary: Miles is very particular when it comes to how his hair looks, so he doesn’t let just anyone put their hands in his head. His mom has been braiding it for him since he was in middle school, and he’d found no reason to change routine until you’d randomly expressed interest one day. wc: 702

contains: fluff, fem!reader, envisioned as black!reader but not specified

word bank: “está bien, mi amor” - it’s okay, my love

You were dedicated on teaching yourself how to cornrow/dutch braid specifically for your boyfriend, Miles; having practiced on your little brother a few times before you proposed the idea. And while you could braid normally, you weren’t very well versed in braids to the scalp— those were an entirely different ballgame.

The first time he agreed to sit between your legs, handed you the rat tail comb, and simultaneously reached behind him to tug on his hair-tie and release his hair from the low ponytail it was in, you quickly understood why he kept it braided back. It was massive, and there was so much of it. Even with the sides of his hair faded you were still trying to figure out how it had this much volume. His curls were thick, coily in some places, silky and curled in others, falling just a bit below his shoulders. Hell, you were almost jealous.

It was as if he could read your mind from his seated position on the floor, his back to you, legs criss-crossed and you on his desk chair. “I got a lotta hair, huh?” He nearly felt the act of your hands experimentally hovering over the area, a chuckle falling from his lips before he asked you, “You sure you got it, Mami?” He turned just slightly to peer over his shoulder. “I can always ask my moms to-“

You hastily cut him off, “No, no!” Sounding a little more enthusiastic than you planned, heat spread up the expanse of your throat as you cleared it and sat up straighter, managing to instill some confidence in yourself. “I wanna try.”

And he’s more than willing to let you. You’re his girl after all, basically the only person he trusts other than his mother, so with a surrendered raise of his hands, he nods and leans back once again. “Aight then, do ya thing.”

It took a little longer than some simple braids should, and when you finally finished and reached forward to offer him the hand mirror, you had to restrain from anxiously nibbling at the skin on the inside of your lip. “How’d I do?” You queried quietly, hands gently resting over his lean shoulders.

You watched closely as he turned from cheek to cheek to look over your work in the mirror, brows raising in slight disbelief his bottom lip sticking out in a manner of approval as he nodded. “Damn, Ima little surprised, can’t lie.” He quipped, giving as much of a smile as someone like him gave. “You sure this your first time doing this?”

“I practiced on my little brother once or twice.” You shifted in your seat, the apples of your cheeks tight from your growing grin.“They’re not nearly as good as how your mom does them, though.” Your head tilted as you examined the plaits.

“No, está bien mi amor. They’re perfect, I fuck with them.” He set the mirror down next to him, leaning his head back to rest on your thighs.

“Really?” You felt excitement bubble in your stomach, heart swelling with pride as he expressed his satisfaction.

“Mhmm,” He hummed, long lashes fluttering up at you. “But what I like more is how you learned how to do it just for me. You gon’ be my new hairstylist, hermosa?” He licked his lips, and instantly you were distracted, his accent clinging onto his words as they rolled off his tongue.

You accidentally tuned out his question for a second, the smirk on his face and the way his eyes held contact with yours so intensely had your mind genuinely trying to wrap itself around how he looked this handsome even while upside down. “Hm?” You blinked away the thoughts, blushing when his impish grin widened, pearly whites peeking at your inability to concentrate. “Oh!- Yes… If you want me to be.” You nodded, a smile painting your face to match his.

- please do not copy, plagiarize, or repost my works on any other platform.

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated!!

[voiderequiem]

.//tag drops #1

[arachine]

pairing: shy!inexperienced!charlie walker x fem!reader warnings: corruption, blow job, unprotected sex, loser charlie, whiny charlie + so sorry for clogging ethan’s tags but i am a whore for interaction! reblogs are highly appreciated >.< wc: 750

corruption with shy!inexperienced!charlie is something so special to me. just the sheer mental image of him trembling beneath your touch. head fogged with lust, palms all slick with perspiration because his hands have been nestled in the thick of your hair for the past half hour.

he’s very well past his limit, and you know this, but you disregard his—rather ill—attempts to swat you away. one more, you tell him. but one more is never really one more. it’s two more, then three more, then six more—and now he’s lost count. so instead of fighting, he relinquishes his body to you. lets you tease and touch, lick and suck, until his limbs melt into the plush of his stab themed duvet. 

“oh, god,” he groans with a hand thrown over his mouth, “‘m gonna, ‘m gonna–shit–yeah, keep doing that.” immediately, you pull off of him with a wet pop, wiping away a dew droplet of spit from the side of your mouth. 

“that feel good?” you query, smoothing a gentle palm up and down his shaft. there’s a hint of mischief in your voice–it’s teasing, but nonetheless, the question is genuine. 

“yeah, ’s ni–“ charlie starts, but is promptly cut off when you lick a long stripe up his length. like a minx, you furrow your brows and feign confusion—as if you don’t know what you’re doing when you lick him like that—look at him like that. when you rub the smooth skin of your cheeks against it, and leave a trail of wet kisses along the side of it. 

“huh? couldn’t hear you, baby,” you pout, rubbing a thumb up and over his weeping slit. the boy mumbles an expletive under his breath. sits up on his elbows and flashes you a look of disdain for making him repeat himself, though, you know it’s disingenuous. 

“f-feels…good,” he manages to huff out, “really good.” you smile at his sincerity, and halt your ministrations altogether, rising from your haunches to stand above him. the loss of touch coaxes a noise from him, somewhere in between a whine and a whimper, and he almost slips from the bed trying to pull you back towards him. 

“nuh uh,” you admonish, nudging his chest back with the tip of your foot. when he tries to move again, you push him all the way down against the bed, until your foot rests flat and firmly on the crest of his chest. this time, he seems to get it, ultimately accepting defeat. he retrieves back to his initial position, and plants his elbows deep into the cushion of his mattress.

charlie watches intuitively as you slowly retract your foot. his eyes dance across the expanse of your face, and although the room is dimly lit, he can still make out the devilish smirk gracing your features. one by one, you begin to discard articles of clothing, and it’s then that charlie’s starting to get the picture. oh, he thinks, it’s happening.

he feels like he should do something, like he should prepare, but he knows that any advance he makes will only result in another reprimanding. and, fuck, he can’t help but to squirm around because never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d be in this position—both figuratively and literally—which is, naked from the waist down, leaning back on his embarrassingly small twin sized bed, while the prettiest girl at woodsboro high strips down in front of him. 

and not only did you suck him off, but you were going to take his virginity. at least he thinks you are. because now you’re inching closer to him, and straddling him, and—

“holy shit,” he drawls, involuntarily springing forward when you sink down on him. an intense flood of warmth surges to the pit of his belly like liquid lightning, and like the virgin he is, he almost lets a load out right then and there. pathetic, he thinks. 

“not g-gonna last, not like this,” he spits through gritted teeth, “too warm, ’s t-too much, i c-can’t.” though, before he can finish, you interrupt him with a drag of your hips, and raise a single digit to his lips.

“shh, i know, i know. you’re doing so good,” the pad of your thumb swipes his cheek, “gonna take care of you, make you feel good,” you assure, “don’t you want me to help you?”

“y-yeah, shit, yeah,” charlie nods, throwing his head back against his sheets.

“then give me one more.” 

© arachine 2023

[vagabond-umlaut]

it's easy to ferry souls, not carry them

deep down in the realm of the netherworlds, there exists a rower who transports deceased souls from the land of living to the land of dead-

and occasionally lends an ear and a hand, in the event of yet another collision between their weary queen and her just as cheery suitor...

[uraume deserves a raise.]

▸gojo satoru x fem!reader; the tale of kore!gojo & hades!reader w a guest appearance by charon!uraume; uraume is a very nice parental figure to you [ooc!uraume but ehh]; the reader is honestly so sweet and hot-tempered...; the cutest doggy cerberus too is there!!!!; gojo satoru must be his own warning...; uraume does not like gojo [no parent [blood-related or not] actually wld]; fire hazards; 2k wc

▸ i've nvr read percy jackson and wtv i wrote here is based on my shaky knowledge of greek myths and stuff 😁😁 anyways, this header's from pinterest, these dividers are by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls do not plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ belongs to series 'wreaths of asphodel' – same universe as the work 'hey, where is the pomegranate tree?' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

"why is kore so set on marrying me, uraume?"

it isn't the ask itself which causes the rower to nearly lose grip of their oar– but the way it is spoken: soft, solemn and faintly tense. they look away from the endless expanse of the styx before, to find you staring at your reflection in the inky waters, features unnaturally crumpled.

uraume holds back a frown. "has her majesty considered asking the god the same?"

"i have asked him," you mumble, "but i did not receive any conclusive answer in return. the imp was being too vague– must be a trait learnt from those shifty nymphs always sticking to his side."

if your faithful follower detects anything except dislike in your words, they make no mention of it. merely humming as they continue to row the boat, "and may this servant know the question her majesty asked the god?"

"two," you mumble even more clumsily now; they take a beat to grasp it, too concerned by the way you drape yourself over the edge, nearly falling into the water as you say, "i asked him two questions— one, if he loves me; two, if he wants to have children should we get married."

shock must not be uraume's first reaction to these queries, yet it is— and for a moment, it isn't you sitting there anymore.

instead, it is a little girl, no older than seven or eight years, cherubic face fixed in a look of deep concentration and fascination while the rower narrates to her stories from times millennia ago–

only for the child to morph into a young lady– no, goddess– the very next beat... slouched under a regal cloak too heavy for her shoulders, under a royal crown too large for her head... that sweet innocence of childhood nothing but traces now, having been withered by the foul, dirty politics of those damned deities high up on that mountain—

"what answers did the olympian offer her majesty?"

"he said he would love me and sire my children if that is what i want— i asked if he wished anything out of our union— he said all he wanted is to be my husband–"

something between a frustrated sigh and an exhausted scoff erupts from you, becoming an opaque fog the moment it hits the frigid air of the underworld. uraume plucks the oar out the water to come sit next to you, letting the boat be driven by magic.

"you're worried," they state, forgoing all formalities in favour of giving you some much-needed comfort. you never much cared for stations anyways, quite unlike your elder brother, the former king.

"an unfamiliar friend poses more risk than a familiar enemy, uraume," you mutter, resting your head on their shoulder, "why do you think kore wishes to marry me so much, if not out of love or the prospect of the powerful offsprings we might beget?"

"marriage is not solely for love or for procreation," the rower starts to explain, mildly amused before it grows into sympathy at your baffled expression.

ah, they muse fondly, not unlike a parent watching their child witness the world seemingly the first time ever since they learnt to walk, you who presides over something as profound as death yet knows not of the trivialities of life...

"it can also be for many other reasons like–"

the remainder of the words skitter away from uraume— cerberus is playing with gojo.

the fierce guard of the netherworlds, the three-headed hound, loyal and dutiful to a fault: hades' dearest canine companion is frolicking with the god of life in a green meadow, that most certainly was not there so close to the stygian marsh, when they last—

"gojo is laughing," your remark draws them away from their musings, only to find a changed shadow over your countenance— pensive yet not thinking at all; almost as if you too are floating in the stale air of your kingdom akin the soft flower petals...

another ring of raucous laughter pierces the silence, mingled with a delighted series of barks— cerberus is busy licking gojo's face now, the olympian reduced to a puddle of giggles as he scratches behind the dog's ears.

his happiness so clear in the stretch of his grin and the crinkle of his eyes, very much the jarring contrast to the last time—

oh. oh, oh, oh–

"escape," the word leaves uraume in a sudden moment of realisation, as quiet as a breath but loud enough for you to whip your head back to face them, confusion engraved into your scowl. "escape?? what is that supposed to mean, eh?"

the rower feels their lips lift into an infrequent smile. "the god of life wishes to marry you to escape— from his mother, or from his many suitors, or perhaps from mount olympus itself."

"wha– how– hah," you breathe out a disbelieving little huff, "that is simply ridiculous. have you even heard yourself? that is ridiculous."

used to such resistance from yourself, even more from your brother, they move to state their points, only to beaten by you as you persist to speak.

"no one in their right mind will decide to come live in the underworld, no matter how overbearing their mother or insistent their suitors are. have you seen this place? it's too, too unlike the lushness of the earth or the grandeur of the heavens he has experienced. and–" you add, a harsh laugh accompanying it. "gojo satoru is a god. a fish might leave the water— but a god never steps a voluntary foot down that horrible mountain. never."

"but the olympian never truly lived on mount olympus," uraume says once they're sure you've completed your tirade, "and you are a goddess as well. why do you speak so ill of the heavens then?"

"why?" you echo the word. they nod, hoping you take the bait they've intended for you. you do.

"why, because that place is nothing but a shining apple with a rotten core!! everything is polished marble and glittering gold there. people constantly wave at each other, lavishing smiles and praises like there is no tomorrow. everything is so warm and bright— what a bunch of lies and liars!"

familiar fire burns in your aura, the immense heat making the waters erupt into boiling— uraume uses their powers to cool the river down, lest anything disturbs you.

you're too far gone in your rage to be shaken, however, continuing:

"but it never can hide the grime and dirt accrued beneath such shine and sheen. nor the vicious minds and crooked hearts of those deities up above– what lame excuses of gods and goddesses, hah. and you might think me to prefer the light and warmth up there— you will be sorely wrong, my dear uraume!! i much prefer the genuine darkness and frigidity of my beloved kingdom to the faux comfort of the awful mount olympus—"

"is there no possibility the god of life too despises mount olympus for these same reasons, milady?"

you open your mouth and close it, then open it again to let out a very aggrieved whine– momentarily transporting uraume to your younger days. the rower merely chuckles when you punch their arm lightly.

"you're the worst, uraume," you cry, getting up and moving to sit on the other end of the boat. the rower too rises but only to resume rowing the boat by the oar.

"you never spoke this way when sukuna was the ruler— only because his baby sister is the ruler now, and you think she is very stupid—"

"as much as i respect and revere lord sukuna, he wasn't one to listen to anyone else," uraume interrupts gently, "you do, though– which is why i spent so much time telling you this. i hope you did not mind."

"hey, no," you immediately wave away their concern with a wide grin, eliciting a smaller one from the latter, "i could never..."

another peal of laughter and barks rings through the otherwise-quiet. you abruptly trail off, the same conflicting expression from before on your face yet again. though not without a spark in your eyes, uraume notes, almost as if you're slowly learning how to solve the puzzle who is repeatedly offering himself to you.

uraume keeps the silence you initiate, choosing to row the boat while you keep staring at the assortment of hues near the stygian marsh...

until you call their name and declare, an odd firmness in your smile, "well then, it is decided. i shall allow gojo to stay here for as long as the god so wishes to, escaping whatever or whoever he is escaping. and i shall protect him from the latter, should it ever come for him."

a beat. your smile falls into something graver. "would it be better if i swore by the dread water of styx, uraume?"

"uh, um," the rower finds themselves at a loss of words, the first time in seemingly forever, and they have been around since titanomachy– but before they can recover themselves enough to formulate a proper reply, a giggly voice joins in—

"well, if my rose does that, i would consider myself the most blessed amongst all mortals and immortals!"

— and the waters surrounding the boat shoot upwards in a scathing geyser-like jet and steam— the ferocious queen of the netherworlds visibly torn between remorse and terror, as they offer uraume a stiff nod and gojo a horrified look, before vanishing in a wisp of fog.

the boiling waters of the river styx calm down only after a twenty-minute-long struggle by uraume, joined at the very end by gojo.

the latter looks positively delighted, when the former collapses to the bottom of the boat, exhausted beyond belief. "hey, charon. was that a result of your queen getting flustered by me, huh?"

yes, it was. it very much was, the sentences nearly slip past the tired rower's crumbling defences... until it hits them– who they serve, and who they don't.

uraume decides to throw back a glare and a lie. "her majesty was not flustered, lord kore. she was enraged at how you invaded the privacy of her weekly boat ride, intended to make her relax."

"oh, puh-lease," the god makes a face. the rower is certain he would have been punished in the pits of tartarus for all eternity, then some more were he to pursue you this way during your brother's reign, let alone disrespect you thus.

ignorant and insolent, he continues, "in few days time, i'll be allowed into the privacy of her living quarters; what is the privacy of her boat th—"

"you're lucky you did not make such outrageous remarks in front of the queen," uraume cuts him off, none too kindly nor gently, "if you did, her majesty would have certainly burnt you along with the boat to a crisp–"

"i know," comes the defeated reply within the instant. and while gojo is still not in uraume's good graces, the latter decides to notch him a level higher, considering the god of life accepts their queen's powers.

not many do.

he strikes a pathetically pitiful figure, uraume reckons, seeing him sit then slouch on the bench. "was she serious when she said she would protect me?"

your loyal subject nods, certain and solemn. "yes, she was. the queen is never careless when it comes to making promises."

"oh, that's reassuring," gojo says quietly— only to recline even further in the very next beat– an anguished, grating wail tearing from him to the stifling silence looming near the stygian marsh. uraume wonders if it is worth it to steer the boat towards acheron... then push him into its waters of woe...

they decide against it on catching the desperation worn by the god.

for all it is, it might nothing more than a ploy. yet something tugs at their mind to pause and listen when gojo howls, "why does my rose always scurry away after tilting my world on its axis? why does your queen always torment me like this, charon?"

uraume stares pensively at their face in the sacred waters of styx for a while. then heaves a mighty sigh.

certain, this exchange between the goddess of the dead and the god of life will impact not only your and gojo's respective worlds— but the general world and everyone else in it, as well.

did you know, in the actual greek myths, persephone was never called so before her marriage to hades? she got it only after, w the name meaning "bringer of death". her initial name was kore, referring to her being a maiden & the spring goddess.

the river styx was called the "dread river of oath" by homer– in both the iliad and the odyssey [greek epic poems], swearing by its waters is the "greatest and most dread oath for the blessed gods" -> this shows how serious the reader is towards ensuring gojo's safety and freedom, and how deeply this affects gojo as well [source: wiki 😇]

also: the reader is totally ready to jump into the water to swim away when she realises gojo was listening in on her conversations- but then she remembers she can js vanish away and so she does js tht— the queen of the underworld, and of escaping, hehe

also also: the reader is slightly jealous when she is talking of the shifty nymphs always sticking to gojo's side. [uraume identifies it; you think it is js your usual dislike to such frivolous things and ppl as flowers and nymphs etc.] [hades is emo imho 😊]

▸ masterlist

[smuttysabina]

A Month with Aespa (Ch 2): An Intriguing Offer

(Male Reader x Karina, 2700 words) Tags: Nudity, Happy Idols, Tittyfucking, Sex, Maids, Awkward Dinner Conversations

Read Chapter 1 Here!

Grandfather always said that the best way to be awoken is with a woman's lips around your member; and you can hardly disagree. Alas, your usually morning greeting has been foregone this time, as you wish to conserve your vigor for your new guests. And so, dolefully, your morning glory wilts away unaided, as you go about your usual routine (minus plowing one of the maids of course). You are admittedly a touch disgruntled therefore as you break your fast in your room; a light spread supported by some coffee. The darling maid who brought it to you gives you pointed looks, obviously keen to relieve you, but you politely refuse her; truly this morning will be a trying one. Dressing yourself, as the maid makes your expansive bed, (it fits eight), you stretch and work the kinks out, already planning the rest of your day. With a resigned sigh, you ask after your guests, feeling your manhood straining against your pants at the thought of such gorgeous goddesses awakening in the nude; in your own house... You push such unctuous thoughts aside, it would be impolite to press things so quickly, best to let Aespa adjust to their new surroundings. There will be time enough later to indulge...

Your maid tactfully replies to your earlier query; it seems that Winter has been buzzing around the kitchens, shyly gobbling down whatever strikes her fancy. Ningning is apparently still snoring, asleep even at this late an hour. Giselle meanwhile has ordered her breakfast, and seems to enjoy imperiously bossing the the housemaids around; your dear informant seems quite excited by this, going so far as to suggest the idol soon may be taking certain liberties with them... Simply delightful. Finally, the socialite of last evening Karina has ensconced herself in her room, scarfing down the meal brought to her as she plays mobile games on her phone. Pleased at this information, you kindly thank the girl, wistfully holding back on granting her her usual reward; such a disruption these idols are causing!

Pushing aside the issue of a restless and rowdy staff, you decide to ease your worries with some heavy reading. Retiring to the library, you attempt to relax amongst its tall shelves and comfortable décor. Ignoring the more titillating works entirely (which are mostly unstained, guests are politely invited to relieve themselves inside of the maids rather than the books themselves), you peruse the stacks until you find something suitably dry. Depositing yourself into your usual cozy armchair by the windows, you put your legs up and enjoy the view. Grandfather's ornate gardens stretch out before you, with winding paths and ivy-covered ruins, a plethora of intimate spaces to enjoy with a lover. Burbling streams cross through the area, feeding into serene ponds and Classical fountains. There is even a pool, with an adjoining steam room and hot tub large enough to fit many guests. Feeling much more calm now, you immerse yourself in the vagaries of history, whiling away the hours until lunch is brought to you. You dismiss the maid with only a perfunctory groping, leaving her pouting as she sashays away. Shaking your head, you return your attentions to the past, where you are at least spared from such vulgar temptations.

But it seems that the Gods have not yet finished in testing their wayward son, as the buzz of excited conversation reaches your ears. Glancing out the window, you see that Aespa have discovered the gardens, and are quite enthused by what they've found. They chatter animatedly as they tour the area, walking along its shaded paths and cooling their feet in the clear water, clambering through the the trees and ruins, delighting in their explorations. Surprisingly, the sight of the sources of your rather distinct torment frolicking does not pain your loins; instead you feel only a sense of contentment at their happiness. The girls deserve some down time, and you are loath to interrupt their obvious joy. So you return to your reading with a satisfied smile, idly letting time pass until a loud splash interrupts your ruminations. Bemused, you return you gaze to the pool in time to see a goddess erupt from the water; Aphrodite reborn! You gasp as you take in the sublime spectacle of Karina shaking the water out of her hair, her heaving breasts barely contained by a jet black swim top. You are utterly captivated as she laughs gleefully, splashing towards the rest of the girls who perch at the edge of the pool. You find yourself unusually flustered at the sight of Karina gallivanting around in the water; perhaps your unnatural restraint was affecting your more than you had anticipated.

Resolving that a good wash would steady you, you head down to the communal showers (to think that some people prefer bathe alone, insanity!) to sooth your uneasy mind. After stripping in the changing room, you stride confidently into the steamy bathing area; encountering several equally nude maids who were just leaving. They giggle and roll their eyes at your chastity, surely your madness would soon pass and things would return to normal (If one counts fornicating with the hired help several times a day as normal, which they do). Stalking along the well-tractioned floor (The Old Man had insisted on being able to rail the maids safely while showering), you wrench several levers open, filling the vast room with a roiling curtain of steam. Sighing, you allow the hot water to broil your worries away, granting you some much needed clarity. Perhaps it would be best to relieve yourself with some of the maids, you would truly prefer to give Aespa more time to settle in before- ah, speak of the Devil! As if summoned by your wayward thoughts, Karina lithely glides into the showers, curiously glancing around as she takes the expansive room in. She is still in her swimsuit, most likely out of confusion from the unique (to her) bathroom, than intent to wear it while she cleans the chlorine off of herself. Karina is startled to find herself not alone, but quickly recovers her composure, giving you a coquettish glance as she fiddles with a showerhead near you. She politely ignores your staggeringly large erection, instead seamlessly complimenting you on your beautiful gardens. Your thoughts move sluggishly, but in a ringing endorsement of your upbringing, your mind automatically answers such platitudes. You both dance around the issue at hand, making inane conversation for several minutes until you amusingly inquire whether Karina will need to wash her swimwear off afterwards, considering how assiduously she is cleaning it now. She pauses at this, giving you a questioning look, silently asking if your joke indicated a deeper desire. You disarm her worries with a kindly smile to dismiss her worries of your intentions; you really would be have to plow the maids tonight... Then Karina makes her offer.

Karina proposes that she will allow you to lay with her once per day without resistance, should you spare the other members of Aespa from your attentions. Your loins roil with lust at this idea, your heart surging in appreciation of this deal. How brave she must be, to offer her own body up like this, truly she is what a leader should aspire to be; willingly sacrificing herself for her groupmates! The sheer courageousness of Karina in this matter nearly makes you weep, the romanticism of it all sends your blood singing through your veins. You nearly give in. Nearly. While your soul swoons with adoration, your mind remains relatively clear and focused, unbothered for now by the lust pounding through your body (One quickly learns to keep your head while lustful in Grandfather's house; after losing years' worth of allowance to canny maids, you figure out how to remain cognizant while engaging in vulgar activities. Also the blowjobs during Calculus tests did wonders, though you still feel strangely excited by derivatives). But even your magnificent control is being eroded away by the mere thought of carnal relations with this idol; your uncomforted manhood eagerly urging your acceptance. You are not your father's son for nothing however, and you put on a show of calm as you politely amend her offer, should Karina manage to make you finish within ten minutes; you will agree. Past that, then well, how could you concede to such a deal that would net you such mediocre sex?

Wreathed in steam, Karina is seemingly taken aback by this riposte; evidently she had thought you too consumed by lust to offer much resistance. She straightens her spine however, and takes you up on your challenge, confidently stalking close until you are almost touching. You indicate towards the clock on the wall, casually informing her that she may begin when ready; which she is. Karina breathes, "This won't take long", and squishes herself against you. When her soft hand grazes your erection you almost gasp at the electric thrill it sends through you, causing Karina's demeanor to grow ever bolder; surely she thinks that this will be easy... Falling to her knees before you, the bubbly idol strokes your shaft professionally, clearly intent on ending this contest before things get too out of hand. But you resist her efforts manfully, and she pouts in sudden irritation at this setback. So she brings out the big guns (per say), unlimbering her impressive breasts out of her top, leaning back for you to appreciate them in their full splendor. Truly, what a sight they are! While not the largest breasts you have ever seen (or carnally enjoyed), they are still beautifully shaped, and are easily the largest amongst Aespa. With a haltingly teasing smile, Karina squishes her bust together, courteously inviting you to mount them for you satisfaction. In an admittedly boorish haste, you accept, obligingly testing the softness of each breast with your member before sliding between them. The cozy closeness of Karina's bosom nearly ends you then and there; enfolding you within its sultry embrace as if graciously encouraging you to spill your seed upon her chest. As your pace begins to quicken and grow ever more regular, it seems as if you may just comply with Karina's body's seductive encouragements. Karina smirks up at you, and you realize that you are doing all the work for her; making you unmindfully forget the true objective of this coupling. With an impressed huff, you slow your thrusts, gallantly inquiring if the lady would deign to put some effort in. The lady rolls her eyes, but complies, expertly copying your earlier movements with professional ease; bringing you once more to the brink.

Evidently you were unwise to underestimate Karina's sensual skills, and your already aroused mood has really not helped with things. So with slightly desperate enthusiasm, you offer to pleasure Karina in turn, after all, it would be a poor host who does not see to his guests needs... But she brushes this delaying tactic off with negligible ease, firmly insisting that it would be the height of incivility for her to ignore her host's in his greatest time of need! Perhaps she would submit to such reciprocity once this pressing matter has been dealt with to your utmost satisfaction. Grasping at straws, you counter with the argument that the apex of any intimacy is the act of sex; so it would be unseemly to suggest the you are truly being satisfied in the highest possible fashion. Karina pauses as the gears turn in her head, glancing at the clock (five minutes left!) before muttering something rude under her breath. With a resigned sigh she releases your manhood from its fleshy prison, clambering back to her feet as she looks around for a suitable location for safe copulation. Luckily for the both of you, the showers are festooned with all manner of bars and handles; there is even an ergonomically shaped fuck-seat that supports almost any position. Courteously, you gently press Karina in which position she would like to couple in; after all, time is running out... Banishing her unease, she confidently decides that she will be on top, and firmly asks that you sit down so she might finish things. You are equally eager to proceed, less from time constraints and more at the cloying excitement that surges through you at the thought of entering Karina.

Reclining in the plastic seat, Karina swiftly pulls the bottom half of her bikini off, revealing her tender sex to you for the first time. Giddiness floors you at the the sight, you feel as if you are a virgin again, about to experience for the first time the warmth of a women. Karina blushes at your scrutiny, hands moving instinctively to cover herself before pausing; she gives you an awkward twitch of the lips. Remembering your manners, you sincerely compliment her on her beauty, before giving permission to continue as she wishes. Nodding sharply, Karina lithely straddles you, hauling your member up before inserting you fully into her font without preamble. Her pussy is exquisite. It accepts your entire length without complaint, yet also effortlessly grips your shaft; truly a divine combination that sends you reeling. Then she is riding you, her heavy breasts enticingly quivering with every movement, her dark brown nipples hardening and pressing outwards. It is a wonder that you do not inseminate her immediately, but your febrile desire to enjoy Karina to the fullest holds your building orgasm at bay. Something which grows ever more difficult as she shows off some genuinely spectacular acrobatic feats atop your cock. Her hips trace in the air mesmerizing geometric patterns, her taut stomach flexing and curling as your member is subjected to one of the most intense sexual techniques you have experienced. But Karina does not have it all her way, your own hips buck adroitly as she moves, intuitively seeking her sensitive spots even as she nimbly bounces on you. Color rapidly fills both your cheeks, until you can no longer contain the pent-up passion that has filled you since you had awoken. With a mighty groan you give in, and the damn breaks, causing you to shuddering painfully as your massive load explodes inside of Karina. Who in turn lets out a gasp of surprise, her own sex spasming as her legs twitch from her sudden orgasm. Rising from where she collapsed onto your heaving chest, Karina looks down on you with astonishment, clearly she had not realized exactly how much she was enjoying herself until your seed gushed inside of her. She blinks, before starting and jerking her eyes toward the clock... Karina appears mortified, and as you glance back you can see why, it was over 20 minutes past the starting time; even discounting the delay as you bandied terms, she had been riding you for over 15 minutes and had failed to notice it.

Blushing deeply with shame and embarrassment, she hurriedly clambers off of your dirtied member. She awkwardly showers off the juices you exertions produced, shyly rebuffing your compliments and intimacy before fleeing the room. Bemused and a touch put-out, you watch her go, perhaps she should learn to be a bit more honest with herself... Your mood is improved somewhat by the arrival of two more maids, who throw teasing glances at your crotch. Looking down, you realize that your session with Karina had failed to fully satiate the naughty thing between your legs. With a tired exhalation, you motion the girls over, and soon have one of them bent over against the wall, while the other laps at your swaying sack. Perhaps relying on the maids would not be the worst of ideas, even with your beauteous guests about...

That night's supper is a touch more awkward than the last, even with the lack of more formal wear. In a complete reversal of the previous night, Karina is rather withdrawn and shy, unabashedly chugging wine; making even Winter seem gregarious by comparison. Giselle remains as haughtily teasing as always, and seems to enjoy needling her leader's unexpectedly introverted mood. Ningning on the other hand seems mostly curious at the change, eyes darting suspiciously between you and Karina as she observes your interactions. The slightest of smiles touches her lips, before transforming into a scowl...

A/N: Well this one went longer than I expected, I hoped you all enjoyed it though! Its pretty enjoyable writing some fluff lol

[waterdeepweave]

his velvet nightshirt (18+) - gale x reader

Turns out Gale just doesn't really like to get naked. He's very here for sex. Just... not naked. (prompt)

Tags: gale x gender neutral tav (no explicit genital description), second person pov, clothed sex, dry humping, hand jobs (male receiving), communicative sex, constant checking ins, fluff and smut

read here on ao3, or under the cut:

As much as the two of you vowed to find more time alone, the adventuring road left little room for more things than short, quiet moments. Even the nights crept up on the two of you in equal measure, desire washed away by the heaviness of sleep, spent in each other’s arms. 

It wasn’t until the road led to Balder’s Gate that you found yourself in the presence of a reprieve – and, mercifully, a private room at the Elfsong Tavern. 

You spend the first part of the night in polite company with each other, an unspoken agreement to let the anticipation build. Or perhaps to warm yourselves up, acclimate to the mood of indulgence – something neither of you had entertained since long before the nautiloid. Gale sits on a padded sofa by the fireplace, nose-deep in a book, and you curl up beside him, feet on his lap, reading from the same book once in a while. But for the most part, you admire him – his features lit in the glow of the fire, a flickering orange fleck in the endlessness of his brown eyes, deep pools of warm chocolate. The way his fingers glide over the page before he turns it – a flick so gentle you can almost feel it on your own skin. 

His chuckle rumbles against your face, and you sit a little straighter, reading from over his shoulder. You frown, confused as to what could possibly be so amusing about the ethics of necromancy. The words swim before you, melting into the glow of the fire, and you find another warmth growing in the core of your belly. You crane your head and press a kiss into the crook of Gale’s neck. 

“Hmm? Mmm.” Gale lets out something between a query and a sigh of contentment, his right arm leaving the book to wrap around your waist, nudging you closer to him. His left hand – and his attention – remain on the book.

Not for long, though. Not if you had your way. 

You nuzzle his neck, your face rubbing between the soft velvet of his tunic and the warmth of his skin. Your cheek grazes against his beard and you nudge deeper, alternating between kisses and nuzzles. Your hand travels across the expanse of his shirt, plush fabric beneath your touch, his heartbeat pulsing strong underneath. Your hand rests on a pec and you give it a gentle squeeze. 

That catches his attention – his heartbeat quickens underneath you, and shadows flutter in the periphery of your vision as he sets down the book, clearing his throat.

“Well. What do we have here?” His voice is sticky with growing lust as he shuffles you so that you are straddling his lap, kneeling on the seat. “There we go. Hello, my love.” Gale leans forward to greet you with a kiss, but you keep your face aloof, ever so slightly out of reach. You feel his grip on your waist tighten with frustration, and you grin, diving into his neck to lavish it with more kisses. You run your tongue along his jawline, fascinated by the texture of his beard. A soft moan escapes his lips, even as he turns his head instinctively, inviting you to taste him, to mark him all over. His hands begin to slide up and down your back, nails ghosting down your skin through the fabric, and your thighs bear down on his as you arch your back against his touch. 

“Mm - ah, fuck,” Gale manages as you grab a fistful of his hair, greasy with the lack of wash and whatever product he slicks into it to keep it back. It feels luscious in your hands, as does the rest of him when you tug gently, sending him rising into you. “Please,” he groans, a hand rising to catch your cheek, bringing your face to his. His eyes were dark, oozing pools of desire, pleading, adoring, all at once. “Kiss me.” 

He would make fun of you, after the fact, for how easily you folded at once, melted into his touch, letting him pull your lips to his, letting him capture you, taste you, have you. With a grunt, and a hand on each side of your ass, he pulls you toward him as your lips stay interlocked. You gasp a little in his mouth as you feel his growing bulge pressed right against you, so close to where you want it, and your hip jerks, desperate for the friction, desperate for his warmth. He chuckles at your wanton display and presses his hips upward into you, even as he holds you down with either hand.

It’s growing too much for you to bear.

Your hand slips under his shirt and you gather the hem in a fist, preparing to hoist the whole thing over him. Gale stops in his tracks, and a hand flies to catch yours. Your gaze flickers to his, and you unclasp his shirt. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to say this,” he begins. From the way he trips over his words, you can tell he is nervous. You slip off his lap and sit next to him, a tentative hand resting on his thigh. He reaches for it immediately, interlacing it in his own.

“You do recall the last time we shared a night. It was… well, it transcended the body. So to speak.” You nod, remembering the feeling of sailing across stars, of being caught in his arms, and then another pair of arms, and then another. Weightless. Glowing, but not warm. A breath of cold air, so refreshing, but almost… clean. 

“Such was the way I’d laid with another for many years in my life. Mystra, as you know. Then you. I realise now I had led you to it without asking for your preference, and for that I apologise. I was… eager to perform, and the familiarity gave me my best chance.

“My point is, it’s been quite a while since I’ve slept with someone on the… well, mortal plane, shall we say. Body to body. And that’s not saying I don’t want to – you, my love, are exquisite. However –” He clears his throat, somewhat in shame. “For the first time in a long time, of sorts, I’m suddenly finding myself rather… well, shy.” 

“Gale, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You know I am equally satisfied to simply share space with you,” you say quickly, searching his gaze. 

“Oh, no, it’s not quite that. I do want to have sex. Rather badly, if… well, if this is to be believed.” He gestures to his erection straining against his trousers, moisture weeping through the outline of his head. Your lips part at the sight, your breath catching in your throat, and it takes all of your concentration to focus on him, and what he has to say. 

“What I’m saying is… for tonight, at least, I would prefer to leave my clothes on. If that’s alright with you. And before you take it personally, I would have you know I make Tara leave the room before I undress, back in Waterdeep.” 

“Of course.” You reach up to kiss him on the cheek as you squeeze his hand. 

“And for whatever it’s worth, you are more than welcome to take your clothes off. I think I would rather enjoy the sight, actually.” 

“Is that so?” You flutter your eyelids at him, a look you know he cannot resist. “I may need some help with that.” 

“Come here,” he growls, a dark glint of mischief in his eye as he pulls you onto his lap once more. His fingers tangle eagerly into your shirt and he slides it off hungrily, your undergarments joining it on the floor with due haste. His thumb flicks over your nipple, hard and sensitive, and as you arch into his touch you find his thumb quickly replaced with his tongue. You moan, your hands curling around his face as his hand moves to pinch your other nipple. The sensation shoots from your chest across your body like sparks of lightning, and your hands glide down his neck. 

But then you find yourself faltering, pausing at his collarbones, half-obscured by his shirt. Gale notices you hesitate and resurfaces, his eyes meeting yours. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I’m… I’m not sure how to proceed,” you admit, a finger tracing the embroidery along the collar of his tunic. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I see.” Gale takes your hand. 

“First of all, thank you. For this. For being so endlessly patient. I cannot overstate how much that means to me.” He presses a long kiss into your hand. “Shall I?” You nod.

“Guide me, Gale.” 

With a soft moan, he guides your hand to his waist and slides it under his shirt, leading your palm up his torso, over the soft fold of his belly, and onto his chest. His shirt rides up as he does, exposing his skin to the air, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He drags your hand across his chest, gasping softly as your skin grazes against his pert nipples, and back again, the friction so delicious. 

Understanding, you match his rhythm on your own, your fingers awakening to massage his pec, your thumb ghosting over his sensitive nipple. He rises against you, so responsive to your touch. Sandwiched between his tunic and his warm body, you press your forehead against his, letting your other hand slide under his shirt, toying with both his nipples at once. He groans at the sensation, throwing his head back.

“Fuck, I may come from this alone,” he rasps, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck. “You drive me insane, love.” 

You dip your head with a smirk, deciding to nibble his chest through the fabric of his shirt. As your velvet-lined lips graze a particularly sensitive area he groans again, his hips thrusting up into you, his desire meeting yours. His heartbeat pulses through the fabric, and down where you are wet and wanting, swollen and sensitive, you feel it all the more. 

“Fuck.” You grind down against him, holding onto his chest, the canvas of your trousers offering some form of friction – new to you, but somehow equally enjoyable, if not more. You rock your hips harder, chasing the feeling. “Fuck, Gale.” 

“Fuck, say that again.” Gale slips a hand between your legs and begins to palm his bulge through his trousers. His body – and yours on his – sink even deeper into the sofa. “Say my name. Show me how much you want me.” 

“Gale.” You gasp as you rock against his hand, feeling yourself grow closer with every motion.

“Gods above. Come here.” Gale grasps your hand and shakily brings you into his breeches, past his undergarments. “Please,” he whispers, and it is all you need to hear. Your fingers curl around his shaft, and as soon as it does he moans, his grip on you tightening. You stroke down his length and back up, your thumb swirling around his throbbing head, smearing precum all over. His hand reaches for your chest again, and you welcome his touch with a sigh. 

“Gods, you are magnificent,” he groans as you continue to stroke his cock, slowing your pace and squeezing just a little tighter every time you reach the tip, and releasing it with a languid motion down his shaft once more. “And incredibly frustrating,” he adds with a half-mustered frown, even as the rest of him quivers at your touch. 

You move your hand faster, and with a groan he thrusts up into your grip, shifting his trousers lower. He repeats the motion again, and again, until he finally nudges his cock free of his breeches, leaving it at the mercy of your touch alone. Encouraged, you quicken your pace, panting into the crook of his neck as your hand worked, feeling his chest rise and fall in quick succession as he thrust unevenly under you, too lost in ecstasy to keep time or tempo. 

“I’m close,” he gasps, catching your hand over his cock. “Fuck, come here, grind against me.” He guides you over his bare cock, and you drag yourself against him, experimentally at first. 

“Gods, your breeches… they feel wonderful. And damp.” He rubs two fingers down between your legs, and you flush at the knowing gaze he gives you, smug and heavy with lust. “Is that how I make you feel, my love?” 

“Yes,” you breathe, rocking into his beckoning fingers. Gale removes his hand, relishing your whine, and replaces you over his cock. “Show me,” he growls into your neck as you wrap your arms around his’. 

With a strangled moan, you bear down upon him, thrusting with abandon, chasing the friction of fabric sandwiched between throbbing, sensitive flesh. He groans at the sensation, drawing you closer, his hips twitching wildly underneath yours. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck, I’m going to -”

Your own pleasure builds as you move even faster, clenching fistfuls of his shirt for leverage, your forehead pressed against his. 

“Do it,” you gasp, a finger tracing down his jawline. 

“Come for me, Gale.” 

With a cry and a final thrust, he spills all over his shirt, crying your name as he does. Pearlescent streaks litter his purple shirt as he rides out the waves of his pleasure, his hips jerking wildly. 

His desperate rocking against you is too much to bear, and you find yourself unravelling not long after, his name spilling from your lips as you come, wrapped firmly in his embrace, muffling your moans in his chest as you sink into him, gasping for breath, utterly spent.

“Oh, gods. Gods.” He chuckles softly, one hand holding onto you, the other tugging at his shirt, examining the sticky streaks on top of it. “I suppose I’ll have to give it a wash.” You laugh softly, nuzzling deeper into his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. He nudges you off gently. 

“One moment, love. Don’t want to get your face all sticky.” He pulls the shirt over his chest and lets it flutter to the floor before dragging you back on top of him. “There we go. Much better.” You hum in agreement – his chest made for an excellent pillow, and you weren’t one to complain for the warmth of his bare skin. Your hand curls into a fist in the centre of his orb tattoo, and he places a hand over yours. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, love?” His free hand strokes your hair, and you nod, sleepy and sated, growing more so by the minute. 

“I wanted to thank you again,” he murmurs. “For your understanding. And your patience. I felt utterly safe with you. Something I haven’t felt in a long time.”

“Funny you should say that,” you mumble against his skin. “I feel utterly safe, wrapped up in your arms right now.” 

“An equal exchange, then.” 

Gale wraps both arms around you, holding you closer to him. You have a feeling he would never let go. 

He doesn’t, until the dawn comes.

[comatosebunny09]

mine | leon k.

genre(s): romance, modern au (?)

warning(s): possessive!leon, jealous!leon, oblivious!reader, short!reader, female!reader, suggestive, language

notes: influenced by a scene i read by an anonymous writer on ao3 (it’s a dead dove fic, but i still happily ate it). hope you enjoy!

music: yours - alina baraz

Firm believer that Leon gets high-key jealous when anyone flirts with you.

But, poor, poor baby—you’re so oblivious. So goddamn cute. Look at you, standing on tippy-toe, straining your fingers for your favorite box of cereal on the top shelf at the supermarket. Leon would smile if not for a shock of black disrupting the intimacy of the scene.

Some sleaze-ball sidles up beside you, a broad hand at the small of your back whilst the other reaches overhead to pluck said box from the shelf for you. That quiet little smile you give as thanks makes Leon squeeze the handle of the buggy until his knuckles pale. And, is he bristling?

The nerve of this guy, flaunting all 32 of his teeth in a sinister beam, towering over you whilst he seduces you with idle chatter.

You’re none the wiser of the man’s motives. Smiling and giggling, animatedly flailing your arms about. Figure he’s a kind stranger, helping another in need. But he keeps touching you—a chaste brush of fingers, stirring the fine hairs of your flesh to life. Inching closer, much to Leon’s chagrin. He can hear the gears in this guy’s head turning as he sketches a triangle between your pretty, full lips and the rise of your chest.

Leon blames himself for leaving you defenseless. Had stepped away earlier to grab some ice cream at your behest. He grinds his teeth, the tendons of his neck flexing. Isn’t really thinking as the wheels of the shopping cart screech, and Leon rushes to your aid, subconsciously grabbing for your arm, tucking you into his side.

“There you are, honey,” Leon rumbles against the question your gaze poses, his voice stippled with venom beneath the honey flow of it, an arm draped across your middle. He squeezes your side—a silent reminder that you are his—and fixes the stranger with a pointed look. And if looks could kill, Leon would’ve murdered this stranger a thousand times over.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. Whaddya say we get checked out, hmm?” Leon adds with a deceptively innocent smile, ocean blues gazing down at you. Doesn’t wait for your answer, instead ushering you between the hard press of his body and the cool steel of the cart, out of the aisle.

“Leon?” you query, realizing he—in fact—is not leading you to self-checkout. Instead, he shepherds you into a dark corner near the restrooms, your buggy abandoned, and your back pressed against the wall in the blind spot of the half-dome safety mirror.

You’ve barely any time to gather your wits before Leon’s mouth fastens to yours. A lip-lock as possessive as it is desperate, teeth gnashing and tongues entangling, and no matter how much you try, you just can’t breathe.

You take little sips of air in between. Instinctively bury your fingers in his hair, free hand roaming the expanse of his back, trying to feel as much rippling muscle as you can. Your leg languidly slides up his calf and thigh to wind about Leon’s hip, and his hand slinks beneath your doughy quad to keep you there. His thumb skates over the sensitive skin of your neck as if coaxing your mouth to open wider.

He parts from the hot suction of your lips after you mewl softly into his. Breaths merge into one whilst he meshes your foreheads together, painting a sluggish line between your eyes and parted lips.

“Mine,” he whispers through the haze. Through the flurry of your thoughts and the sway of your body. Gathers your cheek into his palm when he feels you slipping down the wall, a knee pressed between your thighs to keep you both afloat. Feels the heat radiating through the seam of your pants, and his chest swells with satisfaction. “Mine,” parroted again as if to solidify things.

You nod drunkenly, lost in the slothful stir of his eyes. He takes cruel satisfaction in teasing you like this a little longer. Taunts you with the promise of another kiss, his lips hovering over yours as you try for his bottom lip.

“Say it,” he rasps into the space between your mouths. The intimacy of it all weakens your knees. Makes your head spin, your gaze and mind filled only with Leon Leon Leon. He watches your mouth form around words, stroking your lips apart with the calluses of his thumb.

“Yours. Always.”

“Good, good girl,” Leon drawls, sending a bolt of white lightning straight to your apex. You don’t protest as he drags you from the alcove, a smirk dusting his lips. An unheard promise of things to come wafting in the lively air of the supermarket.

[visit-new-york]

Unlocking the Allure of Brooklyn Bridge Park: A Comprehensive Guide for Explorers"

Brooklyn Bridge Park, a gem nestled along the East River, stands as a testament to urban innovation, providing both locals and visitors with a stunning retreat. As you contemplate your visit, a cascade of questions might fill your mind. Fear not, as we embark on a journey to unravel the wonders of Brooklyn Bridge Park, addressing the queries that pique your curiosity.

Is there a cost to enter Brooklyn Bridge Park, or is it free for visitors?

One of the park's most enticing features is its accessibility—it's absolutely free! Brooklyn Bridge Park welcomes all, offering a respite from the bustling city without burning a hole in your pocket.

How can I access Brooklyn Bridge Park, and is there parking available?

Conveniently connected, the park is accessible by multiple modes of transport. Subway enthusiasts can alight at various nearby stations, while drivers will find ample parking options nearby. Whether you arrive by train, bus, or car, the journey to this urban oasis is as delightful as the destination itself.

Are pets allowed in Brooklyn Bridge Park, and are there designated areas for them?

Four-legged companions are more than welcome, making Brooklyn Bridge Park a haven for pet owners. Leash laws are in effect, ensuring a harmonious coexistence between humans and their furry friends. The park even boasts designated areas where pets can frolic freely.

What are the best spots for photography in Brooklyn Bridge Park?

Photographers, rejoice! The park offers a plethora of picturesque locations. Capture the iconic Manhattan skyline from the Pebble Beach, or frame the majestic Brooklyn Bridge against the setting sun from the Empire Fulton Ferry section. The possibilities for Instagram-worthy shots are endless.

What are the key attractions within Brooklyn Bridge Park?

Prepare to be enthralled by an array of attractions. From the impressive Pier 1 with its lush lawns to the tranquil gardens of Pier 6, each section tells a unique story. The famed Jane's Carousel, housed in an architectural masterpiece, is a must-visit, as is the renowned Brooklyn Bridge itself, standing proudly as the park's northern anchor.

How did the idea for Brooklyn Bridge Park originate, and when was it established?

The roots of Brooklyn Bridge Park trace back to community activism in the 1980s. What began as a vision to revitalize the waterfront burgeoned into reality in 2010 when the park officially opened its gates. Today, it stands as a testament to community-driven urban planning.

What recreational activities are available for visitors in Brooklyn Bridge Park?

Whether you're an avid sports enthusiast or a leisure seeker, the park caters to all. Engage in a game of basketball, try your hand at kayaking, or simply bask in the sun on the expansive lawns. The park hosts fitness classes, cultural events, and recreational sports leagues throughout the year.

Are there any family-friendly amenities or play areas within the park?

Families are in for a treat! The park offers playgrounds, water features, and a wealth of family-friendly programming. Spend quality time with your loved ones at Slide Mountain or embark on an adventure at the Water Lab, ensuring smiles for both the young and the young at heart.

Are there guided tours or educational programs offered at Brooklyn Bridge Park?

Delve deeper into the park's rich history and ecology through guided tours and educational programs. Knowledgeable guides unravel the layers of the park's past, present, and future, providing an enriching experience for visitors of all ages.

What are some of the popular dining options or food vendors in or around Brooklyn Bridge Park?

Savor diverse culinary delights from food vendors scattered throughout, offering everything from artisanal treats to international cuisines. Alternatively, nearby DUMBO and Brooklyn Heights boast a plethora of eateries catering to every palate.

In conclusion, Brooklyn Bridge Park is not merely a destination—it's an experience waiting to be embraced. Whether you're a local seeking solace or a visitor eager to explore, the park's dynamic offerings are sure to leave an indelible mark on your memory. So, lace up your walking shoes, charge your camera, and set forth on an adventure like no other!

[simdertalia]

🐈‍⬛ Cat Offerings Set 🐈‍⬛

Sims 4, Base game compatible. October is Black Cat Awareness Month If you are considering adopting, do consider a little house panther! (but be careful not to let kitties roam outdoors) 22 items, functional items will require Cats & Dogs for the tunings.

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

Set contains: -Bastet Statue | 10 swatches to include originals | 404 poly -Bed (decor & functional versions. Decor version has a slot) | 15 swatches each | 861 poly -Cat Grass | 7 swatches | 1518 poly -Cat Tower (functions as a bed) | 6 swatches | 1350 poly -Collar Decor - Diamond | 6 swatches | 694 poly -Collar Decor - Leather | 1 swatch | 650 poly -Food & Water Dish Decor | 5 swatches | 1202 poly -Food Cans 1 & 2 | 5 swatches each | 694 poly -Litterbox Decor | 7 swatches | 1105 poly -Mouse Toy (decor & functional versions) | 7 swatches | 192 poly -Rug | 1 swatch | 964 poly -Chicken Jerky Bag | 1 swatch | 55 poly -Chicken Jerky Treat Decor | 1 swatch | 55 poly -Fish Cookies Bag | 5 swatches | 501 poly -Fish Cookie Treat Decor | 1 swatch | 210 poly -Fish Jerky Bag | 5 swatches | 602 poly -Fish Jerky Treat Decor | 1 swatch | 110 poly -Heart Cookies Bag | 5 swatches | 554 poly -Heart Cookies Treat Decor | 1 swatch | 146 poly

Type “cat offerings" into the search query in build mode to find  quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing  the title and it will appear.

📁 Download (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Download (still no ads): HERE

As always, please let me know if you have any issues! Happy Simming!

✨ If you like my work, please consider supporting me

★ Patreon  🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi  ☕️  ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz  @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters  @coffee-cc-finds  @itsjessicaccfinds  @gamommypeach  @stargazer-sims-finds  @khelga68  @suricringe  @vaporwavesims  @mystictrance15 @public-ccfinds

The rest of my CC

There are some deco pets here that include a lying down kitty, that might be able to be used on the deco bed, for people who do not have the Cats & Dogs expansion.

[booppooo]

abby+fem!reader besties but then an accidental kiss happens and things end up with eye contact and reader getting finger fucked <3

Another Level

Abby Anderson x Fem! Reader Headcannons

AN: so well put anon, thank you for this request <3 friends to lovers will always make me froth at the mouth

Warnings: friends to lovers as mentioned, fingering

-

So, you and Abby are in the infamous library you both deem a second home

You're running your fingers across the spines of books, searching for your favorites and gushing over them to each other

Every time Abby pulls something off the shelf and gets into the groove of practically professing her love for the novel, you can't help but get lost in her

Her eyes darting across the pages, strong fingers flipping through the pages, soft lips tugging into a smile

It gave you ample time to study her freckles and the glint in her eye, as well how expansive her pupils might get if you leaned in a little closer

Honestly, you had no intention of giving off how drawn you were to her, she had made it pretty clear to you her eyes were set on men

But then, your chest accidentally brushed against the top of the book, and Abby's stare shot up to meet your face which had magically gotten closer

She went to apologize - a simple sorry - but the last syllable fell flat as a reddish hue colored her cheeks

You would think with her face on fire, the multicolored masterpiece that were her eyes would flicker around the room to avoid your sturdy stare

Much to your surprise (perhaps fear) she kept her gaze sturdy

Then you realized: of course she wouldn't back down! She was a rock solid solider who stared death in the face day in and out, a little awkward encounter wouldn't make her falter

However, it was more than an awkward encounter, because in the time you used to piece everything together, a dense tension made itself welcome

The book found its home back on the shelf, Abby's eyes narrowed and a faint smirk dared to creep across her lips

Now it was your turn to blush and stammer

The next few seconds were blurry at best, consisting of your eyes almost popping from your head and someone profusely apologizing

However, you didn't miss the fact that Abby's lips were indeed on yours

"Watch it!" Abby barked at the bystander who must've shoved her by accident, he cowered out of her sight and from the library

"Are you alright?" You knew how hot headed she could get

She tsked, crossing her arms and leaning against the shelf before her attention was fully on you again

"Fine." In an instant her tone had gone from stern to...nervous?

Then settled back in that tension, heavy and hot

Abby's quick (but not so sly) eyes flashed down to your lips, then she cleared her throat and took another shot at apologizing

"Oh, no you're fine - I'm sure everyone's kissed their best friend before." You tried to keep the mood lighthearted, but the anxious squeak in your voice betrayed you

The part you forgot to mention was that best friends don't get excited when they kiss each other

And not excited in the caught-off-guard way...but below-the-belt way

You tried to pull your head from the gutter, that was until Abby's legs shifted

This normally would go undetected, however, the shift was all to familiar because you had been in this position with Abby countless times and that squeeze of her thighs was telling

So you weren't imagining it all!

"Uh, you just wanna go back to my room?" Her words rung in your ear like a gun firing in a silent forest

"Sure!" You replied, too enthusiastically

You get back to the room, and she locks the door??!!! Pulls the curtains?!!

"Wanna watch a movie?" You query as she busy's herself with some of her items

"We can, you know where everything's at."

By the time you have the film in the DVD player and plopped yourself on the couch, Abby is comfortably seated beside you

Almost effortlessly her arm drapes behind you and in an instant she has your attention again

This time your eyes are darting down to her lips, bits and pieces of what happened earlier starting to become clearer in your mind

"Y/n, can I do something?" You obliged.

Then her index and thumb pinched your chin, pulling you into her lips where she proceeded to turn your limbs into mush

When her tongue made a slick and speedy appearance, you softly gasped through your nose

She barely pulled away, "Are you okay?"

You hummed affirmatively, too breathless to produce any real words

Then you found yourself even more breathless when her palm found your thigh, she checked in with you again and you could only express your need with another hum

The warmth of her hand slid further along your thigh, reaching where your legs met, her pinky pressed gently against your groin

"Can I do this?" Her face still impossibly close to yours

"Yeah-" you choked out, "Yes." You wish you could express how encouraged this was

With your consent in full, Abby carefully shifted your thighs just how she wanted them - a hefty distance between them

When her steamy palm snaked under your pants and panties, a faint sweat broke out across your brow, Abby stopped to check in with you

"Please, I'm fine, just please-" your waist pressed against her wrist

"Okay then.." she chuckled

By this time a decent amount of slick had accumulated; as if your hot cheeks, kisses, and longing looks weren't telling enough of your desperation for Abby

One of her digits tested your heat, finding the source of your slick and spreading what she could get on her finger toward your clit

When she reached your nerves, you sighed, then whined at her slow pace

"Tell me babe, what do you want me to do?"

'Babe'...a tear ran down your thigh !

"In...inside, please." The words fought to leave your constricting throat

Abby scoffed in surprise, but wouldn't withhold anything from you at this point, so in went one of her fingers

And when it curved to hit that spot that made your thighs clench, a breathy moan escaped your lips

"Mmhmm, sounds good." Abby teased, pecking below your ear

Her thumb resumed a steady pattern on your clit, and before you knew it two fingers were curling inside of you making your entire being useless (moaning and squirming were the exception)

"Beautiful.." Abby hummed, forcing you closer toward the edge by running her tongue across your jaw

By now, the provocative squelch of her knuckles deep inside of you had almost overpowered the movie

Abby had repositioned herself for a better angle and really put her training to work (she mentally noted to pay extra attention to her forearms)

Your eyelids grew droopy, lower abdomen incredibly tense and all your nerves hot

"Like that-" you huffed, stuffing your face into the crook of Abby's neck and nodding against her

She obliged, because if Abby was good at doing one thing, it was following orders, especially if she knew the outcome would be worth it

And seeing your daintier hand clasp onto her forearm, jaw drop and thighs snap shut was so, so worth it

Like the moan that exploded from your mouth, your orgasm exploded on Abby's fingers and rippled up your spine, muscles involuntarily bucking your hips in rhythm with her

"That's right, ride it out.." her words sultry and velvety in your ear

When your climax died down and her motions became too much, you sighed for her to slow to a stop and helped guide her hand from your ruined pants

Her fingers were covered in...well, you, and she didn't skip a beat sticking them in her mouth, swirling her tongue to clean them well

What did your friendship mean now?

[laluvliduvz]

JUST LIKE A DREAM.

TW! manga spoilers.

bittersweet! wistful.

t. muichiro x gn. reader.

HE FOUND HIMSELF ENSNARED IN THE RAPTUROUS EMBRACE OF A PLAIN, UNADORNED NOTEBOOK. its pristine pages beckoning him to whisper tantalizing secrets.

seating himself in the seiza style-his limbs folded gracefully—he wielded a quill like a maestro's baton, while his other hand languidly cradled his cheek-a solitary pillar of repose in the vast expanse of contemplation.

with a sigh of resignation, he embarked upon the wondrous dance between ink and parchment.

...hey.

he paused, his countenance adorned with a mask of impassivity, concealing a tempest of thoughts within.

why, he mused, did he feel compelled to extend his greetings to a humble sheet of paper?

yet, a flicker of ephemeral memory flickered through the corridors of his mind—a faint echo that whispered of customs and courtesies, of beginnings and origins.

though he found himself adrift in the enigma of it all, he yielded to the notion that a simple "hello" would serve as the key to unlock the labyrinth of his newfound routine.

anyways..

that butterfly lady gave me this.

i don't know why, she just did.

he blinked, his brows ascending with a subtle grace, as a revelation had alighted upon his consciousness like a silken butterfly.

i don't know why, she just did.

actually, i do.

she gave me this because she said that journaling..

it'd help me with my memories somehow.

if i recall correctly..she told me to write down anything i figured is worth noting, saying it'll help me 'treasure' it or something.

as he neared the culmination of his literary pilgrimage, he sighed yet again, his breath a gentle zephyr that whispered secrets to the dull room.

whatever. it doesn't matter.

the final words dripped like honey from his quill, an offering to the vast expanse of time and oblivion. yet, even as he penned the denouement of his day, a knowing knowledge clung to his intellect—one he had unfortunately grown accustomed to.

i'll forget about this, anyways.

on the contrary—to his own astonishment—he found himself ensnared within the confines of familiarity, as if destiny had conspired to recreate the tableau of days past.

an unexpected sense of accomplishment fluttered within his being, though he nonchalantly brushed it aside, for its allure held no sway over his seemingly impassive demeanor.

wow.

this again.

never thought i'd actually come back to this.

i guess that person was just so weird that i instantly went here subconsciously.

and yet—a query lingered, teasing the fringes of his consciousness.

how did he manage to recall the precise location where this artifact had been bestowed? his gaze faltered, searching the surroundings with an air of detachment, even as his countenance remained stoic and unyielding.

alas, pondering the intricacies of remembrance proved an exercise in futility.

the answer—it seemed—resided in the glorious mist of poorly scrapped away details.

in reality, for—in a moment of abandon-he had actually just left this vessel exposed upon the very table that bore witness to its initial unveiling.

with that profound comprehension nestled in the recesses of his clouded mind, he simply blinked before returning to the task of diligently jotting down the words he had momentarily paused, delicately inscribing the words that had eluded him mere seconds ago—fully aware that they would soon inevitably slip from his memory.

a pensive cloud descended upon his countenance, casting a shadow upon the dainty tapestry of his thoughts.

his brows, like twin sentinels of vexation, furrowed once more, mirroring the tumultuous musings that swirled within the depths of his mind.

speaking of which, what's their deal anyways?

he simultaneously pondered, his memory a fragmented mosaic that teased the edges of his recollection. who exactly was this vexing interloper that had managed to impede upon his path? the tendrils of remembrance danced just beyond his grasp, tantalizingly close yet frustratingly distant.

bothersome brat getting in the way like that.

the realization dawned, an ember of understanding amidst the haze. it seemed that this individual, by the mere virtue of their skills, bore the mark of a fellow demon slayer. though their intentions remained obscured, he acknowledged that their presence, even as an ally, posed an inconvenience.

yet, he couldn't help but acknowledge that the situation would have been far more dire had they been an unsuspecting civilian thrust into the fray.

"had I not intervened, you would've gotten hit instead."

the echo of their words reverberated within his mind like a daunting scene, conjuring a vivid portrait of their visage. a flicker of irritation danced in his eye, an involuntary twitch that betrayed his lingering frustration.

at least that weirdo refrained from whining and coercing me into helping them seek the aid of that butterfly lady.

even still—a veil of perplexity settled upon his thoughts, shrouding his mind in a haze of bewilderment. the actions of that imbecile confounded him, defying all logic and reason. how dare they insinuate that he lacked the agility to evade the blow? and even if he hadn't, was it not just another day, with the ebb and flow of danger an ever-present companion?

furthermore, the question lingered like a specter; why did they possess such fervent concern, enough to willingly absorb the impact intended for him? a cynical frown danced upon his lips, for he harbored a deep-seated suspicion that their motivations were rooted in a desire to don the mantle of heroism.

ordinarily, such trifling matters would have been dismissed with a mere shrug, relegated to the realm of inconsequential distractions.

and yet, that singular event, like a pebble tossed into a still pond, sent ripples coursing through the depths of his being. it stirred a dormant fire within him, kindling a smoldering embers of annoyance that refused to be extinguished.

the enigma of their actions gnawed at his consciousness, an incessant itch that demanded his attention. why did their interference provoke such a visceral reaction? what lay beneath the surface of his irritation? the answers eluded him, concealed in the murk of his own introspection.

eventually, a flicker of relief danced upon his countenance, as if a gentle breeze had brushed away the creases of consternation etched upon his features. for, in this fortuitous moment, salvation arrived in the form of ginko, his loyal companion, his assigned kasugai crow.

entering the room through the open window with a graceful flutter of ebony wings, the avian harbinger announced his imminent departure towards yet another mission, a clarion call that whisked away the tendrils of disquietude that had begun to take hold.

had he been pondering for that long?

he blinked, extending a hand adorned with purposeful gentleness, he bestowed upon ginko a few aimless caresses to the sleek feathers that adorned the crow's head. a momentary respite amidst the chaos, a fleeting connection between two souls bonded by the trials of their shared endeavors.

and then, with a seamless transition, his expression reverted back to its stoic neutrality, a mask of detachment that shielded the depths of his thoughts.

his gaze, once adrift and almost forgotten, refocused upon the near-forgotten notebook that lay before him—its pages, blank with very few words but brimming with the promise of untold tales, unlike before—it now beckoned him with an irresistible allure. who’s to say that this encounter, this outpouring of his thoughts upon its parchment, would be his last? the question lingered, suspended in the air, as if the notebook itself whispered of secrets yet untold.

however—a hint of exasperation tinged his thoughts once more, a testament to the minutes squandered upon this wearisome endeavor. the weight of time wasted settled upon his shoulders like an oppressive burden, threatening to drown him in a sea of regret. had that butterfly lady bestowed this upon him merely as a means to pass the hours in such a pitiful manner?

what’s with everyone pissing him off lately? a disapproving click of his tongue resounded, accompanied by an inward huff of frustration, as if to dismiss such thoughts as inconsequential.

yet, even as he brushed aside the notion, a lingering seed of doubt remained. the origins of this diversion, this seemingly trivial pastime, stirred a restlessness within him. but he swiftly quelled the rising tide of contemplation, for there were matters of greater import to attend to.

with a languid motion, his hand lazily fell back to his side, a symbol of resignation to the inevitability of his next mission.

ginko—ever attentive—observed his movements with unwavering focus through her beady eyes.

as he rose to his feet and walked away without a word, she hastened to follow, a silent guardian ensuring he treaded the correct path this time.

perchance, had he paid greater heed—he would have discerned the inadvertent significance he ascribed to that encounter.

possibly, if he could decipher his emotions amidst the shroud of negativity, he would come to comprehend the profound influence this ostensibly unavailing—or so he perceives it to be—undertaking continues to hold within the recesses of his hazy recollections.

a sense of weariness pervaded his being, his form slouched over the table in an exhausted posture. his arm, draped atop the surface, cradled his lower face in a gesture of weary surrender.

heavy-lidded eyes, devoid of their usual sharpness, stared blankly at the notebook before him, its pages a repository of familiarity and untapped potential.

his restless fingers found solace in the quill, an instrument of creation and expression. yet, instead of purposeful strokes, they engaged in aimless fiddling, a subconscious act of seeking comfort in the familiar. the quill danced between his fingertips, its weight and texture grounding him in the present moment.

as time trickled by, his hand slowly maneuvered with deliberate relaxation.

the quill hovered mere inches above the pristine expanse of the paper, its poised tip a conduit for the thoughts that swirled within his mind. the ink droplets within the quill began to fall, each one a testament to the passage of time and the stillness that enveloped him.

then, with a leisurely descent—the quill found its mark upon the page, leaving behind a trail of ink as he transcribed the words that lingered in his thoughts. beginning another silent conversation between the depths of his mind and the blankness of the paper.

if i had known that i’d be assigned with that idiot on the mission, i wouldn’t have even waited for their arrival.

eh. i guess they were somewhat useful..for baiting the demon.

the words upon the page bore the unmistakable mark of apathy, as if they had been woven with little to no effort. lines connected words haphazardly, yet he remained unperturbed by their disarray.

a mere blink was his response to the warm embrace of the rising sun's rays streaming through the window, causing him to momentarily shield his eyes. his lids fluttered, adjusting to the light.

shifting slightly, he raised his head, casting a glance towards the window. the sight of the morning's arrival beckoned his attention, a gentle reminder of the passing hours that had slipped away unnoticed.

would you look at that... it's morning already, and i haven't even managed a wink of sleep yet.

a yawn escaped his lips, an involuntary reflex brought forth by the weariness that engulfed him.

craning his head to the right, he raised a hand, fingers reaching out to massage the tense muscles at the back of his neck. the physical sensation provided a fleeting respite from the mental strain that weighed upon him.

tearing his gaze away from the luminous frame of light, his attention returned to the page before him.

the letters—now seemingly slid onto the page without care—formed words that appeared smudged or messy. yet, his response was one of detached observation, his eyes trailing along the inked lines as if merely skimming their surface. his mind adrift in a sea of fatigue and contemplation.

a wistful breath escaped his lips, carrying with it a tinge of reflection. to think that in the end, he found himself aiding them, joining forces with those he once regarded with a mix of skepticism and reservation. vague memories of their coordination and shared battles flickered in his mind, a testament to their surprising competence.

irony hung in the air, as he ever-so begrudgingly acknowledged the decency of their skill, granting them the credit they deserved.

but to say that he still harbored a grudge would be an overstatement. time had a way of blurring the sharp edges of resentment, softening the sting of past grievances.

he had moved on—or at least strived to do so—simply because he no longer wished to expend mental energy on such affairs.

of course, the reasoning behind their initial encounter still eluded him. the circumstances that had brought them together remained shrouded in mystery, a puzzle piece that refused to fit neatly into the larger picture.

yet, despite this lack of understanding, he had chosen to extend his assistance.

it was a matter of reciprocity, an unspoken agreement that demanded the return of the favor. they had aided him, and so he, in turn, had done the same.

but let it be known that his actions were certainly not born out of deliberate intention. it wasn't a calculated decision to seek their gratitude or favor. no, he had been driven solely by his sense of duty, a commitment to vanquish the demon that had threatened their lives. their expressions of gratitude that followed were—in his perception—unwarranted and unnecessary.

don’t get him wrong, it wasn't a matter of rejecting their appreciation out of disdain or arrogance. it was simply a matter of perspective. he saw his actions as obligations fulfilled, his purpose aligned with the task at hand. the gratitude they offered was an unexpected byproduct, an outcome that held little significance in the grand scheme of his mission.

unbeknownst to him—his head gradually dipped lower, a subtle surrender to the weight of exhaustion. his eyes, utterly heavy with weariness, would occasionally flutter open, a futile effort to rouse himself from the encroaching grasp of sleep.

but little did he know, there existed a vast realm of his true intentions beneath the surface of his consciousness, waiting to be explored, waiting to unveil its secrets—a landscape of an undiscovered reality and hidden depths lay dormant, longing to be discovered.

yet, in his current state, he remained oblivious to the elusive wonders that lay within.

oblivious to the possibilities that awaited him, he continued to battle the encroaching embrace of sleep, unaware of the treasures that could be unearthed once he relinquished his conscious hold.

but perhaps, in due time, the mist would lift, and he would come to realize the vastness that lay hidden within, embracing the unknown with open arms and truly delving into the depths, and alas reaching a benevolent understanding of his own subconscious.

soon enough, he found himself absentmindedly twirling a petal between his fingers as he entered the room. his focus remained fixated on the delicate blossom even as his hand closed the door behind him, and even as he made his way towards the mirror.

gradually, he lifted his gaze, his eyes settling on the flower crown adorning his head. the sakura petals, masterfully intertwined, caught his attention, their beauty captivating his senses.

with an almost contemplative look, he then raised the petal he held to eye-level, keenly studying its intricate details.

of all people, who would have thought he'd be adorning something as whimsical as this? it seemed that over time, through some inexplicable force, he had found himself repeatedly crossing paths with an individual he had once deemed a nuisance.

bizzarely, he discovered that he often engaged in small conversations with them—or rather—they spoke while he found himself lost in his own thoughts as usual, staring at the wispy clouds.

however, that habit of his had not lasted long with them.

he recalled a time when he unexpectedly began sparing a not-so discreet glance for the person who stood beside him, whilst internally pursuing his own musings while they carried on with their activities.

perhaps it was because he secretly wished for their presence to vanish? he had made his feelings abundantly clear, even voicing his desire to be rid of them. yet, they stubbornly persisted, undeterred by his dismissive attitude.

and so, he had resigned himself to their constant presence, reluctantly accepting the fact that they would be a part of his daily life.

today, it was he who stumbled upon them—a reversal of their usual encounters.

he couldn't help but note the uncharacteristic silence that enveloped them, a departure from their usual chatter.

enveloped in a realm of heightened intrigue, his inquisitive spirit awakened. his gaze, like a wandering star, was drawn to the focal point that held their rapt fascination.

with an arched ascent, his eyebrows mirrored his amazement. majestically poised, a resplendent tapestry unfolded before him—a bountiful cherry blossom tree, its branches bedecked in resplendent blooms. the sakura petals—akin to balletic maestros—pirouetted gracefully through the air, composing a symphony of ethereal enchantment.

in that instant, he comprehended the rationale behind their entranced stare. the vision of the grand cherry blossom tree, its delicate petals dancing with elegance, possessed an irresistible charm that surpassed his customary indifference. it stood as a tableau of organic marvel, another spectacle capable of evoking a latent response within him, even if he had not fully embraced it until now.

blinking in a manner reminiscent of an owl, he returned to the present moment.

ultilizing both hands, he delicately removed the flower crown from his head. unusually, he handled it with an exceptional tenderness, treating it as though it were a fragile treasure he was determined to preserve with utmost care.

however, inexplicably, he decided to place it adjacent to his notebook. then, his attention shifted back to the petal he had held throughout the entire process, and a subtle downturn of his lips coupled with a slight furrowing of his brows betrayed his disappointment.

the petal appeared slightly crumpled... perhaps he should have focused on it first before removing the crown?

his head instinctively tilted as he contemplated the past. unbeknownst to him, the fact that he was investing such reflection into a... gift—as they had claimed it to be—went entirely unnoticed.

an idea flickered to life within the recesses of his mind, though it may not have been grand in scale.

with a sense of purpose, he resolved to safeguard this newfound notion within the pages of his trusty notebook instead of just noting them down much like the previous, yet now said to be countless of times he did so. it wasn't that he had no intention of exploring the idea further; rather, he held a silly belief that by preserving the delicate petal within its confines, he would be able to summon fragments of today's events whenever he cast his gaze upon it.

it was, undoubtedly, a risky endeavor.

the transience of memory and the fragility of moments made such attempts at preservation inherently uncertain. yet, undeterred by the potential pitfalls, he was determined to give it a try.

there was a spark of hope that momentarily alighted within his ever-so dull eyes as he carefully placed the petal between the pages, allowing it to find its place amidst the inked words and scribbled thoughts.

in his mind, the notebook was like a vessel of recollection, the doorway through which he could access the essence of that particular day.

with each passing glance, he believed he would be transported back to the sights, sounds, and emotions that had colored his experience. it was a belief steeped in a touch of magic, a genuine desire to capture the essence of fleeting moments and keep them alive in some tangible form.

of course, he understood the inherent risk of such an endeavor. memories could be fickle, subject to the passage of time and the distortions of perception—that he knew all too well, yet, he couldn't resist the allure of the notion, the tantalizing prospect of preserving a piece of today's events within the pages of his notebook.

thus, he closed the notebook—sealing the petal within its protective embrace. only time would reveal whether his whimsical idea would bear fruit. but for now, he carried a glimmer of anticipation, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, he had found a way to capture the essence of the present and carry it with him into the future.

one day, on the verge of departing for the swordsmith village, he found himself casting a final glance around his room.

as his eyes scanned the space, they landed upon a particular object resting undisturbed on the table, alongside a vibrant, circular rosy crown. yet, his gaze lingered upon the sight of the flowers, a momentary pause in his preparations.

was there something he was forgetting?

he brushed off the thought, convincing himself that it was nothing of importance.

or was it?

perhaps a faint inkling nagged at the back of his mind, suggesting that there was more to it than he initially believed.

without realizing it—he was drawn across the room, his steps guided by an unseen force.

he found himself crouching down near the designated area, his hand reaching out to flip through the pages of his notebook. however, his action was halted as his eyes caught sight of a roseate petal nestled within the notebook's pages.

curiosity sparked within him, and he raised an eyebrow as he gingerly plucked the petal from its sanctuary. absentmindedly, he twirled it between his fingers, a gesture that felt oddly familiar, inducing a sense of déjà vu.

but where had he witnessed such a scene before?

as he pondered, a realization dawned upon him. It wasn't a memory of witnessing someone else engage in this action; rather, it was he himself who had performed it.

a surge of recollection washed over him, memories resurfacing from the depths of his mind. the twirling of the petal, the sensation between his fingertips—these were gestures he had made before, though their significance had slipped from his conscious grasp.

In that singular moment, the forgotten fragments of his own past intertwined with the present, weaving together a tapestry of connections that transcended time.

recognition dawned upon him with a sudden clarity. it was from that day—the day where a sensation so tender and poignant stirred within him, almost like a bittersweet ache, evoking a warmth that eluded his understanding, leaving him unable to grasp its true essence.

the memory resurfaced, vivid and potent, as he held the petal in his hand. it was a symbol—a relic that carried the weight of a significant moment, a moment that had shaped him in ways he had yet to fully comprehend.

as his gaze shifted between the delicate petal and the floral circlet, he couldn't help but acknowledge their significance. they were gifts, given to him by that same person whose presence had once been a source of annoyance, but had since become intertwined with his life in ways he never anticipated.

a subtle flicker of a smile danced across his features, fleeting yet unmistakable.

it was a ghost of a smile, evoking a sense of warmth and nostalgia. just like that very same day, beneath the sakura tree.

after a few more contemplative moments, he gently placed the petal back within the pages of his notebook. it was an act imbued with a renewed sense of curiosity and introspection.

as he carefully tucked it away, he recognized that this petal held more than just a fragment of his present—it also served as a tether to his past.

standing up, he straightened his attire, smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed during his moment of reflection.

leaving the room behind, he stepped forward, his footsteps carrying him away from the familiar and towards the villa—yet, as he ventured forth, he carried with him the knowledge that within the depths of his own experiences, there were secrets waiting to be unveiled. these hidden truths, veiled within the recesses of his own identity, held the potential to guide him closer to understanding who he truly was.

muichiro’s brows knit together, his eyes narrowing slightly as he winced, perusing the passages he had penned not long ago—but in that period, he found himself at the nadir of his existence, akin to a vessel housing an empty soul, where the flicker of life seemed to wane within him.

immersed in the depths of his own written words, a wave of self-critique washed over him. the realization of his perceived deficiencies bore down heavily upon his psyche.

was my prose truly so lackluster?

his countenance contorted into a visage of melancholic discontent. he couldn't help but introspect on his conduct and acknowledge the impoliteness he had exhibited. it pained him to recognize the echoes of his late twin brother within himself, bearing the burden of both his loss, and their shared flaws.

a tinge of remorse lingered as he ran a hand through his hair, grappling with the repercussions of his actions.

yet, amidst the remorse, his spirits gradually ascended as he reminisced on a separate recollection—the instant when he emerged from his coma, their unwavering presence by his side.

that memory bestowed a glimmer of solace, softening his somber expression. they had been dumbfounded, incapable of containing their emotions upon witnessing his awakening.

in that fleeting moment, they had clung to him fervently, as if he were their vital lifeline. though their embrace—much to his dismay—had swiftly slackened upon realizing his frailty, the impact of their initial response eternally etched in his consciousness.

reflecting upon that juncture, a smile graced his lips. he held no remorse for his instinctive reaction to embrace them, despite his own corporeal anguish.

a gentle flush tinged his cheeks as he sensed that familiar flutter in his heart, impelling him to tilt his head inquisitively.

“that feeling again...” he mused—this time, aloud—as he rose a hand to the region where his heartbeat, almost amplifying with its errancies—resided. his gaze descended, fixated upon that enigmatic yet captivating feeling. curiously pirouetted in his eyes, a pure and guileless yearning for comprehension.

he contemplated the prospect of unraveling the enigma at the butterfly mansion, where he might unearth the veracity behind this inexplicable sensation.

maybe, it was naught but a lingering malady, an unseen affliction that had eluded his awareness. he mulled over the displeasing notion, recognizing the imperative to illuminate the puzzle that lay dormant within him.

little did he fathom the profundity of what lay ahead, the intricate tapestry of emotions and connections that awaited him.

if only he comprehended the significance of that flutter in his heart, the profound impact it would wield upon his odyssey.

several weeks had elapsed, and once more he found himself clutching his notebook, as if it were an extension of his being.

resting against the wall, he clasped the item firmly in his grasp, his gaze wandering towards the window as he settled into a seated position. with his knees drawn up to his chest, they formed an improvised tabletop, providing a stable surface for him to write on.

the room was bathed in the spill of moonlight, bestowing upon it a tranquil luminescence that infused the scene with ethereal allure. positioned at the precipice of the empty page, his quill poised like a delicate dancer, he sensed a surge of anticipation welling within him.

it had been a while since he had last visited the notebook, let alone written in it.

initially, this realization held a tinge of sadness. however, he began to view it as a form of success—a testament to his growth and progress—he no longer needed the notebook as a vessel for his memories, as he had learned to hold them within himself without the fear of them dispersing from his mind.

although he had been reluctant to let go of the notebook in the beginning, fearing that he would regress to his former self, he gradually grew accustomed to relying less on its pages. this change was thanks to a certain someone who had provided him with remarkable encouragement and support along the way.

speaking of that someone..

a gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he reminisced about the unfolding events.

at long last, he had mustered the courage to convey his heartfelt gratitude to them for rescuing him on that fateful day of their initial encounter. in retrospect, he finally recognized how his own negativity had obscured the fact that his concern and guilt had driven his actions, leading to harm befalling their well-being.

with the weight of unexpressed appreciation lifted from his shoulders, a profound sense of contentment and relief settled within him.

it felt really good.

and relieving too. i’m glad to finally be able to appreciate them properly now.

the words resonated within him, echoing the profound impact this newfound expression of gratitude had on his relationship with them as he lowered his quill onto the waiting page, he began to write, capturing the essence of his gratitude in ink. the words flowed freely, a testament to his newfound ability to express his appreciation and to cherish the moments that had led him to this point.

in that quiet room, with the moon as his witness, he continued to write, allowing his emotions to spill onto the pages, creating a tangible record of his gratitude and the growth he had achieved.

naturally, he expressed his gratitude to shinobu as well, for she was the catalyst that set the entire endeavor in motion.

however, he couldn't deny that his experience with that particular individual had left a deeper impact on him, resonating within his being in a way that he couldn't easily dismiss.

we made origami today.

was if their first time? i wouldn’t believe it at all if they said yes, they did amazing.

the corners of his mouth lifted even further, a radiant smile spreading across his face. pride swelled within his chest as he reminisced about the moment when he, much like they had done beneath the sakura tree during the day—left his creations with them as a souvenir—a heartfelt gift.

his eyes fluttered, lids half-lowered, as his smile softened. the memory of their laughter resonated in his ears, a joyful sound that echoed through his mind. it was a honeyed melody, harmonious and timeless, etched into his memories like a cherished tune he would never grow tired of.

in that moment, he felt a deep sense of connection and shared happiness. the blossoming of their laughter and their appreciation had filled him with a profound sense of fulfillment.

i made them laugh, their smile truly is adorable.

i want them to stay happy.

an undeniably childish wish.

..i wanna be the reason they do.

a selfish, yet reasonable desire.

i could just say it outright, but...

his thoughts trailed off, contemplating the words he longed to express.

his heart swelled with a mixture of emotions, and yet, there was a hesitancy that held him back. the idea of openly conveying his yearning to be their source of joy brought forth an inexplicable feeling, a blend of anticipation and seldom vulnerability.

with a heavy sigh, he leaned his head back, seeking a moment of respite.

however, to his dismay—he misjudged the distance and inadvertently hit the wall with more force than intended. the impact elicited a wince and a deadpan expression as a wave of discomfort washed over him.

“ouch..”

rubbing the back of his head with his free hand, he closed one eye, gritting his teeth in response to the pain. regret filled his thoughts as he berated himself for not considering the consequences of his actions.

"just why didn't I take that into consideration?" he muttered, a tinge of frustration evident in his mellow voice.

it was a momentary lapse, a reminder of the fallibility that resided within him. the physical discomfort mirrored the emotional unease he felt, a reminder that expressing his feelings came with its own set of risks and uncertainties.

no, he had abandoned his initial notion of visiting the butterfly mansion to have his ‘condition’ assessed. as due to being one of the hashiras, it was now his duty to train the lower-ranked individuals, aiming to help them awaken their own marks while enhancing their abilities.

in essence, he found himself devoid of the time needed to pursue his plan. although it was indeed a missed opportunity, he chose not to dwell on it excessively.

besides, none of his attributes seemed to have weakened, so he simply disregarded the occasional peculiar sensation blooming in his chest whenever thoughts of them arose, dismissing it as a mere figment of his imagination—a hallucination.

he let out a resigned breath, a sense of acceptance washing over him. his hand fell back to his side, but as he blinked, his gaze followed a petal as it slipped out of his notebook's grasp, gracefully descending onto the floor beside him.

his mouth formed a small "o" of surprise, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. he blinked thrice, processing the unexpected turn of events. however, his features soon softened, morphing into a tender expression as he retrieved the fallen petal.

solicitously cradling the delicate leaf between his fingers, he twirled it once more, marveling at its beauty. the petal really did hold a certain allure, captivating his attention and stirring memories within him.

"it’s as beautiful as i remember..” he whispered softly, a touch of nostalgia coloring his voice. in that simple petal, he found a reflection of past beauty, a reminder of moments that had touched his soul.

as he held the petal, he couldn't help but reflect on the transient nature of beauty and the fleeting nature of time. just like the petal, moments of beauty come and go, leaving only memories behind. yet, in that fleeting beauty, there is a sense of profound appreciation and wonder.

while the world could be cruel, he yearned to bask in the fragments of ephemeral glory and find joy in the fleeting moments. he’s now understood that life was a continuous stream of passing experiences, and he made a conscious effort to cherish each and every memory that crossed his path.

in the midst of this realization, an idea sparked in his mind—a realization that he had never written about the day beneath the sakura tree.

how had he overlooked such a profound and cherished memory?

a surge of exhilaration and eager anticipation flowed through him as he envisioned immortalizing that extraordinary day within the sacred confines of his notebook. the memory, a veritable trove of exquisite beauty, served as a poignant emblem of life's fleeting nature and the timeless significance of shared experiences.

with a determined resolve, he opened the notebook to a fresh page, his quill poised to bring the memory to life through ink. the sakura tree, with its delicate blossoms fluttering in the breeze, held a significant place in his heart. it was a sanctuary of beauty, a haven where he had experienced a profound connection with another soul—with them.

….

as the final words pirouetted gracefully upon the page, he tenderly closed his eyes, his velvety lashes caressing his cheek in a delicate dance. in this ephemeral interlude, he granted himself a stolen breath, a cherished opportunity to savor the essence of the memory once more. the day spent beneath the resplendent sakura tree had been etched with profound artistry upon the sanctums of his heart, and now, like a cherished relic, it had found its eternal dwelling within the cradle of his notebook's pages.

a contented smile graced his visage as he delicately sealed the notebook shut, its once blank canvases now adorned with fragments of his existence—a treasury of treasured recollections.

on that day, they looked exactly like a dream—all i’ve wanted, all i’ve ever needed.

the parchment succumbed to the deluge of your cascading tears, becoming drenched and sodden, as if thirstily drinking in the sorrow that overflowed from your heart. with a poignant gaze, you traversed the final passage, each word a painful reminder of the bittersweet victory that had come at the cost of his absence.

weariness weighed heavily upon your eyes, threatening to seal them shut, yearning for respite from the harsh grip of reality. your trembling lips contorted, caught in a delicate dance between joy and sorrow, forming a wistful smile that held the essence of longing. in the sanctuary of your other hand, cradled with tender reverence, lay the very petal you had once bestowed upon him. under the caress of the sun's gentle rays, it gleamed like an iridescent gem, casting a luminous glow that illuminated your tears, turning them into shimmering crystals of anguish.

geto, one of the many sentinel who had witnessed the entwined trial of your beloved and tanjiro, could offer naught but a humble bow, his head lowered in utmost deference. he understood the futility of his desire to provide solace through an embrace, recognizing the unfathomable depths of the pain that gripped your soul. as you clung tightly to the notebook he had dutifully delivered, he stood as a silent witness to your inconsolable sorrow.

in the realm of young love, tragedy often unfolds with a poetic grace.

like a tapestry woven from wisps of a dream, your intertwined forms swayed in the breeze, as if caught in the ethereal embrace of destiny. and as the wind whispered its gentle secrets through the tendrils of your existence, the memory, forever enshrined, would reside as an indelible impression within the chambers of your collective memories, transcending the boundaries of time and spanning an unfathomable infinity.

[l-littlebird-l]

• The Blind Dance •

Ominis Gaunt x MC (Fluff & Smut)

— Requests are Open —

Summary: A mysterious letter from Sebastian leads you to The Undercroft at night. However, upon arrival, it’s not Sebastian you find, but Ominis. To your surprise, you find yourself caught in an escalated dance that trembles you to your core. As the night descends into a heated mess, you finally experience a long yearning you’ve always desired.

—

“Meet me at the The Undercroft after class tonight. I have something urgent to discuss with you. Tell no one. Not even Ominis. I think you’ll be quite surprised at what I’ve found.”

— Sebastian Sallow

You run your fingertips over the aged parchment, its delicate crinkles invoke a sense of guilt from within. Among the carefully penned words, one particular phrase lingers in your thoughts, like a secret whispered by the winds. “Tell no one. Not even Ominis.”

—

At long last, the sun sought solace in its reprieve. A profound slumber cascaded forth a dark shadowy veil. The moon stirred awake, casting ribbons of light that shimmered along your path back towards the castle.

You let out a soft somber of a sigh.

“What could he possibly be trying to hide from Ominis?” You exasperate, as if Sebastian was seemingly testing the limits of your patience and understanding.

“I thought we were past this. The secrets. The skulking about.”

“Secrets? Did I hear that right?” Impetuously, the air was disrupted by the sound of a familiar and cunning voice behind you, causing you to whirl around.

There, amidst the darkness, you beheld his pale eyes seemingly aglow, the crimson spark at the tip of his wand casting an eerie illumination upon the dim expanse of The Wooden Bridge you found yourself on. It was Ominis. The one whom clouds your mind with every breath you take.

“Ominis—” You shudder, captivated by his presence.

He leans against a weathered pillar, adroitly crossing his arms while elegantly draping one leg over the other. His demeanor exudes an obscure charm that bounds you in place.

“How long have you been standing there?” You attempt to deflect his question.

“Don’t play a fool with me. What have you been plotting? Something having to do with secrets— with Sebastian I surmise?” Ominis cocks his head to the side, expecting answers.

You draw a breath, a subtle hitch emerges, an echo of anxiety encircling your midriff alongside the burgeoning queries. Frantically searching for the right answer, you draw your hand with haste toward your parted lips, nipping at your nails.

Hearing the clicking of your nails, his face contorts into a serious one. Taking note of your nervousness. In a swift motion, Ominis shifts from his leaning posture. With a purposeful stride, he moves closer, securing both hands on either side of your presence, enwrapping you against the wooden handrail of the bridge, caging you in like a little bird.

“Don’t do that.” He hummed with his head lowered.

With each passing second, your heart reverberates in your ears, its ringing both insistent and overwhelming. Consumed by trepidation, you abstain from even drawing a breath, apprehensive of his perception. Your hand once poised with uncertainty, reluctantly drops by his soft command.

“Well,” he continues with a low breath.

“If it has anything to do with Dark Magic then keep me out of it. Sebastian can’t keep meddling in things beyond our understanding. You know how dangerous it can be.” His voice softens. “I… don’t want to lose anyone else to Dark Magic.”

“I know, Ominis… You needn’t worry.” You whisper tenderly, delicately intertwining your fingers against his forearm.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with Dark Magic.” You pause briefly before continuing.

“I know how much it bothers you...” You express in a gentle tone, your eyes reflecting a profound sense of sadness and empathy for his inner somber.

The sincerity of your touch and words briefly catch him off guard. There's a faint inclination of his body, as though he's drawn closer, almost leaning further into you.

His visage rests but inches away from your own, prompting contemplation on whether he grasps the profound closeness that envelopes you both. Surely, the delicate caress of your breath against his complexion is not lost upon him. It’s almost as if he too wishes to press the limits of your whole being.

With his head bowed before yours, he tenderly trailed his arm, drawing it close before gently enclosing the back of your arm. Finding solace in the embrace. His throat moved in a subtle swallow, taking a moment to pause on his lingering thoughts.

“I… thank you— for being honest with me. It seems that I can only trust you, as of late.” His breath lingering against your lips.

“Ominis, I…” just before you could pour your heart out, the resonating cadence of hardened footsteps approached, compelling the two of you to part. Ominis' awareness was quick to discern the familiar rhythm, eliciting a subdued murmur beneath his breath accompanied by an expression that bore traces of agitation.

"Sebastian," he articulated, his tone weighted with recognition and a hint of unrest.

A lingering presence bore in the shadows without the cast of Lumos. The creaking of the floorboards came to a halt. A familiar shadow towered before you.

“Ah, Ominis. So this is where you’ve been hiding?” Sebastian’s voice resonated, carrying an undertone of near taunting amusement. A slanted curl of his lips highlighted by the moons grace.

“What are you on about, Sebastian? You of all people should know a Gaunt never hides.” Ominis crossed his arms, his foot tapping in a display of evident irritation.

“No doubt.” Sebastian mocks. “Care to explain why the two of you are lurking about in the dark then?”

You exchange piercing glances with Sebastian, conveying a sense of his intrusion. Paradoxically, his curiosity is piqued, further fueling his fascination. A sinister spark dances within Sebastian’s eyes, a subtle attempt to intensify the unfolding situation. It becomes evident that he derives a certain pleasure from observing you amidst such circumstances. Causing you to writhe in place.

“We could ask you the same thing.” You uttered, your teeth sinking into your own lip, your gaze ablaze with intensity. Only fueling Sebastian to revel with a devilish grin.

“A bit nervous, are we?” Sebastian sneers.

“Sebastian, please. Leave her be. We’ve had enough of your games for one day. Shouldn’t you be in class?” Ominis effortlessly redirected Sebastian’s attention. A sudden and compelling sense of urgency took root within the soles of your feet, causing you to dance in place. You too had a class to be. The same class, in fact.

Sebastian exhibited an expression hinting the possibility of a lecture of a lifetime coupled by a months worth of detention. With swiftness, he deftly inserted himself between the two of you. His hand tightly enveloped your waist, pivoting you in the direction of the castle.

“I can’t risk another detention. Not now, not again. Come now, darling. Before we get an earful.” Sebastian hastily pulled you along.

"Darling?" Ominis murmured softly, his words veiled from distant ears as he turns his back.

—

"Sebastian," you protest, attempting to free yourself from his embrace. "We didn't even have the chance to say our goodbyes to Ominis," you remarked with a trace of bitterness in your tone.

In the courtyard, just before the rear entrance of the castle, Sebastian abruptly comes to a stop. He presses you against the brick wall with a certain reluctance. His gaze, partially veiled by his lowered lashes, locks onto yours with a begrudging trance. Maintaining a strong grasp around your hip and pinning your hand against the wall, intertwined with a squeeze.

“You like him, don’t you?” Sebastian implies.

“What—?” You jolted, caught off guard.

“Ominis.” He said with a stern voice.

“You like Ominis. You… you love him, don’t you? I can see it… We can all see it. He might not, but I can. Plain as day.” He draws his body closer, his breath mingling with yours, its warmth caressing your face. Enchanted by the depth of his chestnut eyes, you find yourself captivated. The pressure of his nails, grazing against your skin fervently, elicits a gasp from you as they embed themselves.

“Sebastian… you’re hurting me,” you whispered breathlessly, your brows knitted together with concern. Your hand presses against his chest, conveying your plea for him to ease his grip.

His eyebrows furrowed, a fleeting shadow casts its veil of darkness around him. Your words breaking him free from it, he gradually loosens his grip around you and softly releases your hand; taking a step back. He seemed to be somewhat bewildered by his own actions, his nails having left their mark etched into your skin. A sense of shame washed over him as he cast his gaze downward.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You, you know that— right? I would never do anything to hurt you. I just…” he seemed lost for words.

You gently massage the imprints left on your skin, shifting your attention to his visage marked by melancholy. Stepping closer, you reach out and delicately intertwine your fingers with his, bestowing a tenderness. Your thumbs trace soothing patterns over his hands, offering a comforting touch in an effort to alleviate his mind.

“It’s okay, Sebastian. I know… It’s alright, I know you didn’t mean it. You don’t need to apologize. It’s alright.” You repeated incessantly, as if the frequency of your words could somehow assuage his darkness. It was evident that no matter how times you sought to ease his mind, a pervasive sense of self-blame continued to weigh heavily upon him. As if the darkness had its grasp around him for a long time now.

Sebastian lifts his head, his eyes locked with yours. He gently tugs on your entwined hands, drawing you into a warm embrace. His arms envelop you tightly, one hand finding its place on the back of your head, pressing your face against his chest gently. A shallow sigh escapes him, eyes tightened closed. His fingers curl into your hair as he attempts to recollect all that he is. With a soft and tender tone, he whispers against your ear remorsefully, almost lovingly, "I'm truly sorry."

Your eyes found shut, allowing the solace of his embrace to envelop you. Your arms wrap around his midsection, embracing Sebastian as you draw comfort from both his presence and his words.

Reluctantly releasing you from the embrace, Sebastian delicately lifts your chin, directing your gaze to meet his own. His eyes gleamed with desire. As if he was starved for something.

He draws himself closer, your heart valiantly tangles with anxiety that coils around your midriff. His thumb lightly caresses your lips, seemingly captivated by an alluring notion. Just then, his lips begin to part; your fingers gracefully encircle his wrist, guiding his hand to your cheek in a tender gesture, met with a gentle nuzzle and a sweet smile.

"Sebastian," you whisper, your gaze shifting towards the gates of the swaying clock, deftly redirecting his attention.

The radiance in his eyes wanes, his thumb tracing a final path along your cheek before he reluctantly withdraws. With a touch of his hand against the small of your back, he steers you towards The Clock Tower.

"We should get going," he softly executes, his voice carrying a tinge of sorrow.

The walk was long, a silence draped through the halls. Yet, a notion persisted in your mind, mirroring Sebastian’s own contemplations. Your gaze involuntarily strayed upon him, reading his every move as the thought persisted.

Eventually reaching the Charms Classroom, Sebastian takes your hand and guides you to a secluded corner. You lower yourself against the cold wooden expanse, goosebumps scattered across the horizon of your skin.

The class stretched endlessly, laden with weariness. Sebastian proved unyielding, constant presence during the lecture, persistently attempting to provoke any response from you. Eventually, the class concluded. Professor Ronen requested a moment with Sebastian. You exchanged a brief glance with Sebastian before departing the classroom.

Your steps throughout the corridors were unhurried, providing ample time for Sebastian's discussion with the professor, setting the stage for a rendezvous in The Undercroft. Despite the usual presence of mischievous poltergeists, an uncommon quiet pervaded the halls. Suspense grew in your core, curiosity mounting as you pondered the purpose of Sebastian’s letter.

Upon reaching the entrance of The Undercroft, the contents of Sebastian's letter echoing in your mind, you swiftly extracted your wand from its holster. With a precise flick, a shimmering spark of magic cascaded forth, releasing the lock that guarded the hidden realm beneath. Stepping foot inside, the door closed behind you, sealing off the outside world. The air was infused with music, a melodic splendor that resonated beautifully. It drew you nearer.

As you venture further into the sullen hideout, Sebastian remained unseen, his presence elusive. Instead, you found Ominis, dancing with eloquence. Your attention was completely entrapped by his lithe movements, as if he wove his own musical tapestry. Droplets of perspiration suspended in his hair, gleaming within the gentle illumination. A flush of exertion colored his countenance, his breath weary. Every aspect of him exuded a captivating allure, as if the world around you had come to a stop.

Transfixed, you found it impossible to divert your gaze from him. Your heart raced in response to the perfection he bestowed. The pearls of sweat contouring his every feature, his lips parted allowing for labored breaths, the iridescence of his pale eyes, and the strands of hair draping his visage—each element coalesced into a breathtaking tableau. His dance exuded an air of confidence, as though he commanded the universe with each movement. Enchanted by the spectacle, you stole several cautious steps closer, yearning to absorb every detail.

"He’s… everything," you whispered, your voice a mere breath.

The final strains of the classical melody concluded. Ominis descends into a gracious bow, droplets of sweat swinging from his hair onto the cobblestone. With a harsh swallow, he fought to regain his breath, standing tall once again. A deft motion of his wand lowered the musical instruments, followed by another swish that conjured a towelette into service, wiping the sweat from his face.

Amidst the stillness, the faint sound of a pebble's crinkle beneath your shoe caught his attention. Orienting himself toward the sound, his focus fell upon you.

"Who goes there? Sebastian? No, wait…" he corrected himself, recognizing that Sebastian would have undoubtedly seized the opportunity to turn this into a spectacle.

Caught in a swirl of nerves, you found yourself trembling as his gaze fixed upon you, as if he could actually see your whole being. Clutching your skirt with a mixture of feelings, you took a few steps deeper within The Undercroft.

"I’m so sorry Ominis, I didn’t mean to intrude. Sebastian had mentioned..." A sudden realization dawned upon you, and your words faltered. Understanding the underlying purpose of Sebastian's letter, your complexion flushed in response. Stuttering, your thoughts converged into an incoherent mess—the pieces finally clicking together. It was evident that Sebastian had orchestrated this, setting a trap for you.

It was apparent that Sebastian derived a certain satisfaction from witnessing you in this state—enclosed within a whirlwind of emotions, visibly flustered. He took pleasure in your vulnerability, your inability to maintain your usual composure around Ominis. You couldn’t even bare the thought of what he had lined up for you if Sebastian was there. “Thank Merlin,” you exhaled in the own confinements of your thoughts.

"I must confess, discovering you in this setting was wholly unexpected," he admitted, a bashful tint coloring his expression as he rubbed the back of his nape, his head lowered. "Your approach was unusually discreet… Could it be that you tried to remain hidden from my notice?" His hand withdrew into his pocket with his pristine button-up clinging to his chest in sweat.

"But, why?" His attention locked onto you once more, a trace of a smirk edging onto his lips. He advanced, taking a measured step forward. "What might you stand to gain from all this?" The space between you closing in.

“I just— I… didn’t want to bother you. You looked so…” your words began tumbling from your breath, afraid of what he might think if you were honest with him.

You piqued his interest with a flick of his brow. “Since you’re here…” He swiftly took a step forth, leveling his hand out before you, offering a dance.

Your gaze lingers from his hand, leaving it to rest upon his face. With hesitance, you reached out; interlocking your fingers with his, accepting the proposition. His hands radiate warmth akin to a summer’s day. Almost instantly, he draws you nearer, causing you to falter against his form. While one hand remains intertwined with his, the other steadies your stumble against his chest. Amidst the luminous ambiance ignited by the flames of the candles within The Undercroft, you both stand in a harmonious accord. His hand gracefully encircles your waist.

"I know you," his forehead met yours, effortlessly maintaining eye contact despite his lack of sight. Your lips parted, a hint of trepidation in their movement, stirred by his audacious demeanor.

“What?” You muttered, heart beginning to race.

"I know you, how your nails nervously meeting your teeth when my presence quickens your heart," he intones, his grip on your waist tightening, obviating escape. "How you meticulously arrange your words when our paths intertwine." His gaze, half-lidded. "The shallowness of your breath when you’re close to me." His lips nearly graze yours. "I possess the power to suspend your heartbeat..." His exhalation, a swift caress upon your lips. "I am well aware of you, of your desire for me." His words ripple down your spine, irresistibly compelling your gaze toward his lips.

"Do you truly believe a snake has no eyes?" Ominis angles his face towards the crook of your neck, his nose skimming the strands of your hair as the heat of his breath playfully caresses the curve of your ear. His voice resonating as he whispers.

"Our senses see all. I may be blind, but I can see. I can see everything— all that you are, my dear little bird. I can see things that others cannot.” He inhales deeply, savoring the essence that surrounds you. Easing back from your ear, he turns to face you once more. “Every… little… detail you try to hide from me.” His hand slithers from your waistline before ensnaring the corner of your jaw. The pad of his thumb traces gentle patterns across your cheek.

"Ominis…" You shudder, eyes welled with a profound yearning. Inadvertently, you found yourself drawing nearer toward his lips, your breath unraveling.

His hold on you fixed. “I know you all too well…”

Gently lifting your lips to his, he shuts his eyes and presses his lips tenderly to yours. Savoring the sweetness of his taste, you delve into it, fluttering your eyes shut. Beneath your ear, his hand maintains its gentle cradle. You curl your fingers with his, still connected to this moment. He briefly pulls his lips from yours, whispering. “No need to hide anymore."

The velvet touch of his lips leaves you craving, a silent plea for more. With a subtle part, he tilts his head, once more clasping his lips with yours, a convergence that bounds you in place. He embraces your lower lip with fervent intent, his teeth gently brushing your bottom tier, yet never transgressing.

His lips remain tethered to yours, he proficiently retraces his steps, guiding you to follow in his meticulous stride. His hand moves from your cheek, falling to the small of your back, a gentle touch that anchors you in his grasp.

His movements were a mesmerizing blend of elegance and intensity, as if he threaded emotions through his steps. With each twirl, your two bodies embraced the silent notes that played. A spin pulls your lips apart, momentary unraveling, yet your hands remain firmly entwined. With fluid grace, he draws you back into his embrace, stealing a tender kiss amidst the dance. Every sway and dip held an unspoken promise. As he held you in harmony, it was as if the world around you two faded, leaving only the dance and the palpable veil that swallowed you whole.

With each movement, his confident steps guiding your every turn and twirl. The space between you two dissolved. His touch was firm yet tender, leading you with the assurance of someone who knew every contour of the stones beneath you. He didn’t need his wand to guide him. As you moved together, the atmosphere seemed to spark, charged with tension that crackled between you. The dance was not merely a series of steps, it was a song.

Time lost its grip as the dance continued, the world around you fading into a distant blur. Each spin and dip became a cherished memory, a fusion of your beings intertwining in a display of vulnerability and desire. It was a dance of unspoken confessions, a visual poem composed of stolen kisses, lingering desires, tender embraces, and the fiery yearning between two souls. It felt like a dream.

The first dance was that of a swan. A display of a gentle curtsy executed, with legs elegantly crossing the other, heads gently lowered into a bow. As the swan’s long neck arcs in an elegant curve, your arms extend and sweep through the air together, almost mirrored from another. Just like a swan leaves ripples in a lake, the dance leaves an impression on the hearts of those who tread it. Like wings, an extension of your own arms flutter in elegance together.

The second dance was that of a serpent. With poise regained, you both take a confident step forward, reflecting that of a snakes strike. Your arms intertwine, creating an intricate knot reminiscent of a coiled serpent's grace. Your hands pressed flat against another, akin to the opposing movement of scales against the ground, your bodies twist in tandem. Ominis guides you into a hypnotic spiral, a synchronized dance of circles. You spin, switching directions seamlessly, once again entwining, clasping, and twisting, all while moving in an entrancing spiral.

The dance of the bird and the snake resonates within the very cores of your beings. Exhaustion has cast its spell upon you both, painting flushed faces and labored breaths. Movements now unfold in a lethargic cadence, drained of the energy that once propelled your dance. The performance concludes, leaving you both breathless, the intensity of your exertion etched upon your countenances. Ominis holds you in a trembling embrace, your bodies melding in the aftermath, chests rising and falling in unison, glistening beads of sweat dotting your skin.

In a twist of fate, a stumble sends you both in reverse. Swift as a fleeting thought, Ominis acts, his hand cradling your head to shield you from the impending fall. Despite the tumble, his descent is a balletic maneuver, ensuring your landing is cushioned with utmost care. The sensation of cold cobblestone beneath your heated body sends shivers down your spine. Reminiscent to the icy depths of the ocean, your uniforms cling to the stone, soaked by your efforts.

His body softly hovers above yours. As gasps for air thicken, your hand instinctively encircles his neck. Your labored breaths mingle, dissolving the space between you.

"Are you alright?" Ominis exhales desperately, his damp hair adhering to your forehead, too fatigued to be concerned about the distance between you two.

With half-lidded eyes, a mix of fatigue and flustered emotions, you gaze into his pale eyes. Your heart thuds relentlessly against your chest, the energy of the dance still coursing through your veins. Driven by an inexplicable impulse, your fingers clench into his hair, pulling him close. With your lips slightly parted, your breaths rage together like coastal currents.

"I'm fine," you manage to utter, a fleeting smile tugging at your lips. Before further words can be exchanged, Ominis' lips press onto yours with the firmness of pent-up intensity. Your eyes flutter shut as you lose yourself in the sensation, your lips molding against his, capturing him with an urgency that borders on desperation. The taste of his saliva is a sensory feast, a sweetness that lingers on your tongue.

His hand, once on the floor that hoisted him now travels along your jawline, cradling it with tender intent. The kiss deepens, a dance of shared longing and passion. His lids shut tight, his touch and taste igniting every sense within your being. Time seems suspended, leaving only the intoxicating blend of heat, touch, and taste.

You emit a breathless moan against his lips as his tongue snakes along yours. His alternate hand follows a serpentine course down your side, securing its grip around your waist with a sense of desire. His presence encompasses the space between your thighs, and your skirt finds itself hitched, permitting only a thin layer of fabric between you and him. Your knee ascends with a gradual incline, your fingertips sinking into the skin of his neck. He presses himself into you, eliciting tremor that courses throughout your body.

You tilt your head back, feeling Ominis capture your bottom lip with a tantalizing bite like a snakes kiss before breaking away. His fingers gently guide your head to the side, and his lips find the curve of your neck, setting your skin ablaze with his touch. A soft, heated exhale brushes against your skin as he murmurs, "My darling…" and places a fervent kiss at its corner. Your senses electrify as his breath and velvety voice intermingle, a gasp of desire. "My sweet girl…" His lips press ardently along your jawline, stoking the flames further. "My love…" his whisper trails like a seductive promise, followed by a snaking of kisses down your neck, each sending you into a euphoric mess. "You're my all…" he declares, his lips planting a series of urgent, heated kisses where your collar gives way to bare skin.

A gasp escapes your lips, igniting a fire within as your nails delve deeper into his nape, your cheeks aflame with heated anticipation. He presses his hips intimately against yours, his cock hard and twitching within his trousers, his voice a sultry hitch in the thick air that surrounds you. A hungry desperation courses through him as his hand descends, claiming your bare thigh with an almost possessive grasp, sending a sweet shiver up your spine. A moan, laden with need, spills from your being, "Ominis…"

His face rises to meet yours, a seductive glow in his eyes as he whispers, "Yes, my darling?" His touch sears your cheek with a scorching trace, while his other hand digs into the skin of your thigh, a visceral reminder of his craving.

Your restraint crumbles, confessing breathlessly at last, "I— I love you…"

A craving grin tugs at his lips, capturing your vulnerability. In an explosion of pent-up desire, he claims your lips in a searing kiss, an urgent collision of two souls aflame. You unveil the tie from around his neck eagerly, falling upon your chest, sweeping it aside.

Amidst a crescendo of moans and searing kisses, Ominis embarks ravenously. His hand gently rests upon your damp knickers, igniting something within. An unmistakable hunger emanates from his gaze as he inquires, "Did I do this?" A prurient smirk surfaces his lips while his fingers caress the surface of your saturated garment, brushing up and down softly. A shiver floods your whole being, goosebumps scattering across your supple flesh. Your fingers close around his throat in an unyielding hold, applying pressure on either side. Your claim summons a guttural groan that vibrates against your fingertips, his pulse raging within his veins.

In response, his own fingers press with a heated urgency against your thinly covered folds, a daring gambit raging within. Eliciting a sudden gasp from your lips. His daring finger breaches beneath your garment's hem, an unapologetic intrusion that sends a surge of molten desire coursing through your veins. His fingertips blaze a trail across your fevered wet skin, a possessive tease that draws an arch of your back, a desperate plea for more.

"I want you," your fingers loosen their grasp around his neck, delicately brushing his hair aside. Your hand cradles his jaw, thumb grazing the constellation of freckles along his cheek. Your words, driving him to the brink of madness. His fingers trace the contours of your saturated blouse, unhurriedly undoing each button as his lips trail a blazing path along your neck, retracing the memory of the buttons that once adorned your figure.

To his surprise, he finds no barrier of a bra, sending a rush of electricity through him. His lips explore the expanse of your soft exposed skin, enwrapping his lips around your pink flesh. Your fingers entwine in his hair, coaxing a needy gasp from your quivering lips. “Ominis…” you plead for more.

His tongue, warm and dripping of saliva, tracing heated circles that coax your hips to sway, aching against his fingers. His tongue glides across your bare chest, finding its place once more. A symphony of pleasure escapes your lips, your grip tightening around his hair.

His tongue circles and flicks, deliberately leaving an irresistible path of warm saliva along your breast. His teeth grazing your skin, a rush of warm breath sends you into folly. Ominis groans gently with his teeth clenched around your nipple, a surge of pleasure rippling through you.

“Fuck…” A sultry exhalation escapes your lips, as delicate beads of sweat slithers down the crest of your breasts.

Suckling, tugging, and pulling against your sensitive bud. An echoing of sloppiness fills the air. With a gentle pull of your skin still captured between his teeth, he lifts his head. Your chest rising and falling as you pant softly, a breathless pleasure escaping your lips.

Eagerly situating himself between your thighs, he embarks on a scorching trail of kisses, igniting a road of fervor along your abdomen. The gentle caress of his lips against your inner thighs sends shivers of anticipation cascading through you, as his hands embrace your hips with a possessive, tender grip. His fingers ably curling beneath the delicate fabric of your undergarment. A slow, deliberate tug revealing his desire.

As the fabric yields to his insistence, you keenly widen the gap between your thighs, your wet skin beckoning his attention. His heated breath stirring against your wetness. Your fingers intertwine with his, urging his movements while your nails leave an imprint against his skin. The air becomes charged with your shared craving, and the husky whisper of your plea, "Ominis, please..." only serves to ignite a deep desire within him; hunger. The subtle quiver of your thighs sends flaming excitement that courses through you.

"Tell me you crave me," he demands, his voice dripping with desire. His tongue glides silkily against your skin, savoring the taste of your longing.

"I... I crave for you, Ominis," you beseech, your desperation exhausting the air.

"How badly do you desire me?" He taunts, planting soft kisses along your heated flesh.

"Ominis," you tremble, your heart racing. "I need you, please..."

"Again," he purrs, an insidious grin playing on his moist lips. "How deeply do you yearn for me, darling?"

"Fuck," you gasp hopelessly, a moan escaping your lips. "I fucking need you, I ache for you. Please, Ominis…" You beg, squeezing his hands ardently.

Finally, his tongue claims its place, pushing between your folds. A quiet growl tears from your throat, your head tilting back in ecstasy. Each of your fervent sounds becomes a sweet reward, a gasping pleasure that feeds his desire.

Your crumbling moans resonate in his ears. His grasp on your hips tightens, his tongue delving deeper, its languid strokes against your moistened skin sending waves of pleasure through you. You cling to his hands with desperation.

With deliberate skill, he kneads your hips softly with his thumbs, circling his tongue, alternating between gentle flicks and long strides. Your thighs quiver in response to the rhythmic caresses and thrusts of his tongue, a fulfillment that leaves you on the brink of delirium.

His soft grunts vibrate against your heated skin, each swirl of his tongue punctuated by his primal instincts. The intoxicating taste of you pushes him to the desire of claiming your body.

“Oh, fuck…” you pant, your hips buckling as the pleasure intensifies. Your groan melds with your eyes rolling back in rapture, one of your hands alternating between gripping his hair and pushing him further against your cunt.

His hand swiftly taking action as he guides two of his fingers deep inside you. A gasp escapes your lips, a mix of surprise and a subtle wince as the initial intrusion washes through you. Your nails dig into his hair, pulling the strands as your body retracts. He establishes a slow rhythm, his middle and ring finger moving in and out slowly, while his lips pepper your chamber with tender kisses.

Soft licks and purrs emanate from his lips, merging with the fire that now bestows you. A gentle hum resonates as he curls his fingers inside, sending tremors of pleasure coursing through your being.

Every soft moan and gasp that flees your very being, becomes an unrelenting source of pleasure for him. His pace quickens, fingers plunging in and out with a possessive precision. Unfailingly targeting that exquisite point which sends surges of scorching sensations coursing through your core, your very toes curling involuntarily. The feeling of his fingers delving deep within you elicits a symphony of fervent gasps and wanton winces, rendering your trembling thighs utterly powerless to uphold their stability in the wake of his consuming hunger.

His tongue traces a slithery path along your feverish skin, consuming every inch of you, an insatiable craving only drawing stronger. Filaments of your hair cling to your features, your chest shuddering with the force of your pleasure. "Ominis... I'm... I'm close—" your words falter as he accelerates his pace, perfectly attuned to your needs. Just as you approach the precipice of climax, he deftly slows his movements, curving his fingers to meet the contours of your inner core, his relentless pace pushing you to the edge. Your gasps become a harmony of ecstasy, waves of electricity pulsating through your thighs, culminating in your cavern as you squirm irresistibly at his own will.

He leaves soft, lingering kisses against your fevered, drenched skin, savoring every last drop of your passion. Your chest heaves with each ragged breath, your hands trembling at your sides as the climax sweeps through you. Attempting to find your words, you're left speechless, and breathless.

Ominis brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean, savoring every last drop. “Delicious,” he hums, juices dripping from his chin.

With half-lidded eyes, your exhaustion evident, you observe him as he hovers over you, an aura of desire emanating from his very being. His lips brush yours in a hungry, tantalizing caress, his grip on your jaw possessive and urgent.

"My sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice a seductive melody that envelops you. The soft, wet press of his lips against yours ignites a spark, pushing your lips apart, allowing his tongue to surge through, his hungry desire leaves you breathless.

Overwhelmed by the intoxicating taste of your own wetness lingers on his lips. He pushes his lower half against yours eliciting a soft, primal sound from him, his stiffness pressing against your drenched cunt sends you to the edge.

Your hand ventures downward, your fingers finding purchase beneath his disheveled shirt, clasping his warm hip as your nails make an impression on his ivory skin. His hands find support, hoisting his form above you, his weight pressing against you with a fervor that threatens to consume you both. The friction grows, your wetness soaking the fabric of his trousers.

Ominis delicately clasps your lower lip between his teeth, causing a slight graze, evoking a subtle wince. Your alternate hand acts with urgency, fingers tracing the buttons of his shirt in a desperate bid to unveil his heated skin, the haste of your actions fueled by the relentless devouring of your locked lips.

Ominis rises to a kneeling position before you, a visual feast that commands your attention. His skilled fingers unbutton his trousers, their purpose clear as the zipper follows suit. The drenched fabric sullied by your own wetness pools at his knees, leaving him clad in his loosely worn button-up shirt and snug briefs. Your gaze is drawn to the unmistakable outline of his hardened member, subtly but tantalizingly visible beneath the clingy fabric. Your eyes trace the contours of his form, your heart racing as you take in the provocative tableau that unfolds before you, leaving your senses tingling with anticipation.

You gently sit up and place your hands over his, halting his movement, your fingers carefully brushing his aside. His expression softens, pulling his hand to your cheek, brushing the stands of hair behind your ear. Your gaze remains locked onto the throbbing outline before you, your fingers tracing its contours with a delicate touch. A soft sigh escapes him, the tension between you raging.

With a deep breath, you curl your fingers under the hem of his briefs, pulling them down. His erection springs forth, catching you off guard. It's substantial, adorned with veins, and crowned by a pink tip. Well-groomed and clean, it speaks of careful attention. You find yourself unable to resist, your hand wraps around his base, initiating a gentle stroking motion.

A restrained exhale escapes Ominis’ lips, carrying with it a sense of pent-up emotion. You part your lips, your tongue extending outward, brushing against the back of his head. His reaction is immediate—his cock twitches from your touch. You lower yourself, enveloping the tip with your lips, your mouth working to wet his arousal. The sensation of his size becomes apparent as you struggle to take all of it in, a twinge of discomfort touching your jaw. He guides your movements, entwining his fingers in the back of your hair, each thrust deepening the connection between you.

With shallow breaths and a mix of pleasure, he relishes the sensation of your mouth surrounding him. A deep, animalistic groan escapes him. "Good girl..." he moans huskily, the words laced with approval as he twitches inside your mouth.

Engulfing as much as you can, bobbing your head in a slow, savoring motion, coating his cock with your saliva. Forcefully, he pulls your head back by your hair, his possessive demeanor and intense gaze sending shivers down your spine. You pant softly, your lips moist from your endeavors.

He guides you back onto the cold floor, his hand firmly holding his throbbing cock. He fixes himself between your thighs. Teasingly gliding his pink tip against your wet folds, a tantalizing caress, sending waves of tranquility up and down your spine.

“Ominis…” You emit a breathless moan, tightly clenching your fists while your nails dig into your own palms. Unable to endure the wait any longer.

A smoldering chuckle infuses his lips at your desperate plea, fanning the flames of his amusement of your impatience and imploring desires.

The sensation, overwhelming, leaving you yearning for more as your muscles tense with suspense. Ominis playfully glides his tip up and down your wet messy cunt, teasingly drawing out every second he can. As he slowly eases the head of his cock inside you, he gripped your thigh firmly with one hand, the other still wrapped around himself. His grip on your thigh was forceful, and hungry. His deep growl resonating in the thick air. His length filled you completely, almost every inch with some to spare. He pushed himself further in, a blend of pleasure and tension emanating from his husky voice.

His hips moved with a deliberate slowness, savoring the sensation of your bodies coming together. To cope with the intensity, you brought your hand to your lips, biting down on your finger to stifle any unintentional loud noise. Your eyes squeezed shut as he gradually delved deeper, each moment a crescendo of sensation that left you breathless.

He seizes both your thighs firmly, anchoring you against his hips with an intense grip. His rhythm quickens, his hunger evident in the urgency of his movements. A breathy "F— fuck..." escapes your lips as you grasp his hand, leaving red imprints on his skin from his staggering hold. "Ominis..." you moan, your head tilting back in surrender to the intoxicating thrusts that envelop you.

"You can take it, darling," he grunted, his pace easing slightly, each thrust deliberate as he entered and withdrew from your tight cunt, his tip still maintaining contact with each movement. Your heart races, overwhelming your senses as you groan in desperation.

"More..." you plead, your voice a mess of need and longing. "I— I want more..."

Your words elicit a wide grin from him, reveling in your desperation. Embracing your desire, he delivers a powerful thrust, pushing himself as deeply as he can within you, reaching the deepest recesses of your being. You gasp, your nails finding purchase in his forearms as you cling to him. "Fuck...” you exclaim, surrendering your entire body to Ominis.

Your breath unravels, your cunt relentlessly tightening around his cock with each thrust. As he quickens his pace, tears begin to well within your eyes.

He leans over you, using his forearm to support himself while his other hand remains tightly around your thigh, pushing it up. His lips find the curve of your neck, delivering kisses and soft nips that evoke a quiet wince from you. Your hand seeks purchase on his shoulder, your grip firm as you hold on. As he plunged into you, his disheveled button-up slides from his shoulders, hanging loosely around his elbows and middle back, a sight that drives you mad.

"Fuck, Ominis... it feels so good," you murmur, your words escaping in the midst of the overwhelming sensations. His teeth graze your neck, a touch that thrills you to your core, causing your back to arch and your hips to move against him.

His pace quickens, his movements becoming more urgent as he plunges into you, every thrust filling every corner of your being. Your muscles tighten around him, drawing a hitch in his voice against your neck. A guttural grunt humming against your neck, the sound of hungry beast. Beads of sweat form and mingle as your bodies move together in a dance of desire.

"Fuck," he exclaims, sending a shiver down your spine. The sound of his raw emotion resonates through you.

"H— Harder, Ominis," you breathlessly plead, your voice carrying the weight of your desire. "Fuck me harder..."

Your shaky voice fuels his passion, a spark of urgency igniting his movements. He pushes your leg as far back as possible, a fierce intensity in his actions that leaves subtle bruising on your thighs. With a fervent determination, he thrusts into you without holding back, the force of his movements causing your body to writhe against the stone floors. Your chest rises and falls with each powerful push of his hips, the sensation both exhilarating and consuming.

As he gives into his longing, he leaves a field of hickeys along your neck, each little bruise, marking his territory and claiming you as his.

"Ominis… fuck—" you gasp out as he maintains his relentless rhythm. The sensation intensifies, pushing you closer to the brink of climax. Just as ecstasy washes over you, his own release approaches. He emits a deep raspy moan, the heat of his breath filling your ear.

“Oh fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck,” you exhale frantically, your whole body tightening.

"Fuck," he clamors prolongingly, his voice filled with a melding of satisfaction and release as he climaxes, filling you completely, his cock throbbing inside. His movements slow as he savors the moment, his breaths unsteady.

Your muscles contract around him in the throes of your own climax. The sensation leaves you shuddering and gasping, your hand moving from your lips to grasp at the back of his head. You stroke his hair with trembling fingers, tingling sensations still coursing through you.

With both of you panting heavily, he rests against you, his head laying on your chest as you soothe him. Your hands remain trembling from the intensity of your shared experience. His eyes shut, his chest heaving with the effort of his exertion. His fingers trace gently along your breast, his cock still deep inside you. A trickle of fluids escape, seeping and dripping onto the cobblestone.

Ominis sighs, his voice a tired whisper in the aftermath.

"Ominis—" you begin, emotions swirling within you.

With an effort, he lifts his head, his gaze meeting yours, both exhausted. His hand cradles your cheek gently, his thumb sweeping away the hair clinging to your face, a tender gesture in the wake of your shared intensity. He leans in, his gaze affectionate as he listens intently.

"Yes, my sweet little girl?" he responds, his tone full of warmth and love.

You gather your emotions, ready to express your feelings, but he silences you with a hushed motion, his thumb brushing against your lips. His eyes flooding of desire and tenderness, a silent understanding passing between you.

"Hush now darling. I know... I know," he hums, his voice a soft reassurance.

"I love you with all my heart," he confesses, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. Tears fall from your eyes, filling your ears, mingling with the intensity of your emotions, a poignant testament to the depth of your connection.

[your-mom-number5]

Raiden (Mortal Kombat) x Elder God Reader

In the eternal realm where the fabric of existence was woven and time itself bowed, you sat with the other Elder Gods sat in your luminous council chamber, your essence intertwined with the very essence of the universe. Among them, Lord Raiden, the Thunder God, stood, his countenance grave, yet his mind vexed by a trivial matter.

"Great Elder Gods," Raiden began, his voice resonating with power, "I seek your wisdom on a matter of utmost importance."

All the Elder Gods, their forms shimmering with cosmic energy, regarded Raiden with solemnity.

"What troubles you, Lord Raiden?" you inquired, your voice a symphony of echoes.

"It is a matter of breakfast," Raiden confessed, his voice containing no sense of sarcasm or embarrassment. "I cannot decide what cereal to have."

You exchanged glances with the other Elder Gods, your eternal wisdom challenged by such an unexpected query. "Cereal?" you said, your voice tinged with annoyance.

"Yes," Raiden affirmed, his expression earnest. "I am torn between the paths of Frosty Flakes and Thunderous Crunch. Each holds its own allure, yet I cannot discern which would be most pleasing to the divine palate."

You facepalmed, frustrated with the folly of The Thunder God. “Every day, you waste our time with your foolish questions. You ask us what you should wear, when you should go to sleep, how to delete your search history, how to treat foot fungus, and other questions of such a deprived nature that I dare not utter them here. We grow tired of your constant pestering.”

"Raiden," spoke one of your fellow Elder Gods, the eldest among you, their voice a gentle breeze that stirred the cosmos, "the choice of cereal matters not in the grand tapestry of existence. What matters is the nourishment it provides for your mortal vessel."

Raiden bowed his head, acknowledging the wisdom of the Elder God's words.

"Yet," another Elder God interjected, their voice carrying the weight of ages, "if you seek our counsel on matters of taste, then know this: the sweetness of Frosty Flakes may bring joy to your senses, but the fortitude of Thunderous Crunch shall invigorate your spirit."

Raiden pondered the words of the Elder Gods, his heart uplifted by their guidance.

“Guys, don’t encourage him!” you yelled, frustrated that you seemed to be the only one who saw how ridiculous this all is.

"Thank you, Great Ones," Raiden exclaimed, ignoring you as gratitude shone in his eyes. "I shall heed your counsel and partake of Thunderous Crunch, that I may face the challenges of the day with renewed vigor."

With a nod of approval, the other Elder Gods bestowed their blessings upon Raiden, their celestial presence imbuing him with strength and resolve.

As Raiden departed the council chamber, his mind at ease and his purpose clear, the other Elder Gods watched over him, their guidance a beacon in the infinite expanse of existence. Once he was gone, you turned to your fellow Elder Gods.

“Y’all, what the fuck?”

[aconflagrationofmyown]

|| Memphis to Fort Hood

Timeline alterations: Spring of 1958

Theme: THAT ASKED FOR BABY ANNOUNCEMENT, sorta

So, so many thanks to all my darlings who I throw my ideas at and they in turn bolster my resolve and refine my daydreams.

Warnings: good ole fashioned 50’s misogyny, Elvis being rather poorly represented? -for the reasons of this being written as critique?…nothing explicit but themes of free use, subspace, paranoia and eating disorders (which ends up being morning sickness so no really big deal there, just wanted to be careful.

A note on the style of this particular interlude: One of my obsessions with this universe has been using multiple points of view and narrative styles, ultimately adding to my own expansive delusion that this AU really was the verified version of his life. 🤓 And see, if it had been we would have magazines and newspapers, speciations and interviews galore, all of which I’ve enjoyed fabricating in the past and intend to continue. Now I’ve cooked up something else, a faux cultural study on what would have been the massively studied and criticized impact of a couple this peculiar and idolized -Mrs. Presley and Other Martyrs:

Strangely, if one looks for the first cracks in a marriage that outlasted five decades, nine children, assasination attempts, adultery, rock n’ roll and the most publicized divorce of its time, one might find that the first fissure had begun to open by the Presley’s third week anniversary. Outlasted, that’s the key. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t things to outlast. The old curse of stepping outside Graceland and finding trouble found them early on, as did their tenacity to simply ignore and surmount the witch’s brew of criticism, ego and exhaustion.

It took 38 hours by train to reach Fort Hood from Memphis Tennessee in the year 1958. Time enough for legends to be made. Dynamics to be established. A couple dozen demons to resurface.

And impressions to be formed. Lasting impressions of herself by the scrutinizing public that Elaine Presley reportedly never forgave Elvis for -a remarkable instance of a grudge in a woman so notoriously absolvent.

At the start of the journey she boarded the train at Memphis a sheltered girl tucked under the arm of the most famous man on earth, her own face captured without obstruction for the first time by the press, wedding band flashing and virginal blush staining her features at the attention and the queries hurled at her. The most envied woman in the country hadn’t known she was wanted a month before and by the time she stepped off in Texas, Mrs Presley was the doe eyed subject and demure recipient of a hundred varied opinions, editorials, fan tokens and bouquets.

What her rushed wedding may have slighted Elaine Presley of in terms of a bridal fuss, this dutiful journey made up for in sheer abundance of notoriety. What her sequestered honeymoon had sheltered her from in terms of being tabloid fodder was more than made up for on the trip as Elaine Presley got paraded on the train balcony at each stop along the route by her beaming groom:

A sauve cad in a uniform who beamed at the crowd with a cocky leer that suggested much in regards to his reserved bride and was in stark contrast to the sober and tear streaked boy he’d been when he came up this way to say goodbye to his mama weeks before. This little couple and their little rebellion of a marriage was manic in appearance and in gaiety, and even the most charitable of well-wishers found the occasion they were celebrating a bit forced, a bit dire, a bit off kilter for something as sanctified and sober as matrimony.

This was compounded by the new groom’s attitude which seemed as eager to display the varied trousseau he decked this almost catatonically pliant girl in -with a change nearly on the hour- as he was to introduce his new wife to his nation’s worth of fans that crowded the rails as they hustled south.

As Hedda Hopper unapologetically noted in her column that week “…it makes a person wonder if this sensational canary of an entertainer is too proud of having conquered a sensible girl child into being his wife to realize he just married himself off the market. America’s daydream is now a taken man and no one in the nation seems ready for that, least of all him.”

Married, to Elvis Presley, was perhaps more of a reality than Miss Hopper and her column gave him credit for, although the old spinster might’ve been aghast if she knew what marital duties the young star prioritized over others. The folks who caught sight of the flushed couple at each stop might’ve had a suspicion. Certainly Elvis’ ever present entourage of childhood friends and relations couldnt hope to be left in the dark.

Even if the close quarters on the route, the thin traincar doors and shared meals were not enlightening enough, Elvis Presley gloated too much in being a new husband to possibly retain any mystery. Love drunk and determined to stay so lest panic or grief overtake him, his friends recall his unreasonable amounts of excitement and generosity in detail regarding his “lil wife.”

-And his skills as a lover, of course.

Nothing had changed for Elvis from his time on the road with these naughty friends of his except that now all his famous drive and obsession was channeled towards one rather overwhelmed teenage girl. One who had, in typical 1950’s fashion, promised to obey his every whim. Turns out, trapped in a train car for over a day with an insomniatic sex addict uncovers an astounding amount of whims that their more placid honeymoon at Graceland had kept at a low simmer.

Whether tamed by the supposed influence of his mother’s ghostly presence at Graceland or whether in a fit of gentlemanly restraint for an untried bride, Elvis Presley had, by all accounts, played the gentleman while at home in those first weeks of marriage. While happy and smug -so much so that the story went that when the colonel appeared at Graceland to assure himself that the secret wedding hadn’t happened, one look at Elvis and the girl on his lap assured him it had both occurred and been consummated- he had nevertheless been considerate, gentle and almost tutoring in aiding Elaine to adjust to her new life.

Trapped in the claustrophobic buzz of the train car speeding south to a life of regimented discipline and obedience in the army, the antsy rebel in him found his boredom and dread peaked beyond endurance and distracted himself with the new and ever captivating charms of his new wife.

Elvis Presley with a goal could be a dedicated and diligent man but without one he was a chaotic force of nature that could catch all those around him in a whirlpool of fun or an avalanche of insanity. Pursuing Elaine Presley had brought out the best in him and so intently did he peruse her with every traditional method of wooing a typical southern girl, that she had quite forgotten the more frightening aspects of his temperament that she and her father had been witness to before. She could be forgiven for thinking he had matured past such outbursts and compulsions he had been thrall to in his early fame. Subdued by grief and spurred by ambition to have her, he had been impressively restrained upon his return to Memphis and driven by a rededication of his life to the old values of his mama’s ambitions for him, he had managed to continue it into the first days of marriage.

The upcoming reality of life within the rigorous confines of Fort Hood was too strong for such flimsy good intentions. As was the oppressive reality of his mother’s permanent absence in his life. His love, which had always been a somewhat smothering thing that required as much as it gave, was needy yet inexpressive in those early days and according to his daughter Ella, who divulged some of her mother’s confidences in her own book, Elaine was yet to learn how terrified her young husband was of a future that most would have envied.

Scared of being alone, yet suspicious that his presence was merely being tolerated, young husband Elvis Presley had every hope he could train a young girl by conjugal powers alone to be loyal to him where others failed. In a fit of hubris and optimism, he chose for this amorous experiment the one woman in town who admitted to not being in love with him. This fear and frustration expressed itself in an appalling physical demand on her bodily attentions. One that their fellow train car occupants could not ignore yet found themselves incapable of preventing, bound by the antiquated respect of a husband's rights.

“I swear he’d not leave her alone for a full hour,” Red West recalled in his book, reflecting on the times he spent in the Presley’s entourage, “and he’d be back there with her for hours at a time, then pop out and then right back again. If he couldn't sleep then he didn’t see why she should.”

Billy Smith, his cousin and a man adamant about staying on Mrs. Presley’s good side over the years, would only admit discreetly, “He was utterly in love with her, had been for years and couldn’t quite pace himself once he got the green light, so to speak. He adored her and was in a bit of a state of shock that she was even better than he’d hoped, she was like the first thing to exceed his high expectations. She was very genuinely kind to him and he ate it up. On the train ride he was bored and it was like taking a bored kid to their favorite sweet shop. And Elvis Presley had a big ole bank account to cash in.”

Big enough, apparently, that by lunch of that day the ever proper young Mrs Presley, in her perfectly starched new outfits and watery lined eyes, was having trouble sitting still at table, much to the comment of guests and friends. After excusing herself early she went back to their suite. Elvis was seen following within minutes. Thirty minutes later the train stopped and Elaine Presley, in a fresh outfit and an uncharacteristic wobble to her stride was paraded by her husband on the balcony to the roar of envious onlookers.

The train moved on, she excused herself again, as did he moments later.

“We could hear them, it became like road noise.” Red West, long used to Elvis’ various rendezvous while on the road in the past took this marital overindulgence in stride, “Initially it was kinda a laugh and a grin about it with all the folks in the dining car, but then we could hear her tiring out, and he’d keep at it and it got a bit annoying, all her pleading and him going on about bein’ able to do anything he pleased with her. He’d come out and brag to us when we told him they were being loud.”

“He was very proud of how sensitive she was,” Joe Esposito does not bother to sound impressed himself when relating this confidence, “he’d tell us how she was a squirter and she got all sensitive real fast before he was even close to done and he’d just have to hold her and make her let him finish, sometimes make her keep going when she swore she couldn’t. He said he was training her to respond the way he wanted. It didn’t occur to him maybe she was made different than the ones he’d been with before, he just thought he was a damn good husband. Figure she just wanted a nap and maybe some Vaseline. Nobody dared to tell him to give her a break.”

Ultimately Vernon Presley ventured to do just that at breakfast the next morning, after his daughter in law had skipped dinner the night before and breakfast that day from a ubiquitous headache that was likely not an ache in the head at all.

“He was so timid about it as Elvis was in a mood, worn out and hadn’t slept, stabbin’ his eggs like they’d done him wrong.” Lamar Fike remembers the incident, “Vernon just spoke up real gentle like and says ‘son, why don’t you go easy on the little lady, she’s real fresh and delicate,’ Elvis just glared at him so he tried jokin by sayin’ something like ‘you got the rest of your lives for this, don’t gotta cram it all in today.’ Elvis didn’t even try to act dumb, he just got mad and stood up from the table and said ‘daddy, you mind your own business, reckon I don’t need lessons for how to take care of a wife, not from you leastwise.’ And that was a low blow, you could see it on Vernon’s face and like I said, Elvis stood up, with his napkin still tucked in his shirt neck, and went back there to her again like he was makin’ love to spite his old man. Ya just don’t tell Elvis what to do with what’s his.”

Charlie Hodge wasn’t there and in an admirable display of keeping in his lane only commented that, “Elvis told me they danced a lotta the way, had the old records on, trying to keep the cramp away. He’d get antsy on trips.”

Marty Lacker had the decency to at least be sheepish and a little apologetic about the times when relating his version of events, “Just a different time back then, ya know? Didn’t occur to us to step in. We’d say a thing or two but ultimately that’s between a husband and wife to sort out and back then wives just didn’t fuss. It all worked out, they sorted it. Elaine never breathed a word of anything and we wouldn’t think of saying anything to her. Not even after the little emergency, you just don’t talk about that stuff. It’s not fitting. Even Elvis knew that, he didn’t appreciate the advice or adminitions from his daddy. Braggin’ between boys us one thing but talkin’ about what goes on between a man and his wife beyond that it’s, it’s just, it’s not fittin. It’s just not a thing to be discussed, you know? Different times, man.”

The little emergency in question was a case of Elvis bursting out of the train car an hour or so after lunch on the second day in search of his paternal grandmother, old Dodger as the family called her, full of consternation that his young bride was unresponsive.

“I really think he rode her silly, that’s all there was to it.” Joe shrugs at this bold diagnosis, “He’d brag about how out of it she’d get when he would start again after she thought he was done. Said she’d space right out and start shakin’ and shivering and get plain stupid. I think he liked that, makin’ a smart girl feel dumb. He’d dress her up and redo her makeup and take her out like that in front of fans, and they all got the impression she was a little bozo. Then I guess he just kept at it one time too long.”

Elvis told Dodger that his wife was not fully concious, although his heightened concern was less regarding her insensibility than the fact that neither a light smack to the cheek nor a resumption of activities on his part could rouse Elaine like it had on previous occasions. Vernon dunked her head in a bowl of ice water with no success, Billy tried to give her aspirins but she wasn’t awake to swallow them down.

Dodger prescribed a drink of water for the young girl, a cold compress to the nether regions and a nap -sans husband. Disgruntled but terrified of losing yet another woman in his life, and with his own cheek stinging from his grandmother's wrath, Elvis Presley secluded himself to playing cards with the boys in the smoking lounge for the remaining three hours of the train ride while his grandmother watched over his bride and her precariously suggestible headspace.

“ ‘I done told her again and again to hold it if she gets so excitable after she comes that she can’t stand to take me longer. But she’s a hair trigger, couple stokes and she’s off, keeps comin’ all the same then acts like I’m skinnin’ her when I keep goin. I gotta finish man, what else am I supposed to do?” Red recalls Elvis bemoaning his bride’s hyper responsiveness like a martyr recounting his sentence -while wearing his signature sulky expression that did nothing to hide the smug pride beneath.

By the time Elaine Presley wobbled off the train onto the platform at Killeen Texas and stiff smilingly took her seat beside Elvis in a taxi to their little crackerbox house on base, the world at large had a firm opinion that the new Mrs Presley was a pretty little thing with dark features and a rosebud mouth, a nice figure and sweet charm but possessing a vacant sorta look to her. It suggested a gullibility so utterly untrue to her real nature that three decades worth of wit and shrewdness could hardly undue their initial impression of her.

Elaine Presley would ultimately have her revenge for such a first impression but it would cost her much in the process and Elvis Presley even more.

The buzz of press did not decline upon her arrival. With Private Presley busy soldiering all day, it fell to his young wife to sort the intricate social circle of his entourage and fellow soldiers, to manage the fanmail and contracts as well as set up house as best she could in such impermanent lodgings. All these precarious duties were stalked and documented beyond all sense, photographs of her and her choice of groceries dutifully printed for readers across the country to guess at what she planned to feed their idol for dinner. If the sharp glint in her eyes, captured on occasion when the intrusion became absurd, hinted at something beyond the vacant and ravished doll of the train ride, no one was eager to investigate. A sharp set to the mouth or a dangerous glitter in the eye got one called a bitch and it was better to be vacuous as a woman than to be venomous. So Elaine was caught smiling with her vegetables and spending her afternoons baking beneath a Texas sun while chatting with snide fellow housewives.

It was the first bootcamp for a lifelong grueling ordeal that Elaine Presley submitted to with grace and tenacity.

If her wit and her marital irregularities were glossed over by the papers in their eagerness to find the noble idyll amongst the immoral muck of rock and roll, what did not go unnoticed was the increasingly wane aspect of what should have been a rosy and glowing young wife. Shortly after arriving in Texas, Elaine’s already strained nerves seemed to have frazzled beyond small fits of fainting and what was once a private display of weariness kept between her and the implacable Dodger. Soon it became bouts of vomiting and exhaustion beyond any reasonable excuse.

The public noticed her figure grow slight and frail, as did Elvis. No longer was she slight but sickly instead, and a milky complexion was now waxy and unbecoming in contrast to her dark hair. The public were concerned for her, not for her health so much as for the future of the readership should her picturesque ordeals unravel further.

Battling his own preoccupation and exhaustion in the hard crucible of army bootcamp, Elvis’ one solace was the charming little haven he had created for himself with a wife and domesticity shipped in like so many plates and doilies. When this fairytale grew pale and bony and even the most cheerful of liars couldn’t convince him his “Tinkerbell” was fine, Elvis Presley grew increasingly paranoid of something fatal having cursed the women in his life. Frustrated at Elaine for allowing herself to grow so weak, his friends recall his behavior towards her vasciaiting from aching tenderness to angry remonstrances at her to eat and to rest and take care of herself. He even paced his own indulgences and begged her not to bring him the usual treats she’d sneak into barracks during the heat of afternoon. He pampered and berated, prayed and cursed.

None of these precautions were sufficient to build her up and alarmed beyond any reassurance, Elvis Presley packed his young bride into a car in the early summer of their first marriage and, having a five hour furlough from the army, drove her himself into the nearby hospital. The statement tossed to the press waiting outside was mild sinus congestion.

Twenty minutes later these two world wide famous young adults stumbled out in a daze of knowledge that they were about to be parents for the first time.

A severe case of twins -and the rigorous discipline of making them- having caused all the raucous.

No longer scared of abandonment, imminent loss or rebellion on his wife’s part, Elvis Presley softened considerably in the next months, the looming likelihood of a separation with his deployment softening him even further. It was the first case of children saving -and complicating- one of the most volatile and devoted couples of the 20th century.

By the first few weeks of the second trimester, Elaine Presley was both filled out enough and sufficiently cheery to regain the accolades lost to her by the press during her first. Finding few friends to be had amongst jealous soldiers' girlfriends and snooty Sargeant’s wives, as well as having been abandoned by most childhood companions after becoming mistress of Graceland, Elaine, never to be out maneuvered by bad luck, turned those publicized grocery store runs into social occasions, her growing belly eliciting advice and solicitations from wise old Texan grandma’s and rancher’s wives.

Accompanied by the stoically indomitable Dodger, Elaine could be found at geriatric swim classes at the local pool in a bid to stay cool during the heat of summer, at smoky poker games at Billy Bob’s honky tonk where she was the lone abstainer from the free flowing bourbon and became winner of a mechanical bull riding competition against a Navy Pilot.

It was a win for the infantry that night and even Elvis drank a cold one in celebration of her winnings that she spent on quenching the Hell on Wheels squadron at the adjacent saloon. Those Sargeant’s wives got somehow even more acrid after that.

Whether there was a correlation between this heated ride-off and said Navy Pilot’s face ending up black and blue the next day from some jealous young husband’s fist, was anyone's conjecture. Either way, Elvis Presley was likely too busy for such petty displays of insecurity, he was hiding in the lavatory most times to get away from his recently energized and insatiable young wife whose visits to Fort Hood soon became a byword and euphemism for something else besides visitation.

Altogether the Presley’s in Texas was an eclectic and occasionally damaging PR debut, but not without its merits.

The nation decided the new Mrs. Presley may have been a little short in the smarts department but she made pregnancy look fun again and that was rather charming and not a little rebellious, as was unapologetically marrying Elvis Presley right from under their noses. And Elvis? Well, it would be two long years before the world got any candid, civilian, unrepentant opinion out of Private Presley.

Hope you enjoyed! 💋

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