#it's late and i'm thinking about SEXXX

[eyecan02]

Unhinged Charlastor Prompt

I just had the most unhinged idea for a multi chapter Charlastor fic I think someone should write. What if Charlie was trying to prove she's not a nepo baby by getting herself a real job (and as a way to research on helping sinners with her future hotel project since a porn set would be teeming with sin) by working on Valentino's porn set. XD

Stay with me lol Charlie's job could be initially like a gopher (runs errands/goes and gets whatever she's told to get for the set) and ends up being like a comfort person for Angel and the porn stars where she always has everyone's favorite coffee/drink/water, concealer for bruises (from violent shoots) and gives deep massages to help them relax in between shoots.

Charlie basically helps lift everyone's spirits on the porn set with her positive attitude. In this Alastor also works on the porn set xD Just not in the way you think. I'm thinking whoever owns him places him there to work with Val as a way to entertain themselves (I go with the Eve being Roo theory but you can go with Lilith too) and to punish Alastor for something he did.

So Alastor's role in the studio- or at least his tentacles play the role of fluffer ( thanks to New Girl I now know that a fluffer is the one that keeps the porn stars aroused between shoots). So basically Alastor's tentacles are the ones on the set and he's in a completely different room reading a book or something lol

Alastor ends up growing protective of Charlie, keeping Valentino and Vox away from her and gets jealous whenever Charlie gives the pornstars shoulder/back massages. Charlie likes to ramble to him about her hotel idea and scripts she writes ( less violent scripts) that she tries to pitch to Valentino. The two of them hang out a lot on the set after hours, dancing to Alastors record player/radio and have late dinners together and all the while Charlie is trying not to fall for Alastor because there's lots of wild rumors on set that he's slept with a lot of the porn stars in that studio (he hasn't of course) so she thinks he's probably not a relationship type of guy.

Bonus tidbit for the prompt: xD Alastor's tentacles are meant for in between shoots but ended up in a full on adult film one time that won a SEXXX award that Angel never let's him live down and in the credits of the film is actually credited as Al's Tentacles as Themselves.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 11 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXX. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 4655

A/N: Well, the beginning of this is absolute filth, which y'all deserve after the roller coaster that was Part 10! But fear not, there is still plenty of angst to go around as our Reader begins to be confronted with all of her choices.

I so appreciate your patience cuz it took me longer than I wanted to get this one out. Life keeps getting in the way, and trust me, if all I could dive into was this, my ask box, and my EP obsession, I'd do only that! LOL

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments are definitely helping me power through some of these particularly gnarly chapters. This community is making me so happy, I can't even tell you. The asks are just so much fun and I'm so happy that I can bring a little joy (and lust) into your lives! This story (and EP) has taken over my heart and soul, so for those of you still with me, and to all the newcomers, I'm sending you all the love! And I promise there's more good stuff coming ahead, complete with more smut, angst, and tension.

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

“Hey, baby,” Elvis purrs in your ear, wrapping his arms around you from behind, gazing at you in the bathroom mirror.

“Hi,” you reply. You can’t help but fall back into him, even though that voice in your head is screaming for you to stop this silliness before you get hurt. It’s just sex, you remind yourself. I can be with him if it’s just sex. He’s achingly beautiful in a way you have never seen him before, all tousled and sleepy, with none of the primping and preening that might accentuate his natural state. It’s just him existing, everything else stripped away.

It’s already late in the day, and you know you have to leave soon, but the thought fills you with dread, knowing the spell of this night will be over. You don’t know if you’ll ever have a night like this with him again. At least you aren’t heading back to Memphis as planned, though it might be better for everyone in the long run if you were. But despite your conflicted feelings about your relationship, you are still intrigued with the possibilities related to the job Elvis is offering you. I’m staying for that, you think, that and the amazing sex.

“I’m glad you stayed over last night. I like having you here when I wake up,” he says, squeezing you a little.

Your heart wants to leap out of your chest when he says things like that. “I like being here,” you say softly. In fact, I wish I could be here with you all the time, you think. But I can’t.

That thought makes you want to cry.

Elvis turns you around in his arms to face him, those heavy-lidded blue eyes still clouded with sleep. He kisses you, lips gentle at first, and you don’t even care that neither of you has brushed your teeth yet because you want everything, even the mundane things, with him. Even though your logical brain wants to keep you safe, the rest of you is spellbound by him.

His kisses become more insistent and you let them be, winding your arms around his neck, fingers playing in his mussed hair, willing reality to stay away just a little while longer. His large hands splay over the silk of the nightie you threw back on, and he pulls you into him, his tongue rolling over yours.

You’re not sure how it’s possible to be so attracted, so utterly drawn to a person. Somehow, he makes you want him even more than you already have. You’ve never been so satisfied (or had so many orgasms) in your life, yet you are still hungry for him. Unable to contain yourself, you sigh in his mouth.

And Elvis is so attuned to you that he knows that you want him and just how to pleasure you, in some ways you don’t even know yourself. Still naked, he moves his bare thigh between your legs, bracing you against the counter. His cool skin meets your warm, bare center, his dick resting soft but heavy on your thigh, and you bite your lip at the sensation. It’s like you aren’t yourself, the way you automatically and needily roll your hips, desperate for the friction he is providing you by just being there. You’d much rather be consumed by him than by the thoughts of all the ways you can’t have him.

You move slowly at first, letting your clit and pussy drag over him, back and forth, back and forth, working yourself up, until you feel the wetness begin to slide in between you. The feeling is delicious, and you can scarcely believe that you are so incredibly turned on just by riding his toned thigh.

“That’s it, honey. Take what you need,” his voice rumbles in your ear, the vibrations shooting down into your core and adding to the burning warmth rapidly growing in your belly. Elvis presses into you, hands on your hips, supporting you. You feel him harden against you as you continue moving on him, kissing his long neck and his scruffed jaw, and you begin to moan softly as your pleasure builds. You feel positively drunk on him, so completely in the moment that you forget everything else: your failing marriage, your recent questionable decision making, your love for Elvis, the fear and excitement of maybe, possibly finding a new purpose in life. Right now, Elvis is all there is.

“EP! Where are you?”

Jack’s voice rings out loud and clear from inside the suite.

Oh, fuck.

You choke, freezing, fear dousing over you like you’ve fallen through ice and into a frozen lake. Wide-eyed, you look at Elvis for help.

His dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he is not frantic or panicked in the least. In fact, he looks more perturbed than anything, which completely confounds you since you are quite literally in the middle of fucking his damn thigh and your husband is now mere feet away.

“Jacky—I’m in the john, man, and it’s gonna be a bit, so make yourself comfortable out there,” Elvis finally calls out naturally. Guess he picked up a thing or two in Hollywood after all, you think.

You are caught between your arousal, your terror, and your wanting to laugh hysterically at the excuse, at the entire situation. You didn’t know you could feel all these things at once and you are overwhelmed, trapped. Your unsuspecting husband is right there in the other room. You’re cursing Jack for interrupting this moment and cursing yourself for being in this position.

“Tell him to go away!” you mouth at Elvis.

To your shock, he shakes his head, his eyes going dark. “I finish what I start, honey,” he says so low, only you can hear, while grinding his thigh into your heat.

Your mouth opens in shock. You have got to be kidding me. You’re not sure what he’s playing at, but the look on his face shows he is not at all joking. It’s dangerous, charged, possessive, almost spiteful. Jealous.

And it sends a thrill through you that you cannot even begin to explain.

Then he kisses you roughly as he continues grinding into you. You think there is no way in hell that you can do this, that you can be aroused with your husband in the other room, but whatever magical prowess Elvis somehow has over you has you questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself. Because, despite your protests, your body has a mind of its own and you start rolling your hips again.

And, god, does it feel good. So good, in fact, that you unconsciously start to moan a little, but before much gets out, Elvis’ long fingers are pushing into your mouth, stopping the sound.

“Gotta be good and quiet for me, mama,” he breathes in your ear. You respond by sucking on his fingers. He grunts quietly, approvingly. Slick arousal pools on his leg as you ride him. That coil in your belly tightens, despite the risk of the situation, or perhaps because of it, you don’t really know. All you know is Elvis makes you feel out of control in ways you never imagined, doing things you would never have dared to do, making you feel things you shouldn’t feel.

Elvis is possessed, devilish, in how he’s seducing you, obviously gaining pleasure from the situation at hand. He cannot seem to contain himself, tearing away from you just long enough to flip you around. You watch in the mirror as he lines himself up to your entrance and pushes into you, his hand covering your mouth to muffle your cry of pleasure at the sensation of him filling you.

Pulling you flush against his chest, his other hand winds to your clit, working it furiously. You are on your tiptoes as he thrusts into you again and again, watching in the mirror, his eyes fierce and determined to stake his claim on you. You’ve never seen him like this.

“Should I take you out there and fuck you right in front of his face, hmm? Show him how he doesn’t deserve you?” he hisses in your ear, looking into your eyes in the mirror. “Show him all the ways I can please you that he can’t?” He snaps his hips in just the right way, hitting that sensitive spot inside you.

Your eyes roll back at that, and you try to stay silent but it’s nearly too much. The heat in your belly is growing exponentially with every filthy word he is saying. You should be mortified by what you are doing, by what he is doing to you, with Jack so close by, but instead you are running headlong towards the edge.

Elvis is plowing into you, driven by jealously and possessiveness, watching you, watching in the mirror what he is doing to you, how he is owning you. Your moans are muffled by his hand but come out nonetheless.

“You want him to hear, baby? You want him to walk in and watch how you take me so good? Cuz that’s what gonna happen if you keep making those sounds, lil’ mama,” he whispers, his lip curling up in a sneer, eyes dark with lust and power.

And that pushes you over the edge. You clutch at the counter as your climax hits you hard and try not to scream out Elvis’ name as your walls flutter around him. You see black and red behind your eyes, writhing against him, completely at his mercy. And he has no mercy for you, not now. He wants to claim every bit of you.

He growls, bending you over the counter, reaching over to turn on the faucet to mask some of the noises he can’t help making. A man on a mission, he drives into you, watching, consumed. You feel his thrusts become uneven, knowing that he’s close. He stutters into you once, twice more before you feel him begin to pulse, but as he is cumming, he pulls out of you. Pumping his dick with his hand and biting his lip in fevered concentration, he pulls up your nightie and finishes on your ass. With surprise, you feel the thick, hot spurts land, and you know he is marking you as his own.

But he doesn’t stop there, no. His cum is dripping out of your pussy, dripping down your ass cheeks and onto your thighs as water pours noisily out of the faucet near your head.  Using two long fingers, he pushes some of his arousal back into you and holds it there. Your mouth pops open in an O shape and you relish in the sensation of him filling you again, still sensitive from your climax.

“Fucking mine,” Elvis breathes out as he pushes his fingers deeper, looking you over with wild, dangerous eyes. His tanned, lean body lords over you like a vengeful god, awesome and terrible and beautiful all at the same time. A shiver runs through you, one of pleasure, disbelief, and apprehension. If you weren’t so shockingly aroused by everything he is doing and saying to you, you might be a little scared of the look in his eyes, but instead you are just relishing in the way he’s making you feel.

You can tell by that look that he is not done with you, not yet. He pulls his fingers out of you, turns off the faucet, and walks over to turn on the shower. You lift yourself off the counter, feeling him drip down your legs, watching him curiously. You feel like you are floating, untethered.

“Hey, Jacky, I’m gonna take a shower. You still good out there?” Elvis suddenly calls out. He grins at you like a Cheshire cat.

“Yeah, all good, EP!” you hear Jack yell back. His voice sends a knot into your stomach, but you have little time to dwell on it as Elvis kisses you hard, all teeth and tongue, his hands tangling and pulling in your hair. In your sexed out haze, all you can do is submit to him as he pulls your nightgown over your head and leads you into the large shower, continuing to kiss you.

The water is warm, running over your skin, as he begins to soap up both of you. His hands slip and slide over your body surprisingly gentle considering his state of mind. He plays as he washes, squeezing your breasts and tweaking your nipples, running his hand down your belly and through your folds, massaging your ass as he washes away the last evidence of your sex. You have to remember to stay quiet as heat rolls through your veins, as your wet, slippery body slides against his. It’s a wonder to you that the man can be so dominating yet also so caring at the same time. Just another thing to add to the list of the ways Elvis Presley is a conundrum.

You try to wash him, but he won’t let you. Instead, he washes himself, then pushes you back into the cold tile of the shower. His lips tickle your ear as he speaks low and quiet: “Gonna make you cum again, baby.” Then he runs his fingers through your still-swollen folds.

“I’m not sure I can,” you whimper quietly in his ear. You’re worried you are too spent, too overstimulated after a long night of sex, and while you’ve never been this aroused, your husband is still right outside the door. Your heart beats hard against your ribcage at the thought.

“Oh, I can do it,” he grins, full of ego and danger. The look alone sends another wave of pleasure through you and you nod, giving in, needing him like you’ve never needed anyone.

Elvis kisses his way down your wet body to his knees, lapping at your clit. You jump at the sensation, still sensitive from earlier. He kisses you there instead, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder to give him access to the place he wants to worship yet again, the place he took so wildly only minutes before.

He lathes his tongue flat over your folds and you squirm at the sensation, remembering you need to stay quiet. You hold fast to his shoulders as he licks you again then settles on your clit. He sucks and laps and kisses, using his tongue to coax you back to him, and god knows it’s working, even though you’re not sure how. He slides a finger into your wet heat, then two, then three, pumping into you, curling his fingers to drive you wild in the way only he knows how.

You are so sensitive, you are twitching and writhing under his ministrations. Your heart is throbbing fast in your ears, your breathing labored as you slap your own hand over your mouth in an effort to stay silent and not give yourself away. That heat in your belly is warm and rolling, not as intense as before but there all the same. He has learned fast in five days, already having memorized each way he can make your body sing for him.

Water pelts over his head, running in rivulets down his gorgeous face, plastering his raven hair to his forehead. Water catches in his lashes yet he still looks up at you, eyes like blue flames, devilish but angelic at the same time. Your breath catches at the sight.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how you’re all mine,” Elvis commands, in whispers, the roar of the water eating the sound.

Then he returns his attentions to you with fierce determination, fingering and eating you with such knowledge that it’s as if he’s telling you that you will never be satisfied by any other man ever again. That he is the only one who can fuck you and love your body in this way. He works as though he’s erasing the men who came before, leaving only him.

The low wave you’re riding begins to peak again and your breathing catches as you clutch at his wet body. You finally surrender with a violent shudder, falling apart around him, your walls fluttering and clenching at his relentless fingers. Your head falls back against the tile, mouth open with breathless sighs as he rides you out. When he pulls his fingers from your soaking heat and replaces them with his mouth, drinking you in, you collapse over him, so overstimulated that tears of pleasure leak from your eyes. You choke back the moans that want to escape your lips as his tongue wickedly works you over, as though tasting his triumph.

You’ve never in your life been so thoroughly fucked out, because, somehow, Elvis seems to top himself every day in that regard. Finally, he comes up from beneath your legs, washing his face in the rapidly cooling water before standing up to kiss you. He seems to have satisfied whatever possessive need came over him and you practically fall into his arms. He washes the slick from between your thighs for you before turning off the shower.

You are unable to form cohesive thoughts, too blissed out, too shocked at yourself and at him for doing what you just did with your husband so nearby. Your limbs shake with the exertion, and you feel wobbly and lightheaded. Elvis takes care of you, drying you off and wrapping a plush terrycloth robe around you. You can barely look at him. His essence is too overwhelming for you right now, and you are too trapped in your confusing web of feelings about him.

Elvis kisses you, whispering things you don’t quite absorb before he wraps himself up in his fancy robe and heads out to conduct business with your husband as if he didn’t just rail his wife into a stupor in the bathroom. He does it effortlessly, too.

As you come back to yourself, you start to shake, thinking about what a mess you’ve made for yourself. You realize that you are ashamed of yourself for what just happened, not really so much for the act itself, but more of the fact that you liked it so much. You also know that you don’t truly understand Elvis’ feelings for you, how his need for you is beyond anything that you assumed.

Sliding to the floor, you sit with your back against the wall as your husband (because as much as you hate him right now, he’s still your husband, and deep down you still have some semblance of love for him, you think) talks with your lover. You need out of here. The multitude of emotions coursing through you is too much. Your impulse to flee is so strong that you have to sit on your hands and pray that Jack leaves as soon as possible.

After what seems like an eternity, Elvis comes for you, telling you the coast is clear. Everything in you is being torn in two opposing directions: one wanting to run away as fast as you possibly can, away from your love and his possessiveness, and the other is so drawn into Elvis that looking at him is difficult because the idea of leaving him physically hurts you.

As you dress, clad once again in the outfit he got for you, Elvis tells you your first lesson with the vocal coach is at 5pm, then kisses you deeply before sending you on your way. You are glad that there is not a lot of time for talk or anything else, as your mind is going a million miles an hour. Confusion and guilt and love and elation all stream through you at once.

You shouldn’t be surprised when you find yourself outside Sandy’s room, knocking quietly on the door.

She opens the door with a look of surprise. “Hey, there, hon,” she says with a smile.

You promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, hon, what’s wrong? Come in, come in,” she says, putting her arm around you and ushering you inside.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, hiccupping, wiping at your face.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, sitting you down, rubbing your back. “You talk when you’re ready.” She waits patiently as you compose yourself, just being a comforting presence.

You can’t seem to speak the words out loud. There are too many of them and they are too jumbled in your brain. Luckily, Sandy seems to pick up on this and gently starts the conversation.

“You disappeared on me last night,” she says.

“I was…I was with Elvis,” you finally stutter out, almost in a whisper.

“Elvis? Why were you with Elvis?” she asks innocently. Then you watch her face as she connects the dots and realizes what you actually mean. Her eyes go wide for a moment. “Oh, shit,” she breathes out.

“Yeah,” is all you can muster up to that. You can see the wheels turning in her head.

“How long?” she asks.

“Not long. Only since we’ve been in Vegas.”

“Hmm,” she nods. You are confused that she doesn’t seem more shocked at the whole thing, that she’s not peppering you with ‘Oh my god’s and asking for every detail.

“What do you mean, ‘Hmm?’” you ask, a little defensive.

“Not a bad, ‘Hmm,’ hon. I guess…I’m not all that surprised is all,” she responds.

“What? How are you not surprised?! I’m surprised!” you argue, voice becoming shrill.

“Okay, take a breath! I just mean, well, you and EP have always had a special connection. And I’ve seen how he looks at you sometimes when he thinks no one else is looking. It’s not the biggest leap, especially considering what happened with Jack this week,” she says.

You are flabbergasted at this response. You expected judgement and disbelief. Certainly not an ‘Oh yeah, that seems right.’

“What are you talking about, a ‘special connection’?” you pry.

Sandy gives you a speculative look. Finally, she shakes her head at you, “Hon, how long have you been in his life?”

You don’t understand the point of this. “14 years, give or take. What does that matter?”

“What other woman has been in his life that long, besides his blood relations?” she asks pointedly, eyebrows raised.

Your mouth opens then closes as you try to piece together the many women in his life over the years. None come even close. “That’s irrelevant. It’s only that long because of his friendship with Jack,” you finally say.

“Sure,” she says, patting your hand, placating you.

“Sandy, my life is falling to pieces here! Jack almost caught us today. And I feel like a horrible person because I’ve gotten completely swept up into this affair, and not just any affair, but with my husband’s friend, who just happens to be Elvis Presley. If people find out, if Jack finds out, all hell is going to break loose, and my life will be over. But I keep going back, it’s like I can’t stop. I feel insane!” you ramble, pacing around the room.

“He’s that good in bed, huh?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows at you suggestively.

“Oh my god.” You blush furiously, covering your face with your hands.

“Of course, he is,” she laughs. “I mean, one doesn’t want to assume, but how could he not be?”

“Sandy, be serious for one second, please!” you beg. “I’m not going home today. Elvis is having me stay out here, with the pretense that I’m to become part of the show as one of the backup singers.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes. And he sent Jack away last night on purpose so we could spend the whole night together. I’m telling you, San, I’m in too deep, and Elvis has no intention of letting me go. You know how he gets.”

“Do you want him to let you go?”

“I…no. And that’s the problem,” you say quietly, sitting back down next to her. “It’s like I’m out of my mind for him, which is so stupid. I hate being like all those other women. I hate that I know this won’t end well, yet I’m doing it anyway. And the lies, the sneaking around, it makes me an awful person.” You slump over onto her shoulder, exhausted by your own choices.

Sandy sits silent for a moment, arm around you. “You are not an awful person, hon. Jack hurt you bad, and you are turning to the only other man you trust to get you through it.”

“It’s still wrong. It’s still stooping to Jack’s level. And if it were just sex, I…” you trail off, unable to say the rest out loud.

“You love him.” She says it plain as day, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if it’s easy.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“But you do,” she responds. “And that’s what scares you, isn’t it?”

You nod. “I’m just gonna get hurt again, I know it. I know that E doesn’t feel the same way about me.”

“And how do you know?” she asks. “Did he tell you that?”

“Sandy, it’s Elvis. We all know how he is with women. And besides that, there are all the other factors, like Jack, being married, all of it. It’s too complicated. I need to end it, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough, or that he’ll even let me,” you begin to cry.

Sandy suddenly jumps up and begins unpacking her suitcase, suddenly on a mission.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Well, I’m sure as hell not going back home today and leaving you all by yourself with all of this,” she says, hanging stuff in the closet.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, but you are silently grateful.

“Uh huh.” Sandy gives you a knowing look. “You think I’m going home and miss all the action? Do you even know me at all?” she jokes.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling a little better.

“Not a problem, hon. We’ll get you through this, I promise. Love you,” she says, hugging you.

“Love you, too,” you whisper, squeezing back.

“Now I need all the details about how good the sex is! Does he do the lip thing in bed?”

You feel heat blaze over your cheeks.

“Oh, god, he does!” she laughs, teasing.

You smile, but still your stomach churns and your mind spins. What Sandy said about the connection you and Elvis have hits deep, knocking loose some of those dots you’ve been trying to connect, the ones your dreams and memories have been leading you towards. Desperate, you try to push those thoughts away, because even if (and that’s a big if) Elvis has some true feelings towards you, it doesn’t make anything less complicated. In fact, it makes things more complicated. But you refuse to make any assumptions about how he may or may not be feeling towards you, other than horny.

With Sandy and your impending first voice lesson as distractions, you force yourself to move forward. It’s easier when Elvis isn’t in your vicinity, drawing every cell of your body to him. Your head begins to clear at bit, and you finally think that maybe, just maybe, you’re getting a handle on things. That you’re in control and everything is manageable. That everything is not completely, terrifyingly of the rails.

I’ve got this, no big deal. I’m not in love and having an affair with Elvis, and I’m certainly not scared shitless about singing in front of people, and my husband definitely isn’t a liar and a cheat, you try and convince yourself.

Perfect. I guess I can add “delusional” to the list of my problems.

But you can hear the clock ticking. It’s getting louder by the second, telling you you’re one step closer to your downfall and that you can’t stop the shitstorm that’s coming, no matter how hard you try.

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

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