#1st taste of freedom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

talialovesmiw · 3 months

Text

Chris Motionless x Reader

Shades of Purple

Part 1: Plum

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of death/suicide, angst, mention of Ronnie Radke, fluff.

A/N: First chapter of a new series! Enjoy my loves 💜

Tag List: @skulliecadaver-blog @witchyweeb34 @cookiesupplier @raydenrrobertson @sakuracyberhex @beaker1636 @lyschko666 @black-damask1999 @synthetic-wasp-570 @jilliemiw86

Prologue: https://www.tumblr.com/talialovesmiw/740513916349808640/shades-of-purple-prologue

Part 2 https://www.tumblr.com/talialovesmiw/741516781730086912/shades-of-purple

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/N’s POV

January 1st.

The worst day of the fucking year.

I’ve always dreaded the new year.

At the start of every new year, an auction was held. What does the auction entail? A trade. Humans would auction off one and other to vampires in the promise of safety and money.

Why would humans do such a thing for safety? Simply due to the fact that in this world, vampires were the most powerful beings, and most hunted down humans.

Most humans would auction off young adults. According to studies, their blood was the most desirable to vampires. I’ve even heard stories of those who would trade in their small children. The younger the blood, the better the taste.

Unfortunately, being 23, I fit into that category.

When I was 7 years old, my mother was in a serious car accident, and she lost her life. My father couldn’t handle her death and hung himself in the garage just 3 days after. My grandparents didn’t have room for me, so I was sent off to foster care.

I was in and out of homes, people were never looking for anything permanent. It was hard. Every single time I had thought someone finally loved me enough to adopt me, they would turn away and return me back to foster care. It was heartbreaking.

At 16, that’s when I’d meet the two most greedy and mean individuals. Todd and Elizabeth.

As soon as they saw me, they adopted me. Not because they liked me and thought they could provide a loving home for me, oh no. According to them, I had the perfect look for auctions, and that I’d make them a lot of money through a trade.

That day, they took me and two other girls, Aurora and Estella, back to their home. We weren’t the only girls there. Todd and Elizabeth had been adopting teenage girls for years now. They were preparing them for auctions…

For the past 7 years, they put us on special diets to ensure our blood could be at its purest.

“Pure blood and beauty will ensure you’ll make a perfect prize darlings!” Elizabeth would tell us, making sure that our looks would remain “perfect”.

Once they had decided a girl was ready, they would take that girl to the annual auction, only for her to never be seen again.

This was how they got by, how they made their money and kept their status. It was sickening. It was twisted. It was cruel.

It was a shame. I had grown close with some of those girls, and it was heartbreaking seeing them meet their fate on January 1st. The girls were always so scared, and by the time that fateful day would come, all their life was drained from them. They seemed to be a shell of what they once were.

I remember one night before the auctions, a girl named Morgan had tried to escape the house. She was going to be traded off the next day, and she had grown sick of Todd and Elizabeth. The poor girl just wanted freedom. When Todd found her in the early morning hours, he had beaten her violently. She had bruises all over her body and yet, they still made her go to the auctions. One of the maids had put makeup over her bruises to hide them, and Morgan looked the same after that. You couldn’t even tell she was injured…

I was close with Aurora and Estella as well, we had grown up together in the foster care system. We went through a lot together. We shared secrets and gossiped about the homes we’ve been in. Whenever one of us was in trouble, we had each other’s backs. We were best friends. And we were all going to be auctioned off on the same day. It was terrifying.

“At least we’ll be together, right?” Estella asked in a hopeful tone, her long black locks falling over the side of her face as she hugged her knees to her chest. Estella had always tried to be optimistic about everything, she always kept her head up. She had beautiful light brown skin and chestnut eyes, they sparkled every time she smiled.

“I hope so. I wouldn’t want to go alone..’ Aurora said softly, brushing through her shoulder length ginger curls. She was more shy and soft spoken. She kept to herself around Todd and Elizabeth, she was afraid of getting yelled at by them. She had a love for animals and always seemed to have a connection with any animal she came across.

“Y/N, you’ve been awfully quiet. Are you alright?” Estella asked, turning her head to look at me.

I had been sitting on my bunk, staring at the wall, lost in thought. My mind was so consumed with what could happen at the auctions tomorrow. I was afraid. Tomorrow, my freedom would be completely stripped from me by evil individuals that wanted to use me. That included vampires.

“Sorry girls, I just have a lot on my mind right now..” I said, looking out the window, watching the rain pour down.

“It’s about the auction, isn’t it?” Aurora asked, sitting down next to me on my bunk.

“Of course it is Rory, I can’t stop thinking about it..” I said, looking down. “Our freedom is going to be gone tomorrow because these two assholes we call parents are greedy. They already have protection, now they just want money. They’re selfish, and they don’t give a fuck if our lives are at risk.” My tone was bitter and full of hate. I could feel angry tears prick the corners of my eyes. “Nobody deserves to be in this situation, yet we’re all stuck.”

“Maybe…we’ll end up with nice vampires? Maybe they won’t treat us poorly?” Estella said, trying to be positive. As much as I appreciated the optimism, it wasn’t helping.

“They’re vampires, Stella. They aren’t going to be nice. They only want one thing out of us, and that’s our blood. Nothing more, nothing less.” I said, my words coming out a little harsh. “Sorry…that came out a little harsh, but…it’s the truth.”

“No, you’re right Y/N…but at least none of us will have to go alone. At least we’ll be able to say goodbye to each other, right?”

“I don’t want to have to say goodbye to you girls, you’re my best friends!” Aurora whimpered, tears coming from her hazel eyes and down her freckled cheeks.

“This is a shitty situation we’re in, but hey, we’ll always love each other, right?” I asked, leaning forward. They both nodded. “At least we’ll know we have someone who cares, even when we’re at our lowest. We’ll always love each other no matter what!” I said, giving them sad smiles.

“Oh, she’s right, c’mere girls, group hug!” Estella said, pulling Aurora and I into a bone crushing hug. Estella had always given the best hugs.

I was going to miss these two so much..

…………………………………………………………

“Oh, you’re going to look absolutely gorgeous Y/N dear!” Cheryl, one of the maids, said in a cheerful tone as she did my hair.

Cheryl was my favorite of the maids. She was an older woman who had always shown me and other girls kindness. She gave good advice and took better care of us than Elizabeth and Todd ever could.

She put one more hair pin in my updo and turned the chair I was sitting in to look at the mirror of the vanity. “There we go, all finished. You look beautiful my dear.”

I gave Cheryl a small smile, “Thank you Cheryl. You did a wonderful job.”

“Of course dear! Let me go grab your dress.” She said with a smile, heading to the closet. She came back a few moments later, and handed me the dress. “Here you are. I’ll let you change.” She said, leaving the room to let me get dressed.

My eyes went to look at the dress. It was a beautiful purple evening gown. I had always liked the color purple, all shades of it. It always seemed to make me look good.

I slipped on the dress and looked at the mirror. My eyes widened when I saw my reflection. The dress was floor length and hugged my body in all the right places. There was a slit that went up to my mid-thigh. The plum shade of the gown looked stunning against my skin tone. I looked beautiful.

It was such a bittersweet moment. I looked good for all the wrong reasons. I was supposed to look good so that way I’d appeal to my future predator. I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed, looking down.

“Something the matter dear?” Cheryl’s voice came as she stepped back into the room. I looked over to see a look of concern on her face. “If you’re concerned about your looks, you look beautiful.”

I shook my head, closing my eyes. “It’s not that. I just hate today. I’m afraid of the events to come.” I admitted.

Cheryl approached me and put her hand on my forearm, “I know dear, the situation isn’t pleasant, but you must stay strong. Keep your head up.”

“I know, I’m trying…I’m scared, that’s all..”

“It’ll be alright dear, everything will work out in the end, I promise.” Cheryl reassured me, offering a gentle smile.

“I’ll miss you Cheryl. You were always my favorite maid here. You’ve been nothing but kind.” I said with a sad smile, trying not to tear up.

“Now now, don’t cry dearie. You’ll ruin your makeup. I’m not worth the tears.” She said, pointing her finger.

“Right, sorry.” I said, chuckling a little.

Cheryl smiled at me, shaking her head. “Come now, your parents are waiting.” She said, taking my hand.

Parents…

They didn’t deserve that title whatsoever.

Cheryl walked me into the living room for Todd and Elizabeth to be standing, waiting for me with the two girls I had called sisters. Estella and Aurora were wearing the same type gowns I had on, only Estella was in gold and Aurora in an emerald green.

“She looks perfect, Cheryl.” Todd said, Elizabeth nodding in agreement.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be going now.” Cheryl said, turning to leave.

“Goodbye Cheryl..” I whispered, feeling the sadness take over. Cheryl gave me a sympathetic look before leaving the room.

“Let’s be going now, Y/N.” Todd said, dragging me along.

…………………………………………………………

Third person POV

He had arrived in his black BMW, pulling up to the valet. This was the first time he’d make an appearance at this event.

“Hello, and welcome to-“ The valet driver cut himself off when he saw who was in the car.

Christopher Cerulli.

The vampire who had never once appeared at this event.

He was reclusive, almost like a shadow. He had never cared for these types of events, or anything public really. He had always hid away, living silently in his estate. Nobody knew much about him, except for the fact he was rather wealthy thanks to family. He always seemed to be off the radar.

“Good evening, this is where I go for valet parking, I assume?” Chris asked, looking at the driver, his expression calm.

“Yes sir! Allow me!” The driver said rather nervously, allowing Chris to step out of his car. Chris handed him the keys, giving him a quick ‘thank you’ before walking up to the entrance.

“Strange, he was rather nervous. How odd.” Chris noted to himself, walking inside the building. He walked down the hallways, ignoring the stares others his presence brought and entered the main room.

Chris leaned against a wall, observing the activity in the room. Everyone was occupied with conversation of the bidding that was soon to come.

He wasn’t there for bidding on prey however. For what, though? He wouldn’t tell a soul. He knew he wouldn’t be taken seriously if he were to truly reveal that secret.

“Well well, look what the cat dragged in,” A voice spoke from Christopher’s left. He turned his head and a pit of disgust formed in his stomach.

“Radke. Good evening. Do you need something from me?” Chris asked, trying to remain polite.

Ronnie Radke. A vampire who was quite the opposite of Chris. Confrontational and cocky. He was rather full of himself too. He was one who enjoyed these auctions, always after new food.

“Yes, you can. Enlighten me. What the hell are you doing here?” Radke’s tone coming off rather nasty.

Chris scoffed, scanning his nails and not making eye contact with the other. “This is a universal event, no? All vampires are welcome to attend.”

“No one expected Mr. Gloom and Doom shadow boy to show, that’s all. Now, answer me. What business do you have here?” Ronnie said in an almost spiteful tone.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Chris said casually. That seemed to annoy Ronnie.

Christopher knew better than to indulge Ronnie in his business. He had always been one to put his nose where it didn’t belong.

“Lighten up, will you? I was only joking with you!”

“Who said I was offended?” Christopher’s tone was cool as he glanced over to see a fuming Ronnie.

“Have some wine, it’ll put you at ease.” Ronnie offered a glass of red wine. Perhaps if Chris drank, he’d spill the beans. Yeah, that was a good plan to Ronnie!

“No thank you. I don’t drink.” Chris said, shaking his head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my number.” Chris had turned away, and left to get his number, leaving Ronnie dumbfounded.

“Fucking weirdo..” Ronnie spat bitterly under his breath.

…………………………………………………………

Y/N’s POV

Todd and Elizabeth had dropped us off at the entrance, leaving to go chat with other guests. They said to make sure we were in the holding room by 9:30 pm.

The only thing is…they didn’t tell us where exactly this holding room was..

The girls and I decided to split up and look for the room, it would take less time that way. At least…it seemed that way at first.

The building was huge! It felt like I was walking for ages with all the different rooms and hallways. There were so many people there. It almost made me feel claustrophobic.

It didn’t help that I could feel people staring at me. It was such an uncomfortable feeling. Their gazes were strong, some were even licking their lips. I knew who they were, and they knew who I was. The tension could be cut with a knife.

And now, I was lost.

Shit.

I looked at my watch to see the time.

9:21

Oh no…

I started running, hoping that whatever room I’d see would be the holding room.

I was running so quickly that I bumped into somebody. He turned quickly and grabbed my wrists, steadying me.

“Careful now, baby. Don’t want to get hurt now, do you?” He spoke.

Baby? What the fuck…

Whoever this was, he was already making my skin crawl.

“I-I’m so sorry!” I stuttered, feeling heat rush to my face from embarrassment. “I-I was just looking for the holding room..”

He raised a brow, “The holding room? That’s just a few doors down from here on the right.”

I let out a sigh of relief. I was close, thank god. “Okay, what a relief. Thank you!” I said, trying to release my wrists from his grip so I could leave. He wouldn’t let go.

“And where are you off to in such a rush? You’re not going to thank me properly? How rude..” He said, sounding offended.

“L-listen, I have to be in that room in a few minutes, I said thank you, so please let me go.” I pleaded, still trying to free myself. His grip only seemed to tighten.

“You really should be thanking me, you know. I saved you from falling AND told you where to go. You’re lucky I didn’t humiliate you for almost knocking over a vampire..”

Fuck, he was a vampire. I was screwed. I could feel myself shaking a bit. He seemed to enjoy my fear.

“You have a few minutes anyway, that’s plenty of time to repay me.” He lowered his head, his face getting closer to my neck.

“No, stop! Let me go!” I shouted, moving around and squirming as much as possible to try and break free. He was too strong.

His head was now below my own. His nose brushed against the skin of my neck, taking in my scent. I could feel his smirk against my neck. “Don’t fight it, sweetheart. This is what you humans were made for anyway. Now why don’t you be a good girl for me and-“

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but all vampires are prohibited from drinking human blood before the auctions, Radke.” A voice interrupted from behind.

A taller man stood behind us, crossing his arms. His hair was ink black and his skin was pale. His dark brown eyes scanned the other man as he held a calm yet smug look on his face. He was rather attractive..

“I’m in the middle of something, shadow boy. Do you mind?” The other sneered, glaring daggers.

“Huh, breaking the rules. Sounds like something you enjoy doing. However, I figured you’d know better than that considering you’ve attended more of these auctions than I have.” The taller one retorted. My attacker scoffed and let go of me.

“Tch. Making me miss out on a good meal..” He grumbled, storming away and leaving me alone with the black haired stranger.

“Are you alright?” He asked, approaching me as I rubbed my wrists.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little shocked. Thank you.” I said, smiling shyly.

“No worries. Radke has always been a pain in the ass to everyone.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s a good thing you came when you did…I thought for sure he was going to kill me or something..” I said with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck.

“I wasn’t going to let that creep hurt such a pretty little thing such as yourself. You were only trying to get by. I swear, that man is always looking for trouble.” I blushed at his words, he was quite charming.“You were in quite a rush a few moments ago. Heading anywhere important?” He asked.

“I was heading towards the holding room…my parents are expecting me to be there at 9:30.”

“I see. Well, I’m sorry you were treated in such a way by that fool.” He said, shaking his head as if he were disgusted by the other man’s actions.

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. I’m grateful you interrupted him.” I said, giving him a smile. He gave me a small smile in return, and I felt butterflies. He had such a pretty smile..

“You’re a kind girl.” He said before glancing at his watch. “I won’t hold you any longer as we both have places to be.”

Oh crap, I had forgotten to check the time!

9:26…

Uh-oh.

“Crap! I’m going to be late!” I said, panicking. “Thank you again for your help! It was lovely to meet you! Goodbye!” I said quickly, turning to walk away.

“Be safe, little dove.” He said softly.

Little dove…

I liked that.

“I will, thank you again!”

“Oh, one more thing..” The man said, catching my attention. I stopped in my tracks to look at him. “That’s a lovely shade of purple on you, darling.”

116 notes · View notes

lunarlianna · 1 year

Text

Asteroid Lust

Asteroid Lust (4386) it represents our deepest darkest desires. As Lucifer would say “What do you desire?”. It doesn’t refer just at the sexual aspect but also to what we want to do in excess or what do we find attractive. Please read the sign and the house as well, since I’ve notice it most of the times will work 50/50 on how much it resonates.

Lust in Aries/1st house You may be an adrenaline junky, you like to test the limits that your body has. You like to dominate your partners, if someone massages your head it may turn you on. You are attracted to risky places, maybe you are an exhibitionist. You like when your partner is confident.

Lust in Taurus/2nd house You like to connect yourself with all the five senses. You may have a tendency to have excesses when it comes to food. You love lavishing and exquisite meals. You may like to be sense deprived during intimate moments. You may be attracted towards partners that have a sensual voice.

Lust in Gemini/3th house You are attracted and like to have your brain stimulated. We can say that you are a sapiosexual human. In the bedroom you may like to role play and dirty talk. You may also make a lot of obscene jokes. You may have an on and off sexual desires.

Lust in Cancer/4th house You need comfort and protection. You are attracted towards partners that makes you feel safe. You may have an obsession with decorating your house. You may like to be intimate when the Moon is full and also somewhere near water spots. The bust and hips are very sensitive.

Lust in Leo/5th house Deep down you want to be famous or know for your talents. You’re attracted to fun and spontaneous partners, does that can activate your inner child. Your stomach is very sensible and praises are a must in the bedroom.

Lust in Virgo/6th house You like to add value to someone or the community. You enjoy being of service. Probably you like to be submissive in the bedroom. You may have fantasy that implies doctors or nurses. You may try holistic medicine in order to increase or stimulate your partner’s pleasure.

Lust in Libra/7th house: You may express your sensual part more when you are in a relationship. You may also have the tendency to stay way to long in a relationship or to never take a break from dating. You are in love with romance more than anything else. You may like being touched around on the back, hips and lower back especially.

Lust in Scorpio/8th house: You like to merge yourself with your partner. You may enjoy inflicting pain; you may like playing around the fine line of pleasure with pain. You may channel kundalini energy or activated it without realizing it. You need to transform yourself through sex. You may have more extreme taste in love making.

Lust in Sagittarius/9th house: You may be attracted to foreigners or have a think for accents. You may want to experiment outside of your house or country. You need space to explore your sexuality. You are willing to try anything at least once. You may like more rough intercourse.

Lust in Capricorn/10th house: You are attracted to status and power. You may have a domination fantasy. You may also use sex-appeal to climb the leader of social status. You have high stamina and enjoy having all night sex. Usually, your very selective to the people you go in bed with.

Lust in Aquarius/11th house: You may want to be polyamorous or have more than 1 partner. You don’t like conventional settings. You need freedom to express and explore yourself. You may enjoy cosplay and role plays. You may be one that prefer having friends with benefits.

Lust Pisces/12th house: You have a desire to a soulmate and to end all the pain in the world. You project your fantasies into your partner. You may have a hunger for sexual encounter that feel etherical or that merges your souls together.

Do not copy my posts or you will be sued for copyright infringement. All it takes is copying me a few times and it is considered illegal due to the copyright claim written at the bottom of my posts

Do not rewrite/copy my observations and post them to your Tiktok, Tumblr, Instagram

870 notes · View notes

imaginesmai · 11 months

Text

Once upon a fairy tale - Ubbe Ragnarson

Enemies to lovers, forced-marriage and based on the Disney movie The Swan princess. Here is what is probably the work I’m proudest of. Things you need to know before reading:

- As a medieval fic, there will be typical misoginist behaviours, racisims at some points and stereotypes.

- In this fic, Ubbe is from Mercia, not a viking, but a prince. His whole family is ruling that country, while yours rules over Wessex.

- Ivan doesn’t exist. I had to erase a brother for the plot I’M SORRY.

- It hasn’t been proof-read. So, if you find any mistake, please let me know!

Ubbe Ragnarson knew three things: that he would inherit the throne when his father died, that he should get married soon to assure that throne, and that he hated Y/N Ealhmunding. And those three facts were related. Because your hand had been promised to him since you were young kids, and now it’s time to fulfill that promise.

As princess of king Ecbert Ealhmunding, you also knew three things: that the laws for a kingdom ruler weren’t fair, that your father had done everything he could for you and your future, and that you hated Ubbe Ragnarson. Not only you hated that they had decided your future without you, or that you were expected to leave every braincell behind once you married, but also that the same boy who you had hated since childhood would be your husband.

Every summer, Mercia and Wessex try to make you both fall in love. And they fail.

But this summer is different, because a series of tragic and unfortunate events brings you closer to Ubbe than ever.

You’re no longer mischievous kids pulling pranks on each other, but responsible adults looking for what’s best for your country. And trying to survive in the meantime.

Preface: Ubbe and you meet for the first time, foreshadowing what your relationship is going to be like.

1st part: Just like any other summer, you have to leave your country. Just like any other summer, Ubbe has to open his to your annoying presence.

2nd part: your sixteenth-first encounter goes as good as planned.

3rd part: Aslaug tries to push you closer to Ubbe, leaving you in a vulnerable situation. When faced with a group of soldiers, they don't hesitate to make their opinion about you crystal clear.

4rd part: The soldiers’ attitude forces your father to make a decision, and you finally see an end to your engagement. Only that, when presented with the chance, you’re not so sure.

5th part: No longer under the pressure of an arranged marriage and with the hunting raid around the corner, you can almost taste your freedom. But something new awakens and neither Ubbe and you know how to deal with it.

6th part: The morning of the hunting raid arrives, and new feelings are revealed.

7th part: Ubbe and you take important decisions, about your future and the future of your kingdoms, not knowing that something bigger than you is happening outside the castle’s walls.

8th part: tragedy strikes when you least expect it.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

225 notes · View notes

ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 11 months

Text

**FANFICTION MASTERLIST**

NIGHTS AT THE CIRCUS (Complete) 18+ Avengers!Loki x Reader You encounter Loki after being 'recruited' by the Avengers for your pyrokinesis. The closer you find yourself getting, the further Loki goes to help you uncover the secrets of your past in order to pursue your future. The Chair, Again A Frost Giant's Lullaby

BEAUTY & THE SNAKE PRINCE (Complete) 18+ Prince!Loki x Concubine!Reader After being forced to audition to be the Prince of Asgard's newest concubine, you use your hopeless situation to try and win freedom for your people, but you don't expect to fall for the moody, tortured Prince Loki.

DON'T FEAR THE REAPER (Complete) 18+ Soft!Dom!Loki x Magic!Reader Cursed with the power to kill with a single touch, S.H.I.E.L.D. deems you a high-level threat until Loki intercedes on your behalf, betting that under his guidance, you can bring your gifts under control within a year.

Time & the Trickster (Loki/Doctor Who Crossover) (Complete) eventual Loki x Reader; hinted Ten x Rose One final effort to prevent his sacrifice at the TVA sends Loki careening through the Timelines until he finds what may be the strangest one of all. His only hope comes in the form of the first person he meets, who suggests a mysterious mad Doctor might be his only chance to return home.

Déchiré: An Avengers’ Lust Story (On Hiatus) 18+ Loki x Reader; Steve Rogers x Reader; Bucky Barnes x Reader; Steve x Bucky You are a HYDRA agent sent to infiltrate the notorious Avengers, to tear them apart in the worst way possible in order to make them vulnerable to attack. In the midst of the wild heat you generate, three suitors take your bait.

A Song for the Fallen (In Progress!) 18+ Bucky x Reader; Steve Rogers x Reader After your new husband is Snapped out of existence and leaves you pregnant with his child, Steve Rogers takes it upon himself as a final duty to his best friend to support you for the duration...until he falls in love with you himself. Five years later, just as you're finally ready to marry the Captain, Bucky returns, expecting his beloved wife to fall into his arms.

Loki's Island Fever (Coming Soon!) 18+ ONLY Avenger!Loki x Reader (enemies-to-lovers) You find yourself marooned on an uncharted island with the last person you want: the bratty, cocky Loki. But when a tropical fever sends his thoughts in a different direction, will your new island home become the sexy paradise you always wanted?

FANFIC MUSIC DRABBLE FESTIVAL MASTERLIST (Complete) LOKI X READER KINK DRABBLE MINISERIES MASTERLIST

One Shots: All Audiences The Princess of Mischief Dream Weaver Pure Chaos The Skin We're In When the World Fell The Date On the 3rd Day of Christmas The God and the Wallflower Astraphobia Nurse Loki Light My Candle Coffee, Black The Real Thing I Hate You, Captain Marvel! The 1st Annual NYC Avengers Convention Shine! Blazing with the Boys An Oasis The Avengers Embark on a Brief Escape from Sanity Thief of Hearts (Will Ransome x Reader) The Princess and the Stable Boy Idunn and the Golden Apple Loki, Triumphant (Loki x Sigyn) A Strange Little World --NEW!

Our Mrs. Loki (Part 1 of 2) Old Mrs. Loki (Part 2 of 2)

The Birds They Put in Cages (Part 1 of 2) No Net Ensnares Me (Part 2 of 2)

One Shots: 18+ Only The Mating Dance Don't Touch Me Just Another Baby Story The Little Green Handkerchief Know Your Place Dangerous Curves Deliriously Happy Snow Bound A Taste of the Bubbly Blame it On the Rain The Wedding Altar Mother, May, I? (Bucky x Pregnant!Reader) A Damsel's Debt --NEW! A Very Good Pet A Very Naughty Pet

MY AO3

Behold! A new-and-improved masterlist!

Enjoy!

@lokisgoodgirl @anukulee @coldnique @chantsdemarins @el-zef @fictive-sl0th @glitterylokislut @holymultiplefandomsbatman @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @kellatron55 @kikster606 @loopsisloops @lowkeyorloki @lokischambermaid @lokimostly @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @michelleleewise @peachyjinx @psychospore @silverfire475 @sarahscribbles @trickster-maiden @vbecker10 @wheredafandomat @xorpsbane

#fanfic masterlist #mcu fanfic #ao3 #writing #fanfiction #loki #loki fanfiction #smut #angst #loki smut #loki x reader #mcu #mcu loki #mcu fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki/reader

353 notes · View notes

mariaofdoranelle · 27 days

Text

Look at Us Now - Easter Outtake

Fic masterlist

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY TO LAUN!!

SURPRISE!! I’m late to my own party, and I 100% apologize for that

But!

I can’t believe LAUN is a year old already 🥹🥹 they grow up so fast!! I don’t think an Easter celebration is canon compliant at all, but I couldn’t let the opportunity slip away when LAUN’s 1st anniversary came right on Easter 🥹🥹🥹 I’m so emotional 🥹

I’m also aware that not everyone here celebrates Easter, but honestly this was just an excuse to write fluff and chocolate gift-giving. I hope everyone finds a way to enjoy it!

And I feel like we all deserve a post-epilogue glimpse after an entire year of these two idiots heheheh

Warnings: cranky teenager Maisie, sibling fights (lots)

Words: 3k

Every time Aelin mocked Rowan for spoiling their kids too much, it completely lacked the awareness that she was the one he spoiled the most.

Or at least that was on Maisie’s mind as she strolled down the supermarket’s aisles with her little brother, because Mom wrote in the family group chat that she wanted pasta for dinner, so Dad asked Maisie to buy the ingredients after school.

“Finn,” she called her unrequited companion, “do you remember which olive oil Dad likes?”

“Uh…” The boy hesitated without taking his eyes off his Nintendo Switch. “I dunno, that green one?”

Maisie slapped her brother’s forearm with the back of her hand. “Are you being for real right now?”

Startled, the boy raised his head to see row after row of different green bottles of olive oil. They all looked exactly the same, but she knew better than to grab the first one they saw, knowing how fussy her dad could be sometimes.

“Gods! Just call him—that’s why you have a fucking phone,” Finn said while rubbing off the sting on his forearm.

Maisie rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell him you dropped a F-bomb.”

“And I’ll tell him you slapped me.”

“He’d be on your side,” she said while texting Rowan about the olive oil. “You’re so much shorter than me—he’d say it’s not a fair fight.”

“Take it back!” He ran towards Maisie for a second, since she was on her way to get tomatoes now. “When I get taller than Uncle Lorcan, you’ll wish you were less mean to me.”

Well, that would be a problem for future Maisie. At ten years old, Finn was so short, taunting him about it was almost too easy.

“Yeah, whatever.” She tapped her brother’s shoulder and pointed at another direction. “Go get the parmesan cheese.”

Finn turned to leave, but swung back to her. “Can we have ice cream later?”

Ice cream that she would have to pay, because she couldn’t report to the parental unit about illicit ice cream before dinner, let alone request a refund.

“Fine, just—“

“Alright! I’m there!”

Ever since Maisie got her first job, her brother started acting as if she was a millionaire. Sometimes, she wondered if he believed that her salary was the same as their parents’, which would be highly inaccurate. Despite the age gap, her parents never asked Maisie to act in any way that resembled a parental role—still, she liked to treat her siblings once in a while, give their jobless selves a taste of freedom, let them see what it’s like to have ice cream before dinner just because you can.

Before she knew it, he was back with the cheese.

“Can you buy me that Kinder Easter egg?” He pointed at a cardboard display filled with them. “The one with the dinosaur.”

Maisie narrowed her eyes on Finn. “You told Mom you wanted another one.”

“Yeah, because she only let me pick one.”

Her eyebrows shot when she came closer and saw the price tag. “Hell, no. I’d rather pay for a new haircut.”

“Hey!” Finn protested, running a hand through his newly cut hair. “Mom said she likes it!”

“You look ridiculous.”

“I’m so gonna tell her you said that.”

“Do it. Deep down, she agrees with me.”

˜˜

When she arrived, the house was calmer than usual.

“You aren’t magic!” Eamon shouted to his smirking, completely unfazed sister. “You’re not!”

Maisie walked past them towards the kitchen, where her dad prepped dinner as if the twins weren’t about to rip each other’s heads off in the living room.

“Hey, Maisy Daisy,” he called without looking away from the onion he was chopping. “Did you get everything?”

She put the bags on the counter as an answer, then her dad kissed the crown of her head in thanks and promised to repay her later.

Things didn’t seem to progress at all in the living room—actually, they did, if one could count Eamon getting angrier as progress.

“You don’t fly! You don’t control fire! You don’t teleport!”

Enid giggled. “I know how, I just don’t want to.”

“NO! YOU CAN’T!”

Maisie cut in, “I mean, she could.”

That made the boy stop and narrow his eyes on her, begrudgingly hanging on to whatever she was about to say. Since she was more than twice the twins’ age and the wisest of them all, sometimes her siblings actually listened to something Maisie said.

“I mean…” she shrugged. “We don’t know where you two came from, so maybe she really does have magic.”

Enid crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”

“FINN!” Maisie shouted and waited a moment for her brother to come out of his room. “Do you remember when we found Enid and Eamon in the trash?”

“That’s a lie!” Her ever-so-cool little sister yelled, her green eyes welling up.

“Oh, yeah.” Finn said after taking a moment to process the information, acting nonchalant—if he laughed, it was game over. “That day was wild.”

Eamon stood frozen in shock, while Enid bellowed an ear-shattering cry.

“Maisie! Finn!” Rowan yelled from the kitchen. “Stop telling your siblings we found them in the trash!”

“But they need to know the truth!” Maisie shouted back, wondering if her dad heard her over Enid’s cries.

“What on Earth is going on here?” Her Mom showed up, wrapped in a towel with her hair wet.

Eamon ran to hug Aelin’s middle, his eyes teary. “Are you not my mommy?”

Maisie rolled her eyes. Mama’s boy.

“Of course I am, honey.” She frowned. “What’s going on?”

With a sigh, Dad was finally able to join the rest in the living room. “Finn and Maisie told the twins they’re adopted.”

Aelin sent them her classic Are you kidding me? mom look, as if Maisie was to blame, then proceeded to soothe the seven-year-olds.

If they fell for it, it was their fault for being stupid. There’s a picture of Dad as a kid on Grandma Rory’s hallway from when he was Eamon’s age, and they look like the same person in there.

“The only one adopted here was Fleetfoot,” Dad said.

“No, she’s not. I gave birth to her.” Mom sent him a mischievous look. “I went into labor for her.”

“Um—“ Maisie cleared her throat. “Fleetfoot’s mine.”

Dad sent Mom an apologetic smile. “She really is Maisie’s.”

“I want a dog too!” Enid cut in.

“Yeah, me too!” Finn joined.

Maisie hummed. “We could give them a country name…”

“Like Eyllwe,” Eamon said.

Rowan’s eyes widened. “No! Fleetfoot’s everyone’s,” he said, completely contradicting himself after the threat of more poop for him to clean.

˜˜

From the looks of it, dinner would be ready on time for breakfast.

To be fair, her dad was never late to finish dinner, but his desire to make this a special one and the boiling tomatoes in order to make the sauce from scratch led to this.

It was kinda cute, how Dad conjured something special out of thin air just because his wife hinted that she was feeling like it over text while they were at work.

Maisie saw a glimpse of her parents canoodling in the kitchen on her way to her bedroom, but almost ran to the toilet instead. They were so adorably disgusting, all that love made her want to throw up.

Her parents were no better than any PDA-addicted straight couple she saw at school, except that while the average high schooler couple lasted about three months, her parents have been at it for a little over a decade.

At least, a light peck was the furthest they got in front of their kids—or ever. For all Maisie knew, she and her three siblings came from artificial insemination.

A savior from her thoughts, Finn knocked on the door.

“We need to talk,” he said, looking crestfallen.

“C’mere.”

Maisie sat on the side of her bed, and tapped the free space beside her for him to sit. Instead, he sat on her lap. Weird.

She was about to ask him what was going on when a low, rumbling sound coming from him filled the air.

The little bitch had just farted on her.

Finn ran away, giggling, while Maisie screamed the most irate shriek ever known to man.

He locked himself in his bedroom, but her quickened pulse only energized her, aiding tense upper arms to pound against his door.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU,” Maisie shouted at her hiding brother.

He’d get out sometime, and when he did, she’d be there.

On the kitchen’s threshold, Aelin peeked her head into the hallway. “What’s going on here?”

The teenager slowly turned to her mom, jaw tight, and seethed, “Why. Was. He. Born?”

With a sigh that came deep from her soul, Aelin fully stepped into the hallway. “What did your brother do now?”

Maisie pointed at her closed bedroom door. “Smell it!”

Her mom stepped in and out of the bedroom, coughing. “Gods, Finn!”

In a feeble attempt to fix the situation, Aelin opened Maisie’s bedroom’s window and sprayed some air freshener inside—one hand on the bottle, another clamping her nose. Still, the girl didn’t trust to go back into her room for the next hour or so.

Aelin knocked on Finn’s door twice to get his attention. “That was way too stinky, honey, I’m cutting off some of your junk food!”

“Come on!” he complained from the other side of the door.

Too bad Finn couldn’t see her triumphant smirk. It’d rile him up beautifully.

Two taps to her shoulder. “Dinner’s almost ready. Come help me set the table.”

“What was that?” Dad asked when Mom got back to the kitchen, focused on the stove.

“Finn farted in Maisie's room and she threatened his life.”

“Oh,” was all he said, mixing something on the tomato sauce.

She desperately needed to meet whoever taught her parents how to live this peacefully amidst chaos.

“On my room? He farted on me.” She flailed her arms, trying to explain her brother’s audacity. “He sat on my lap, his butt to my thigh, and farted.”

Aelin snorted. “I told you the kids shouldn’t spend that much time with Aedion.”

Rowan’s eyes lit up. “You did tell me some awfully similar stories from when you were younger.”

After the table was set, Mom was back to her occasional glass of wine, and all was left to do was her dad’s finishing touches to dinner.

Maisie cleared her throat. “I was thinking…”

Her dad immediately turned around and pointed a spoon at her. “If it’s about that party, don’t bother.”

“Not a party!”

“Money, then.” Aelin smirked behind her glass of wine.

The girl crossed her arms. Her mom’s grin turned smug.

Maisie groaned. “Fine! But it’s good, I promise.”

“Go on,” Rowan said.

“I want to buy Easter eggs for Finn and the twins, but I can’t afford the cool ones.”

“Aw, honey, that’s so sweet.” Her mom melted right on spot. “I’m sorry we can’t help you with that.”

Maisie’s face fell. “What.”

Even her dad seemed a little confused, though he tried to hide it.

Aelin sat straighter to explain, “You see, if we help you with this, your siblings will ask to do the same, and it wouldn’t be fair to say no to them after…”

Maisie rolled her eyes. Her parents and their “equal treatment”—

“Do not roll your eyes at your mother,” Rowan warned.

Aelin continued, “Next thing we know, we spent our entire paychecks on chocolate, Finn is farting on our faces all day, the twins will never fall asleep again from the sugar rush, and your dad will be shoving food down your throat because of some crazy diet you saw online to get rid of the Easter weight.” She raised her brow in that infuriating mom way of hers. “Did I miss something?”

“Fine!” Maisie held both arms up in surrender. “You want me to buy your kids lame chocolate, is that it?”

“If they can’t appreciate whatever you can afford, I’m not raising them right.”

“Ugh!” Maisie groaned, and sat facing away from her mother.

A moment later, Dad sent her off to tell her siblings dinner was ready, and soon everyone was at the table, ready to attack the food that took ages to be ready.

Except that, when she asked for the parmesan cheese, Enid took it and kept waving it in front of her instead of just passing it over.

After seven years of Enid, Maisie was unimpressed. “Are you trying to tease me?”

The little girl giggled. “No, you can have it, but I want to see your eyes light up first!”

With a sigh, Rowan took it from Enid’s hand and passed it over to Maisie. “Can we just try to be rational for once?”

“I was rational once,” Eamon said, frowning.

With his mouth full, Finn said, “I want the next special dinner to be at one of those fancy pasta places with two forks.”

“Manners,” Aelin warned the wild beast she called a son.

“Mom and Dad never take us to fancy restaurants for a reason,” Maisie said while giving a pointed look to Finn, who was by her side.

The boy rolled his eyes and mimicked in a high-pitched voice, “MoM aND dAD nEVer tAkE uS tO fANcY rEStAuRaNts FoR a rEasOn.”

Maisie slapped her brother’s forearm, and that’s when her parents lost patience.

Rowan lifted his pointed finger, “Do not—“

“Maisie, Finn, for Mala’s sake…” Aelin started, pinching the bridge of her nose.

˜˜

Later that night, Maisie was scrolling on TikTok before sleep, but two knocks on her bedroom door stopped her short.

It was Finn, holding his blanket. More often than not, he slept in Maisie’s room—she wasn’t sure why, but it’d been this way since he was little. Already knowing what was about to happen, Fleetfoot moved to the foot of the bed to give him space. Her bed might look big, but it didn’t have nearly enough space for two people and a person-sized dog.

When she was taking off her many pillows to find some space for her brother, a bulky-looking folded paper caught her eye.

Maisie hid it back with the pillow and said, “Go get me some water.”

Finn complained, but complied.

Quickly unfolding the paper in the little time she had, Maisie recognized her dad’s writing and a fuckton of cash—not too much for an Air Force major, but enough to make a teenager who had a minimum-wage part-time job feel like a billionaire.

Groceries refund + your delivery fee

Don’t mention it—ever

Maisie’s grin grew wicked. She fucking loved her dad.

˜˜

Finding a reason to get out of the house on Easter was tough, but she managed it.

Maisie had already picked her dad’s sushi-filled Easter egg at the restaurant, since he hated chocolate, and the other ones had been retrieved from its hiding place at Uncle Aedion’s.

Inside her house, Finn was the first one to greet her.

He eyed her bags suspiciously. “What’s all that?”

Without a word, she took one Kinder egg that fit in her palm, and handed it to him. Finn took it in his hand, contemplated it for a second with a silly half-smile, then hugged Maisie tight, squeezing her waist.

“Gods!” She lightly slapped his head. “You’re so dumb.”

Before he processed what happened, Maisie got his actual Easter egg, the Kinder with the dinosaur he wanted.

His eyes lit up and his mouth hung open, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then, her brother crushed her into a hug that knocked her breath out of her lungs.

“Thanks, Mais.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She took a second to take it in, than wiggled out of his hug to hand the twins’ ones.

They looked so happy, it didn’t even look like Mom and Dad gave each of them giant Easter eggs three hours ago.

Her parents were watching them from afar, wearing one of those weird, sentimental parent smiles.

When she took out her dad’s from the bag, Rowan finally looked surprised—which was easily detected by his wife.

The “shell” part of his Easter egg was just nori and rice, but it was filled with seafood. Dad twirled his sushi egg in his hands, mouth ajar. “Honey, I didn’t think you’d get me something too. You didn’t have to.”

“Too?” Mom asked, lips quirked up. Her eyes sparkled, darted between Maisie and Rowan, then landed on her daughter. “Good to know you found a way to afford it.”

“I’m my father’s daughter.” Maisie shrugged. “Of course I know how to save money.”

She also knew how to spend it like her mother, but it wouldn’t be smart to mention right now.

At that point, Maisie knew Aelin figured out that Rowan gave her the money, and Mom knew Maisie knew she knew. Neither of them would say a word, though, and it was best this way.

She handed her mom’s next, a chocolate hazelnut Easter egg the size of Aelin’s head.

“I didn’t know Dad bought you the same one,” Maisie said with a sheepish smile.

“You won’t hear me complaining, honey.” Her mom kept intense eye contact with her Easter egg, likely unwrapping it in her mind as if she didn’t have a half-eaten identical one in her bedroom.

Aelin put her gift on the coffee table near them and hugged Maisie. “I love you, honey,” she said before kissing her daughter’s head. “Thank you for the gift. You’re such a great big sister.”

“I know, right?”

However, their hug was abruptly broken by shouting coming from the other side of the living room.

“Stop. Being. An idiot!” Enid shouted at Eamon for whatever reason they decided to bicker over this afternoon.

“We’re both idiots, but you’re the bigger idiot!” he fought back.

Maisie tapped her mom’s shoulders. “Go tame your evil twins.”

“Don’t call your siblings that!”

She sighed, not surprised by how quickly their moment of peace—a rarity in her home—was broken.

Weirdly enough, her parents seemed to enjoy it.

A/N: In the plans of this outtake I have deep into my notes app, Aelin mentions that since her husband doesn’t like chocolate, her Easter gift to him would be given “later tonight”. I thought you’d like to know *wink*

2nd A/N: Yes I left Maisie’s exact age in the dark on purpose heheheh this one spoiler I’m not handing out like this.

You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @mariaofdoranelle-fics or entering my (sometimes glitchy) tag list!!

TAG LIST

I couldn’t tag the people in bold, sorry!

@aelinchocolatelover

@autumnbabylon

@bookcide

@booksandteaonarainydayislife

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@courtofjurdan

@dreamer-133

@elentiyawhitethorn

@elizarikaallen

@emily-gsh

@empress-ofbloodshed

@fangirlprincess09

@goddess-aelin

@gracie-rosee

@leiawritesstories

@lululululululuop

@renxzs

@rowanaelinn

@s-uppertime

@sarahjswift

@staghorn-mountains

@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@thegreyj

@throneofus7

@violet-mermaid7

@wishfulimaginings

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #look at us now

45 notes · View notes

missmaywemeetagain · 9 months

Text

Read Paisley Dreams Part 1 🏵 NOW!

Hello, my wonderful darlin’s! (And Happy 1st Bday to Pink Scarf!💗) This week's story is a special request from a dear Sugar Mama regarding Elvis’ sexy yellow shirt from August 6th, 1970 and how it disappeared. It’s coincidence that I happened to be working on it on the anniversary of him wearing it, but I just take that as a good sign from the universe LOL.

This one definitely got away from me, and because of that, I’m splitting it into two parts—consequently, Part 1 is more tension building and not very smutty but I promise Part 2 will have more spice!

Enjoy babies, and let me know what you think!

xoxox, Madi 💗

TW: attempted sexual assault, cussing, ass kicking, protective!e, passing reference to his weight/ed/drug issues, masturbation

Paisley Dreams (Part 1) 🏵💛🔥

August 1970

Elvis has a love-hate relationship with going out on the town, especially when going to his fellow entertainer’s shows. He loves the novelty of it, being able to be out in the world like a (somewhat) normal human being, to be able to interact with people that aren’t necessarily there to see him. He likes that the focus is on someone else for a change, and he loves talking with people who aren’t part of his immediate circle.

What he hates, however, is pulling focus from the people performing. It’s the reason he shows up a little late and gets seated after the lights go down. Contrary to what some idiots may believe, he does not want it to be The Elvis Show all the time. And while he likes being around new people, he doesn’t always enjoy the hobnobbing that is seemingly required with other celebrities, if in attendance. No, he’d rather talk with people he cares about or regular, everyday folks instead of putting on airs for some Hollywood types.

There is also something to the fact that he’s not in 100% control of those situations when things are not revolving around him, and while a little of that is thrilling and breaks through the boredom that can happen in his insular life, it can also be disconcerting. It leaves him a little more jittery than usual, but the stubborn part of him refuses to let it overcome him tonight.

Somedays, he wishes he could be invisible and could mull about as he pleases in obscurity. Problem is, he’s way too used to the attention being him brings, and whether or not he’d admit it to anyone else, it would make him feel mightily insecure if no one at all knew who he was, if not one person came up to say hi or get an autograph. He had a little taste of that with Steve before the ’68 Special, when he’d been told in so many words to get over himself when no one stopped him on the street in front of the studio.

He hadn’t liked it, no siree, despite the freedom and lack of pressure it offered in the moment. No, he was much too used to being Elvis Presley. It is the conundrum of his life, of a fame unlike any other, that leaves him to continually pendulum from being trapped by it on one end and unable to live without it on the other.

Tonight, he fortifies himself for a night that won’t be entirely under his control and heads over to Nancy Sinatra’s show at Caesar’s Palace. Something about the unpredictability makes him feel a little more alive, like something exciting is just waiting for just the right moment to happen and bring him along with it. He much prefers thinking in those terms and not in terms of threats of harm.

Since Nancy is a good friend, he keeps himself rather understated for the evening. He knows he looks sharp in his high-collared, well-tailored chocolate suit, with a paisley yellow shirt underneath. His belt is simple (for him, at least). The outfit does not scream “look at me!” He wants the attention to be on Nancy and not him.

He also refused to bring the whole damn entourage tonight, feeling a little bit smothered by the sea of men he’s cultivated around him. He’d settled for Charlie, Richard, and Felton as his companions for the evening, despite Joe and Red’s protestations. All he wants is a little fun, a little music that isn’t his, and a little break from the pressure of rehearsals for his own engagement that starts in a few days—complete with a movie crew from MGM to film the damn thing.

He likes rising to the challenge of it, but hell, it makes him more nervous than usual. A lot is riding on his ability to deliver a fabulous show, and not only that, but they’ve been filming the rehearsals, too, so he feels like he’s under the microscope even when he normally isn’t. That coupled with learning three times as many songs as usual has his brain feeling fuzzy and him sleeping worse than usual. Nothing a pill (or three) can’t fix, though.

At least it’s all…stimulating. And Lord knows he’s a man that needs stimulation and variety, something that is harder and harder to come by with his life being the way it is.

But tonight isn’t about him. And everything seems to be going according to plan—there’s a little attention on him with fans and photos and such, enough to make him feel good, but most of the focus is elsewhere. It feels like he can breathe a little.

The show is great; he enjoys seeing Nance after, though his heart always does a little flip around her. She’s been a soft spot for him for a long time, and despite his multiple attempts to endear her a little more intimately to him, she’s always kept him mostly on the straight and narrow. He loves her even more for keeping him in check, though he still wouldn’t mind a tousle in the bedroom with her.

And it’s here he finds himself, ruminating pleasantly, if not a bit hopefully, on the past, when the lot of them sneak out through the back kitchens in order to avoid the crush of people out front waiting for a glimpse of him.

He certainly doesn’t expect to come upon some drunken asshole aggressively throwing a young woman up against the wall down the dark alley behind the Palace. His eyes narrow and a surge of adrenaline wafts through him as he tries to figure out what exactly is happening and why. Body standing to attention, he’s grateful his karate training comes in handy in times like these—which is precisely why he keeps up on the craft.

“Don’t think we should get involved, EP,” Richard warns, putting his hand out as if to stop him from moving towards the scuffle, but he bats it away like a fly.

“Come on, you little tart. I know you want it. You know you’re jus’ askin’ for it up there in those skimpy costumes, don’tcha?” the guy slurs at her, groping at her breasts.

Elvis hastens his stride down the alley, blood up, nerves tingling, and ready to kick this guy’s ass for assaulting this poor showgirl.

“Get the fuck off me, creep!” she screams back at the guy, slapping his hand away, and looking more angry than afraid, she stomps on the guy’s foot and knees him hard in the nuts.

Elvis can’t help but cringe, but the guy deserves it. Good on her.

“You bitch!” the asshole shrieks, clutching his groin. Unfortunately, in his pain, or maybe just because he’s that much of a dick, the man yanks down on her flimsy top, ripping it apart and right off her chest, exposing her braless breasts. Then, he lunges for her throat.

With a growl, Elvis takes his last few steps quickly, easily knocking the drunk bastard off his feet with a well-placed kick and sending him sprawling onto the dirty pavement. The guy lands with a groan, shaking his head. Elvis goes down on one knee and pulls him up by the shirt.

“Hey, fuck you, man! This ain’t none of your business—” the guy starts, flailing up at him drunkenly before his eyes go wide and he stops abruptly. “Holy shit, you’re—”

“I’m the guy who’s gonna kick your ass from here to Sunday if ya don’t apologize to this nice young lady and get your ass back to whatever sewer you crawled outta,” Elvis spits out, quick and cutting, his blue eyes flashing with something the man doesn’t want to test. He is self-aware enough to know that his presence is big enough to knock even sober men for a loop, and that’s when he’s not angry.

The guy opens and closes his mouth like a guppy, looking altogether wrecked and muddled by his predicament.

“Boss?” he hears Charlie’s cautioning voice from behind him, and Elvis puts up a hand to tell him he’s got this. There are some things he can do on his own.

“Well?” Elvis asks, turning his attention back to the jerk on the ground, dragging the guy up by his ugly polyester shirt.

“I-I-I—” he stutters, looking bleary eyed from Elvis to the young lady.

Elvis uses the toe of his boot and grinds down slowly on the man’s fingers.

The guy yelps, then sobs, then looks helplessly at Elvis, “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Don’t tell me. Tell her,” Elvis emphasizes, still wanting to make this guy pay. He points up to the young lady, who is standing there frozen against the wall, her arms desperately trying to cover her bared chest.

The man’s eyes narrow, obviously feeling it’s beneath him to apologize to a girl.

“Okay,” Elvis sighs dramatically, easily raising himself from the ground without using his hands, “but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He brings his foot back as though he’s gonna kick the man in the gut, and it has the intended effect.

“Alright, alright!” the guy shouts, curling in on himself while holding out his hand to stop Elvis. He begrudgingly looks at the woman. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!”

“For what exactly?” Elvis asks, raising an eyebrow. He is getting more of a kick out of playing with this drunkard than he should, but he can’t deny he enjoys the pulse of blood through his veins as he gets to be the hero.

“I-I-I’m sorry…for…for touching you a-and ripping your top! I’m sorry!” he cries defeatedly.

“Was that so hard?” Elvis muses. “Now get the hell outta here before I decide I’m bein’ too nice and let my boys have a crack atcha.”

The man gulps and nods, then his legs wheel a bit as he tries to get up too fast and clambers clumsily out of the alleyway.

Adrenaline waning, Elvis turns to the woman, immediately softening his features and his voice—a well-honed skill. “Are you okay, Miss?”

She looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “Yes. No. I’m not sure…I had that under control, you know,” she adds a little bitterly.

“Oh, didja now?” he replies, amused by her fiery response.

She does not look amused as she shrugs her shoulders defiantly, then remembers she’s got no top on. Her green eyes widen to saucers, and she grasps her breasts tighter, succeeding in pushing them together and creating ample cleavage that in any other circumstance would have him looking twice. But this is not the time, and he feels guilty for even glancing at her in this state.

“Shit. I’m an idiot,” he mumbles, realizing how uncomfortable she must be half naked in a dark alley full of men she doesn’t know. He scrambles to unbutton his already half-open yellow paisley shirt the rest of the way, then shrugs out of his jacket, pulling the shirt along with it.

Her mouth parts in what he assumes is disbelief as he becomes as bare as she is from the waist up. It’s vulnerable and disarming in a way he doesn’t initially intend—he more just wants to give her something she can truly cover up with and his jacket only has the one button. He’s not in the habit of running around with his shirt off these days, even though he’s slimmed down for his upcoming performances (because God knows the cameras will add ten pounds whether he likes it or not). Years of being shamed about his weight in one way or another by directors, the Colonel, and the gossip magazines always have him self-conscious, even when he’s slim, which is perhaps why he is so readily understanding of the girl’s current predicament. The August Vegas night is hot, and he feels a tinge cooler now when the air hits the sweat beaded over his skin.

“Here, honey, put this on,” he says and holds the shirt out to her.

Her mirth shifts to guarded thanks, but then she shakes her head and tightens her arms around herself. He realizes that she can’t take the shirt without exposing herself more.

“Oh. Turn around, sweetheart,” he coos at her. “I won’t hurt ya none.” He throws his jacket to Charlie, who is suddenly by his side, and holds his shirt open for her.

She turns cautiously, letting him help her as she slips her shaking arms into the oversized sleeves. “Thanks,” she whispers quietly, and he watches as she fumbles unsuccessfully with the buttons because her hands are trembling so badly.

“Lemme help, darlin’,” he says, reassuringly, “I promise I ain’t gonna look atcha.”

Seemingly frustrated at herself for needing his continued assistance, she relents and turns back to him, her doe eyes brimming with unshed tears.

He does everything in him to not look at her pretty, soft skin, or her legs that go on for days, focusing the best he can on the task of doing up the highest buttons in order to give her some modesty. Of course, his shirts being designed as they are, specifically for him and his open-chested style, there aren’t buttons as high up as there should be. The shirt is already too big on her, so she’s still showing quite a bit of skin, but is certainly better than it her previous nakedness. He looks up at her as if to say sorry, and she just looks away uncomfortably.

Elvis nods, then races to do up the rest of them, needing to kneel before her to get the lowest ones. The act feels very intimate, him half-undressed but dressing her in this prostrated position, and it sends a warmth spreading across his bare chest. He looks up at her, finding her watching him carefully for any impropriety. He is determined not to give her any, but when her intense, tearful green eyes meet his, he feels a bit off-kilter for the way it makes him feel. His heart drops into his stomach like he’s on a roller coaster.

Uh oh. He knows that feeling all too well, and it usually ends with him neck deep in infatuation at the very least and in love at the most.

“All set,” he says, looking down almost bashfully. Clearing his throat, he raises effortlessly up to standing, and Charlie hands him his jacket to put back on.

“Thank you, Mr. Presley,” she says quietly, the edge in her voice gone now that she’s swimming in his yellow shirt and the threat is gone. Her pretty pink lip bottom lip wavers.

Then she bursts into tears.

There is nothing that pulls at his heartstrings quite like a pretty young thing weeping. She’s proven herself anything but helpless but having been through such an ordeal would be frightening regardless.

“Aww, it’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe now. Let’s get you home,” he says. He suddenly wants nothing more than to swoop her up into the protective cocoon that is his penthouse so no one can ever hurt her again, but he gets the distinct impression that bringing her into a private den full of older men is not the right move in this situation.

Sniffling, she swipes angrily under her stage makeup-smeared eyes as she attempts to get ahold of herself. He recognizes her need to not appear weak, to retain her dignity, so he gives her a minute to collect herself even though he wants to sweep her into his arms and tell her he can make everything alright.

It takes her a moment and he can tell she wants to tell him no, that she can get home on her own, thankyouverymuch, but after closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she finally nods in acceptance.

Something in his heart soars because he likes feeling needed, likes truly helping people, and enjoys the warmhearted feeling it gives him to put others before himself. It is also the least he can do after what she’s been through.

Though it certainly doesn’t hurt that she’s a looker with her long, caramel colored hair, intelligent jade eyes, and showgirl body. He knows he would’ve helped her regardless of all of that but, even so, at 35 he’s still a virile man who can see what is plain in front of his face. And there’s something about her resilience that attracts him beyond her looks. A flash in her eyes that tells him her soul is guarded and complex and beautiful all at once. There’s a hint of darkness he can relate to, one that, combined with all the rest, sends his overly romantic heart into overdrive.

As he, Charlie, Richard, and Felton lead her trembling but head-held-high form to the car, he can’t help but think God put him in the right place at the right time tonight.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks gently once they are in the car.

“Pepper. My name is Pepper.”

This night is turning out to be incredibly strange, Pepper thinks as she shakily unlocks the door to her apartment. She hates that she can’t seem to stop shivering after the whole ordeal in the alley. No matter how many deep breaths she took in the car, she is still shaking like a leaf and she can’t decide if the fact that Elvis Presley is at her elbow is making it better or worse.

Finally jimmying the door open, she nearly falls inside, feeling all too unsteady in her high heels. Exhausted, it doesn’t help matters that she can’t remember if she ate today, between her waitressing shift at the diner and her showgirl gig at the Palace. She forces herself not to cry the stupid tears that pool stubbornly in her eyes. No, she doesn’t think she ate today and she’s cursing the fact because she’s quickly turning into an embarrassing pile of weepy nonsense, in front of Elvis Presley, no less.

This isn’t like her. She is no damsel in distress. She’s a strong, capable young woman who’s been dealt a bit of a shit hand, but she’s got it under control. She’s always got it under control.

Liar.

Pepper turns in the doorway to say goodnight and thank you to the man who so annoyingly but luckily had her back in that alley. She doesn’t want to think too hard about what could have happened if Elvis hadn’t appeared when he did, like some sort of movie star hero. Unfortunately, the spin towards him makes her dizzy and her wobbly knees start to give way.

“Hey now, little one, let’s get you settled, huh?” Elvis drawls out at her as he puts an arm around her waist and effortlessly ushers her into the apartment. She’s suddenly too exhausted to protest. It’s not often that anyone takes care of her. Honestly, she can’t remember the last time someone did, or the last time there was a man in her apartment.

He deposits her on her secondhand couch and its one of the many things tonight that has her embarrassed. Then again, she wasn’t expecting an incredibly handsome superstar to be gracing the walls of her tiny, dingy apartment.

Elvis stares down at her for a moment and his gaze is heavy and all-encompassing. It’s not what she expects—she’s used to the heated, horny looks she attracts from men—because it’s as if he’s surveying the situation, reading her with an intuitive intelligence she is not prepared for. She knows how to deal with men gawking at her—but treating her kindly with no expectations in return? This is unfamiliar in every way.

He nods to himself, making some sort of decision. His stance, one hip jutted out, hands on his hips and looking off to the side with his pouty lips parted, makes her feel a little funny in her belly.

Or maybe that’s just the hunger talking.

Her pride wants him to go, to not survey her poor existence and pity her. But the rest of her, the weak part of her desperate to have someone take care of her for once, wants him to stay.

Surprisingly, his face is devoid of judgement of her circumstance when his oceanic blue eyes meet hers again. There seems to be only concern and a bit of humor there. This confuses her.

“I’m starvin’,” he declares suddenly. “What would you say to some hamburgers?” His eyes sparkle—actually sparkle—when they look at her for approval.

Her stomach growls and before she can think better of the strangeness of eating hamburgers with Elvis in her crappy apartment, she’s nodding her head furiously.

“Charlie! Hey, man, get us some hamburgers and fries and shakes, will ya?” he tells the tiny guy who seems to be some sort of friend/employee, probably part of his infamous Memphis Mafia she’s read about in magazines.

It comes to her then that the man she’s read about and listened to and watched on screen for years is now in her home, and she is swimming in his yellow shirt. It smells wonderful—a heady, spicy mix of cologne and soap and sweat—and a silly part of her never wants to take it off.

Oh, god, he’s seen my tits, she realizes, her cheeks flushing.

“Hey, lemme get ya somethin’ to drink, honey,” he says, extraordinarily and infuriatingly observant, as he goes to pilfer around her kitchen.

“Oh, I’m just the worst hostess. I can get it,” she murmurs attempting to push herself off the couch.

He stops abruptly and points at her. “Stay.”

Pepper freezes. The command in his deep, drawling baritone is assertive and unarguable, sending a thrilled shiver down her spine that she’s not ready for. Almost as if her body were not her own, she slides back into the sofa.

“Whatchu got in this here ree-frig-er-a-tor?” he says, rummaging around in what she knows is a sad excuse for one. Her schedule hasn’t allowed time for her to go grocery shopping. She can hear him humming a familiar tune as he goes, and there’s something beautifully domestic about the whole thing that she doesn’t feel she deserves. He returns with two cans of Pepsi, popping the tab on hers before handing it to her, then doing his own.

She can’t quite bring herself to look him in the eye. “Thank you,” she says quietly, suddenly parched. She tries to be ladylike about it but can’t help but gulp some of the fizzy cola down as fast as possible. Of course, this all goes awry the moment the carbonation hits her empty stomach, causing an uncontrollable rolling belch to erupt her throat.

“Oh my god!” she gasps, throwing a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry!” For some reason, this rudeness feels almost more humiliating that her top being ripped off earlier. At least with that, it hadn’t been her fault. This was just bad manners.

Elvis looks at her seriously, blue eyes narrowed as if he might scold her, and she holds her breath, wanting to crawl into a hole and die. Then he starts laughing.

It’s a giggling, hiccupping, musical sound that immediately disarms her in its contagiousness. She can’t help the way her own giggles bubble up. Suddenly, the absolute ridiculousness of this entire night has her doubled over with exhausted, hungry laughter, and he follows right along with her.

They are just starting to get themselves under control when she snorts. Elvis completely loses it and falls apart all over again.

Tears are pouring down her face now, and she’s grateful for this release in this way. It’s better than her weak and frustrated tears from earlier, and as she watches Elvis, she sees just how utterly beautiful, unselfconscious, and almost innocent he seems in his laughter.

She wonders if he laughs often. She hopes so.

Eventually, they are both wiping their faces and the giggle fits are dying down.

“Peppercorn, you are too much,” he smiles, shaking his head with a few lingering chuckles. “Who knew such sounds could come from such a pretty little girl like you?”

Peppercorn? She smiles at the nickname. If anyone else had called her that, she might have their head, but Elvis…well, he can call her anything he wants. Butterflies start rolling in her empty stomach when she realizes he’s called her pretty in such a way that it sounds like an obvious fact and not a come-on. Oh, he’s skilled.

The fact is, it’s almost bashful the way he looks down and then his eyelashes flutter back up to meet hers from the other end of the couch. As if she had called him pretty and not the other way around.

He opens his mouth to speak, and she thinks he just might say something profoundly charming, but his friend Charlie chooses that moment to reemerge with an arm full of food and shakes. And her stomach chooses that moment to growl loud enough for the room to hear, sending Elvis and her back into peals of laughter.

Charlie looks confused, but laughs along anyway, pretending to get the joke as he sets the food down on the rickety second-hand coffee table in front of the sofa. Then, without a word, he makes himself scarce.

Elvis digs right into the bag, taking everything out of it, handing her a wrapped burger and then tearing the bag apart to make a sort of makeshift tray on the table.

“I do have plates, you know,” she says with a lingering chuckle, moving to get up. She’d certainly never seen a man of his caliber of celebrity—probably one of the richest in this town—eat off a greasy paper bag before.

“Don’t you worry yourself. I’m just fine,” he says, unwrapping and taking a giant bite of his hamburger, followed by a handful of fries. “Eat your food, Peppercorn.”

She’s way too hungry to argue. After the burp and the snort, she doesn’t put on too many airs about eating daintily, either.

“Tell me about yourself,” he says in such an earnest way that she cannot stop herself from doing so. As they devour the food, he asks her questions, and she finds herself telling him about how she’d moved here because there wasn’t much work in her small town, about how she sends most of what she makes back to her house-bound mama and little sister.

These are things she doesn’t tell people here, preferring to tell a common tale of wanting the glitz and glamour of being a famous showgirl, instead of sharing that she’s using what God gave her only to support her kin. But by the haunted look in his eyes, it’s as if he knows, like he truly understandswhat it means to keep family at the forefront and tell the world something different. So her mouth keeps moving and she shares too much, but she’s weary and hungry and Elvis Presley is in her damn living room eating burgers like it’s a completely normal occurrence.

“So, you’re tellin’ me what you’re doin’ now ain’t your dream?” he asks.

She can’t help but choke a little at that. “Um, no,” she says, wiping sauce off her lip with a finger. “Waitressing all day and being eyed-up all night is not my dream. It’s a means to an end. And I’m happy to do it.”

“For your family.”

“Yes, for my family.”

“And what about you, honey? What’s your dream?” He says it in such a perfunctory way that it takes her aback. It’s a question no one’s ever bothered to ask her.

“I…I don’t know,” she says, looking away from his curious, reading stare.

“Mmm, not sure that’s true, baby. Ev’rybody’s got a dream,” he says. “Hell, I was just a poor boy drivin’ a truck ‘fore all this took off. Could barely sing in front of anyone but there was this…this thinginside me I can’t explain, pushin’ me forward in spite of it all.”

“Really?” she says, shocked at this revelation. She didn’t know those things about him, and they make him seem more human and all the more unique all at once.

He nods. “So, what’s your dream?” he says, looking at her with a curious expectation she can’t deny.

She gulps down a mouthful of burger. “Okay, well, this is probably stupid, but I’ve always liked numbers.”

“Numbers?” he questions, confused.

“Yeah, I like solving problems. Making everything add up. Numbers are…calm, predictable, I guess. I’m sure that sounds strange, a showgirl telling you she likes math. Most men…well, they think it’s weird,” she rambles, feeling her face get hot.

He shakes his head. “Naw, it just weren’t what I was expectin’, is all. Usually pretty girls like you, they…” he trails off, not needing to finish the sentence to get the point across, “but I like that you’re different. Special.” He looks at her with a sort of pride, like he’s discovered some treasure in her she can’t see in herself.

This sends a wave of appreciation over her that she isn’t prepared for, and she smiles broadly. “So, I suppose my dream is to work with numbers. Money, maybe? I guess I’ve never really let myself think that far into it. I haven’t been able to, with everything else…That must sound silly,” she says, feeling too exposed all the sudden.

“Not at all, honey,” he reassures her, finishing off his burger and fries. She gets caught up in looking at his full, pouty lips covered in grease and has the inappropriate urge to touch them. Blinking, she looks away, hoping he didn’t catch her staring.

“Sorry I’m talking too much. I usually don’t tell people...I don’t…I’m not one to…” She hides the floundering embarrassment of both her circumstance and her attraction behind the last loud slurp of her milkshake.

“Naw, Peppercorn, don’t go bein’ ashamed of doin’ what it takes to take care of your family or about havin’ dreams for yourself. We’re more alike than you think, darlin’,” he says, wiping his hands on the paper napkins from the bag.

She quirks her eyebrow at him.

He sighs, as though he’s been holding a weight on his shoulders. “I’m know I’m lucky. My dream came true and’s put me in a position that most don’t ever get to. I’ve spent a long time makin’ sure my people are taken care of, and I love to be able to do it, but I also know it can be…” he trails off, a look of guilt flashing over his features as he waves his hand in the air.

All she can do is nod at this confession. He doesn’t need to finish for her to know exactly what he means. Burdensome. Difficult. Soul-sucking.

He shakes himself off, whistling lowly, a shy smile curving up on his face.

Pepper’s heart starts pounding in her chest partially because he’s trusted her with this knowledge of himself and she’s trusted him with her own. The vulnerability of that is strange and somewhat uncomfortable to sit with. But it pounds also because she realizes with chagrin the meal is over and she doesn’t know what he expects of her next.

Despite her job, she does not have a habit of spending the night with men she’s just met, but Elvis is not just any man. There have only been a handful of boyfriends, half of which were back at home, and certainly none recently with what little free time she has. She’s no prude but she’s not exactly experienced, either. And one-night stands are not her thing.

He has been nothing but a gentleman this whole night and didn’t even ogle her when her top had been ripped. There was no reason to even think that he wanted such a thing from her, yet there is tension building in the air that she doesn’t know what to do with. Maybe it’s because when she looks at him in his well-cut suit with no shirt underneath (shivering at the fact it’s because it’s on her) and sees the sweaty tuft of chest hair that is exposed against his tan skin, something deeply primal rises in her and she wants more than anything to feel it beneath her hands.

Pepper blinks and quickly looks away. She knows what it’s like to be eyed up and down by the opposite sex and thinks it’s a little strange that they share that in common, too. Making him uncomfortable is the last thing she wants to do but now she is not sure what to do with her eyes and finds herself staring at a tear in the fabric of the sofa instead.

Elvis coughs, and she can’t help but look up at him then. Getting caught in those endless, sparkling eyes, mere feet from her, she wonders how in the hell the world is supposed to go back to normal after tonight. How she is supposed to go back to working her multiple soul-sucking jobs, to try to forget the way he is looking at her now, like she is actually something special? That she matters enough to save her in a back alley and is worth him literally giving her the shirt off his back?

Her body betrays her, then, a huge yawn escaping her mouth of its own accord. It reminds her it has been an extraordinarily long day and that she has the monotony of another tomorrow, despite everything that has happened in the last few hours.

“I think it’s time for me to go and let you get some rest, little one,” he says quietly, that little smile of his pulling at his mouth in a way that makes her think he doesn’t want to leave but will anyway because that is the kind of man he really is—not some sex-crazed superstar locked in an ivory tower that the magazines might try and make him out to be. He stands and makes for the door.

Jumping up abruptly, Pepper follows him to the door. She is not ready for this to end. She is not ready for this to be the last time she ever sees Elvis Presley. But she is also realistic and practical. Her life is no fairy tale, nor does she need a prince to save her, as tempting as it all may seem in the moment.

“T-thank you…for earlier. As much as I’m loathe to admit it, I don’t want to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t come along,” she says quietly, feeling utterly caught in his blue-eyed gaze. “And thanks for the food, too. I’m feeling much better.”

There is a twinkle in his eye. “I’m glad I could be there for you when you needed it, Peppercorn,” he says with such kindness that she thinks she might cry.

Silence sits heavily between them and she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from his. He finally turns to go, hand on the knob, and she moves closer to hold the door, but suddenly he pauses and turns back. She nearly runs into him. This close, she can feel the heat radiating off his body and it scares her how much she craves the comfort of it.

“My show o-opens this w-week,” he says, stammering endearingly. “I’d like you to be there.”

Her heart jumps into her throat and her limbs feel tingly. “I would love to,” she gushes but then reality hits her and her face falls, “but I have to work. I-I can’t afford to lose my job. I’m so sorry.” She wants to cry, but that would be even worse than rejecting his offer. Don’t be a baby.

Pepper thinks she might imagine it, but Elvis seems defeated, too, for a split second before he smiles knowingly. “Well, we’ll see what happens, honey. The universe works in mysterious ways, don’t it?”

Cocking her head to the side, she wonders what he means by this, but she is too disappointed to try to piece it out now. She is also distracted by his bare chest rising and falling so close, the scent of him permeating her senses. The air in the room feels thick and hot, despite the whirring of the air conditioner in the window. He starts to turn again towards the door.

I don’t want him to go.

“Wait!” she shouts, a little too loudly for the proximity and he jumps a bit. “Your shirt—let me get changed real quick and I can give you back your shirt,” she rambles out, making for her bedroom.

His hand encompasses her small wrist, his firm touch branding her in such a pleasurable way that she gasps. He turns her back around to face him, bringing her closer towards him. She goes willingly, too enthralled by the nearness of him to keep her distance. She’s usually better than this, keeping a safe distance from the wiles of men, but she has never felt the pull of someone so strongly. It’s like he’s magnetized. And he’s succeeded in making her feel safe and valued in a way she’s not used to, leaving her rather defenseless against his charms.

“Don’t bother, sweetheart. It looks better on you anyway,” he says, his lips curling up into a grin that melts her heart into a pile of goo. He runs his fingers along and down the tall collar of the shirt, and the action, while innocent, sends a glorious heat into her belly.

“Oh,” is all she can manage to get out, her tongue tied into knots. She desperately doesn’t want this to end. She considers asking him to stay, but both courage and words fail her.

His eyes scan her face and then he brushes her long hair back over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Peppercorn, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other soon,” he says, as if reading her mind, as if he doesn’t want this to end either.

She nods, as if this makes all the sense in the world. It sets her heart galloping. She feels like it is about to beat out of her body when his long finger tilts her chin up to him, and he leans in and kisses her ever-so-gently on the cheek.

Her breath catches at the feel of his soft lips on her skin. It is somehow chaste yet incredibly erotic all at the same time. As a long-neglected warmth pools between her legs, a giddiness that washes over her that makes her feel like a schoolgirl.

Elvis lingers perhaps a moment too long before pulling back. “Goodnight, honey,” he whispers, then turns and leaves.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” she manages to squeak out before he disappears into darkness.

Once he’s out of sight, Pepper closes and locks the door, befuddled and hopeful and confused all at once. Her forehead lands on the wood as she closes her eyes, trying to reconcile this whole night with some semblance of reality.

He surprised her, truly, in his ability to be so down to earth. She is astonished (though perhaps she shouldn’t be) that he seems so complex, and she can’t help feeling connected to him because of all the small ways they are unpredictably alike. There is a part of her that very much wants to believe him when he said they would see each other again, but she knows her life isn’t build on wishes and dreams. It never has been, and she doesn’t expect that will change anytime soon, despite the bizarre fact that she can still smell the lingering scent of Elvis’ cologne in her living room.

Just be glad you had any time with him at all, she tells herself to try and manage her expectations. It would take a miracle for us to cross paths again.

Suddenly exhausted, she floats through her bedtime routine in a daze. But her doubts about the future don’t stop her from sleeping in his shirt, though, savoring the lingering scent of him on her skin and in her bed. And the feel of his lips on her cheek replays in her mind over and over as she reaches into her already damp panties to relive the ache he’s left her with. It doesn’t take much to bring her over the edge—imagining his sweet, pouty lips on her and his long fingers deep inside her does the trick—before she arches up with a strangled cry, clenching around nothing but a fantasy.

Breathing hard and barely sated, she collapses into the bed, wishing she’d been bold enough to invite him in with her. Refusing to wallow in regret, she finally manages to drift off to sleep with the unrealistically hopeful thought that his knowing smile means she’ll get to see him again someday soon, just as he promised.

Era One-Shot

A/N: This one has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for quite a while. Sweet Symphony started as a special request for '68 Special era Elvis from my Get to Know Me Gala way back in March! I also included the prompt, "Do it again, please." Nothing like a good two-fer!

A professional violinist Reader gets a little more than she bargains for after rehearsal for Elvis Presley's '68 Special...

Mature 18+ || Word count: 9.2k

TW: Sexxx in various forms, fluff, cussing, dubious use of a piano

For my most patient baby, @savedrebelcreation 💗

(If you want to get stories like this early, come join my Patreon!)

GIF by seredelgi

Sweet Symphony

A ’68 Special Era Request

You’re early. Too early, in fact, but your mother always said, “If you’re on time, you’re late,” so it goes to reason that for such an important job, you find yourself clicking your heels into the rehearsal room a full hour before it’s set to start.

The only reason they allowed you in this early is that your brother-in-law, Billy, is the one in charge of this portion of the production rehearsal, arranging the music for Elvis Presley’s television special due out in December. He had been tasked, rather last minute, to take over the musical arrangements. When your sister called on Billy’s behalf, saying he desperately needed a professional violinist to fill in for the one who’d been suddenly struck with a bout of appendicitis, you were a little confused at first. Why in the world would Elvis Presley need a violinist? had been the first thought in your head, but a job is a job, and you figure a television special of this magnitude wouldn’t hurt your classical resume.

Sure, why not? you’d thought, then packed up your violin and got a ticket for the next plane out to LA. If nothing else, I’ll get some sun.

Since your plane arrived late, you made the executive decision to go straight to the studio rather than chance the traffic by checking into your hotel first. Which is how you find yourself in the near-dark rehearsal space before anyone else has even thought to arrive, violin and suitcase in tow. At least you’ll get a chance to look over the score Billy just handed you before anyone else arrives, you think, finding a chair and settling in to unpack and prepare your instrument.

So focused are you that you don’t really register the door opening and then latching closed. You figure it is just Billy, who had been frantically going over sheet music up in the booth. When the piano begins to play, softly, you nearly jump out of your skin with surprise, having been so lost in sight reading and humming your part that you were oblivious to the presence of another in the room.

“Oh my god!” you gasp in surprise, managing to knock the loose pages of the score off the music stand as your hand flies up to your chest. “Damnit,” you mutter under your breath, scurrying to pick up the pages and put them back in order.

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to startle ya,” you hear a gentle voice drawl out from the darkness.

“Oh, no, I just wasn’t expecting anyone in here so early and I was so caught up in…” you taper off, furrowing your brow and trying to get your sheet music situated.

“Here, lemme help you with that,” the voice says, kneeling to pick up loose pages.

“Oh, thank…” your voice hitches when you look down at the man holding up more music that had fluttered away across the floor.

It’s the sparkling sapphire blue eyes that catch you first, framed in criminally long, dark lashes, blinking up at you from where he’s kneeling on the floor next to your chair. They are utterly mesmerizing in the way they search your face apologetically. Your voice dies in your suddenly dry throat, and so mesmerized are you with those eyes that it takes you much too long to take in the rest of him.

That’s when you realize that the man with the pretty eyes on his knees near your feet is the one and only Elvis Presley.

“…you. Thank you,” you manage to finish, gingerly taking the pages from his grasp.

Elvis smiles up at you so bashfully, so charmingly, that it takes your breath away.

It doesn’t hit you until this very moment that you are playing for the Elvis Presley. Between everything happening so quickly and you assuming you wouldn’t get to meet the man himself, you just hadn’t considered the magnitude of the job.

You’d just hit your teenage years when Elvis came into his stardom, the timing perfect for swooning over the Southern boy with the rebellious good looks and the completely unique sound. But your parents had been strict and conservative, opting for your upbringing to be filled with learning and playing classical music, so the only chance you’d had to listen to Elvis was when you went to your girlfriend’s house. There you could swoon over him unimpeded, but it was more vicarious than anything else. And by the time you were old enough to properly swoon to your heart’s content, you were so busy with your music degree that it hadn’t really crossed your mind to ogle over Elvis.

To be quite honest, you had become a bit of a music snob at that point, so Elvis wasn’t really on your radar, though you had been impressed by his reworked English version of O Solo Mio. His It’s Now or Never had been a massive hit, and he had amazed you with his vocal talent, which you were convinced was wasted on silly pop songs. Needless to say, Elvis and his music had been off your radar for a long, long time.

You certainly hadn’t realized the man had only gotten more attractive as time went on. Magazine pictures and even his movies (which you hadn’t cared to watch since the beginning of the decade) don’t do him justice, which is saying something since you’d never once seen the man look anything less than handsome. But those damn eyes pop against his tanned skin and raven hair, and that curved-lip smile has butterflies flying in your stomach like a schoolgirl.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, still kneeling at your feet.

“My name? Oh, um, my name is y/n,” you stammer out. You could kick yourself for how gobsmacked you sound, a grown professional woman nearly forgetting her own name in the presence of an attractive man. But the thing is he isn’t just attractive—he’s ethereal.

“Well, hello there, y/n. I’m Elvis,” he says, as if he were just some regular Joe and not one of the most famous men alive. “What do you play?” He motions to your music.

“Uh, violin. Well, and piano, but violin professionally,” you reply, unable to take your eyes off him.

His eyes light up at this. “I play piano, too,” he says, with such a little boy quality that you can’t help but smile.

“Oh?” This surprises you quite a bit since he is so synonymous with the birth of rock and roll and you’d only ever seen him with an acoustic guitar.

“Yeah, a lotta people don’t know that, but between you and me, I like playin’ piano more,” he says, with a wink. Elvis stands up from his crouch with little effort, so lithely that you equate it to a dancer. Your eyes follow up, up, up his lean frame, and you try not to notice just how well his tailored outfit fits him.

He walks back towards the piano he came from, and you blush when you catch yourself staring at his backside, like some sort of lecherous creep. Quickly turning your attention back to the pages of music in your lap, you force yourself to try and make sense of page numbers, shuffling them back into order.

“Do you know this one?” Elvis suddenly asks, shocking you by playing the opening notes of a well-known Beethoven piece.

“Yeah, I mean, yes. I do,” you respond, still stumbling over your words. “That’s Moonlight Sonata.”

“What happens after this part?” he asks, playing the beginning again. The question seems quite honest, still having that curious, young quality about it. Before you think better of it, you’re walking over to the piano.

“May I?” you say, standing near the bench. Music is your language. You’ve always been better with an instrument at your fingertips than with your words. It makes you feel bolder, so when Elvis only scoots over instead of yielding the bench, it doesn’t stop you from perching next to him.

It only takes a second for the movement to come back to you and you place your hands on the keys, letting them speak for you. You’ve done your share of teaching, so it doesn’t take but a moment to fall into that role. You just try not to think too hard on that fact that it’s Elvis Presley that you’re teaching.

He’s nodding along, eyes focused solely on your hands. So close to him, you can feel the way the music affects his body. It’s something you can relate to.

You stop yourself from speeding too far ahead in the music and pull your hands away from the keys. “Is that…do you want me to go again, or do you want to try it?” you ask.

“Do it again. Please?” he asks watching your hands with incredible focus.

You do, trying to keep it simple and without too much flourish.

“Okay, so it’s like this then?” he says after you finish, and as his long, slender fingers glide across the keys, you realize they are musician’s fingers. They may be dripping with jewels that are likely more expensive than your apartment, but they are quite perfect for the kind of instruments he plays. It strikes you he was made to do this.

You recognize then that Elvis is truly a musician and not just a performer. The way he concentrates, learning and adapting quickly as you show him more of the song, only by ear and sight, amazes you.

It's through the music that you begin to calm. Talking one musician to another is much more manageable than considering the magnitude of the person you’re speaking with. Frankly, you are completely amazed by how incredibly gentle and disarming the man is.

When the door opens again, both of you are consumed enough in the music that it doesn’t faze you much.

“Oh, hey Elvis! Just the man I needed to see. I hope y/n isn’t bothering you,” Billy says, in a teasing tone only a family member could produce.

“Hello to you, too, Billy,” you say, a bit annoyed at the interruption and at feeling put in your place as if you were still a child.

“Oh, no, not at all. She’s a great teacher,” Elvis grins, bumping your shoulder. “You two…know each other?” he then asks, his smile faltering in the slightest as he looks from you to Billy. The question is innocent enough, but the way he says it gives you pause and your heart flips.

“Since she was practically in diapers. She’s my sister-in-law,” Billy says.

“Twelve isn’t in diapers, Billy,” you scoff at him, then turn to Elvis. “He’s married to my older sister yet has never hesitated to treat me like a baby. Lucky me.”

“Aw, you know I only put up with you because you’re too talented for your own good,” Billy ribs, making to muss your hair.

You duck swiftly out of the way, bumping into Elvis in the process. “Oh, sorry!” you breath out.

Elvis just chuckles at the two of you, looking pleased as punch, though you’re not exactly sure why.

“I think what you meant to say is, ‘Thank you for dropping everything to fly across the country last minute to help me, dearest sister-in-law,’” you throw at Billy, batting your lashes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it. Now, skedaddle. I need to talk to Elvis,” Billy shoos you.

You suppress the urge to stomp your foot and pout, but you realize you really should act more professional than you are. Settling for a huff at Billy, you turn to Elvis. “It was nice to meet you,” you say, all the spunkiness you had towards Billy deflating into shyness the moment you look into those dark blue eyes again.

“Oh, I have no doubt we’ll be talkin’ again soon, honey, and thank you for the lesson,” Elvis drawls softly.

His words send a cascade of shivers through your limbs. You feel heady as you stand from the bench, shooting a familial glare Billy’s way, noticing the frown on his face as you do so. God, even with you being 27, Billy had the ability to make you feel like a scolded younger sister.

You force yourself not to look back as you head to your chair. Be a professional. Just because Elvis is handsome doesn’t mean he’s not the man you’re ultimately working for. Busying yourself with rearranging your music, you hear Billy usher Elvis out and up into the booth.

Well, that’s that, you think, rosining your bow, and you get to practicing.

You’ve been at your share of long rehearsals, but you will admit this one is both long and intense. The music Billy has arranged—this “Guitar Man” medley of some of Elvis’ songs—isn’t difficult music to play, per say, but you can now sense an underlying importance around this entire operation. Part of it is the barely held back frantic look in Billy’s eyes, and knowing him as you do, for him to be this frazzled means there’s a lot on the line. However, it’s when Elvis comes back, much later, to run through the medley with the orchestra, that you realize you can sense it in him, too. It’s well-hidden, to be sure, when the man introduces himself and shakes hands with the members of the orchestra, and you probably wouldn’t even have noticed if it weren’t for the relaxed way he’d been with you earlier in the day, but it’s an undercurrent all the same. Then, they send him into the booth to do his thing.

And, boy, does he. You’ve worked your share of Broadway musicals and operas, but you’ve never seen a man completely give himself over to the work in just a rehearsal quite the way Elvis does with this medley. It’s like he’s singing for his life. By the time it’s all through, Elvis exits the booth, dripping with sweat, exhausted but exuberant. His eyes sparkle and his body hums, some part of him tapping or jiggling or wiggling every moment, as though the music had become electricity in his veins.

You try not to stare as you slowly put away your bow, your violin, collecting your music from the black stand. You try not to, but you keep stealing glances because not only does he look enticing, but it’s also more that you connect with the feelings he seems to be having. The way the music can just take over and become something else inside you, as if you are the conduit to something much bigger than yourself. This you understand. And you’d never imagined a sensation like Elvis Presley would feel the music that way, too. Perhaps this is the secret to his massive success.

Almost all the other musicians have packed and left by now. You tell yourself you’re stalling so you can say goodnight to Billy before hailing a cab and finally checking into your hotel by midnight. You are exhausted, after a day of traveling and frenetic rehearsal, yet you are buzzing with the excitement only music seems to bring you. And you can’t help that the part of you that feels that way is being drawn towards Elvis like a magnet.

When Elvis catches your less-than-sly stare, a million-dollar smile spreads over his face and your heart flip-flops in your chest so hard it takes your breath away. Caught, you quickly and conspicuously look up and away, as though that will save the burning embarrassment on your cheeks. Suddenly, all you can think of is how fast you can get out of here, and you finish packing up like a fire has been lit under you. You scurry towards the door, hoping to escape before making a fool of yourself further.

“Hey, Miss Moonlight,” Elvis says, fingers light on your arm, stopping you before you reach the door, “whaddya say you join us back at my place for a little get together?”

The nickname would usually make you roll your eyes, but coming from him so sweetly, you balk under the attention. It distracts you so much that it takes a full second to realize that he’s just invited you to his place.

“I…uh, it’s been a long day. I-I haven’t even checked into my hotel yet,” you stammer, the excuse so unconvincing you might laugh if you weren’t so befuddled and nervous that Elvis is asking you…well, you’re not exactly sure what he’s asking you.

He quirks a perfect raven brow at you. When he steps in closer, you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“Well, I can have Joe swing you by your hotel before headin’ over, if you’d like, though there’s plenty of space at the house. We can set up a room for ya…s’probably more comfortable than a hotel,” Elvis drawls quietly in your ear.

You’ve never heard a man make a pass so naturally in your life, so much so that you almost hesitate to believe it is one. His low voice and the open suggestiveness spear straight into your core, threatening to melt you into a puddle on the spot.

In any other circumstance, you would laugh in a man’s face for suggesting such a thing. Generally shy, reserved, and cerebral, you’re certainly not the kind of woman who just spends the night at a strange man’s place. But this isn’t any other circumstance. This is Elvis Presley asking you to stay the night with him.

And maybe he does just mean it casually—a “hey, come party with us and you can sleep on the couch”—but at the moment, your body doesn’t know the difference. Your inner pragmatist begins listing off all the ways this is a terrible idea, but the only thing that cuts through the noise is the regret you know you’ll feel if you don’t accept this invitation.

“Um…well, okay. I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose, of course,” you manage to breathe back.

His lip curves up into an almost bashful smile. “Oh, Moonlight, you couldn’t be an imposition if you tried. Plus, you hafta show me how to play the rest of that piece,” he says, running a calloused fingertip down your pointer finger.

You can’t help the shudder that runs through you or the way your heart catches in your throat. “Well, how could I possibly refuse?” you finally get out.

“Fantastic! Hey, Joe, this is my new friend, y/n,” he says enthusiastically, calling over the shorter man. “She’s gonna be joining us tonight.”

Joe seems kind enough, albeit barely looks or speaks to you after the main introductions. Before you know it, you, your violin, and your suitcase are packed into the back of what you assume is a ridiculously expensive vehicle. Elvis slides in behind you, and you, now sandwiched between him and the car door, think you ought to feel apprehensive about the situation, but all your attention is fixed on how Elvis’ side is pressed up against yours. The heat radiates off him, bleeding into you, his leg bouncing so quickly that you think he might need to get out and run laps. He makes conversation, asking about how you came to be a musician and you uncharacteristically and nervously start rambling about yourself. You’ve got to give him credit for the way he nods and hums, truly seeming to listen to you even though your mouth is running almost uncontrollably.

By the time you arrive at the house, you feel as if you’ve told Elvis your life story and you abruptly shutter your mouth closed. God, I am such an idiot. Way to play it cool, y/n, you berate yourself.

Elvis kindly helps you out of the car, walking you toward the house as Joe follows with your violin and suitcase in tow. The way your heart pounds against your ribcage threatens to do you in—it’s all suddenly become very real that Elvis Presley is leading you into his house where you are going to surreptitiously spend the night. His hand is guiding you so gently at the small of your back, but the heat of it blazes through you.

Oh, get a grip! The man has probably touched thousands of women, you’re no different. You’re not special.

Realizing you’re holding your breath, you force yourself to take in air as inconspicuously as possible.

“You don’t gotta be nervous, baby,” he says, a cheeky little smile gracing those luscious lips of his.

“Sorry, I…this just isn’t where I thought I’d be at the end of this very long day,” you chuckle.

“Well, let’s make you at home then.” His smile turns reassuring and warm.

He spends the next hour getting you comfortable and fed, having the most amazing ability to relax your normally nervous nature without hardly trying. You can’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach at the way he seems to be continuously touching you—the press of his leg, an arm around your shoulders, the graze of a finger against yours—in a familiar way, even though you’ve known him less than a day. If it were anyone else, you would have leapt off the couch and run for the hills.

What surprises you the most is that you aren’t uncomfortable at all. Excited and nervous, yes. But you don’t feel preyed upon or anything of the sort. Frankly, you are trying not to get ahead of yourself about what the rest of the night might bring.

An impromptu jam session with his old bandmates has you feeling even more surreal. If someone had told you yesterday that you would get a private concert with Elvis Presley and his former band, you would have laughed at them. You find yourself unable to take your eyes off him and how he seems to get completely lost in the music, and you right along with him. His gritty baritone combined with the sensual way he tackles each song has warmth pooling in your belly. Despite the cranked-up air conditioning, you find yourself sweating and parched, especially in the moments he smiles in your direction.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, only that you feel the heady exhaustion of being up too long coupled with an uncharacteristic hungry adrenaline running through your veins. When the jam session ends, you are both disappointed and exhilarated for what might come next.

Don’t get your hopes up, you remind yourself. This night has been amazing no matter what happens next.

“Did you enjoy that, Moonlight?” he leans over and whispers in your ear. It tickles you and sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod. “Oh, yes.” It comes out more breathless than you’d like.

You feel him smile against your cheek. “Are you up for teaching me more of that sonata, honey?” he asks. It’s an innocent enough request but you can’t tell exactly what his motivations are, though for the first time in your life, you’re not sure it matters.

“Of course,” you say quietly, starting for the piano in the corner of the living space.

His warm hand catches yours, and you look back, surprised, as he shakes his head and pulls you in the opposite direction.

Your heart threatens to beat out of your ribcage as he leads you down the hall and into what you assume is his private suite. It’s not until he closes the door and you realize that you are utterly alone with him that you feel a glimmer of trepidation.

It must read on your face because he jumps in to reassure you. “Oh, honey, I just want to get to know you better, away from the rest of them. I’d never hurt you or make you do anything you didn’t want to do. Honestly, I don’t want the other guys ribbing me…they don’t go for the classical stuff,” he says quietly, looking away, and you think there might be a little pink rising on his cheeks.

His sincerity is palpable, and you certainly never expected him to be bashful about playing classical music. There’s a softness to him now, almost a shyness, that wasn’t present moments ago around all his entourage. It is like a yearning for one-on-one connection, and this part of him melts all your reservations and tugs at your heartstrings.

“Well, I do…go for the classical stuff, I mean,” you say quietly. You smile and squeeze his hand reassuringly as his deep blue eyes find yours again.

He looks giddy as he leads you to the second piano in the house, a baby grand in the far corner of the large suite. You sit down, opening the lid, and he slides in beside you. The heat of him rolls around you, the smell of his cologne and a day’s worth of sweat combining into an alluring combination that perks up your senses.

“Show me what you remember,” you say, and he starts to play, long, nimble fingers gliding gracefully over the keys. It amazes you that he committed everything you showed him earlier to memory so fast and so accurately. Something about it tightens a coil low in your belly. Unsure whether it’s your attraction to him physically or musically that has you so aroused, you swallow hard as he finishes abruptly.

You shake it off as best you can as you show him more of the movement, hoping the music might quell the buzzing in your veins. You go through it a few times, getting a little lost in the notes, as you tend to do. It only serves to stoke the fire in you when he picks up what you’ve shown him so quickly.

He finishes a phrase, and you move to show him the next, but his hand suddenly covers yours. Surprised, you look over at him to find his oceanic eyes searching your face so intimately that warmth blooms across your chest and your breath catches in the silence.

Slowly, Elvis leans over, cups your cheek gently, and kisses you. It’s almost chaste the way his incredibly soft lips press into yours and your surprise is so great that by the time you register what is happening, he is already pulling away.

His eyes open slowly, those lashes fluttering along with the fluttering in your heart and belly. Shock has you outwardly frozen but it’s as if he lit every one of your nerve endings on fire with the touch of his lips.

He must register your surprise as hesitance because his gaze changes to something akin to apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare ya. I shouldn’t’ve—”

Before he can get the rest of that sentence out, your body miraculously obeys you and you unfreeze. Boldly cupping his jaw with both hands, you pull him back to you and plant your lips on his.

It surprises both of you, and it’s a second before either of you relaxes into the kiss. This permission is all it takes, however, and then his mouth is languidly searching yours and his arms are wrapping around you to pull you close. Soft, short kisses alternate with longer more passionate ones, and you feel utterly spellbound by him, every inch of your body aware and alert to his.

Never in your life have you been kissed so well or so thoroughly. It’s as if the music in his soul must find a physical outlet, and the way he explores and opens you up to him is like him playing a new instrument. When his tongue rolls softly against your lower lip, you can’t suppress the low moan that comes out of you, causing you to open your mouth. He accepts the invitation readily, expertly, and the wet plushness of his tongue slowly begins exploring.

The warmth that sparkles and blooms across your chest travels lower still, sparking fires as it goes, until you feel your pulse throbbing between your legs. It’s nearly unbearable the way he stokes you without hardly trying. You’ve never felt so aroused so quickly or so completely.

Your eagerness is impossible to contain, your fingers buried in that luxuriously soft hair at the base of his neck, your body rolling towards his of its own accord, as if magnetized. You follow his rhythm, meeting his music with your own.

When he pulls back to trail kisses down your jaw, you are left breathless and clutching the lapels of his half-unbuttoned shirt. The nuzzle of his nose on your cheek as he finds and licks the tender spot behind your ear leaves you gasping. Pleased, he does it again and your entire body shudders.

Every inch of you yearns to be consumed by him. It’s never felt like this, not with any man you’ve been with. Those were fumbling amateurs playing one handed melodies in comparison to the symphony Elvis is invoking. While he is leading and in control, you sense as much eagerness from him as there is in you. It’s reassuring and flattering all at once.

There is an embarrassing amount of slick between your legs already, soaking the cotton of your panties and leaving you clenching your thighs together in search of friction. He must notice this as he kisses down your throat and across your décolletage because then he’s looking up at you for permission with those pink, swollen lips and dreamy bedroom eyes.

It’s unspoken, but you nod and he continues his sweet journey, one hand deftly unzipping the back of your dress while his lips follow gravity as it slips down your arms and reveals your chest. Pushing the fabric off and to your waist, his hand is then hot against your bare stomach. He hums in approval when his mouth finds the swell of your breasts that spill from your simple, beige bra.

A low whine escapes you. His apt response is to thumb your nipple to attention through the thin satin before lapping at the bud with his tongue. The result is a jolt of electricity shooting straight into your core, sending you clutching his neck and writhing against him. Expertly, he undoes the clasp in the back and abandons your bra to the floor in what must be a well-practiced motion based on the speed of it.

Goosebumps rise across your now fully exposed flesh, both from the cool air in the room and the way his fingers brush so lightly over your breasts. He seems pleased with the way your nipples stand at attention under his heated gaze. You don’t have the wherewithal to feel your usual self-consciousness; instead, the sight of his pupils blown black with arousal has you shivering with nothing but anticipation.

The combination of the way his tongue darts between his lips as he lightly pinches the hardened buds has you begging for more. “Please,” you moan and that’s all it takes before he’s lathing his tongue over and around the sensitive nubs, palming the fullness of your breasts. You can hardly stand it, how everything he does makes your body sing and want to scream his praises.

A quizzical look crosses your features though when he stops his ministrations and slides to his knees on the carpet on his side of the bench. For a second you are worried something you’ve done something to hurt or displease him, but when he beckons you towards him at the end of the bench with such arousal in his eyes it nearly knocks you over, you obey without a thought.

Elvis scoots you forward and kisses your belly, sending a new wave of tingles over you. He removes one of your low-heeled pumps and then the other, ghosting kisses along your ankles before running his large hands up the smoothness of your pantyhose, pushing your dress up with them. As if under a spell, you can’t help the way your legs fall open for him when his thumbs drag up the insides of your thighs. The little coy smirk that graces that beautiful face when he feels the damp that has soaked through to the gusset of your hose has your cheeks flushing and your lips parting.

You can’t bring yourself to be too embarrassed at how wet you are because the pleased look on his face at the discovery makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. He pulls on the waistband, forcing you to lift your hips, before gently rolling the hose down your legs until they are off and discarded on the floor.

What you don’t expect is how he begins peppering soft kisses up your now bare calves, at the inside of your knees, and then up your inner thighs.

A swell of panic hits the farther up he goes, and you jerk up, unsure of what exactly he’s meaning to do. The men you’d been with in the past had been rather direct about the whole thing—once the clothes were off, they buried their pecker inside you and thrust above you, all with varying levels of success in getting you off as they did so.

But not a single one had kissed up your thighs and spread them open with a hungry and expectant look like the one Elvis had now.

Looking down at him, confused, you ask, “What are you doing?” in a voice that is a little too apprehensive for your liking, but you need to know.

He cocks his head at you a moment, as if trying to determine your level of seriousness. Then his eyes shine with understanding and in that low, Southern drawl of his says the downright naughtiest thing you’ve ever had a man say to you: “You ain’t never had a man take good care of your kitty before, have ya? Give her all the love and attention she deserves?” He runs a fingertip lightly over the wet cotton at your center and you shiver.

He can’t possibly mean what you think he means.

You must be gaping because he rises on his knees and catches your lips with his own before breathing, “Close that pretty mouth baby or you’re liable to catch flies up in there.”

You are speechless, unable to form words, but the question is written all over your face.

He leans back on his knees with a contemplative smile. “That sweet little kitty of yours ain’t never been eaten, has she, baby?”

Oh my god.

It’s all you can do to bite back a moan and shake your head at him.

He looks positively gleeful about this development, his shining eyes taking on a whole new level of arousal. Then he seems to notice your trepidation and reigns himself in.

“That okay with you, baby?” he asks.

You had never even considered it an option before, or that a man might like to do such a thing. Maybe he’s teasing you? Suddenly you feel very conscious of the mechanics of the act and breathlessly mumble, “You don’t…you’re sure?”

“Oh, I am.” The smile of anticipation on his face seems to echo the sentiment.

The enticing thought of that beautiful mouth of his being down there on you outweighs your uncertainty and prudishness. You nod your head. “O-Okay.”

You’ve never seen a man look so thrilled at the thought of being between your legs as Elvis Presley is. “Don’tcha worry, I’m gonna take real good care of ya,” he says comfortingly. “You just lie back and relax and let me make you feel good, honey.” Then he places a kiss just under the waistband of your panties and you let out a little sigh.

The piano bench feels slightly warm on you bare back as you lay down. Elvis, grabbing under your thighs, pulls you to the edge, and your heart resumes its pounding. You truly can’t believe any of this is about to happen and steel yourself for him to rip off your underwear and go to town.

But he doesn’t.

No, he takes his time warming you up, as if he’s trying to get you used to the idea. He kisses down one hip then trails down the panty line. You tense the closer he gets to your core but then he only ghosts a breath over it before jumping to the other leg and kisses up the crease on that side. The ticklish sensation is almost too much to bear as he works his way up to the waistband again.

You are panting by the time his mouth is grazing from your belly button downwards, pressing into the soft curls beneath the fabric. He stops just short of that forbidden little spot where your aching clit resides, and you push up on your elbows to shoot him a look.

A grin spreads over his features, his eyes narrowed like a crocodile’s and full of desire and he watches you intently as he finally places a light kiss over that sensitive little button.

The sensation is nothing like anything you’ve felt before and the whole scene has your body flaming white hot. You don’t recognize the low mewl that erupts from your lips and the only thing keeping you from throwing your head back is the way his eyes are locked on yours, as if feeding off your reaction. Then he uses his perfect nose to nuzzle into it before placing a firmer kiss there.

“Elvissss,” you whine, unable to keep from throwing your head back this time.

“You like that, baby? I barely even started,” he speaks, his hot breath puffing over the slicked core of your panties. He kisses down, down until over your entrance, where he then tongues the fabric, pressing it up and into you.

“Honey, you’ve done soaked right through,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure if he’s speaking to you or directly to your pussy. You’re not sure you care for the way you moan, the way your body shudders and writhes, suddenly starving for anything he’s willing to give.

“Lemme see how pretty she is,” he says, and God, if his filthy yet somehow sweet words aren’t stroking you in such a way that you wonder if you could come from his lilting voice alone. He pulls your underwear to the side, finally baring yourself to him, and he whistles.

“Just lovely, and all weepy for me, too,” he says, voice thick with lust now.

The anticipation has your heart racing and your fingers clawing at the wooden bench with a whimper.

“Okay, baby, I hear ya,” he murmurs kindly, then hooks his fingers in the sides of your panties and finally slides them down and off your legs. Then his hands are pushing them apart and his tongue is lightly skimming up your folds.

You gasp at the soft and silky feeling, unready even despite his preparations. When he circles your clit and then kisses it, bare this time, you are so aroused you’re afraid you might weep. But the teasing is done, and he tests you expertly. His tongue flattens and takes in the full breadth of you, licking a stripe up your pussy that sends your hips rolling.

He seems to gauge every reaction carefully, giving equal and alternating attention to every piece of you. Nipping, suckling, and kissing your swollen clit into submission and just when you think that heated coil in your belly might snap you in two, he moves down and kisses through your folds. When he laps at the arousal dripping from your tight little hole, tongues it, and then plunges it inside of you, you find yourself screaming out his name.

You can feel him smile and hum at your response, the vibrations adding entirely new sensations to the slew of new sensations you are feeling. He thumbs at your clit as he laps at your hole, and you think you might hyperventilate with how fast you’re breathing and how hot you feel.

So completely attuned to you, he pulls back and gives you a break, despite your whimpering protests. His full lips are swollen pink and slick down to his chin with you, and when his lip curls up into a knowing but almost bashful smile, you think this might be the eighth wonder of the world.

“You alright? I’m doin’ okay?” he asks, his left eyebrow quirking.

You giggle, almost drunkenly even though you’re entirely sober, because the question is so absurd but sweet of him. “Yes, yes, yes,” you say, words slurring.

“Okay, good,” he says, nodding. Then he rises on up on his knees and commands you forward with a come-hither motion so deft and quick, it has you drooling.

You are powerless to resist and push your dazed self to your elbows on the bench. He meets you halfway, kissing you deeply, lewdly letting you taste the tang of yourself on his lips. Distracted as you are by his wandering mouth, you aren’t ready for the way he slides two of those perfectly long musician’s fingers up through your silky folds and deep into your wet heat.

A shocked gasp quickly turns into a moan that he swallows with another kiss. He begins ever-so-slowly pumping those fingers into you and the rough pad of his thumb circles that sensitive bundle of nerves at the hood of your sex.

“Goddamn, you’re so perfect, so tight,” he breathes into your mouth.

You can’t stop the shiver that ripples through you. “I-It’s been a-awhile,” you pant. You can’t help but look down and watch the way he works you.

“Don’t you worry, baby. I gotchu,” he purrs, then curves his fingers just so and the pleasure that courses through you has you crying out.

Your brain is fuzzy, with only one thing on its mind. Luckily, Elvis seems to be reading it because he smiles that coy smile and returns those full lips of his to your clit.

For a moment you think you might die from the intensity of the sensations he’s procuring from you. Seems an awful lot like God gave him long fingers and a full mouth not only for music, you think. Though the way he’s playing you right now and the noises he’s coaxing out of you makes it seem like a whole different type of song he’s expert at.

The way he traces and flicks and suckles your clit, coupled with the obscene sounds coming from the way he’s fingering your pussy has you writhing on the bench and gripping his beautiful hair in your hands.

More, more, more, is the only thought left.

He hums against you with one last kiss and a wildly accurate thrust and curve of his fingers. The coil inside you explodes, then white-hot, full-body shudders violently overtake you as you silently scream and hold onto him for dear life as to not fly away into the stratosphere.

Your orgasm is utterly mind altering and earth shattering.

“Good job, lil’ girl,” Elvis coos, soothing you through the aftershocks with a lathing tongue.

You can’t think straight enough to respond, only whimpering from the empty feeling when he removes his fingers, then gasping again when he laps at the arousal pouring out of your core.

It’s all too much, and, overstimulated, you whine and clench and pull at him.

He sits up again, between your legs, looking mighty pleased with himself. “Come ‘ere, darlin’,” he says, pulling you up by your arms and sliding you onto his lap. Boneless and naked (save for the dress bunched in a ring around your waist), your legs fall open, easily straddling his hips. Your hands grip at his shirt and you bury your head into his neck, still dizzy with release.

He holds you steady. “Didja like that? Your kitty all happy and purrin’ now?” he whispers in your ear, sending a new set of shivers down your spine. All you can manage is a pleased hum and a nod. You kiss his neck, tasting salt on his tanned skin.

A soft moan escapes his lips at that. Suddenly, you become quite aware of the hardness in his slacks, pressing up near your swollen folds. The embers of your arousal have not died, and you kiss his neck again while slowly rolling your hips into his.

Groaning, he tightens his arms around you, holding you to him. You nip at the throbbing pulse point on his neck and are reminded just how talented and famous these hips of his are when he rolls them back into you in response. He’s rock hard, straining against his zipper, the tip of him bumping against your sensitive clit. You moan and find his rhythm, feeling the wetness between your thighs start to soak through the fabric of his slacks, creating a delicious friction.

Elvis pants heavily in your ear, murmuring curses and praises as he grinds into you. At this rate, you think he might come in his pants, which just won’t do. Not with the way your pussy is buzzing, and that coil is tightening again in your belly. No, you need him inside you. You need him to fill you.

You use what little returning strength you have and rise on your knees, away from his needy cock. The man actually pouts, his lower lip jutting out with a desperate little whine and it is so alluring you almost forget what you’re trying to do. You place a finger over his lips to quiet him, then set to the task of trying to undo his lavish belt and zipper.

Once he understands, he races to help, making much quicker work of the whole thing and finally his cock springs free. It’s quite long, and the deep pink tip peeking out of his silky foreskin is already shiny and weeping with precum. Of its own accord, your finger slides over his slit, circling the slick tip and spreading the wetness gathered there. He hisses. You bring your finger to your mouth, tasting the salty musk of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, his hand palming his length. He gives it a pointed tug, then another, his lips falling open as he watches you.

He’s gorgeous in every way and it’s almost intimidating the way he looks at you with such open and vulnerable lust. You can’t bring yourself hold back or tease any longer, needing desperately to give him all of you, to give him what he needs. Hovering over him, you help line him up, then slowly descend onto his cock.

You are plenty wet—he’s seen to that—but even still, the stretch of him burns. It’s been too long since a man has been inside you like this and he is much longer than you anticipated.

A quiet, “Oh, oh, oh,” is all you manage to puff out as you bob slightly up and down, taking a little bit more of him with each tiny pump. He presses gentle kisses everywhere he can reach and murmurs encouraging praises with each inch that you conquer.

By the time you settle on the hilt of him, snug in his lap, you’re both groaning. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders because you are so full of him you don’t know what to do. You’ve never been so gorged and the pressure is a little frightening.

“Snug as a bug in a rug,” he slurs happily, letting you adjust around him. “Little Elvis likes you lots and lots, baby. S’like you were made just for him.”

“Little Elvis? H-He’s not so little,” you say with wide eyes, then giggle a little, which causes you to gasp from the tightness below and how it makes you clench even harder around him.

He groans. “If ya keep doing that, he’s not gonna last very long, darlin’.”

You try to move, but in this position and after that orgasm, you feel weak and a little like he’s spearing you in two. You’re almost too full, and the angle is not quite right. You wiggle in his lap, your brow furrowed, as your arms grow tighter around his neck. A low whine escapes your throat.

He notices your distress. Petting your hair, he babytalks at you, which under other circumstances might be strange for a grown man, but it comes so naturally to him somehow it both comforts and arouses you, “Oh, shh, shh, baby, s’okay. He’s a widdle much for ya, ain’t he? Sometimes he gets too ‘cited and gets ahead of ‘imself. But he’s gonna take real good care of ya, I promise.”

And with that, he gingerly shifts sideways, leans forward, and lays you down on the plush carpet under the piano. The movement has him sliding partially out of you, giving you some relief from the bursting sensation, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Your body relaxes.

He looks so gorgeous above you, with his raven hair falling in his eyes and a soft, bashful smile gracing his lips. You can’t help but smile back at him.

“That better?” he asks.

You nod.

Leaning down, he nuzzles your nose, then places soft kisses on your mouth. He coaxes you back to him, the heat building between you with each deepening kiss. So focused on the rolling of his tongue against yours, you don’t even realize he’s pressing deeper into you until he’s nestled almost completely, but much more comfortably between your legs.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth. The pressure still has you feeling full, but in a delicious, silky way this time as you finally relax around him. He rolls his hips smoothly, the strokes slow and deliberate, in time with the movement of his lips. Each stroke is better than the last as your increased arousal combined with his own slickens your inner walls.

“There she is,” he moans quietly into the crook of your neck.

That feeling is back, a chant of want, want, want running through your brain as the tension and fire in your belly begin to grow once more. When he bottoms out this time, your punctuated, “Ah!” is from pleasure and not discomfort. He’s managing to hit places inside you that you didn’t know existed.

You writhe under him, starting to meet his thrusts with your own, trying as you might to find that perfect spot he keeps slipping past. If only you had the right leverage…

It comes to you once you’ve hitched your legs up around his svelte waist. You lift your hips and plant your bare feet against the grainy wooden underside of the piano, meeting his next thrust with your leveraged one. It sends him deeper, driving into that little spot just perfectly. You keen.

“Oh, goddamn,” he moans along with you.

Each thrust seems deeper than the last with your legs pressing up like this. They shake from the exertion, but it’s worth every ounce of effort for the way you feel driven into the earth by his cock. Sweat drips off his face and onto yours as he showers your body with pleasure you didn’t know existed.

He thumbs your clit, timed perfectly with the piston of his hips, and you can barely breathe at the sensation. Gasping, your entire body shudders of its own accord as you hurtle towards another release.

“I…I…I…” is all you can seem to manage as your second climax starts to crest, and he grunts with effort above you, his eyes glassy with unbridled desire.

He mutters a string sweet filth that only fuels you forward, slurring and panting, “Oh, fuck, yes…such a good yittle kitty…good girl for me…look atchu taking ‘im so deep…never been s’deep…Jesus, I can see ‘im in your belly.”

You both look at the swell of your abdomen on the next thrust and this time he holds you flush against him so you can see the tip of Little Elvis bulge out the slightest bit. The moan you let out is obscene. Holding you at the waist, he doesn’t let your hips down, instead running the palm of his hand over the protrusion while he flicks your clit furiously. Then he presses down at the same time he thrusts as hard and as deep as possible.

Your climax hits so hard and so fast that it knocks the breath out of you, leaving you gasping his name, “Elvis, Elvis, Elvis!” Flaming white stars flash behind your eyelids as you flutter and clench around his length. Molten fire spreads from your core outward. You shudder and claw at him, at the bottom of the piano, at anything that will keep you tethered to reality while the rest of you shatters into a million pieces beneath him.

“Good girl, s’good fo’me,” he praises you through it, losing himself to you as you come apart.

You feel his hips start to stutter into you again because a primal need has him beyond the point of waiting any longer. Somehow, through shivering aftershocks, you have the wherewithal to force your eyes open, even as the rest of your body goes slack. He looks like Adonis in the throes of passion, his full and swollen lips falling open. In one fell swoop, he drops your hips and pulls his considerable length from you, his knowing hand pumping his slick-covered cock with expert precision.

Watching him come is a marvel and you make yourself commit this moment to memory, knowing it will fuel your arousal for years to come. He tenses above you, those sapphire eyes fluttering closed. Shivering tension ripples over him with a choked cry and through gritted teeth. Thick and warm white ropes erupt and splatter over your torso and you moan along with him. Then his eyes pop open pointedly as he watches himself cover you with his seed. The poignant, dramatic end of a brilliant symphony.

“F-fuck,” he pants, finishing off with another shiver. Exhausted, he catches himself just before crushing you with his weight, instead pressing his sweaty brow into yours. Your hot, heavy breaths mingle as you both try to come back down to Earth. He nuzzles his nose into yours before kissing your cheeks and your mouth.

Eventually, you find your words. “That was…incredible,” you say breathlessly, with no exaggeration.

He pulls back to look at you, with a goofy, pleased grin. “I told you I’d take care of you, Moonlight. And boy oh boy, was that a neat trick with the piano there…that part of your classical trainin’?” he says, blowing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Putting that college degree to good use,” you say with a giggle.

His eyes go wide and then he laughs—a musical, beautiful, contagious sound—which fills your heart up in a way you don’t quite understand.

He crawls back and helps you out from under the piano. Your back is rubbed raw from the carpet, which he kisses gently with apology, but you barely feel the sting. You are too dazed and relaxed to worry about much of anything.

When he helps clean you up and pulls you into his big bed, slotting you in next to him, you want to savor every minute. How he smells delicious and masculine, how the heat of his long body envelops your own—you want to remember everything.

Exhausted, you fall fast asleep, sated and cared for, knowing that you’ll never, ever be the same.

taglist

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge

@hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03 @artlover8992

@18lkpeters @frozenhuntress67 @girlblogger2002 @kendralavon7 @misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-little-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @ohjustpeachy1 @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie @idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog @deniseinmn

139 notes · View notes

rach-amber · 23 days

Note

With all the chaos going on with you, I’m sending you all my love and support ❤️ I apologize for not being around as much due to personal issues outside of social media, but I think I’m back for now!

Question: what do you think made Rachel intrigued with Chloe and observe her so much? And how long do you think she was watching Chloe before they started talking?

Aw thank you so much! Please don't apologise for that, everyone should have the freedom of choosing where they spend their time :) Sending back love & support as well, hopefully things turn out well at your end 💛

Also once again, hella great questions!!

The 1st question reminds me of this Rachel pov fic that I've been translating, it says:

"At first it was mere curiosity.

Most people put on their good side with purpose, but Chloe does just the opposite; She disguises herself with a bad side, opposing and mocking everything; She puts on a pissed-off expression, as if a smile would make her face rot, when actually she’s purer and kinder than anyone else, plus her personality is more interesting than I had imagined."

I think initially Rachel kinda believed Chloe to be what people speak of her. As principal Well's assistant, perhaps she also knew Chloe's on a scholarship, and that she's failing her subjects and on Well's list of high-risk students. She must've wondered,

"Why would someone on the prestigious Blackwell scholarship be so.. bad ? What happened to her?" (how come she's such a lone wolf now, people said she didn't use to be like this)

We also know Rachel secretly has a side that wants to pursue things that are off-limit/wild/dangerous, and Chloe being the one that stood out to her in this way, quickly became her subject of interest, so she kept and eye out for Chloe from a distance.

"Hey, I notice things! I can't help it." -- it's automatic at that point of her noticing Chloe

Later on, Rachel, by whatever means (like seeing the photo of Bongo the cat in Chloe's locker", started to realise that the notorious Chloe Price might not be who she really is at all. And so with a natural tendency to want to understand & read people, she's intrigued to find out more.

Ofc let's not forget, Chloe's hella good looking to Rachel. Lmao Rachel you stared at those legs a tad too long buddy.

While there's no telling how long exactly she's watched Chloe, there are some clues.

"Really? I see you acting like you're tough all the time in school." -- to Chloe, who claimed to not be an actor.

"That doesn't sound like Chloe Price" (park) - at that point in time (frustrated & on impulse) she's still wanting to think of Chloe as this bad girl to do rebellious/prohibited things with, even though she knows that's just on the surface (but she didn't care at that point)

Rachel's still a "newcomer" to Blackwell, despite being on the school photo. Perhaps she moved to Arcadia like a year ago or less, and had spent a school term along with Chloe already, given her established popularity & recognition from the school itself.

So I don't know, maybe she's been watching Chloe within the time range of two/three weeks to a month and a half?

And as we know, later she saw Chloe also at the Firewalk show, & realised they have similar interests & music taste!

Ah, a picture with crush! Look at how happy Rachel looks in that selfie 😸 & it's not here but notice how when Chloe first bumped into Rachel the latter was like, lemme take a good look at you Chloe Price, then stared at her face for 2 seconds.

Rachel: time to make a move to find how who she really is.

I find it cute that it's also kinda the same for Chloe, who realised that Rachel's more than the surface-level "pop girl with good grades".

So yeah, I sort of rushed through this post a lil bit in the midst of finals/crunch time, but I hope it still answers your question! Til next time, xo.

21 notes · View notes

shinakazami1 · 1 year

Note

pleeaasseee let me eat fernarrator I'm so hungry he looks so tasty PLELELWAAEEE 😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺

You kind anon!! You don't know how much this asks means to me esp since it inspired me to create some more lore based stuff :3

The first image has a few of fruits (and potatoes foahsfaio) I focused on in Fernator and I hope I will talk about it once day

And some lore iconographic!!

Thank you sm for your interest in the boy hehe (and be warned, while he might feed you, it isn't always good intentions :] )

Apple fanfic I have made here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42118554

And the tomato one here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42119565/chapters/105745716

Text from the second image under the cut:

Apple (as example of the creation): 1st version: simplified, fake fruit, has no taste or texture 2nd version: more realistic, can have the taste and texture of the original it's based on or something more

Despawn zone (in throat-oesophagus area) : this is where fruits actually despawn once they are bitten, you cannot eat him exactly unfortunately :(

Fernator doesn't feel pain, even from being eaten. He will even be pleased you want to eat something he had created

He can create plants separate from his in the Bucket form, so he and Stanley in the best pathway have a garden in the Freedom Ending

#my doodles #tsp #the stanley parable #fernator au #fernarrator #ud #ultra deluxe #tspud #stanley #lore #oughh #thank u anon #sm #fanfics #tomato

99 notes · View notes

venusfun · 2 years

Text

🍄Astrology observations🪴

Hello everyone, I know I haven't been active on Tumblr but I wanted to surprise you with this post. I hope everyone is doing amazing! Love ya💗

The post is made by @venusfun I do not allow to plagiarize my work.

- let's talk for a while about Moon in the 5th house people. Omg, I love this placement so much! These people are so romantic and attractive. Though their crushes change often haha. Such an elegant dressing style.

- for people with the sun in the 8th house nothing happens without a battle. They have to work hard for things they want to achieve.

- you can't bribe people who have Jupiter in 1st house.

- Pluto in the 2nd house people have a difficult attitude toward money - 1) parents didn't have enough money and in adult ages, it turned into a belief that money is the only way how to succeed. 2) parents gave too much money to this person and in adult ages, they feel like money is useless.

- The Venus sign in our birth chart shows which presents we would like to receive. For example, Venus in Sagittarius would like to receive “adventure” - tickets to another country or a concert, etc.

- Mars in Leo are very brave people. But they take criticism very seriously.

- Jupiter in Aquarius people find happiness in freedom. Leo Jupiter finds happiness in their achievements.

- People with T-square aspect figures in the chart have very big motivation to achieve their goals. The 2 squares and 1 opposition creates some challenging situations, if these people find the courage and strength they will be very successful.

- Moon trine/sextile Saturn are damn peaceful people. How do you even do that?

- You can always count on Mercury trine/sextile Saturn people, if they will say it, they will do it. Best project partners.

- To be honest, Libra moons don't care much about how the food they eat tastes. The “looks” of it matter more.

- There are 3 money planets: Venus (small money), Jupiter (big money), Pluto (huuuuge money).

- Saturn in the 10th house people have very big ambitions, very professional. Mostly this placement becomes strong at 29 years.

- People with Neptune in 8th, please do not involve yourself with para psychology.

Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

#astrology #zodiac #venusfun #astrology notes

488 notes · View notes

the-stray-storyteller · 1 month

Text

💀💀FUCKING FREEDOM💀💀

Okie....so just got through my last exam and last day of school. I feel happy enough to celebrate. So as an apology for dropping off radar for like a month or more, and annoying you with my freedom from school posts.

And I love you all so much. Thankyou to all my mutuals for the support you all have shown me. I love you all. *hugs and kisses and compliments for you all*

So...let's play a game. Pay me a mythological/folklore creature and I will give something in return.

Also I don't have the brain capacity to make this look pretty atm.

SHOP OPEN TILL 1st APRIL ! (drop the payment in the ask box)

👻 Baku: I will write you a poem if you send me this nightmare devourer.

🎻Gandharva: I will make you a moodboard if you send me this celestial musician.

👹 Leyak: I will suggest a song if you send me this demon. (pls don't you will probably not like my music taste.)

🐇 Wolpertinger: You can tell me to do something (nothing unreasonable) if you send me this nefarious cryptid.

🪬Domovai: I will describe your blog and how I see you in an extremely overdramatic and royal way if you send me this house spirit.

💧Mami Wata: I will doodle you a little creature (it will look really stupid but ye) if you send me this water spirit.

🧙🏻‍♀️Skinwalker: I will give you a code to break or a riddle to solve (maybe both combined) if you send me this shapeshifting witch.

🦊Kitsune: I will tell you a fun or messed up mythological fact (up to you) if you send me this spirit fox. Send me a scale from 1 to 10. 1 being something nice and 10 being the most fucked up shit you have ever heard.

🦭Selkie: I have 31 drafts and if you send me this shapeshifting seal along with a number between 1 to 31 I will post the respective draft tagging you in it.

#MY EXAMS ARE OVER #AND SO IS SCHOOL #SO YE #SEND ME STUFF #I AM FREE AND PROCRASTINATING WRITING STORIES #I WANNA DO SOMETHING FOR U GUYS #PWEASE #I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH

13 notes · View notes

hdtv34 · 15 days

Text

So, a while ago in the middle of the night, I wrote the beginning of a shitty Hannibal fic. I decided to post the parts I have rn on here to see if it’s good enough to continue!

Carnival of Venice AU inspired by the Cask of Amontillado

- Blood, hannigram, main character death, m/m, murder, stabbing, drinking, masks, etc. I don't know how to do this. Alt universe, Will Graham POV, 1st Person POV, grammar mistakes, unfinished, the beginning of the story and then a small snippet of the end at the bottom of the post, and probably some mistakes in characterization. I mean I was half asleep when I wrote this. I would love ideas for costume ideas for characters if anyone has any!

Quick summary of the basic idea if you don't want to read it all:

Will goes to the festival with his friends for the first time, borrowing one of their old masks. There he met this man with a gorgeous mask; one as extravagant as an elk. He wouldn't normally be able to go up to the man with the intentions that he has due to society’s expectations to love a woman, but there he has freedom. They talk for a while and eventually, the man invites him to dinner. He told him to wear a mask with no bottom half but still hide your identity so that he’d be able to eat without taking it off. They meet again the next night and they have dinner. It all seemed pleasant and peaceful at first with the meal being like that of which Will had never seen much less tasted. It was all wonderful. Eventually, he realizes that the man nor the meat was as they seemed. The man was a serial killer and a cannibal. He had done the same thing with Will with that of many others. Yet in the end ‘I truly am sorry, William. You’ve been like no other…. For you, I think that I'll eat your heart first.’

Actual fic:

I was invited to a carnival in Venice by a friend of mine, Dr. Alana Bloom. Alana typically moves between Venice and Florence, so I wasn’t initially startled by her offer. However, I was very tentative. But, in the end, guilt weighed me towards the idea. I must admit, I’m not used to events such as this. The activity was… suffocating. She gave me a spare mask, a simple one that hides the entirety of my face. It was a golden knight.

As I found myself surrounded by a crowd of sharks, I heard the laughter of her voice grow further and further. At least she finds happiness. Eventually, I find refuge from the inane and mad near a few barrels of rum, wine, beer, juice, etc. Their unmarked property assures that it is not of a soul’s awareness, which barrel contains what. It was a gamble, but wasn’t also being at this carnival? A place to be whomever and act however without discomfort or fear.

I pour myself a handle of the second barrel’s contents. With a sip, I’m pleased to find myself consuming wine. As I stand near the stand, a stag walks over to me. His mask was black with golden accents and showed the lower half of his face. The beauty and detail left me in awe. I’ve never seen someone with such a mask. I nodded softly, readjusting my hood and mask as I stopped drinking.

“Tell me, what are you drinking,” the stag asked with an accent that left me feeling confused as I attempted to pinpoint its origin.

“Red wine.”

“I see. Which barrel? They never mark these barrels for some idiotic reason.” A scowl formed on the man’s face as he looked at the barrels with distaste.

I smiled under my mask, appreciating the stag’s scowl. “The second.”

“Ah, thank you. I appreciate your help.” He pours himself a wine glass of the drink before moving to stand next to me. “Have you come to the festival before? You seem… out of place.”

“No. This is my first time. I was invited by Dr. Bl—… the um… the woman in the bluejay mask.” I shifted uncomfortably, tilting my head towards her direction.

“Dr. Alana Bloom?”

My head perks up at the mention of her name, tilting lightly.

“She’s a friend of mine,” he explains instantly, “I would rather not provide any other details as they would hint at my identity, but please be reassured that I do know Dr. Bloom quite well. Do not hesitate to converse about her with me.”

I nod, although the fact doesn’t console me fully. I continued, “She asked me to come here. Provided my mask and everything.”

“Do you enjoy it here?”

“As you mentioned, this is not my scene.”

“Then pray tell, what is your scene, my dear?”

I hesitate for a moment looking in the stag’s mask. It was as black and dark as a nightmare’s soul or as a raven’s death. “What’s yours?”

He stays quiet, turning back to the crowd in front of them.

It stays like that for a while. The two of them together watching the others dance and drink. For a moment I see a moth attempt to court a red dragon before the dragon declines and turns away.

“Ballrooms.”I snap my head back to the stag upon hearing his newly sincere voice harboring a new emotion or maybe lack of one. “Or my kitchen,” he continues.

“Your kitchen? Do you cook? A stag like you, I would’ve assumed you to afford many maids and cooks,” I say, looking into the mask. I’m sure that the fortune it must’ve cost to make would’ve sent me to the slums.

“I can, but I prefer to make my own food. No one else would make it the way I prefer.”

I hum in understanding. “I see. I’m sure you are a wonderful cook.” He hums and nods his head.

“Would you like to find out, my knight?” My head whips around towards him, his words taking me by surprise.

“That’s impossible, stag. The masks.”

“We can eat with masks. Ask Alana for one which leaves the bottom half of your face open. We can meet again here, at the same time, tomorrow night. I will be wearing the same mask. If you do not wish to, then do not show up.” The stag looks within the crowd spotting a jester walking further into it, pushing a woman butterfly along as he laughs at her. “I’m afraid I must part. My hunger is only growing, and I must prepare dinner. I yearn to meet again, my knight.” The stag bows before making his exit, walking towards where the jester was previously, going after him. They must know each other, I conclude, watching as he leaves.

The festival was nearly closed, and the crowds had almost completely dissipated. Nearby, a bluejay waves goodbye to a woman in a pig mask. She began to trot over upon realizing my location. “Will, I’ve been looking for you. Where did you go?”

“Alana, I just went to get a drink. Who was that?” I walked over to meet her halfway.

“I don’t know, but she was nice. I wish I managed to get her name. Shall we be off?”

I nodded as she led me back to her abode. The building was in one of the many lantern-lit alleys. The walls only further reminded me of my home in Florence, causing an itch to form where the heart beats and the bones grow.

As we arrived inside, we stripped off our concealing attire. I laid my mask on the table and hung my coat on the coat rack. I studied her as she took off her costume. “Alana,” I hesitantly began, “could I attend alongside you again tomorrow night? Maybe in a mask that allows me better access to my mouth?”

Alana gave me a suspicious glance. “Oh? And what would you need it for? Don’t tell me you plan a night of pleasure for yourself tomorrow with some handsome lady?”

I felt my face tense as I turned towards the fireplace. I managed a quick shake of my head as I spoke, “No, no. Nothing of the sort. I just got hungry. It was difficult to get nourishment and quench my thirst with this mask; although, I do marvel at its beauty. It was just a little-“ I paused, trying to find the word, “suffocating.” would greatly appreciate a more appropriate mask.”

Alana nodded and went to her bedroom before coming out with a gorgeous mask in hand. It was detailed with a bone-white coloring and two things that looked like ears on the side of it. She handed it to me carefully. “I went to it as a lamb a few years back. It was…enjoyable. I hope you find the same outcome.”

I attempt to hand it back to her after feeling the hills of the lines and the cannons. “Surely you can hold onto it for me until morning.”Yet, she hands it right back.

“Keep it. You never know when you might need it.” She smirks and takes her stuff as she heads back into her bedroom. “You best be leaving for your inn. I hear that it will rain before morning.”

As I lay in my bed for the night, my mind kept trembling with restless moths of thoughts, crowding the lightbulb of my sanity. In the pitch of my room, my eyes kept trying to identify the white lamb mask on my dresser, but they were left to only imagine its curves and indents.

Eventually, I shut my eyes. My mind drifts off to the darker place it usually finds residence. The woods crackle and live soundly around me as I look past black, stretching trees. In it, I see a familiar suited man with a familiar black mask. He huffs as red coats his figure. A sickening cut is heard causing me to stumble on a branch, breaking it. He spins around to face me. The mask…isn’t a mask at all. It connects to its person, merging into an overwhelming beast. A black, tall, lanky stag-man stands before me covered in blood. He was something out of children’s horrific nightmares and warnings. It creeps towards me before offering a long, lanky hand. Its fingers were twisted like tree branches and as sickening as bloody organs.

“Would you care for a dance, my lamb in knight’s clothing?”

The next night I hesitated at the entrance. The sounds of laughter and enthusiasm were overwhelming to hear as he studied the grounds.

“Will? What’s wrong? You look nervous. You weren’t nervous last night.” Alana looks at me with a furrowed brow, rubbing her soft palms over my coat. I remember a time when I used to fawn over her touch, and frequently find my gaze drifting back to her, now I just enjoy the company.

“I didn’t- I didn’t have plans tonight. I may leave tonight without you.”

“You will?”

“I might,” I correct immediately. She raises a brow. “I’m ok.”

“You were just hyperventilating.”

“I’m- I will be ok.”

“Will, tell me what’s going on.”

I hesitate, glancing into the crowd, and catching sight of the barrels. They appear alone. A frown crosses my face without apparent reason.

“Will? Are you ok?” She takes ahold of my shoulder, trying to ground me.

“Yeah, yeah. I just-…I’ll be ok. I’ve got this. I’ll be seeing you.” I leave her standing aimless and confused as I make my way through the crowd towards the barrels.

Once I arrive, the place is lonely. Not a mask in sight, much to my dismay. I pour myself a glass of the liquid in the second barrel. My face scrunches in disgust at the taste of beer after assuming wine.

A hollow laugh erupts beside me, making me whip my head towards them. “I suppose the second barrel isn’t red wine tonight, is it?”

It was the stag. His appearance brings a smile to my face. “Stag.”

“My knight, I love tonight’s mask. A lamb, yes?” I nod. “It looks beautiful on you.”

I turn back to my drink, wishing the mask covered more of my lower face. “I believe you promised me dinner, Stag.”

“I did. How could I forget?” He offers me his arm. “Shall we be off? My home isn’t far from here.”

Hesitantly I link my arm around his, letting him lead me to his abode.

—

Test for ending:

Pain seared and burned like molten lava as the blade began to carve a slit into the folds of my skin, tainting them scarlet. The blade lifted for a moment before moving to the next area for an incision. My hands wrapped the wrist, stilling the knife as it pressed softly against my skin, eliciting a small bead of blood.

My eyes blur as I look past him… at him… the pitch, lanky figure carving me like dinner. “I see you,” I rasp, softly. My voice barely evolved to a whisper. The wind brushing branches against the panels of glass windows almost hid my speech.

My hand fell slowly as I watched the eyes above me. Crimson eyes studied mine as we held each other’s gaze. “I let you see me,” he corrected quietly. His voice hid an emotion buried deep like a skeleton in a ditch. If I believed that he cared about me any more than a random stranger picked as a victim, then I would've mistaken it for remorse or regret.

I felt as he fixed his grip on the blade, pressing it in again slightly. I didn't realize that it had faltered, previously. “I truly am sorry, William. You’ve been like no other…” He pauses for a moment, studying my eyes again, a new hunger filling them. “For you, I think that I'll eat your heart first.”

14 notes · View notes

me-uglypretty · 1 year

Text

wish for you

Pairing: Kate Bishop x F!Reader

Summary: Kate always fulfils her promises, either early or late, but this time, she wish for more than not missing another holiday.

Warning: (18+), fluff & angst | 4k words

| winter thing | Notify | Navigation |

24th December 2023—

Day came, a golden dawn of fury, blanketing a cosy warmth over the cold that carried through the month and settled over a chilly Christmas week. Where the people, still cladded in layers of clothes to conceal warmth, walked beneath the sun’s glare, and breathe the freshen morning air. It was a serene sight from those around, and those perched at a higher altitude, attentively watching the scene below.

“Look at them,” Kate brutally remarked. “All happy, well slept, happy, living their best lives, allowed to do whatever they want— this isn’t fair.”

She casted a deep, angry glance at her mother. The older woman, Eleanor, was sat at her desk, shuffling through papers, humming a mindlessly tune and huffing annoyingly at every mistake she saw. While her daughter stood by the window, arms crossed, and frown fixed on her face.

“I don’t understand,” she continued. “Why am I here? I’m barely doing anything. It’s just a party and you have it planned. So, why can’t I do my own thing?” she takes daring steps toward the desk, waiting for her mother’s appalling response.

Eleanor looked at her daughter with an unbothered expression. “Kate, you would take over this company one day. You need to get used to this.”

The atmosphere seemed constricted as Kate pushed the chair and sat there. “It’s Christmas,” she pleaded. “I can’t have one day off?” and her request, so trivial than requesting something expensive, was met with a warning look.

Kate doesn’t, even if her heart gnawed for escape and to taste freedom—to taste the sweetness that seeps at your loving words, to those precious moments where bodies were huddled together, and the promises made since months before the festive day. It made her shiver in a warm room, thriving to hinder the tears from spilling and in turn, allowing her mother a chance of scolding her.

A foolish child was the dent that bleed in her heart. Grow up was met with a soft blow after confessing that she had found another job at a small and comfortable café close to her inherited apartment. You don’t know love was spat at her round eyes, feigning obscure for saying she had found love.

Her mother doesn’t accept the relationship that made her the happiest. Her love for you is something so tangible, a feeling she hasn’t felt before, and far better that the scorching ache that clashed through her life in different stages. But the life projected in the name of perfection and to carry themselves as the best wealthy people known in that city, it was the exclusive reason for her mother’s persistence.

It was crucial for her to be perfect.

And so, she followed through, staring straight at her mother’s stoic face. She would take the worse blow when faced with you, and the deceive in her chest for causing the frown on your face to appear.

It was incredibly hard. The need to remain there according to her mother’s wish and the dire need to stay by your side. She was stuck between two whom she loves, and only one was more understanding, pushing her towards her family’s wishes than allowing selfishness to slip.

“Can I invite Y/n?” she asked in a low tone.

Eleanor’s hand halted, hovering over a document. “How about you start taking this seriously?” she countered, without meeting her daughter gaze.

Kate clasped her hands on her lap. The conversation ended as that, an endless routine of never accepting her choices and a child, unable to find a common ground with her beloved mother.

And the terrible ache continued.

1st January 2024—

Sleep had settled in for those tired and had waited for the new year to flash through in vivid colours. The apartment buzzed the same, waiting for the rush of blood to smear warmth on soft cheeks and for the familiar arms, sturdy and gentle, wrapping around your body. It does happen in sort of dreams, blurry at first as you lay on a cold bed and whiff her perfume, which smells expensive and sweet.

On the other end of the apartment, the door pushed open delicately, and footsteps were gentle as another body joins the cold that slipped through an open window. Kate looked pale and uncomfortable in her flimsy dress. It was a hearty red, scratching her bare skin every move, and does nothing to flush her body with warmth.

“Baby?” Kate whispered, extending her neck to every corner where you might be. “Are you asleep?” she made a gesture for quiet, her forefinger pressed on her lips as her other hand clutched her jacket.

The wooden floor made a thud at a sudden harsh step, then creeks at certain places. She gazed at the table where an empty box of pre-made cookies was left upside down, at another glance, she saw a miniature box beside. It was neatly wrapped in sparkling paper and blue in colour.

At first, she advanced towards the obvious gift, but stopped herself. The beautiful vision of your smile appeared, and her heart thumps as she hurried towards where the bedroom was situated. Her feet take careful steps up the metal stairs, her jacket left on the floor and her hand clasping the metal railing.

There, on a beige bed, you were asleep on the left side while the accompanied purple blanket was thrown to the edge. A sight so ordinary that it pulled at her heart strings as she stepped closer and carefully crawled on the bed, enough for her face to be close to yours.

While deep in sleep, you dreamed of azure sky as you sat on a bed of fresh grass. The wind blew a certain warmness which made you confused at first, till your mind stumbled into a different visual. This time, you were sat on a table, and she was there, sat opposite you with a toothy grin. You felt a featherlike touch on your face, tracing the structure of your face then stopped at the bow of your lips.

It was strange. Kate laughed, guiding you towards her and you were suddenly sat on her lap. The warmth that filled your chest felt real, as though, she was whirling your dreams with her own presence.

Unbeknownst to you, Kate was there. Her fingers softly traced the arch of your eyebrows, the pad of her fingers aching to feel the texture of your skin, and she hums a song under her breath as she reminisced the first time, when she first laid eyes on you and desired to feel you close, and the last that made her weep.

“I missed you,” she muttered, “Next Christmas will be us, and New year…and everything,” she promised, resting her palm on your cheek and her head on the pillow.

She lay by your side, blanketed in comfort, and the reality that you stayed, despite her failed attempt of meeting you on Christmas and New Year faced the same devastation. The late night began with a mute narration of what she should had done than listened to her mother’s command and feared that lodged between—of losing you, of hurting her mother, and of never achieving anything great enough.

Then, you shift in your sleep, almost feeling the air hang with heavy sorrow and faint tranquillity. You made a noise, squeezing your eyes before fluttering them open and met the striking blue that gleams magically in your dreams.

Kate appeared calm. “Hey,” she whispered, her thumb brushed your skin before settling to the corner of your lip.

A sleepy smile appeared on your face. “You’re here,” was said as you contemplate if she was truly there or a fragment of your dreams.

But your answer was met by her lips firmly pressed on yours. The touch of skin, raven tresses tickling your cheeks, hot breath in cold space, the material of her dress scratching your skin and her cold feet trailing up your thigh. Kate was there, laying by your side and showering your face with kisses of missed days.

“What time is it?” you asked softly, pressing your body into hers and ignoring the roughness that itches your skin from her dress.

“Late,” she murmured, pressing a haste kiss on your soft lips. “Very late.”

Your hand rest upon hers, emitting a comforting warmth on your cheek. “How was midnight?”

Kate freeze. Her sapphire eyes dimmed, like night had casted a look of woe and the moon refused to glow. A frown settled solemnly on her lips. “It was…okay,” she spoke in a hesitating tone. “There was food, drinks, people, uh, music! It’s classical, you know, Beethoven. Or I think it was…but people were enjoying themselves and cheering when the clock strike twelve.”

“Bishop,” you whirred, huddling into her warmth and feel her heartbeat as your head rest over her chest. A sign for her to speak her heart and not what she hoped for you to hear.

It was clear since the moment she declared her absent to you and her mother’s satisfaction that her daughter was buzzed to attend their company’s annually celebrated year end parties. Through the phone, you could hear her dejected tone and when your eyes shut closed, you see her round eyes gleaming with tears.

“They kept talking about my father and asking me about my future,” she relented the requested details. “The food was bland. My dear mother forced me to wear this dress and I swear…it’s giving me a wedgie, down there,” she huffed, shifting her bottom half to emphasis her discomfort.

At the revealed information, your hand descents to the swell of her hips. “Hmm, tell me more about the last part,” you teased, and she scoffed. “I think you look perfect, just the most perfect girlfriend.”

The declaration slithers through Kate’s mouth as you kissed her. A sweetness like honey gliding down her throat, coating her heart and lungs with your taste, with your blooming love, and it worries her for what she had missed the past days.

But you knew that, the way her mind wonders from one thought to another and ruining her own tranquillity for chaos. So, your hand squeezed the flesh beneath your palm, and her eyes gazed into yours.

The contact wasn’t meant for lust. It thumps a song, a word, a feeling so pure—where you reassure her of life, of love, of everything that dare prod her mind with worry. You reminded her through silent discourse;

You’re doing just fine. Nothing’s wrong. I will always be here. I love you. I am not leaving. I know you and I understand. It’s not your fault, my love. Don’t forget. I love you forever.

Slowly, you watch her ease into your comforting gaze. The grey tide in her round eyes, waves through a serene sea, sapphire and alive, as a smile trace the corners of her lips.

You thumb brushed the material of her dress, contemplating the various thoughts in your head. All starting and ending with her. “Go shower and change to something better.”

Kate doesn’t response, instead, her hand pressed over yours, fitting perfectly in a warm clasp, the pressure appeased thumping hearts, and you felt your own wanting nothing more than her. The touch so special, carried a slumber sway through your body, fingers clinging to hers as you felt yourself slowly drifting into a deep sleep.

She counted the seconds till they danced as snowflakes out the window. Drowsiness leaped between the need to sleep and the need to stay awake, to feel your body close to hers and cherish the time without interruption.

Before resigning to complete rest, Kate pressed a tender kiss on the top of your head. She hummed at the sound you made, as if, to ensure she was there. You mumbled something that she couldn’t understand, but she answered with a soft yes, and it settled your mind as you slept peacefully. Soon, Kate felt herself drift into a peaceful sleep and the ache in her chest gone.

In the bed, where two lay, past Christmas and basking in the New Year, the same place where love blooms heavily and beautifully.

25th December 2024—

The night was forecasted as a stunning hour, perfect for family and friends as they manifest their time together nearing the new year. White and grey particles fell carelessly upon those outdoor, some parting with a cold chill on skin and damp patch on cloths, while some a dusty stroke of grey and the awful burnt odour. While the alarming sound of police vehicles, ambulance, and fire trucks destroyed what merry was left in thumping hearts.

Kate was sat in the ambulance. Alone. Pain spread the width of her body, but nothing compared to her heart, pleading for a remedy after her horrid day. A mother gone. A battle she woke. A life changed. A hero—that she had become, or she hoped she had done something good. The bitter taste in her mouth made her sick at that.

The scene was out of a movie. Villains captured, their bodies battered from an unwarranted battle, and taken away in cuffs from causing more disruption to society. Civilians watched in awe as their beloved hero saved the day again. And yet, neither perceived the heart of a daughter who had lost her mother.

Kate glance at the empty sky. A darkness she wished to engulf her body with. Eleanor was wrong for what she had done. Still, it doesn’t lessen the ache within as her last remaining parent was taken away by her own confession.

“Hey kid, you good?”

She doesn’t answer. It seemed redundant. A daughter had her life twisted in various angles and now, she sat there with a completely changed life. How could she feel okay?

“I don’t understand,” she uttered softly. “It’s Christmas and my mom— she’s—” and the words fell as sorrowful cries.

The older man watched. Clint was at fault, in some way, and he felt remorse for her. “You always have a home.”

A home—with her idol. The reason she picked a crossbow and started training. He was incredible, but the home in question, wasn’t where she grew or someone, she found peace with.

The thought of you filled her chest with dread. Kate looked at him with a certain urgency. “My girlfriend, oh god, Clint, I need to find her. What if she’s hurt? I promised to meet her— I need to call her now.”

Clint paused her attempt of standing from where she was seated in the ambulance. “I think it’s better you don’t,” he said, eyes surveying their surrounding before whispering, “They didn’t find him anywhere. Kingpin is still roaming the street of New York.”

Kate ceased speaking. She felt a lump in her throat. It imprisoned her screams for your name. Danger blinks discreetly without her knowledge, and now, the possibilities of putting your life at risk. It wasn’t fair. She swore to meet you tonight, regardless of what might happen. Everything was meant to end in flutters of smile, not in this horrifying truth.

“I need to tell her,” the defeat in her voice aligned with her body, bruised and exhausted. “I can’t break another promise. I always make it— she’s all I have,” she plead helplessly.

Remembrance of brighter days taunts her as she watched the scene unfold in sheer chaos. She recognised the cold that made her shiver and not feel the warm that made her heart flutter. It feels wrong to mourn for those still breathing, when it feels that death had already placed bets upon them—all by her mistakes.

“Will she be safe?” the feeble question was answered by a curt nod. A wish settled, to see you, but to wish for your safety, if it meant time apart.

The guidance from her mentor, the people who stared at her in awe and some in disbelief. It doesn’t feel good. Why were her hands trembling, reaching for a body that wasn’t there? Perhaps, her mother wasn’t wrong. Love does make you weak, but for her, it was the fear that harm might be inflicted on you.

Like her mother’s mistake. Crashing her twenties in bits of misery. The betrayal in her mother’s eyes as the police car drove away.

And a daughter’s slip-up. The sound of your voice, breaking at each word that passed, and the silence that fell, a sorrow cloud hovering over two heads.

1st January 2025—

Fireworks flashed the night sky, casting multi-coloured sparks across skyscrapers and those cheering the arrival of a new year. The lively light appeared for seconds when the clock strike twelve, then lasting for minutes after, and fading hours later, where the night sky resumed its cryptic dusk. It was beautiful, if fear wasn’t triggered by the thunderous sound and if promises were kept, and a blanket of warmth—your love, if she was there, the night would had meant more.

You began to tremble when the night carried forward. At moments, you wondered if her disappearance was meant as an excuse. But you had saw those eyes, pools of sapphire that shifts tone accordance to the weather like a sea, all blue and alive when thriving, and dullest spheres when staring into yours with woe and regret, and the touch of love hasn’t fade.

So different, so special, so difficult.

The wind blew, cold, and dusty that tickled your throat, and the occasion hailed snow which meant so little, when not shared with her. It wasn’t a moment to spare, playing with the snow and grumbling about the cold.

But that’s Kate for you.

A clashing stroke of vivid colours in your life. She had, in many ways, resolved the conflict in your chest with her honest words and the warmth of her touch, always gentle and caring. However, it hasn’t calmed the worry that made known when the slightest alert wakes.

For nearly three years, you have been dating Kate. The shift happened during your first year of university, a friendship bloom effortlessly with her, then the next year fostered into a relationship. She had remained the same, someone you couldn’t help but allow your heart to fall into her embrace, and what may happen, doesn’t matter as she was enough. A love so perfect.

When the relationship advanced, it was the first that you had seen her crestfallen face at every cancelled occasion. Her mother was kind, if not hovering over her daughter’s shoulder and conveying her distaste for her daughter’s relationship. It doesn’t matter, your girlfriend had said, and the same day, she left your lone self in her apartment after her mother’s urgent call.

You, all at once, accepted her responsibility. It wasn’t her fault. In fact, she has a mother who still loved her, and filled in the position of her deceased father. Eleanor was a mother, and you haven’t found yourself angry at that.

And when that anger surfaced, it was bound by a daughter’s broken cries after her mother’s arrest. It wasn’t fair. Kate had a present mother and someone who remained in her life without finding the first exit out, but the mistakes made weren’t easy to forgive and lives were taken.

Despite the torture, Kate hasn’t changed. A little more broken to say the least, and yet, her love smeared your life with colours. She was the same girl you had befriend, the same girl to shyly kiss you and apologise before kissing you again. Just to be sure, the best excuse that lead to a night of confessing feelings to each other.

Though, life was unpredictable, and your loveable Kate became one with those who had saved the world countless of times before. Clint promised her safety, updates were passed through daily with a quick text. It was hard to know that a time would come, and you would accept that, her love was meant to share with world. A hero. But the first thing to do, remind yourself that hearts were threaded together, and it was only two. You and her.

“Oh Bishop, wherever you are,” your soft voice muttered. “I’m thinking of you,” and the wind blew, colder than before, as if, ensuring the message would be passed to your girlfriend.

The unfinished business must had been difficult. A day turned two, then a week after, and you were basking in the lonesome of your shared apartment. But you wait, staring at the door, checking your phone as you work, and hope as you lay in bed alone for another night.

You made a wish at that late hour for her safety, for her return, and for her love to meet yours again.

7th January 2025—

Blurry white spots fell outside the window, almost translucent by the declining snowy weather, flickers of blue and pink diffuses rays of luminous through the window, soft light dancing on ceiling and walls. The room was hardly lit, only a small lamp was switched on, situated in the corner, and casting a faux fiery warmth by its amber glow. The apartment stayed the same, conveying traits of loneliness and quiet. Nearly vacant, if not for your body huddled on an empty bed, tired eyes staring blankly at the white ceiling, and items thrown carelessly around.

It was two o’clock in the morning, or so, what you checked last time. You laid on the broad bed, absentminded and cold. The pleasant fragrance on her pillow had fade over time, and yet, you find yourself clutching the soft object as a brief memory flashed through, and you imagined yourself being held by her. It felt nice, till you wake lonesome again.

Kate’s absence was dotting the entirety of your life. It was a sharp cut through your chest, prodding your heart, teasing it and yanking it out, then the murmurs after, your body crying as you laid there, cheeks glistering with tears and hands stiff on the pillow. As you wallow in desolation, an almost inaudible thud drew your attention away, you counted till ten, and your eyes shut closed. It must have been another the dreadful illusion, you concluded.

While in despair, you had failed to hear the soft patter on wooden floor or the sound of huffs.

By the apartment door, a luggage was sat beside a large dog, and Kate, simply breathing in the musk of her beloved apartment. Her cheeks redden with excitement and exhaustion from guiding an excited dog, Lucky, while carrying her luggage. But it was nothing, when reality prevails that she was finally home.

“Baby?” Kate whispered, raising her head inquisitively, gazing at the upper floor where she assumed you were asleep. “You stay here,” she pointed at Lucky. “I’ll go see mama, okay?”

Lucky wagged his tail, as if, he understood, and she accepted that as an answer.

At first, she stopped, round eyes seized the empty packages of fast food, and perceives the disorganised state of the apartment. She takes a deep breath, trying to sooth her thumping heart before she starts spiralling for lost time. A reminder made for later, to clean your shared home, and another, to never leave you alone.

Her hand clasped the metal railing tightly as she takes slow steps upstairs and the sight that met her glossy eyes—your body laid motionless, tears spilling from your dull eyes, and you failed to notice her there. Her heart throbs painfully, hands trembling, she carefully walked closer and crawled on the bed. The sudden movement doesn’t wake you.

While deep in thoughts, you imagined her there, soft hand on your skin, and her kiss like a remedy to your agony. Then, you felt the featherlike touch on your skin, and your eyes flutter open instantly. You see her there, grey eyes gazing at your solemn state, your hand extend to softly cup her cheek.

It was strange. Kate grasps your hand, nodding her head, assuring you of reality, and a familiar warmth filled your chest, something you haven’t felt in weeks. Your lips quivers as she silently weeps, the overwhelming emotions shared between two.

“I missed you,” Kate whispered, “I missed you so much, I am sorry for leaving, I would never do that ever again. I promise you. I don’t care what happens. I will keep you safe. No matter what happens,” she promised, turning her head to press a soft kiss on your palm then leading your hand to where her heart beats.

The notion made you smile through tears as you carefully sat straight. “You’re here,” said in a soft voice. “You’re finally home? I miss— missed you so much,” you expressed, your other hand resting firmly on her shoulder and finally, you felt your body relaxed in her embrace.

Muffled cries were heard, from you, from her, and outside, where the wind whistles a song for united lovers, and the glow of night blessed pulsing hearts. Her hand strokes your back soothingly, the other holding your head while your hands clutched the cotton t-shirt she wore. Damp patches left where your face touched.

“It’s okay,” she comforted you, hearts equally wounded and mended at the same time. “I’m here, you’re here, we’re here together.”

You leaned back, still clutching the material of her t-shirt, and your frown deepens, contemplation swirls in red-rimmed eyes. “What if…you have to leave and—”

The worry that spilled from your heart was met with warmth on your lips, a yearning meld of lips, hands grasping bodies, teeth clashing at the sheer urgency to feel the other, and your body falls back. Kate doesn’t stop, her mouth bumping into yours as she straddles your body, as if, she was pumping air into your lungs by kissing you, and you needed to feel her or—life would cease to exist.

“I love you,” she murmured, “I love you so much,” she professed, leaning her head back to carefully witness the reaction on your face and her thumb smoothens the crease by your eyes.

She attentively watches the way your dimmed eyes seem to glow by seconds that passed, a hollow void stirring with life, the curves of your lips as your smile widens, and the silent vows made in response to her words.

“Kate,” was soft, and the inaudible affirmation made after; I missed you, I’m so happy you’re here, you’re alive, I have never felt like this, I love you, I love you.

It doesn’t take much for her to understand. Kate knew you, and you knew her, a mutual understanding and a blooming love—something so precious. A love that stayed throughout the most festive days, and continued, despite missed days, that kind of love doesn’t fade.

“It’s a happy new year,” you murmured, still wondering if life had blessed you with her, and you kissed her once, tasting her like it was your first. “Every single day is happy with you.”

Kate still felt the wound from Christmas, the old ones that throbs at uncertain time, her mother’s sad eyes and her father’s last smile, but she sees your love too, where you wholeheartedly poured your love into her heart, accepted her for all the mess and mistakes.

“You know, when they ask for your Christmas wish? Your new year resolution?” she suddenly spoke, “My wish will always be you,” she confessed, and carefully laid her body over yours. “My wish is you, today, tomorrow, forever…” and she listens to your thumping heart, where her head rest firmly on your chest.

You hummed, feeling light and happy. “Bishop, you are something else,” you teased, and she laughed, the sound resonates through your body like a heavenly crafted song.

Life wasn’t bad, it wasn’t perfect, but it was enough when shared. Kate believed in that as she laid with you, fully immersed in the warmth that emits as bodies unite and comfort that buzzed, the sound of hearts and the whistle of wind. You pressed her closer, as though, you understood what was conveyed and felt the same with the silent wish for love to last forever, a wish for her, a wish for you, a wish for together, and a wish for health.

As bodies mend, eyes shutting close in favour of finding the one remedy that would promise a serene sleep—a mass of blonde speeds through the room, an excessive weight falling upon you and her, then sticky slobber that grazed your face and recognisable barks of a dog.

“Oh yeah, meet our son, Lucky or pizza dog,”

You laughed, trying to guide Lucky from sleeping his entire weight on his new parents. “Son? And how do I know he’s mine?”

The joke was small, fuelling in hope and love, unlike the anguish that drew into dejection. Kate lifted her head, gazing down at you, the faux offended expression only pulled at your heart, a pulsing reminder that you were alive, so was she, and love is there.

Late, maybe, but always there.

In the same bed, where two bodies laid and a dog, laughter formed a lively ambience in the once lonely apartment, beaming smiles that match twinkling eyes, and the promise—past significant days and where worries fumes, the same place where love will always bloom, and she would hold you close till daybreak, and the days after.

#winter things #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop x you

146 notes · View notes