#I live knowing the fact that Caesar would hate me for this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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

fumblingmusings · 1 year

Text

Overly long musings about a potential characterisation of Fem!England that doesn't match what would be canon nor should it necessarily be canon but I think would be neat here we go...

Don't get me wrong I do enjoy Fem!England's design - particularly as she's just as scrawny and thin as Arthur but I kind of want an aesthetic that's less skinny child and more emaciated and hollowed out adult.

The kind of woman who smoked excessively and had an opioid addiction throughout the 19th century not entirely of her own making (laudanum and how it could just keep spiralling from there) that she still struggles to shake through to the 21st.

The kind of woman whose hair is a dark wild curly crows nest which never reached Gibson Girl level of dishevelled glam no no it's just a pre-raphaelite mess. That's what I view her as - if Arthur's a punk delinquent then she's that tragic Victorian waif seen in so many operas and plays.

She is certainly someone who would fit right in with 80s punk or 90s grunge no problem (she certainly buys into the lifestyle), but she's someone who used to stand at the end of the hallway in a white gown holding one candle and make Alfred squeak as he snuck upstairs after drinking a midnight milk snack because she truly is as ephemeral and as solid as a ghost (he didn't mean to have her thrown in the river in the 1690s - honest - he knows she's not a witch but when she looms like that...)

And even when she 'cleans up' she's just swallowed up by the sashes and dresses and jewellery. She doesn't hate wearing them but they sure do not enjoy being worn by her.

She stops wearing red after 1918. Green is safe and alive. White are her cliffs that protect her and the pearls that Caesar invaded her for. Red is... everything that is wrong with the world. Everything that she did wrong.

She's still got a stick up her arse, just like Arthur, she's still a menace for the rules until it serves her to break them, just like Arthur. That feeling of helplessness, passivity and apathy that churns and gives way to smug superiority as a front to hold herself together, just like Arthur, is forever present.

Unlike Arthur her anger is more internally directed and set to a permanent broil rather than lashing out at the smallest infraction at the closest recipient. It's a system which rots her from the inside out, but she's nothing but a martyr (still so much like Arthur) and thus she will endure.

Her disappointment and melancholia is more feared than her anger by her kids. She doesn't get angry at them. No no. That's not what mother's do. The kids - only in glimpses - catch their mother's erratic mood swings, unable to predict the pattern of when she'll take them strawberry picking and make jam for them or leave with them with a nanny and lock herself in the attic nursery for five weeks and spend it peeling off the yellow wallpaper - It's not that they doubt she cares for them, loves them even, it's just the fact that their mere presence sometimes makes her question things that it would be much easier to ignore.

So like. Her relationship with the colonies are arguably more fucked up than Arthur's ever could be. A genuine desire for motherhood that got conflated and wrecked by Empire so every moment like these:

Feels like propaganda to her (because isn't it???) and it's to the point where she can't tell what's genuine anymore. In reality she would want nothing more than be that sort of soft mum but she's not. She can't be. Because it's selective on who she can show it too. Because it's encouraged by the wrong people. So she thinks, and broods, and the anger continues to bubble.

Sometimes she can live in the construct, tell herself she's playing pretend, only for it then to feel very real, too real, and she panics and refuses to play house and lie.

Except she's not sure if she was lying. Like was she just feeding into this motherland mother country white woman's burden bullshit or should she admit the equally scary option that what she feels for the kids is genuine? Only she can't express it without buying into said oppressive system and...

She's conflicted for about three hundred years.

...Hmm. I just think a female England would be quite an interesting vehicle to explore that intersectionality of gender and empire - making it worse in that it is a role she genuinely wants - being a mother - and even so she cannot express it in her own way because it seems to only be used by those who make it harmful. So it eats her from the inside out until you reach... idk. Say 1945? 1956? When her government admits the idea that she's the world's caretaker is a lie. When her eldest best beloved boy has come of age and her regency has ended.

She was shit at it anyway. So she tells herself. And now she'll never be a mother again; she'll never be given the chance or the right as she does not deserve it. The older children don't need or want her anymore (if they ever did to begin with and they did, when those times did feel real and her songs and embraces were sweet memories). But the desire still leaks out. Moments still occur. And despite everything she is still lady mother to a few, even if it's not a term spoken out loud. Sentimentality remains, and she can be incredibly sentimental when in one of her moods.

She's better now, essentially. Still half rotted. Still hollow. Still unsure of what her genuine self is and where that belongs. But at least she's not frightened of that love for her kids. At least her impulsively kissing Mattie on the temple doesn't send her into fits of madness anymore.

Small victories.

#hetalia #hws england #fem!england #headcanon #arthur's parenting #this appeals to... checks notes... ah. me.#hyup!#op #historical hetalia

101 notes · View notes

hermanunworthy · 10 months

Text

!DNDADS S2 EP38 SPOILERS!

i cant believe its already time for another episode. so scared about this one i have no idea whats gonna happen. lets go!

- WHY IS BETH BRITISH

- LITTLE CAESARS I WORK THERE omg me reference in dndads

- THE JOKES IN THE INTRO ARE SO GOOD

- TAYLOR SWIFT A KILLER AT HEART.

- taylor considers scary his close friend awww

- MATT STOP IT W THE BITTERSWEET LINC FACTS ABOUT HIS RELATIONSHIP W HIS DADS!!! IM SAD

- NORMAL IS A HEELYS KID love that. oh my god just imagine the school mascot just rolling through the halls thats kinda terrifying actually

- I BETTER ACTUALLY SEE BETH IN HEELYS AND FREDDIE IN HIGH HEELS AT THE LIVE SHOW

- im sorry. i just went to the discord to talk about this^ but then saw SUCH A CRAZY SPOILER

- NOOO THE SCARY FACT

- ITS STARTING. MY STOMACH HURTS IM NERVY

- TEAM LOVE WE CAN DO THIS. WE CAN DO THIS (im biting my nails nervously)

- WHY IS MATT ASKING ABOUT THE MARRIAGE RN

- OH FUCK SCARY DOESNT KNOW ABOUT THE MARRIAGE HELPP

- NAT 20??? MY JAW FUCKING DROPPED

- TEAM LOVE LETS FUCKING GOOOOO (im miserable about lincoln and grant)

- oh god sparrow what could u possibly say rn to try to make this better.

- LARK COULDVE KILLED LINC???

- will mentioning batman is making me wonder where hermie is. im insane

- "i dont want a dad!" WAAAAAA 😭

- i KNEW this whole start of the episode would be awkward as hell lmao

- gothcleats....

- HEMRIE AND NICKY!!!! HERMIE AND NICKY!!!!! i actually screamed my bad

- NICKY AS THE LEADER LETS FUCKING GOOOO

- scary applogizing???

- going back to the church of the doodler oh god this is happening

- THE CATBUS!!! THE PUSSYWAGON!!!! YESSS

- anthony w the cat facts so cute

- i cant BELIEVE how far along in the season we are. this is insane. oh my god

- GRANT BROUGHT THE BABY MONITERS :[

- oh the mayor finally has a name now!

- WILLYS IN THERE GODDD

- im so nervous WHATS GONNA HAPPEN

- CAN SOMEONE PLZ DO FANART OF THE STAINED GLASS WINDOW

- STFU WILLY!!!!

- ME WHEN BLUE AND RED SYMBOLISM -deranged yttd fan

- YES FUCKING KILL HIM!!!!

- FOR ONCE. FOR ONCE. NORMAL IS CHOOSING VIOLENCE AND HATE OVER LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. DESERVED.

- CAN WILLY FUCKING PROJECT DAMAGE TO HIM TO OTHER PEOPLE??? THATS FUUUUUCKED MAN

- NO. NO. WILLY DID NOT...... WILLY IS TAYLORS STEPDAD NOW. WTF.

- WILLY IS A STEPDAD NOW. I AM GOING TO THROW UP.

- NOOOOOO I HATE THIS SO BAD THIS IS THE WORSTTTT I HATE WILLY STAMPLER

- im still biting my nails im SO SCARED

- SCARY TRYING TO SCARE WILLY RON STYLE YESSSS

- *HERMIE*S GONNA TRY TO GRAPPLE WILLY????

- NICKY COMPLETELY FUCKING UP THE PLAN LMAOOO

- 10 MINUTES LEFT.... HOW ARE THEY GONNA PULL THROUGH

- 11:11 the teens are gonna pull through!!

- SCARYS IN THE CHAIR OH GOD OH GOD

- THE DOODLER IS FREE. ITS THERE. OH MY LORDY LORD

- THIS IS GONNA BE THE MOST IMPORTANT DICE ROLL OF THE WHOLE SEASON. FUUUUCK

- i have it paused. i swear. to FUCKING god. if its a 1.

- THE DOODLERS GONNA SPEAK OH MY LORD

- YESSSSSSSSS LOVE WINS!!!!!!!

#dndads #dndads spoilers #dndads s2 spoilers #siren says

13 notes · View notes

frasiersdailystim · 11 months

Text

Documented event occured on July 19th, 1990, tape itself made November 5th, 1999. Edits were made to reflect the current reality of Scarry & Weathers. [] Will be used to represent a current fact that was not apparent here. () Will be used to represent a falsehood. Distorted, irregular, or impossible circumstances only viewed by the likes of Scarry and Weathers will not be marked, as this is what they themselves see in the moment. Objective (The reality or physical world experienced by most and can be proved, considered the purest form of it) reality is completely disregarded. Accounts collected from both interviewees themselves. Recorded on a singular Betamax. Shared with no one. Said to each other. Reason created: "To tie up mental loose ends." And "Clear disturbances unneeded by us by reliving it."

What was it like, the night you met each other?

FRASIER'S ACCOUNT:

I don't like remembering.... That night. It was a fateful one, of course, I wouldn't have met her, and I would've been dead in numerous ways, but it was rather sick. For me. And for her. Give me a moment. I have to get into, into the headspace to speak it all out loud. Please don't rush me. I really hate that. Hate is a rather strong word, I'm not a hateful person. I have a deep rooted, bitter distaste for it. Denatoniumesque. Alright, let me stop stalling. I was like, twenty, twenty one. For the past two, three years I'd been living in.... Who am I kidding? I lived in a dump. It was the cheapest apartment I could find, and the quality was fine, it's just I didn't take care of it. It was such a neglected house. I feel ashamed thinking of it. It was cruel how I treated it. I treated it how I felt. I didn't do anything to the poor thing. A sop.

Like the senate to Caesar, glass bottles pierced my sagging couch from throwing them beneath it, black tape all over my w-windows so they wouldn't find or watch me anymore but they have cameras wherever they can put them, bedroom barren aside from a red twin mattress, I never slept there, Iii can't sleep there, minifridge with nothing there.. The only thing worthwhile was that dinky television affixed to the wall, poorly though. It bled out wires. I stopped talking to people. I was in a sort of, public exile....I.. I was terrified. But I just, I don't know. I do know. That's a filler word. It was all catching up to me and I couldn't outrun it anymore. It'd pinned me.

. . . ——— . . .

[Like Mithridates to boat against the heat of the sun, slathered in milk and honey, forced to devour whatever they shoved down his throat as flies and insects pick away at him and devour his flesh - subjugating him to a humiliating execution of suffering by The King for seventeen days until he is wholly consumed into unrecognizability .] All I could think of w-was. I can't. It crushed me. I couldn't handle it anymore. I wasn't anyone. So I had to end it. I... I, I um, Well, I got my r-rental from out of the parking lot, on this one hot summer night, it was raining too, it was like a sort of hellfire, a-almost. Real humid. My skin was burning, like acid. I don't like summer. I don't. Ignore me. Let me continue. Silly me. I'm so s-silly, aren't I?

I got in, and I started driving around. I wasn't driving anywhere. I wasn't a person. I wanted even alive. I just wanted my conscience cleared. Forever. It was too loud. Well, I remembered, um, this particular bridge, t-that... C-Calm down. Calm down Frasier. You're fucking talking to yourself. You're talking to a video tape. Don't get w-worked up. Sorry. Sorry .Y-You don't have to apologize. You ddddon't.... Never.. I'm sorry, Frasier. I'm really sorry. This particular bridge led off into the Atlantic. I knew if my body sunk in that sea it would float back up and those horrible animals, those birds would pick at it then. And I was driving forth, right toward the bridge. I kept thinking of [That King.] I couldn't stop. The flies began to buzz and the birds would cry out. I cried.

I drove as fast I could, I couldn't see anything, think I was crying, and then suddenly- I saw this, um, figure in the road. I felt it had to be significant, and I couldn't end the life of another human being, especially when I meant to, (Frasier does a snapping neck motion) my own self, so I just.... I swerved into a tree, my rental car was completely destroyed. Hood crushed like a can. I was fine though, just a cut or so on my leg. I can handle a few glass shards. I don't know why I did that. I could've just killed us both. We would've both been saved. Two birds with one stone. She was frozen in the street. Petrified like a stone. I felt so, so deeply guilty. What the hell was I doing? I could've- I could've killed this woman. And she was a runaway. She saved my life. I saved hers. And that's how it was supposed to be.

NOELLE'S ACCOUNT:

(well, we met at a restaurant somewhere in barcelona then moved to this city. Hmh. No. Let me redo this. We met on a tramway in Maine after I had a late stop. We met in an open house while both bored. We grew up together. We were coworkers at the same AT&T, we..) I don't have to lie. This isn't being distributed anywhere. I don't have the energy to speak right now, nor do I necessarily want to go through the process of explaining my months of travel right now. That's a bit too painful for me to discuss right now, Too boring too. I'd, I'd pad it out. So I just wrote, what it was like, like a book... But only the middle part. I'm not good at beginnings or endings, unfortunately. Don't get mad at me for that. I wrote them all on, um, note cards. So that's how this will be read. Don't get mad at me for that, or if the camera shakes. I already said that.... I'm the one who's watching this. I can do whatever I want.

Additional edits added to include a more accurate depiction from both sides of what it was like for Noelle to be led into Frasier's house, only written in the way Noelle would, or wishes she could write in her head. Unfortunately for her, she typically doesn't have the energy to do so.

Frasier cracked opened the door to his apartment with such a frightened gentleness it seemed as if even the slightest of force would cause the thing to tremble at its hinges and collapse into nothing. The door itself was already left ajar, and red keys lay uselessly on the half-built shelf a little ways beyond the door. It appears Frasier intended to leave his apartment up for grabs after he'd finally killed himself, so someone else could take residency in it as he sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

[Noelle] hesitated at the doorway, looking back once or twice, before cautiously pushing [her] way through the apartment. It was awful. A miserable excuse for a living space. It didn't appear as if the owner purposefully brought ill towards the apartment, but rather had been unable to bring themself to live in it at all. Black drapes tacked under the windows cast an unusual darkness in the cramped space, rotting wood from an unfixed leaking pipe against the wall was noticed and certainly smelled before seen and papers were spread out all over the floor. A smashed bottle of beer leaked it's remnants on the shaggy carpet and the couch looked uncomfortable. The only light in the house was a dimly, barely living lamp bolted on the wall. Frasier clicked the door behind him and headed towards the twin bar stools he had in wait at his kitchen counter. It looked like it'd never been eaten on before. He walked in a way fitting for a poltergeist possessing that of a mortal body, speaking in that corrupted voice with limbs cracking and body uncanny with priests crying for exorcism, deeply hunched over. Ashamed.

"I'm so sorry. A-About the mess." Frasier gave out a deep, wavering sigh. He wasn't expecting [her] to plant down beside him, and that [she] did not. [she] stood with a certain eeriness, a sort of lost look. [She] reminded him of a corpse almost. [She] was an anchor that'd been dredged up from the seabed, covered in seaweed and litter carelessly dumped into it's depths with water dripping from [her] orifices from being submerged with rust snaking up [her] legs and chest like a snake, once attached to the body of a mighty ship then left to die at the bottom. [She] wasn't this. [She] was wearing a stained t-shirt and torn dress pants. But [she] could've been. [She] was so still. Nothing felt real at all. Not a word uttered from [her] mouth. [She] felt like a scared kid.

It started to get uncomfortable, almost tense. It was an undeniable physical being that lumbered around the house with it's huge paws and judgemental eyes. [Noelle] could clearly hear it's creaking on the floorboards and Frasier could hear the flapping of wings beyond the entrance to the house. It was still open. [Noelle's] form was illuminated by the light, making an almost halo-like shape around [her.] [She'd] just noticed the source of the light. [She] stared at Frasier for a second then bounded to the door on [her] tired shoeless feet before slamming the door shut and locking it behind [her.] The force of the slam was so intense an empty bottle of liquor abandoned and stale on the ground had rolled forth towards Frasier, who had winced at the noise. They both had. [Her] hands were clearly shaking as [she] fumbled with the keys to lock that door, and [she] cleary wasn't letting go of them. They rested tight between [her] tightened fist. [Noelle] didn't know him. Frasier was afraid but so was [she.] Frasier looked rather familiar and [she] didn't know why but [she] hated it.

Frasier felt so guilty... He knew why [she] felt that way. So wary of his existence. Not that he really knew knew, but he could find kinship in [her] terror. Whenever he'd offered [her] his hand when he saw [her] in the road, [she] didn't say a word aside from incoherent horrified yet exhausted mumblings of "don't take me" before going completely silent and beginning to shake, prior to coming somewhat back to reality.

Frasier despised the mood of the room. Despite the shutting of the door, he could still hear the heavy flaps of hundreds of birds above his tiny apartment. He hated them. He hated this room. He wanted to drown it all out. Frasier slowly reached for the remote on the living room table, and flicked on the television. Anything would be alright. Anything. On flashed the national news.

"Renown child actor most known for (his) roles in youth on beloved comedies That's in the Family! Private Life, and The Weight of the World and former model (Philo Elstree), son of Melissa Elstree and Pittman Elstree has been found dead by suspected suicide at twenty one (now twenty two)* on the grounds of Elstree Studios. (His) body was recovered about two months after (his) death from the pond in the vineyard overlooking the production studio in the properties of the Elstree.

After months of searching for the missing (boy), an unfortunate speed boating accident between extended family members of the Elstree had wound up in a six year old girl falling out of the boat and almost drowning. A life guard on watch had luckily jumped in to retrieve the girl, who thankfully survived. After CPR was performed, the girl was in utter shock. Not because of the drowning. She'd seen something in those waters. Once her breath was regained, all she cried was: "I saw my cousin! I saw my cousin! (He) was staring straight at me! (His) throat is gone!" With terrified eyes as she clawed her way out of the lifeguards arms and back to the mansion. The body had been dragged up from the depths, looking "badly beaten" most likely from injuries sustained from hitting the rocks at the bottom of the lake.

Strangely enough, forensic pathologists state from images shared of the remains; "There is something odd about the corpse of (Mr. Elstree.) Despite having had drowned (himself) in the pond, there appears to be no bloating that occured to the body, which is unusual for a body that has drowned. Though it appears (his) coattail had caught on a rock and held (him) down, it was only a measly piece of silk. The microbes building gas within the corpse would've caused (his) body to bloat and float to the surface. People would've seen within hours. Furthermore, even if there was some odd chance no one- not a singular individual had seen the body come to the vineyard and been to this pond in two months to witness the body float... Maggot larvae would've already been crawling in the wounds and orifices exposed to air on (his) body, such as the possibile self inflicted neck wound, and waterfowl among other animals would've already swooped down to devour the carrion in the water. (He) however has none of this. Why?"

Unfortunately, this question will forever be left out in open water. Sorry, that isn't funny at all, is it? Back to the topic, The Elstree seem to not want an autopsy. They only desire a "sprucing up of our (son), it just hurts too much to see him this way. I don't want to find out how (he) died. I know how. Can't you see how painful this is for us? For a mother to lose her own child? We (loved him)." As said by Melissa Elstree. It's speculated they may seek out make-up artist Fritz Erupper for this 'sprucing up.' Known for his eccentric true to life art dolls and stellar make-up work on the cast of Private Life in relation to the Elstree— Erupper himself has always had strong relation with that of the Elstree, considering them a second family. If offered the job, Erupper stated he would be "Most delighted to take it on. I want nothing but honor on the fallen soul of such a bright spirit. (He) was like a (son) to me." To the press in an interview this afternoon. The date of the ceremony is unknown as of now, but Pittman himself has insisted on an "open casket, blow out funeral, for everyone to see." [...] Alright. That's all for this segment, folks. Fly high, (Philo.) What a loss to the state of film, and America as a whole. Now on to our next segment—"

• It is a fascination that the last name of this particular beloved American family happens to be Elstree. The name in itself isn't even born of American blood, though Elstree quickly became a household name in those many rows of homes. No eye bat Elstree is/was the ge- -neric name of several standing or demolished. British film studios Most notably for being the house(s) that produced films [significant here, or important to the culture of film today] The Shining, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and Bohemian Rhapsody among many many more marks in the grandeur of film. However, Out of all the studios that once thrived, only two have remained the inevitable test of time. "Elstree" was a tribute to Elstree Studios by the band The Buggles. Following the story of a failed actor, who according to Wave Maker Magazine, is "taking up a more regular position behind the scenes and looking back at (his) life in regret."

[Noelle] had completely frozen up. [She] looked terrified. [Her] breath was quick and tight, legs trembling as [she] just slumped down on the floor as if [she] were a dilapidated building. What the apartment could've been if Frasier pushed that door with just an ounce's worth more force. [Her] eyes darted to Frasier with this wild, terrified look, like when he almost hit [her]. [She] looked back up at the television. It was playing some stupid advertisement now. After that it was some happy, sappy story. It was almost hilarious. Depressing story then something joyful then more horrible shit then something nice again. Mind numbing. [She] didn't feel a thing. Didn't feel real again.

"H-Hey, are you okay? Of course you're not. I can turn off the TV, if you'd like. I should've turned it off the moment it mentioned s- death. That poor poor (boy)." Frasier's fingers hovered the power button and he trudged over to [Noelle], ready to offer [her] his hand incase [she] needed some support getting up. Getting up to do what? He hadn't touched another living being in years. "I'm fine... It doesn't matter." [Noelle] didn't know what to do. [She] didn't want to see that. [She] needed something to do. [She] vacantly stared at a tag on Frasier's shirt. Wait. [Her] ears perked up, and [she] tilted [her] head.

[Noelle] lifted briefly from [her] psuedodissociative haze "You didn't recognize that guy on TV?"

"No." Frasier shook his head. His hair hang in his eyes. "(He's) a celebrity, but I'm a shut-in... I ddddon't watch that stuff.... Whatever (he) was in." Frasier replied. "Why?"

"(No reason at all)." [Noelle] looked to the tag again. It had a name on it, like a branding. "My name is...Nnnoelle. Call me that and that only." Noelle felt so odd. [She] didn't know why [she] took on that name. [She] had another one saved up, but this one spilled out. [She] just had to be called anything but the name [she] had shed. Even if it was an insult. It was nice to finally get [her] name. He didn't expect it to be as feminine as it was, but it's not like that really mattered.

"Alright. I'll make sure to call you that. Oh, I haven't introduced myself either, heh... H-How rude of me." Frasier uncomfortably fumbled with a loose thread in his pants. "My name is Frasier." Noelle didn't respond for a very long time, which made Frasier nervous. [She] was probably judging him right now... [She] probably knew who he was, [she] was going to scream at him, what's wrong with you? Why'd you do that? Or worse, laugh at how pathetic he'd gotten. That horrible canned laughter rose from it's equally as terrible grave, rattling in the back of his head and making the apartment complex tremble and shake with each bellowing cackle. Frasier covered his ears and made a kind of pained whining sound, which elicited a confused head tilt from Noelle.

"Frasier... Huh." Even more familiar. Why? "I remember, whenever I was a kid, there was this show I... I... used to watch.... The name is blurry now. It's already wasting away. Sorry. But there was this kid named Frasier in it, and he had a brother. They, um did shit with raptors. Y'know, the birds. It was cute." Noelle rested [her] hand on [her] chin. It was hard to remember most things past two months ago now. Moreso forcefully attempted to forget. [She] tried to cut it off from memory like a dead, rotting limb. It twisted and distorted as if it were in a fun house mirror, almost mocking [her], begging [her] to remember, to forget, [she] grumbled a silent 'leave me alone' under [her] breath. If [she] had to confront any of those events face to face [she] would surely not survive.

"(What a coincidence. I hope you enjoyed what you watched. I wouldn't know anything about that, either. I was sheltered. M-My name is common, so it must just be a lucky match.)" Frasier hated to lie. But he didn't want to think about that at all. He would probably try killing himself again with Noelle in the house if I had to think about his time on the show. But he felt guilty.... He owed [her]. He almost killed [her]. Noelle had a sense he was hiding something but begged no question. It just made [her] more wary. Frasier needed the topic to change.

"So... So you have anywhere to stay?" Frasier tilted his head. "Um. Whenever I found you crouched there in the middle of the road, you d-didn't say a word. You didn't even look alive. I could put my hand through you. Then again.. You look like a runaway, but I don't wanna assume." Noelle weighed [her] options in response. "I'll have somewhere to stay soon. I'll get a job and everything. I have money, though." Noelle opened the bag [she] had tied around [her] waist. It was more of a suitcase than a bag. Hundreds of wads of cash lay bundled in the tattered suitcase. "Don't take any without my explicit permission. I'll know."

Frasier stuttered in shock. A grave anxiety creeped up his waist and burrowed itself into his skin, a writhing leech sucking upon the blood- His rationality, and cauterizing it with paranoia. Was he harboring a criminal in his home? What did [she] do to obtain all that money? He didn't want to think about it. What if [she] killed him and robbed him dry in his slumber? To be honest— it would be appreciated, but it still scared him. Frasier groaned as he pulled the leech off of his flesh, twisting it with a squeeze so it's teeth would release themselves from the spot they'd cemented themselves in his sensitive skin. He threw it on the ground and crushed it beneath his heel into a bloodied stain, but he could still feel some gnawing into his calves... They bled onto the floor.

"I won't. You can trust me. I promise." Frasier nodded as Noelle closed up [her] bag and tied it back up. Noelle weakly got up from [her] spot slouched on the floor, the grip on the keys [she'd] had earlier weakening but not quite. He wasn't all that dangerous. He might not hurt [her.] As [she] lifted from the ground [she] suddenly came to realize the exhaustion that lay heavy in [her] bones, rooted in deep. [She] could see the way [her] feet began to melt, fusing in with the wood paneling of the floor, and grew uncomfortable, twisting [her] legs idly to get them unstuck.

Noelle didn't want to admit exhaustion, and [she] wouldn't succumb that quickly. [She] planned on doing further investigation on Frasier while he slept. But at least, [she] needed to know where [she] would rest. "Do you have anywhere for me to sleep? I can. Um... Sleep on the floor. Or the couch." Noelle kept [her] balance against the sodden wall of Frasier's house. It was disgusting. [She] hoped [she] could get out of this place soon. [She] felt horrible for him. No wonder he acted this way. Surely that house wasn't of his own accord. He lived in the physical manifestation of his own misery, as if it were a barbed wire that bound his wrists and he was forced to endure. Noelle would probably kill [herself] if [she] had to st... [She's] going to be here a while. [She] laughed to [herself] in [her] head.

"You can sleep on the bed in my room. I can't go in there a-anymore. I'll just sleep on the couch. I do it every night." Frasier gave Noelle a nervous smile, and pointed to the door down the hallway. [She] didn't feel like prying about his fears, it would feel uncomfortable, so [she] took the invitation with a flick of [her] ears to signify [she] appreciated it. [She] trudged over to Frasier's abandoned bedroom, hovering [her] paw over the door.

"...Thank you." Noelle shot him a melancholy smile before disappearing into the room with [her] tail dragging behind [her.] Frasier said something in response, but he didn't think Noelle caught it. It was alright. It didn't matter anyway. At least [she] seemed more comfortable with him now, even if that comfort was raised a singular percentage above zero. Despite their fears of each other, and the guilt they held... Maybe they'd be able to survive it all. Just a little.

#suicide

3 notes · View notes

minetteskvareninova · 10 months

Text

Minette watches Medici, part 15 (Betrayal)

- This is probably going to be a short one, because I don’t have much to complain about this episode? Like, the whole thing is questionable from the historical perspective and has a lot of problems carried over from the previous episodes, but overall the buildup to the Pazzi plot kinda slaps? Who knows, maybe I’ll fill this one with compliments instead.

- First off, one thing I forgot to mention in the previous entry: the decision to tie Galeazzo’s murder to the Pazzi conspiracy. And I mean, those two things were related, in that they were both attempts to remove an autocratic ruler and reinstate the old semi-oligarchical order, but they weren’t literally perpetuated by the same people. With that said, as far as deviations from history go, this is one of the better ones, because it fits very well into the main plot. Like, if they are going to disregard the history completely, they might as well give us something this good.

- Look, I hate to say this, because she was a great gal and shit, but... They should’ve killed Simonetta sooner. I don’t hate some of the things they were trying to do with Giuliano here, like him being distracted by women, wine and general fucking around, untill he falls in love with a girl who inspires him to take his responsibilities more seriously even after she dies. But like... The whole thing was too little too late. Instead we spend most of Simonetta and Giuliano’s time together with their dumb courtship and even dumber drama with her husband and Sandro.

- Also, the whole “Sandro loves her as an object of artistic adoration, while Giuliano loves her as an actual person” would be a great angle to take if it wasn’t for the fact that a) again, too little too late; b) if Giuliano really loved or at least respected her as an actual person, he would’ve left her alone at the first “get lost” and none of this drama would happen. These two had no fucking chemistry, but honestly that’s to be expected, I’ve yet to see a tsundere girl x presumptuous fuckboy pairing that isn’t pure trash. This is the kind of couple that gives enemies to lovers trope a bad name.

- Another thing that was too little too late? The whole thing with Giuliano finding his place as the hard first of the bank, while Lorenzo is the brain and friendly face. I don’t love either of them as characters, but they have a solid dynamic this show refuses to play on for some reason.

- Also let me clown a little on the whitewashing of Sixtus IV., like, I get that The Borgias did the whole “morally ambiguous pope” thing sooner and better, but come the fuck on. Also was his cardinal nephew supposed to be part of the conspiracy, because IRL he very much was...

- Whitewashing of the Medici family is bearing some really nasty fruits here in the form of tragic flattening of the Pazzi conspiracy. Like, where are my liberatores vibes? The Caesar references?! Halooo??? THIS SHIT COULD’VE BEEN SO POIGNANT ASFJG...

- The flashback was... Eh? Contessina’s death had me rolling my eyes, which - you know you’ve fucked up when a best girl is literally dying and my reacting is a fucking eyeroll. At the same time, we finally got some glimpses of an alternate timeline where Francesco de’ Pazzi had a decent characterization. His pride, his penchant for violence, his contentious relationship with his uncle... This dude could’ve been so interesting with some better writing! As it is, my interest in him as a character lives off of scraps and his mighty cheekbones. Ugh.

- But, I cannot emphasize this enough, despite all of my minor complaints, this was a fucking great episode! The plot was well-thought out, fast paced, the chase at the beginning kicked ass, the twists and turns of the plot were exciting, yet made perfect sense, and Carlo, oh my poor sweet Carlo, my heart goes out to you... Also my girls Clarice and Mamma Lucrezia, god how I love them. Like, so much for my conviction that I’ll end this show without any new blorbos. It’s just that I am better at complaining than praising, sorry about that.

#medici: the magnificent #minette watches medici

1 note · View note

3xm-draconic · 2 years

Text

Jojo characters thoughts on me P1.

I currently have writer's block on JJBLA so I'am doing some headcanons, this one is how the jjba characters would probably feel about me. NOTE I am brutally honest and i have very little social skills, I'am also including my irl history.

PHANTOM BLOOD.

Jonathan: He would probably not like me very much cuz i swear like a drunk sailor and can be a bit aggressive and antisocial at times, but does see that deep down I'am not a being a bitch on purpose, I just go a lot of issues and that I'am trying to work on them...I just got A LOT of work to do.

Speedwagon: Speedy has lived in the bad parts of town and knows what it's like to live on the streets and so do I. I grew up in the ghettos and would frequently get kicked out of my own house by my religieuse great-aunt cuz my mother and grandma have spines made from cheap jello. He'd empathize with me...but probably think I was a bit of a bitch too.

Zeppeli and the other Hamon Masters: IDK really, with William Zeppeli he'd think I was a jackass and others would agree but he'd likely compare me to Speedwagon or to a much more moral dio of all things.

Dio/DIO: I grew up with abusive family members, cuz I was conceived out of wedlock and was a shotgun wedding baby my great-aunt (who is a highly religious catholic) thought I was a blemish on the family and would constantly remind me of that. I feel like he'd both hate and empathize with me cuz we are alike in the fact that we both grew up with abuse and poverty.

BATTLE TENDENCY

Joseph: We'd get into a prank war, like jonathan he'd first think I was an asshole but he'd warm up to me like he did with Caesar, I can't help but be mischievous or crack a joke here or there...especially dering inappropriate moments (like when meeting the Pillarmen for the first time and my first thought ain't oh shit these guys are menacing, it's WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEIR PANTS?! like bruh I don't wanna see your fucking panties).

Caesar: Like Joseph he'd think I was a bitch but would warm up to me.

Stroheim: Ok let's be real I don't like this guy, he's a fucking NATZI! But if he "reformed and turned to the good side" I'd still bitch at him to no end and he'd bitch at me too. So in the beginning he'd hate me but in the end he'd probably help me out like with Joseph... I'd still kick him in his steel balls though.

Santana: We both know what it's like to be treated like shit, to not be valued by your family, if he hung out with me insted of probably trying to eat me like with the others we'd honestly be friends I think.

Wammu: I've been in my fair share of fights and like dio I've fought dirty so Wammu would not like me for that and think of me as honourless, but he'd probably like me for my honesty and unwillingness to back down, I'm blunt and I'am tough.

Esidis: He'd think I was from another world, I speak with a southern accent cuz of my dad being from Tennessee but I also sound abit scottish cuz my mom is scottish/american so I sound fucking strange as hell, I also use a lot of slang from both sides of my family so if he heard me speak he'd be confused as fuck.

Karz: He'd also think I am weird cuz I'd tell him something like "if you ate 10,000,000 bananas you'd die of radiation poisoning" and he'd be probably be like "what? how do you know that? why do you know that?" and I'd be like "I don't know just thought you'd like to know".

#jjba #headcanon

1 note · View note

ketamineharry · 3 years

Text

I Love Me - Harry Lewis

Requested - Yes ~ can I request an ethan/Harry one where the reader is curvy (bigger boobs/bum/hips etc) compared to Talia + Freya and the other girlfriends and they are on holiday with everyone and the reader feels a bit insecure and scared of what everyone will think when they look at photos, have photo shoots and insta comments, love you and your writing!! 🤍

Trigger Warnings: Body image issues, self-confidence issues

Authors Note: This was originally requested as a holiday, but I changed it slightly as my most recent imagine was a holiday themed one. I hope you don’t mind!

As you entered the restaurant, an uneasy feeling took over you. Usually, being seen out in public with your friends, and your boyfriend Harry wouldn’t phase you — but over lockdown, you had put on a few pounds. Expressing your emotions in a healthy way, had never been your forte so when the lockdown restrictions hit, instead of going to the local pub to drink your sorrows away, with a group of friends you had turned to eating. Comfort eating had become the norm whenever you felt sad, lonely, happy, or to put it more accurately whenever you felt anything.

While you had been piling on the pounds, Talia and Freya, had been keeping to a strict fitness regime. So naturally, they looked incredible. While you just felt deflated. To make matters worse, this was a Sidemen dinner, meaning that not only were there going to be pictures, but eyes were going to be firmly on your table.

Instinctively, as you walked you grabbed for Harry’s hand. Thankfully, he was slightly in front of you, so you could hide yourself behind his broad frame. As soon as your fingers entwined, you found a sense of serenity; despite how short lived that may have been.

As the others crowded around the table, trying to figure out seating arrangements, you focussed your energy in trying to remain calm. All you wanted was to have a seat on the outskirts, so that you wouldn’t have to participate in the group Instagram photos. The self-loathing from the way you looked in this moment was enough to fuel your insecurities for a good few months, you certainly didn’t need the constant reminder on Instagram too.

Luckily, you managed to secure the seat you wanted. Josh, being the father of the group dictated where everyone else was going to sit. Usually, there was a rule of thumb that you sat in couples; but you had ended up sitting in between JJ and Freya. Harry was on the opposite side of the table, his phone in one hand, completely engrossed in an app, knowing him it was most likely Twitter. However, in this seating arrangement you felt sick. Your one lifeline, although not ridiculously far from you, had been cut off. You were going to have to brave this one out.

The waiter approached the table and introduced themselves. He had a cheery disposition until they made eye contact with you, their fake customer service smile fading as he served you his best judgemental glare. It lasted a split second, but you knew what it meant. The feeling of being out of your depth was confirmed in that look, it wasn’t just you that felt it, it was felt by those looking in on this dynamic of people. Why would they want to associate themselves with you?

“And for the lady?” He asked, glancing over at you again. His demeanour changed once more. You remained silent for a moment, mulling over whether to ask for what you actually wanted or order something that you didn’t want to avoid more disapproving glares.

“May I suggest the chicken caesar salad.” He adds, knocking you out of your stream of consciousness.

“That would be lovely thank you.” You respond. The last thing that you wanted was to cause a scene. In fact, the thing you wanted most was to be ignored, unseen. It was blatantly obvious what everyone was thinking, where their stares ended up… all on you.

The plates of food started to arrive, being placed before everyone. You looked around, envious. Their food all looked insanely good, Talia had mac and cheese while Freya had a vegetarian lasagne. To say that you were covetous, as you chowed down on some lettuce, was an understatement. Just some flavour would have been nice.

The same waiter came back to see if anyone wanted any desserts, Harry ordered a chocolate cake with some whipped cream and Freya ordered a cheesecake, Ethan wanted a coffee, the others weren’t really bothered though. What was made apparent, was that you weren’t even asked by the waiter.

Freya turned to you, a sympathetic look on her face. “Are you ok?” She asked, as she placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” You mumbled unconvincingly, certain that Freya could pick up on how you were feeling. She had been sitting next to you the entire time after all.

“Let’s go to the ladies yeah? I’ll just text Josh to let him know what’s going on.” She said, as she retrieved her phone from her bag. She quickly sent the text before she grabbed your hand and directed you to the bathroom.

Freya held the door open for you, as you both walked inside, she went over to the sinks and climbed up on top of them. Crossing her arms. Inspecting you slightly.

“So, spill… what’s wrong with ya?” She questioned, with a small reassuring smile.

You took a deep breath in and out, as you tried to steady yourself. As much as you loved Freya, talking about your feelings to anyone was a challenge that you faced daily. It was hard enough being open with Harry about your feelings, and he was the person that you trusted most. Never mind one of your closest friends.

“I hate the way I look.” You confessed, as you subconsciously started to tug at the dress you were wearing. It all of a sudden felt too tight, too claustrophobic, as if the material had shrunk from the time it took you to walk from your table into the bathroom.

“You and Talia, you are both gorgeous and slim. I’m not that way at all. You can wear whatever you want and look good. If I so much as looked at a belly top, people would be disgusted.”

Freya remained silent, letting you ramble on about how much you hated your body and what you looked like. How out of place you felt and what you wish you could change about yourself. When you were finally finished, she jumped down off of the counter and engulfed you in a hug.

“Don’t you ever, ever feel like you aren’t good enough. You are the funniest person I have ever met. You make me belly laugh every single day. You spread so much positivity, and you make sure that everyone around you feels loved. I am slim, but do you know what… I’d kill for a rack like yours.” She whispered, as she comforted you.

“As for that asshole waiter who has been making you feel like shit all night, don’t think that no-one else has noticed it, because they have. They’re all too polite to embarrass him in public, but trust me, he’ll get his comeuppance. Now, wipe those tears and let’s go show him what a fucking bad ass bitch you are.” She laughed, as she grabbed your hand once again, as she led you back out to the table.

The bill was laid out on the table, the seven cards were placed on top of it as you rejoined the group.

“Here she is.” Harry beamed, as he reached out for you. You went and gave him a hug, before taking your seat again.

As the waiter collected the bill, Harry called him over. “I’d like to give you a cash tip, can you follow me outside so I can draw the cash out?” He asked. The waiter nodded, a gleam in his eye. Harry gave you a gesture, letting you know to follow him.

Once you were outside, how cold it was finally hit you. It made you recoil into yourself.

“Yeah, the tip I wanted to give you was to never, and I mean never try to ridicule my girlfriend about anything.” Harry said, swiftly connecting his right fist to the waiters cheek.

“Run.” He shouted, as he grabbed your hand, your feet pounding on the floor until you reached the car. You were both panting, leaning on each other for support.

“You do know you’re still a ten out of ten to me. No matter what.” Harry smiled, as he placed a kiss to the top of your head. “Now let’s go and get a McDonalds, because I know you’re still hungry and it’s your favourite.”

#harry lewis #sidemen #w2s #sidemen x reader #harry lewis x reader #harry lewis imagine #w2s imagine #w2s x reader #wroetoshaw #sidemen imagine

597 notes · View notes

airplanned · 3 years

Text

Hello. In this Ted Talk, I will discuss how the Barbarian Armor in Breath of the Wild is problematic AF.

Let's start with the word "Barbarian." This is a term invented by the ancient Greeks to describe anyone who didn't speak Greek or was not a Greek citizen. It was a dichotomy: you were either Greek or a barbarian. It seemed, to them, that every non-Greek speaker was just saying, "Bar bar bar bar." So, it's super offensive. I'm sure you can think of at least one modern equivalent of a term based on how a caricature of a culture speaks their native language.

When the Roman Empire came along, they started using the term pretty specifically to mean non-Roman tribes. Big stand outs here are the Imazighen (who you might know as the Berbers with the same root as barbarian), along with the Gauls and the Celts, all of whom gave the Romans a lot of grief. Julius Caesar himself wrote a whole book about his war against the Barbarian Gauls. (It's usually assigned as reading in Latin 2.)

In modern usage, the term has expanded out again to any group that is "other" or "barbaric," but it still focuses in on tribal and indigenous groups and has the connotation of being overly violent, cruel, or merciless. It is an offensive term equating difference to cruelty.

So let's get back to this armor. From the neck down, it's Celtic inspired. They were known for their body paint and furs. This tracks with the word "barbarian" used as the Romans would use it. So just with the name and the look of two pieces, this armor is already othering an indigenous tribe with a connotation of cruelty.

The color text for the chest armor and leg wrappings reads, "once worn by the warriors of an ancient warlike tribe from the Faron region. The war paint bolsters your fighting spirit and raises your attack power."

Yiiikes.

Let's dig into why that's a yikes from me. "An ancient warlike tribe." 1. This moves it from subtext and coding to textual. This armor belonged to an indigenous group in Hyrule.

2. "Warlike." This is the start of the dehumanizing language we're going to see. It's a common tool of oppressive, colonialist regimes. "Warlike" implies that they are more violent than even the colonizers coming into their homeland and oppressing them. It implies that they are more focused on battle than art and science. It leads to "They are dangerous and need to be reigned in for the colonizer's safety," because they might kill our proper young men or assault our proper young women or steal our proper young children. And/or "They are uncivilized and the colonizers will teach them how to better themselves." There’s a level of implied naivete there--that they just don’t know how to do better. If we go back to our Celtic example, historically multiple oppressive groups had epic battles with them, and they were described as "warlike." In fact, the Celts fought so hard that Caesar was pushed back, and later, after his death, Hadrian gave up and built a wall, saying that that was as far as the empire went and there was just no possible way to push further into their territory. But now we (enlightened people of the 21st century) think of Celtic culture as having intricate art and music and language. We know this "warlike" moniker is propoganda born of fear and frustration and propagated throughout the empire. Think of the cultures that you've heard described as "warlike." Do you believe they really are? Or do you think this is a narrative constructed by an oppressor for the purpose of villainizing them?

Other examples of dehumanizing language: "feral," "primitive," "crude," "savage," "wild." Also things like "child-like" can infantalize and deny the maturity, intelligence, and decision making skills of an adult. This ties back to the naivete again--the idea that these children need to be guided.

3. "from the Faron region." Now, you may recall that the three pieces of the armor set are found in the three labyrinths. Weirdly, none of these are in Faron. This is where we learn the name of the "warlike culture from Faron": the Zonai. (Why is it called the Barbarian armor and not the Zonai armor? Hmmmmmmm.) Zonai ruins are found all over the map, in all sorts of environments. So why is Nintendo saying they're specifically from Faron? It's because cultures who live in rainforests are typically indigenous and typically people of color. There's a common thing here where colonizers judge forest-dwelling groups for not colonizing the forest. Tear it down and build houses out of bricks! Tear it down and have a field of wheat! Tear it down and have a field of cattle! The colonizers’ idea was that if they weren’t “working” the land in the way the Europeans could identify, then they didn’t “own” the land and it was up for taking. Dove-tailing with this, we have colonizers’ constant judgements that their way of doing things is the only "proper" way, and all others ways are wrong. So where does Nintendo say this fictional indigenous tribe is from? Clearly, the jungle even though they have a labyrinth next to a snow field and in the middle of the sea, and they have ruins in a forest right next to the Lost Woods. But no. They're indigenous, and Nintendo really needs that to hit home.

Now at this point, we need to get into how the helm piece with a skull is not a Celtic thing. And the Zonai ruins are not Celtic inspired at all. They're inspired more by Aztec ruins. This matches a bit better with the jungle habitat. But now we've gained a level of problematic issues, because suddenly we're not talking about a white indigenous group and Link doing some Braveheart cosplay. Now we're talking about people of color. We're talking about demonizing people with the the dual identities of being indigenous and non-white. Think of it this way: a lot of people have an easier time accepting "the Celts weren't warlike," than accepting "the Aztecs weren't warlike." My saying this isn’t a judgement against people who struggle here. We inhabit a colonialst society where this narrative that indigenous people deserve their oppression is pressed more heavily on non-white groups.

So let's look at the color text for the Barbarian Helm, because it's slightly different from the other two: "A helmet once worn by the warriors of an ancient warlike tribe from the Faron region. Wearing it draws out your inner animal, increasing your strength and battle prowess."

4. "Inner Animal." (big sigh) Now we're comparing indigenous people to animals. This tactic has been used to oppress and belittle since colonization began. Nothing is more dehumanizing than implying that someone is not a human. To this day, you can hear groups compared to apes and monkeys. It's absurdly offensive.

This instance is explicit. But there are subtler ways that equating an oppressed culture to an animal sneaks into language. Words describing someone's features as ape-like or rat-like. Words describing someone's movements as cat-like or dog-like. Words describing the way people talk as grunting or barking or howling.

So I guess Nintendo didn't consider that indigenous people who encounter this oppressive language every day until it grinds and wears would play their game and have to hear it yet again. I guess they didn't think about how by using this language, they were perpetuating a dehumanizing narrative that unknowing people would pick up and continue to use.

Language has meaning.

Edit: I am a white dude. I speak from no authority. I just spend a lot of time thinking about language and connotations and hating on colonialism (and I took a lot of Latin, if you can’t tell). It’s not my intention to talk over anyone.

#Zelda #language has meaning

343 notes · View notes

ultralovedeluxe · 3 years

Text

Yan! Wamuu with prompts #20 and #23

This was requested by the lovely @teachillvibes, thank you so much for requesting! Hopefully this came out nicely ^^

‘I can’t live without you anymore!’

‘Please don’t scream at me like that. You know how much it hurts me’

Warnings: Naga Au, yandere behaviors, kidnapping, masturbation, nsfw, hypnosis(but not really), non/dub con, badly written

It almost felt like an eternity.

You don’t even remember when he took you. One day you were having a good time with your husband and friends, next you were getting abducted by a monster you regret befriending. But should that be your fault? Maybe. After all your husband always warned you to stay away from nagas. Even now, you wish you had listened to your husband’s words. Nagas were not creatures to be messed with. You wished you had just gotten ridden of the thought that, maybe, just maybe, some nagas were friendly and kind-hearted. You were delusional enough to believe that this one was different. That this one wouldn’t hurt you. Unfortunately, nagas were dangerous and feral creatures, and you were just delusional.

“[first], I have returned, I brought the sea urchins you love so much”

He was here. The monster that claimed to be your ‘mate’ was here. The only true moments of happiness you felt in your imprisonment was when he was gone. Because in that small amount of time, you would think about how your husband was doing. Was he happy without you? Or was he looking for you? You could never be sure. Letting out a deep sigh, you look behind you to see the naga that had kept you here. The sight of him no longer brought the same comfort it used to have. Now you truly began to see the horror behind his appearance.

He was a man, or atleast had the appearance of a man from head to his torso. The rest of his body is what made him threatening to you. Below his "human" appearance, the Naga Wamuu had the body of a snake. He was far larger than you, far larger than any human for that matter.

Sometimes you wondered if he'd eat you, or if he'd feed you to more of his kind. But no, you knew what Wammu wanted from you. You knew exactly why he was keeping you in this position. And quite frankly, maybe the thought of him eating you wasn't so bad.

You didn't even feel Wammu's tail wrap itself around you. You felt disgust rush through your body as the naga left passionate, but almost impatient kisses on your temples.

"Dear pet, I can't bear the thought of staying alive without you anymore. But please, enlighten me, why do you seem so displeased with my touches? Am I not enough for you?" Wamuu asked as his grip on you tightened.

Was he humoring you? Was this an actual, genuine question? And here you are thinking you were the delusional one.

You wanted to spit in his face and yell at him for all the things he's done to you. For taking you away from your village, for forcing you to live in this hell he calls your home. But in fear of angering the naga, you stay silent. However, you still needed to answer his question, because he would get mad regardless.

"Wam- I mean, dear, I'm just not in the mood to be held by you. That's all.." you said, quickly correcting your mistake. Ever since he had captured you, he had forced you to call him pet names to satisfy his deranged fantasy he had with you. Acting as if you two had been lovers for years, as if you had always been the little human house-wife he could come back to after hunting.

Wammu hummed in understandment, but you knew he didn’t understand. In fact if he truly understood you he would have let you go already. Let you live outside this dull, dark cave and allow you to return to your village. You snapped out of your thoughts as Wammu began planting small kisses on your neck once again. Oh gods..you only hoped Wammu didn’t want to ‘treat’ you tonight. This was usually always a sign when he wanted something, or wanted to give you a treat for being ‘such a good little human’. You remember all the times he had made you gag on his monstrous cock, and then forcing you to swallow his semen as a reward. You tolerated his physical gifts a lot more, because you can’t exactly gag on glorious jewels he had gifted you over the course of staying here.

Wammu pressed his lips against you once again, completely savoring the feeling of your dried lips against his. You looked so adorable when you were obidient, he was glad that you weren’t causing any trouble or trying to escape. “My dearest [first] , I will be heading out tonight for some errands, stay inside and don’t let anybody in unless it’s Kars, you know I trust you.. If you are good tonight, I’ll spoil you like the queen you are” he said, unwrapping himself around you. His larger body towered over you, so you simply nodded. The naga leaned towards your face and kissed you again, and you kissed back while carressing his face softly; just as he liked.

“I’ll see you soon”

You were bored out of your mind. One of the reasons you hated this cave was because there was no color to brighten up the mood or anything to do. You would just sit around and ponder, until Wammu came back. Maybe you could rearrange your jewels again, just like last time. Maybe you could organize them by shape instead of color, who knows. Maybe Wammu would bring you something to enteratin yourself today. A sewing kit or a painting canvas would be nice. Your thoughts soon drifted off to think about your husband. You missed how his sapphire blue eyes would look in the sun. Oh how you missed tangling your hands in his soft, blonde hair. It was always so soft and wavy, you wondered how he would look like with his hair down. You missed they way he would teasingly hold onto your hips until you gave him a kiss, or whenever he would kiss your chest without holding back.

Before you knew it, your pants were gone. You were spread out on the bed Wammu had gifted you when you had ‘obeyed’ his wishes. Your hand had gone down to touch your throbbing clit, and it felt amazing. How long have you been neglecting yourself? You didn’t remember, but for now you just wanted to enjoy this time you had for yourself before Wammu came back.

You rubbed your clit slowly with a gentle force. Those small movements were enough to have you whimpering out softly. It just felt so good. To finally touch yourself after weeks of being away from your loved one. You imagined it was your husband prepping you up, so you could easily take him in. You imagined the gentle tone in his voice, constantly praising you throughout your session. He was always so gentle and sweet, but at the same time he was dirty and rough when he wanted to be. Your hand movements became desperate, moving your hips in order to gain some friction.

“Hn, Caesar..please-”

You couldn’t help but to moan out your husband’s name. In fact you did it several times. You wanted to see him again, you wanted to leave this place so you could feel safe again-

“How dare you think of another man while I’m gone!”

You quickly reached over to grab covers, but Wammu didn’t let you; as he had already made his way over to you. You had never seen Wammu this angry before. Sure he has given you his fair share of punishments, but he always kept a poker face. At the moment, anger was clearly visible on his face, and he wasn’t afraid of showing it.

“Wammu please! I’m sorry! I won’t ever do it again!” you knew it was useless, but trying to plead with him wouldn’t hurt, right? (yes it would, you knew you were in danger, and that there’s no escaping your punishment). Wammu grabbed you by the hair and lifted you up like you were a piece of paper. “Put me down! Please Wammu don’t do this!”

Instead of hitting you as you first assumed, Wammu placed a rough kiss on your lips. “Please don’t scream at me like that darling, you know how much it hurts me. But your actions have consequences..” While all you could do was look at him in fear, Wammu then proceeded to slap your throbbing clit. “Seems to me you don’t need me to prep you up. You can take both of my cocks well, right pet? After this you will never think of a man other than me ever again”

Before you knew it, you had lost control of yourself.

The cave you were in was filled with despair and the occasional shimmer from your jewels. Currently, the cave you were in was filled with the hot sounds of Wammu’s twin cocks slamming against your already wet sex. His pace was rough, without any pauses in between. Your moans and pleas were nothing but music to Wammu’s ears. He enjoyed how easily you stopped complaining and fell into the pleasure he could give you. As for you, the only things you could hear were Wammu’s grunts into your ear, along with the clapping of your sex against his.

“Ah Wammu please go slower!” you whined, but Wammu did the complete opposite. He went just a tad bit slower, but made his pace rougher than it was before. “I’m afraid I can’t do that pet. Do you love me? Do you enjoy what we’re doing?” he asked while thrusting himself in you, while at the same time rubbing your clit with a gentle amount of force.

“Yes! Wammu please let me cum!” you moaned out. Never in your life did you think you’d be ravished by a monstrous man. Wammuu hummed in amusement as he slowed his pace and bit your neck softly, “Then say my name pet, who can make you feel this way?”. You were at your climax, “You Wammu! You’re the only one I swear!-” you whined as you came on Wammu’s cocks.

Wammu laid you down on your bed, “Now pet, who is your one true love?”. You could barely open your eyes, “Cae- you Wammu..” you whispered, clearly still tired from your 'love' making session.

“Guess we’ll have to try again..”

#yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere jjba #yandere wammu #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere wammu x reader #jjba imagines #wammu #wammu jjba #yandere headcanons #yandere fics #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo x reader #wammu x reader

159 notes · View notes

ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

constant craving | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, angst, unrequited love, idiot!jungkook, idiot!oc, basically everyone's an idiot

⇢ word count: 1.7k

⇢ warnings: unreciprocated pining, explicit language, themes of hopeless romanticism (!!), (slightly) unedited

⇢ summary: your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. you tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: hello my little loves!! this was definitely ;) not ;) an impulse write and release ;) ;) sorry for being so inactive lately. i've been focusing on myself (i know how cliche that sounds but it's true). anyway, enjoy this incredibly angsts fic i wrote at 2 am for absolutely no reason at all other than i'm an emotional sadist and a masochist. love u!!!! <3

part one: control

He was coming over for the third time this week. Third time. Three times is two more times than he'd gone over his girlfriend's house, but you did everything in your power to convince your inconvincible heart that it meant nothing. Friends see each other more than their girlfriends, right?

It was making a racket in your chest, that muscle that strained much harder for a man who had his pumping for the girl of his dreams.

But, he was coming over for the third time this week.

The first time he said this visit ranked, in his words, 'out of the question' on the degree of necessary that he come over and show you Star Wars. You played a good game of reluctance when asking if it was the entire series or just one movie, and in your head, you hoped to God it was the entire series. For him, you'd watch the series four times over if it meant you sat through this outrageously nerdy movie next to the even more outrageously nerdy love of your life.

The second time was particularly funny to you. He called while you were cooking dinner, almost as if he was in stride with you in a way that was an ounce too synchronized to be platonic, and asked if you were whipping up a delicious meal that he could mooch off of. Knowing he was a terrible cook, plus the fact that when he begged so politely you felt your posture unbind into to a puddle, you more than happily obliged.

This time, the circumstances made it harder to say yes, but not yet impossible. And it was a second or two before you heard that knock on the front door that had your once pounding heart come to a complete halt. It was still, waiting for you to make a decision.

Since it was Jungkook, of course, you'd say yes. And your heart would continue beating. Beating, as in sending sharp jabs that stained the inside of your chest with bruises. Beating, as in when the time came, the final blow of your constantly craving heart would devastate your entire being.

"Thank you so much, ___. God, I'm such an idiot." He walked in with all the confidence of someone who was a bit too familiar with your company. Jungkook's feet reintroducing themselves to your floors in the same manner as he would the night before, and the night before that, and the countless nights you kept secured in your collection of memories. As if he belonged there; as if he was coming home.

"An idiot with a great friend." That last word nearly withdrew the bile you had been ever so gracefully holding in.

"Yeah yeah." And he was comfortable with that same word, 'friend', that deepened your bruises into scars. He had absolutely no clue. Idiot. "I can't believe I broke up with her. I was so angry and acted on that instead of logic. Fuck, why would I do that to myself? I love her."

"Well, you never know. Maybe..." You hated yourself for not resisting the selfish temptation that was about to fall from your lips. The words you've been internally screaming to him to leave her and fall in love with you instead were diluted to something much more tame when your tongue formed them into sound.

"Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you guys are better off apart? To, um, grow or whatever."

"No." He said that with too much certainty and too little hesitance and just enough conviction to sink another wound in the organ exhausting itself in your chest. "She's the one. I know it"

"Jungkook."

He looked at you with all the earnestness of a man who carved his utmost and unchanging dedication to her. A look that any love-induced sap would kill for. A look he would never direct towards you.

Your eyes weren't under your control as of now. The glue that held them to his eyes, his lips, his hair, and every other part of him you dreamed of was more than a marathoned yearning. It was an adhesive twelve years in the making, not showing the slightest sign of wearing away.

"The way you love is something to die for..." And then he smiled at you, but still not for you.

You were utterly crushed.

"She'll take you back in a heartbeat. I mean, she has a brain, so of course, she will. Anyone would."

I would.

"I hope you're right." The couch was four feet wide at most, but there was an impressively vast space between you and the man who was sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what to say? You know I suck with words."

"Uh... Yeah. Of course. Anything."

If breaking hearts were a crime, then Jungkook would have much to atone for. You'd be convicted as a willing accomplice for holding on this long. Up until this point, you've let every small glance, every shy smile he sent your way, every eyebrow twitch conveying a meaning only you knew well enough to retrieve him from whatever awkward situation he needed rescuing from, every accidentally brush of his hand against yours, every purposeful embrace that lasted so long your tears stained his right shoulder string you into a knot of miserable, unrequited love.

And up until this point, you had hope he would choose you.

Each ring of his phone worked in tandem to reduce your undying devotion to Jungkook into a compressed seed of denial.

I don't love him. He's just my best friend.

Your pulse pronounced itself loudly in your ears, as a not-so-gentle reminder of how much you hated him for loving him. Somehow, your heart beat faster. Then again, anything was possible when it came to him. Anything except the miraculous event of him hanging up, declaring his love for you, and living in the land of happily ever after that only existed in your deluded imagination.

"Hey Irene! I'm so fucking glad you picked up."

He gave you that look. With the arched eyebrow, his widened doe eyes, and the slightly hung jaw, you read each feature better than words and nodded to signal you knew exactly what he needed.

"I'm sorry about what happened." You said, in a whisper, though the deflated volume of your words carried no implication of the unbridled sincerity sealed in them.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He repeated, laying down that same Irene-contrived smile on you that fostered a smile of your own, knowing fully it surfaced as a reflex from hearing her voice.

"It might be crazy to try this, because I don't know how you feel."

If the thing people say about your life flashing before your eyes during encounters with death, then you were sure your heart was about to consume its last pulse of blood. The scenes of you and Jungkook spending your Friday nights when you were a ripe city dweller in your shoebox apartment doing everything and nothing at all had convinced you that you were certainly about to go into cardiac arrest.

"It might be crazy to say this, because I don't know how you feel." Jungkook was so many things, however emotionally perceptive was not one of them.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you." Those words tasted sweet despite fermenting in a chamber of your heart you kept preserved since, as you said, the very moment you met him.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you."

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

He repeated your words, but dehydrated all of your sentiment from them. You were left with the remnants of the feelings, and none of the words from him you were so desperately starved of. He took them right from your throat, along with the very breath that seemed to keep returning because of Jungkook, molded them into his own, into a sequence of sounds that were meant for Irene. You were left hungry, breathless, and forever wanting.

Irene must have been smiling right about now. Who wouldn't smile hearing those things from someone like Jungkook?

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Then, you began to ask yourself another question.

If you make me complete, Jungkook, will my story ever end?

You knew the answer to that. You swore your heart beat in a morse code that told you everything you needed to know.

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Jungkook looked to you, before Irene could form the proper response, and smiled. It was the third time he smiled at you today because of course, you were keeping track. You knew it was his own physically linguistic version of a 'thank you' or a 'you're a life saver' but somehow, to you, it translated to something similar to a 'goodbye'.

Your legs miraculously rose and carried you to the back porch. The sun was just beginning to dip in the horizon, proliferating a warm orange that was about to subside to an indistinguishable and unpredictable dusk. Whatever color came after the sunset, you were ready to accept it, to memorize how it reflected against a world without the possibility of him. And even though the night will always embody undertones of orange, it was time to focus on the colors around it.

It was time to let go.

a/n: i might make this into a drabble series!!! if anyone would be interested in that please let me know :)) thank you for readinggggg <3

#bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts writing #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #bts drabble #jungkook drabble #jungkook #constant craving #rubycoast

1K notes · View notes

diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years

Text

🚨Warnings: Light p in v smut. Some angst. Lots of fluff. My grandfather’s name really is in the Smithsonian.🚨

Plain Gold Ring V:

Exactly Like You

“I know why I waited

Know why I've been blue

I've been waiting each day

For someone exactly like you” - Nina Simone

——————————————————————

Your last day in D.C. felt like the last day of your life. This life. Every article of clothing was packed. Every knickknack and tchotchke sent with the movers. You were ready for your next life. Did your next life include Andy?

The weather was beautiful. Sunny. Not too hot. You and Andy had planned on spending it outside seeing the sites. He had never toured any of the museums. You invited Jacob along. The second you said it you wished you hadn’t. You felt like a home wrecker even though Andy promised Jacob wouldn’t see you that way.

Andy was bristling with excitement. “He’s going to love you, baby.” You were not great with kids. You actively chose not to have them. You loved your nieces from a distance when they were little. Now that they are teenagers you feel a little more at ease with them. You are their cool rich aunt who spends an absolutely outrageous amount of money on them when you visit. You nearly fainted when Andy asked if you’d like to have children.

“Aren’t I too old for that?”

“You’re only three years younger than me. I know a lot of women who had their career before they had a family.” Your face snapped from terrified to anger real quick, “Not that you can’t have a career and be a mother. People do it everyday. Shut up, Andy.”

“You’re cute when you’re nervous. Have you thought of having children with me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, yeah. I’d like to have a couple more.”

“Oh. A couple he says.” You could feel the hives forming. “This seems like a good conversation to have right before I leave.”

He ran his hands up and down your arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you. You haven’t thought about it? Not even a little?” The door buzzed in the nick of time.

“Jacob’s here! Hallelujah!” You wiggled out of his arms to grab your shoes.

He laughed shaking his head. “We’ll finish this conversation later, young lady.” he pressed the intercom button, “Hey come on up, buddy. This is going to be great, honey.” He loved your nervous laugh and the way you fidgeted with your fingers. Just the fact that you were nervous told him you would love his son.

You heard voices coming from the living area. Fucking hell. Was that Lori? You contemplated going out of the window. You went into the bathroom to grab some lip balm. You knew full well that it was in your bag on the kitchen island. You were just staying out of their way. When you heard the front door close you reemerged.

“Ready to go?” Your eyes were wide and you were way too smiley. If Andy didn’t know better he would think you were on drugs.

“Yeah. I think no more coffee for you ok?”

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Y/N.” Jacob extended his hand.

“Nice to see you too. So! The Smithsonian. What part are you most interested in seeing?”

“Air and space I think.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start. My grandfather’s name is actually on a plaque. I’ll show you. He was in the navy and built planes that were used in Korea I think. And my dad’s picture is there. He works for a division of NASA back in Louisiana where I’m from. He developed this little part of the rocket booster. He’s literally a rocket scientist.”

“That’s really cool. I’d love to meet him sometime…..”

Andy was loving every second of this. You and Jacob really got along. You were making plans to visit your father and stepmother over the summer and maybe hit the beach in Florida. Jacob’s face lit up at the prospect of meeting your family. Both Andy and Lori were only children. Jacob didn’t grow up with cousins or really any kids his own age outside of school. He seemed pretty comfortable with the idea of you and Andy together.

Andy tested the waters a little by holding your hand. Jacob didn’t seem to notice. By the time you got to the next part of the museum he had his arms around your waist. He even kissed you a couple of times. Nothing but a tender peck here and there. Jacob didn’t seem to mind when he showed you affection.

After lunch Andy dropped you off and then ran Jacob back home.

“So, what are you thinking?” Andy asked with nervous trepidation.

“The museum was cool. I really liked the rockets. It’s cool that Y/N’s dad made those.”

“Did you like Y/N?”

“Yeah. Sucks she’s moving. Do you think you’ll move to Chicago too?”

“Kind of depends on you, bud. I know you’re getting older and you don’t need Dad around very much anymore. I don’t want to miss anything. You’re my only baby.”

“I could spend summers with you. You look really happy. I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. Even before the trial. I’d miss you but you should be happy.”

The whole way inside Jacob talked about you. He clammed up when Lori walked in.

“Hey, guys. Did you have a good time?” She kissed Jacob on the forehead.

“We had a great time. Ok, Jake. You have the number where I’ll be. I’ll be back on Wednesday. If you’re not busy next weekend you can spend the night. I have your room all set up. Love you.”

“Ok. Love you. Have a safe flight. Tell Y/N I said bye.” He escaped to his room before the arguing started.

“If it’s ok I’ll pick him up from school Thursday. Did you sign the papers?”

“She went with you?” Her voice was deadly quiet.

“She did.”

“Didn’t want to tell me that before hand I guess.”

He sighed and wiped his face with his hands, “I’ll have him back Sunday night. See you later.”

“Fuck you, Andy. You can’t even give me the courtesy of telling me my son would be meeting his father’s whore!”

He slammed his fist on the counter, “Did you sign the papers or not?” She threw the manilla envelope at him.

“They’re signed.” He took the papers and walked out slamming the door. He contemplated moving again. He has a month to month lease on his place. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find a job. He knew Jacob would be fine. Chicago was looking better and better. After all the baby talk this morning he wouldn’t burden you with anything else domestic for today.

——————————————————————

You were zipping your last suitcase when you heard Andy come in. You packed all of your sleep clothes so you were wearing Andy’s t-shirt and panties. Dinner was ordered and he had a drink waiting on the counter. He called out for you. When you rounded the corner into the living room he caught you in his arms.

“Hey, handsome.” you cooed in his ear. He nuzzled your neck and stroked your back. “You ok? Was Jacob….he hates me. I knew it.”

He tightened his hold on you, “Honey, he loved you. He talked about you the whole way back.”

“Then why is your face all worried?”

“Because I’m keenly aware that this is our last night together in my place. That when I come home Wednesday you won’t be here. I’ll go to work on Thursday and Jeremy will be in your office. I have really good memories in that office and now they’re ruined. I don’t want to wake up without you.”

His hands traveled up your bare back then back down to cup your ass. “The delivery app says they’re going to be here in twenty minutes. Think you can finish in time?”

He lowered his head between your breasts and nodded yes. Before you knew it your panties were off, his pants were down and he was fucking you against the wall. His pace was relentless. You hooked your ankles at the small of his back and leaned back so you could rub your clit. Your fingertips brushed against his dick every time he pumped in and out of your cunt. You both came in fifteen minutes.

You ate dinner on the veranda loving the cool breeze on your bare skin. As much as he wanted his t-shirt to smell like you, he like naked picnics way more. Admittedly, a big chicken Caesar salad wasn’t the sexiest food in the world. Still didn’t stop him from licking dressing off of your chest when it dropped off your fork. He was determined to fuck you in almost every room in this place.

You slept tangled and sticking together all night. You had finally gotten over your need for bed space. You’d miss it when he wasn’t there. All night the two of you wanted to bring up moving in together. Neither of you had the guts to say it. You didn’t want to beat a dead horse. He didn’t want to freak you out. Good thing you’d be long distance for a while to work on your communication skills.

——————————————————————

Your new place was beautiful. You rented a big new condo close to Millennial Park. Your office was on Michigan Ave so you weren’t far from there thought walking was highly discouraged. It wouldn’t be possible in heels anyway.

You and Andy worked diligently unpacking and cleaning. When the last box was unpacked and broken down you both collapsed on the couch. “I feel disgusting.”

“You have that nice big bathtub. Bet we can both fit.” He raised an eyebrow at you and nudged your side.

“You are insatiable, Mr. Barber. Whatever will I do without you?”

“You’ll bust from horniness. Come on.” He hoisted you up from your comfy spot and pulled you into the bathroom. While he undressed you filled the water with soft musky oils and some bubble bath. You lit candles and eased in to relax. He washed your hair massaging your scalp with his fingertips. He held you in the warmth until your fingers and toes were pruned.

For the rest of the week, if you were sitting it was on Andy’s lap. If you were sleeping it was in his arms. By Tuesday morning, you had both finished up conference calls and responding to emails. You had cleared the rest of your day to spend together.

As the sunlight dwindled it had become harder and harder to part. You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to have the conversation you had been dreading since you stepped off the plane.

“Andy, I don’t want to sound like a nagging girlfriend but, I really want you to move in with me. I know it would be so hard leaving Jacob but I have plenty of room. He can spend every summer here if he wants. I’d love to have him. I feel really strongly that this is leading somewhere. I’ll even talk about babies if you want.”

His heart was bursting. You kept rambling on trying to convince him. Little did you know he was already convinced. “Stan is going to kill you.” He laughed and pulled you onto his lap. “Give me a few weeks to wrap up everything.”

When you dropped him at the airport there were tears but you knew you’d see him soon. “I love you, baby. I’ll call you as soon as I land.” He kissed you like he would never get to do it again.

“I love you too. See you soon.” He smiled through his tears.

“See you soon.”

——————————————————————

That weekend he spent all of his time with Jacob. He planned on spending every moment he could with his son. Jacob even had his first few weeks planned starting with meeting your family in Louisiana.

When he brought Jacob home on Sunday he worked up the courage to tell Lori the news. “Do you have all of your stuff for your English assignment? If not I can bring it by before school tomorrow.”

“I got it, dad. I had fun this weekend.” They hugged. He smelled Jacob’s hair and kissed him.

“Love you. Be good for mom.”

“Love you too!”

Lori stood in the doorway with her arms folded protectively over her chest. “So she’s gone?”

“Yep.”

“So what now? What does this mean for you?”

He pulled out the kitchen chair and rested his head in this hands. “This wasn’t a fling, Lori. I’m moving to Chicago. Jacob is real excited about spending summers with us.”

“Do you love her?” Tears shimmered in her eyes and her voice wavered. It would be cruel to lie to her.

“Very much.” It stung to hear. With nothing left to say Andy stood to leave.

“Andy!” she called after him. When he turned she wrapped him in a hug. The two of them embraced for several minutes.

When he stepped onto the sidewalk outside of the building his phone buzzed in his pocket. He saw your face smiling back at him.

“Hey, baby. How was your day?” He looked up at your old window and thought of how the two of you started, the past he left behind and smiled at the sound of his future on the other end of the line.

#andy barber angst #andy barber smut #andy barber x y/n #andy barber fluff #andy barber #defending jacob

58 notes · View notes

pure-kirarin · 3 years

Text

The rose left unwatered Part 2 (Law x f!reader)

A/N : Hi there ~.~ Part 2 is ready ! I was so surprised with the nice feedback I got on part one, wow, I am so pleased. I will do my best for updating ;w; ! This chapter was nice to write, it follows the events of the Dressrosa arc (with modifications) so if you’re not there it might be a bit of a spoiler. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter and please let me know if you like it ! Part 1 Part 2 :

A few days have passed, normally, days passed without nothing exchanged but stealthy looks, as if that night never happened. You acted casually but you called him now by his first name, making sure to pronounce it in that peculiar way that is specific to you. Law was immersed in making plans so he didn't have much time to re-think about your interaction even though you were never too far, always in the corner of his visual field, always in some corner of his mind. By this time, Law's plan was going well, Doflamingo retired from being a Warlord and you were heading to Dressrosa. Once arrived, you split into teams, and when nobody expected it, you said quite casually ;

-Hmm...I'm actually bored so I'll go with Robin, Law and Usopp if that's okay.

-That's definitely not okay said Usopp, hiding behind Zoro* what if she betrays us ?!

You pinch the bridge of your nose and just add « Well...if I wanted to betray you guys, wouldn't it be safer for me to stay on the ship ? Also, It wouldn't be that hard for me to take you down if I really wanted to... » you said with a cocky smile

-Don't say such things Usopp ! Says Luffy with a pouty look, (Y/N) is our friend !

-Don't be mean to (Y/N)-chan ! Adds Sanji, hitting usopp with his fist.

Usopp gives in and you and the strawhats split into two groups, yours is charged of giving Ceaser to Doflamingo. You put on a venetian-carnaval looking mask to hide your identity. The mask was white with golden arabesques decorating it.

Law was surprised that you wanted to join them for the first time. Since you joined the strawhats as an unofficial member, you have never taken part in any kind of fighting, no one has ever seen you fight. Robin was curious about why you wanted to join, she had a little enigmatic smile, her eyes going from you to Law.

Once in Greenbit, you decided that you, Robin and Usopp would go explore the forest while Caesar and Law will stay further in case something happened. This is when you were all captured by Tontattas -the dwarves that lived in Greenbit- and stitched to the ground.

-Hey...(Y/N)...Why won't you use that « extraordinary power of yours » and save us ?!

-Hmm...Don't wanna, you said while yawning, stuck to the ground as well.

Usopp started crying in fear but then made up that story about being a descendant of Noland, the legendary explorers that Tontattas happened to worship. You then, or more like, Usopp and Robin decided to help the Tontattas to execute their plan to make some light on Dressrosa's secret ; the fact that Doflamingo was controlling everyone in the city and staying on the throne by using one of his family member's ability and turning everyone who tried to rebel into toys. You honestly weren't interested in this part of the plan, your thoughts were with the surgeon. Since the plan failed and Doflamingo only pretended to have retired from being a Warlord, you now knew that Law was in heavy waters ; having to face not only the Navy but also the Heavenly Demon. You wished that Law would just escape as you knew that Doflamingo can be pretty dangerous. The idea of him dying made the knot in your stomach grow. You didn't want him to die...Not now. You wanted to save him. You knew that only you could do it.

The DenDen Mushi started ringing suddenly and Usopp picked up. You were hanged up on the line, waiting for news about Law, expecting that he would be there with Luffy or the others. I really want to see him right now, you thought to yourself. A sharp sound was heard through the speaker ; a loud bullet noise followed by Luffy's voice

-Hey !!! Tra-o why are you fighting mingo ??!

-HEY ???! What was the gunshot ???? Did Doflamingo shoot Tra-o ?? Said Ussop, as if he was adding fuel to the fire that was burning your whole being.

Your heart almost skipped a beat, almost escaping from your ribs ; Law got hit by the bullet ? You heard screams of pain and you assumed the worse...You felt that monstrous pain. And then came the remorse, the poignant weight of « what ifs » ? of « what if I stayed with him ? » you could've done something for sure, you that were doomed with such devastating power. « Why did I even have a power if it's not to save people I care for ? » you were surprised, caring, you cared for him and you were ready to go there, to be there for him. Suddenly, you felt nothing as some tears were rolling down your cheeks, tears of sorrow, with nothing but nausea at the back of your throat. You let out a shriek that made everyone look at you with terror ;

-LAW ! You screamed...Wait for me I will....I will...save him I will...I will bring him back to life if I need to...

You took the denden mushi off Usopp's hands and screamed into the snail ;

-Leave Law to me ! I will be there in seconds.

- We are counting on you (Y/N) aded the captain

-(Y/N) said Robin, but that's basically impo-...

-Porta Ermetica ! As you rose your hand, a violet looking gate the same size of a door appeared. You set entered into it and it disappeared as it was never there. This transported you directly to the palace, where Law and Doflamingo were fighting. Trebol, one of Doflamingo's family was also there. You didn't pay attention to both of them, you jumped on Law's body holding him by the shoulders delicately, as if that touch would break him. He was all covered in blood and he has also lost an arm.

-Who do we have here ? Another brat ? We don't have time to waste with y'all ! - Said Trébol.

You looked back at him with such anger in your eyes, your conqueror haki was so strong that it made Trébol collapse at Doflamingo's feet. That was the extent of your ability. A terrifiant ability that you didn't have the control of.

Doflamingo looked at you in both awe and bloody anger, how dare you ? On the other hand, he felt that your presence was very familiar, bingo, how could he forget the scent of an old lover ? He didn't take you lightly at all. He was curious as why you were there, but also careful.

During this time, Law was really taken aback, he never thought that you had this kind of power, and above all, conqueror haki. His mind was blurry after fighting restlessly against the heavenly demon. He started to understand your high bounty and why you were so hesitating to fight...

But so much more was left unanswered and so much more was left unsaid. He couldn't help but feel a mixture of shame and relief, why were you fighting for him ? You that hated fighting so much. But seeing him in that state, coming to save him, it didn't please his ego and he cursed you inside for it.

-(Y/N)-ya..Why are you here ?!

You looked at him with nothing but tenderness in your eyes, putting your finger on his lips

-Shh..You're injured....We will talk later.

Doflamingo was looking at this scene, puzzled yet amused, seeing how you got fragile at the sight of the surgeon. He then started laughing in his usual evil laugh as he looked closely at you, recognizing you. How could he not ? You both shared the same story. You both knew the government's hidden secret, their hidden trasure that could shake the whole world if it came to be known. Except that he got the government in the palm of his hand because of his bloodline, and that you were tracked and targeted because of it. He knew the kind of powers you had, he knew and it made a shiver of excitement shake his body. Raw power, untamed power.

-Fufufu~ My, my, isn't it (Y/N)-chan ? Long time no see...

-Doflamingo...I have no intention of fighting you...You know very well what I'm capable of...I'm just here to get him back. You said as you pointed to Law with a movement of your chin.

Doflamingo got closer, holding the gun in his arm. You stood up to face him and took off your mask, your eyes met his. Your eyebrows were frowned and you were boiling up with anger. You only had one desire ; to punch him, but you wanted to get out of here as fast as you could.

-Come on, don't frown this much...It will make you age prematurly. He gets close from your face putting two fingers on your eyebrows. He wasn't scared of you, he knew your « peaceful » temperament and he knew how to pull your strings. You slap his hand away and say in a firm tone, wanting to end this as soon as possible ;

-So, here is the deal, I take Law and I go away...And I won't interfere with your...little business. End of the deal. You say, pointing to the birdcage that is closing around the island.

Doflamingo looks at you with a half-moon smile then answers ;

-Why are you in a hurry ? Don't you want to remember the nice old days ? I have so many questions for you, my dear (Y/N)

-We don't have anything to talk about ! Also we both know that we don't want to fight.

-I was a little bit surprised to see you here...he says, ignoring your words...Really surprised. I was looking for you for quite a while, and all this time you were with the strawhats ? Why them ? Why, when I asked you to join me. With my power and yours we could destroy the world government. Listen to me, I know that we both know their little secret, if we join our powers we will...

-Enough...Enough Doffy. I will never ally myself with someone who shares your blood !

-But that didn't seem to bother you...Back in the days. He said, teasing, his voice getting lower, two fingers holding your chin up.

-I don't care about the past. I don't want to follow your path. I am an enemy of the gods as well. I will follow their will. You then took a step back.

The veins on his forehead became prominent as he felt blood pump into his veins. He clenched his fist and added

-Again ? Don't tell me you believe in such fairy tales as well ? What is up with the « D » ? Look at him very well (Y/ N)...He is one of yours too, is that why you try to save him so badly ? What did he do with that measly name of his ?

-(Y/N)-ya !! Law screamed, shocked by this amount of revelations in such a little time, this has nothing to do with you just....Just go away !

You were surprised, Law was...he was a D as well ? He didn't tell you though...At this moment,

At this very moment, you heard quite a big crash coming from down your feet. It was Luffy who had beaten Bellamy and came to fight Doflamingo. You looked down and said ;

-Luffy...I'll leave it to you from here.

-(Y/N) ! Sure ! I'm going to kick Mingo's ass.

-Do you know where the others are ?

-They're there, at the top of the hill.

You then turned to Law and he was still processing your interaction with the heavenly demon. You then got down to where he was sitting and said ;

-I am sorry but..I think that I will have to carry you.

-...

At this point, Law wasn't able to say anything or to protest. What was there to say ? This movement alone was what hurt his ego most, but he remained silent, nothing, not a single word out of his blood-covered lips. You bent down and held him firmly as if you were carrying a princess. The funny scene made Luffy laugh from afar but the murderer look from Law's face made him stop and focus on his fight. You were shaking a bit, his blood pearling on your arms, on your dress, on you. You didn't lock eyes oh no, you weren't brave enough, as if those dim eyes would have petrified you if you looked in them.

You murmured a spell and the purple dimension appeared again. It seemed as if it swallowed you both as you stepped inside of it.

You carried Law tight in your arms and your heart was throbbing inside of your chest. Fuck, you thought, you felt weak, you got weak, you that has sworn to yourself not to bend down, not to get emotional, not to get attached. But you have grown attached to the straw hats and now to the Surgeon. Why did you care if he died ? So what if he died ? So what if you would never ever see him around on the Sunny go ? So what if you never heard his low voice calling your name ? So what if you never ever got to feel his voice deep in your ears and his hands on your body ? You chrugged, keeping him closer to you, not wanting to let go of him. He seemed to have lost consciousness from his blood loss and for that moment you were a bit thankful that you didn't have to face his eyes. What would you say to him ? Hell, you didn't even know how to justify this to yourself.

You bring him to the top of the hill where the others were. Meanwhile, Robin and Usopp have accomplished their mission and returned all the toys into humans. There were also some people that you didn't know but you didn't care, all you cared about was Law. Robin came closer to you, worried.

« -(Y/N). What happened to Law ? My, his arm...I wonder if he will lose all his blood and die. »

Robin's words worried you, Robin always had such a pessimistic way of expressing herself and in other situations you would've laughed but you were in no mood to laugh. You looked quite worried bending down and looking closely. You felt so exhausted and confused, you would've preferred staying on the ship. You suddenly felt nausea and faint, fingers shaking, vision blurry. « I just want everyone to be alright...I want him to be okay... » you softly murmured before loosing the last fine thread that connected you to consciousness. Suddenly, your body felt as light as foam, your eyelids as heavy as moutains and you fell into the soft embrace of unconsciousness.

--------------------- I swear there will be more law x reader interaction in next chapter owo so brace yourselves. See you next time~ T A G L I S T @transparentobservationpaper @ shadowserpent4444 @lolli-ace @zumoshikio @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @soul-stealer-reaper

#law x reader #Trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #onepiece x reader #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo x reader #onepiece fanfiction #one piece imagines #one piece

85 notes · View notes

wri0thesley · 4 years

Text

Language Barrier - Caesar x Fem!Reader (Kinktober Day #12: Sleepy/Morning Sex)

NSFW. 18+ ONLY. AFAB reader. Fem pronouns. Explicitly chubby reader. PIV sex, sleepy sex, light language barrier. 2k

The language thing really isn’t a problem. Not when you both love each other. And not when he sounds so goddamn sexy when he slips into his mother tongue.

The language of adoration is universal. Love blooms in people’s hearts whether they share a common tongue or not; and certainly, that was the case for you and Caesar. It is down to him that you wake up every day tangled in sheets in the beautiful Italian sunshine, dappling and warming your skin. It is down to him, too, that you wake up with the heavy weight of a muscular man beside you and an arm draped protectively about your midsection.

It’s down to him, too, that sometimes you wake up to a . . . morning visitor.

You awaken that morning with heat pressing flush against your back, hard and wanting - you’re half asleep as you move against it, yawning, trying to work out what uncomfortable thing has been left in your bed - and then, Caesar groans and rocks his hips into you. You realise with a feeling like warmth spreading over you exactly what it is that’s awoken you.

You roll over onto your other side so you can face your boyfriend, whose perfect face is still screwed up from sleep. He sighs at the feel of the rush of cool air as you move, and slowly - very slowly - he opens his eyes to reveal baby blues that always feel like they are looking all the way through you. The shiver that the honeyed look he gives you sends down your body is a pleasant one - a reminder that, even in his sleep-addled state, he wants you.

Who’d have thought Caesar Zeppeli would ever want you?

“Good morning,” you breathe, and he rumbles low in his chest, reaching for you. You welcome his arms as you’re pulled into the embrace - his scent wraps over you, his warmth something you feel down to your bones. You love being trapped between his strong arms - the reminder of how much strength there is, beneath the surface. You kiss his cheek and he sighs, moving along his cheekbone, the triangles marking his face--

“Good morning to you, amore,” he replies. “It seems I’m not the only thing you’ve woken up.”

You rest your head in the crook of his neck, your lips soft as they mark out more kisses. Your face buried against him, you make sure your mouth is at least briefly free so you can murmur;

“Oh, that was awake long before I was. It woke me up, actually--”

“That’s flattering,” Caesar teases, as the arm on you moves down, stroking across your bare back and down the curve of your ass, which he takes a generous handful of, squeezing so that you bite back a sigh. “That it’s prominent enough to do that . . .”

“Oh, you know it is,” you tell him. Slowly and deliberately, you move your leg up, letting your thigh rub against the place between his thighs that his cock is hard and straining - after last night’s activities, neither of you had bothered to put on any clothes. In fact, so many of your mornings begin like this, that you two really don’t see the point at all--

Caesar pulls you closer and lowers his head to kiss you. He’s not fierce - not so early in the morning - but you can still sense the rising heat and passion behind what he’s doing, and not least with the way his stiffness throbs and twitches against your bare skin. You feel the wetness of his precome on your leg and smile against him - a movement that makes Caesar nip at your lower lip, bringing you back to where you are.

“You don’t mind helping me out with it, do you, principessa?” He asks, a low, throaty purr. There’s that pleasant shiver again, pooling like liquid heat between your legs.

Still. For a moment, you pretend that you’re thinking about it. You win the quirk of the corner of Caesar’s lips - and then, you’re clambering up, straddling your boyfriend’s generous hips. You’re still slightly more awake than him, after all - as the one in more possession of your senses, it stands to reason that you should be the one setting the pace - right?

“You know I love seeing you up there,” Caesar says, his eyes very soft as they look up at you. All of your inhibitions melt away under Caesar’s gaze when you’re like this - you feel powerful and beautiful, when his cock is hard and straining and he looks at you like he can’t believe how lucky he is. You need not worry about the curves of your skin or being too soft or too heavy. Caesar can handle you like you weigh nothing at all, and he’s certainly (as you’ve learnt) likely to pull you against him in the night and snuggle, murmuring about how soft you are and how he loves the pillow of your stomach and thighs. “You know what you do to me.”

“Well, that was the thing that woke me up this morning,” you remind him, but your cheeks are warm as you move your hips, letting the head of his cock catch against your entrance. You’re still slick from both last night’s endeavours and the way that Caesar looks at you and speaks to you, sleepy and lust-darkened of eye and voice. He stretches you out - a man that size always will - but the stretch of his cock as you slowly lower yourself down is pleasant instead of anything else.

Your pace is lenient, but it doesn’t stop Caesar’s hands from coming and holding your hips, fingers sinking into plush flesh. You’d have hated how that felt, once - but now, you just feel . . . beautiful. You feel even more beautiful when you lean down and capture Caesar in a kiss this time and the man groans into your mouth, his hips undulating in a lazy roll that sees him hilting entirely within you. You stay there for a moment, kissing him, your clit pressing against his skin, feeling stretched wide.

What a way to wake up.

You begin to move your hips in little circles - Caesar, still lazy in the morning air, watches you and holds onto you but lets you set the pace as you will it - and the pace you will is meandering, languorous. You could have cuddled up against him and warmed his cock inside you and been comfortable, but this is good too - this, and the way it feels to arch your back and circle your hips and have Caesar grunt and groan chest-deep in ways that echo around the bedroom.

Neither of you are particularly in the mood to fuck like rabbits - you had your fill of rutting one another last night. So instead, you simply enjoy how it feels to be looked at and enjoyed. You enjoy the feel of Caesar’s hands all over you, taking handfuls of flesh and squeezing them, teasing your nipples, stroking over your thighs with feather-light touches. In return, you rake your own hands through his mass of blond hair, stroke his cheeks, his chest - trace the muscles in his biceps, wondering at how hard they are.

And you fuck him, of course - but slowly. The rocking of your hips is an indulgence. More, you enjoy the closeness and the feeling of his hands on you. There’s a breeze from the open window. You stare down at Caesar and all you see is someone you love. You listen to the wet sounds of yourself as you move a little, the hitches in his breath - and you feel safe, and happy.

But you cannot live with just that for long. Not when you are wet, and you do want him - and not when Caesar is groaning, moving his own hips more and more as moments past, waking up and clearing his head some. You begin to get faster; your body lifting almost off his cock and then back. You used to be afraid the slamming of your hips would hurt him - now, Caesar grabs ahold of them and assists you in moving faster.

You feel his cock rubbing against your walls, brushing the sensitive spot that has you seeing stars. His hard body grinds against the swollen nub of your clit, already crying out for attention. The ball of heat in your stomach does nothing except grow, and grow - a fiery asteroid waiting to crash.

And Caesar begins to speak, low, in Italian that you can’t quite catch. He always gets a little bit carried away when he’s close, and you bite your lower lip, trying to make your hips move faster. The fast fever-pitch of his words, low-cadenced and indistinguishable to your beginner’s grasp of the language . . . that always gets you going. Everything he says sounds so passionate.

And he knows, too, the effect that he has on you when he slips into his native tongue.

You feel your channel clench around him, the way that your body sings out for stimulation - and, gasping, you move one of the hands leveraged on his shoulder to slide down your body and toy with your clit. Caesar’s eyes do not leave you for a moment, drinking in the way your body moves with the force of your thrusts, how your throat bobs and swallows. You might have been afraid of how your chest moves with the motions, how your stomach does - once. But now, you meet his eyes with your own as your fingers toy with the nub of your clit and you see nothing but adoration--

“Bella,” he murmurs, “bellissima--”

And you know what that means. It’s Caesar’s raw appreciation for your body, hunger for you, that pushes you over the edge - you come, gasping and whimpering, riding out the waves of your orgasm with trembling thighs.

Caesar’s hands, still gripping your hips, let you sag on him slightly as he takes control of the situation, your body pleasantly pliable and overstimulated as little aftershocks of your orgasm run through you. You can feel your slick running down your thighs with each thrust and know if he hadn’t been inside of you, you’d have made a mess indeed - but Caesar is groaning, growling out your name, feverish whispers of Italian like a prayer - and, on cue, he makes his own mess of you.

The feel of his come inside you is a hot rush, coating your insides, making you feel claimed and his. He is not ashamed of you - not now, not ever, and especially not as he pulls your face into a messy kiss as his bucking hips chase the final dregs of his orgasm. The light drags of his cock against your sensitive walls send you tumbling again, your second orgasm milked from you with whimpers and the burying of your head in his chest. Your legs feel as if someone has filled them with carbonation; they fizz, making you feel weak and spent and sore in only the very best of ways.

Both of you are panting. Both of you are sweaty and messy, you laid atop of him with hair plastered to your face. His chest is heaving, his heart beating a rhythm in tune with your own where your cheek is pressed to his chest. You manage to gather some of your strength to lift your head.

Caesar’s cock is beginning to soften inside you, as you get enough leverage to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“What a way to wake up,” you mumble to him. “Buongiorno.”

“Buongiorno,” he repeats to you, breathless but teasing. You know that much. You can speak to him a little, order in a restaurant - but when it comes to the babble that comes out when orgasm approaches? You may as well be listening to a list of numbers, for all the sense you can make of them.

It doesn’t matter. You rub along very finely indeed, despite the brief blips in understanding. And as he moves to touch you more, you feel like you’re entirely where you’re meant to be.

A hand strokes along your back, taking in the way you curve. Caesar’s mouth eases into a smile - and you feel a stirring in your lower half, something twitching and hardening, as those fingers once more trace the round shape of your ass. “But . . . we still have the rest of the morning to make use of, don’t we?”

#writing #not sfw #kinktober collection #caesar zeppeli #caesar x reader #jjba #afab reader #fem pronouns

299 notes · View notes

katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Alrightttt, I’m on a roll so we’re going onto chappy five 🥳🥳🥳😎😎

I know the movies made the Capitol — re: basically only Effie and maybe Caesar — have those ridiculous made up accents but .... I actually feel like the description of the Capitol accent in the book is supposed to be like the Kardashians or Paris Hilton’s voice. 🤷🏼‍♀️

“Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s. no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them.” Like this is a pretty good description of how Kim Kardashian and her sisters talk. And Suzzy C did say she was inspired by the juxtaposition between war news footage and ridiculous reality television shows so... I think my theory of the Capitol all talking like they’re on the Real Housewives of LA is pretty valid.

Just imagine Paris Hilton as Effie and Nicole Richie as one of her preps

Lolololol this whole section of waxing is reminding me to go get my legs waxed 😭😭😭 straight up calling me out here, Suzanne

I like how Katniss says her stylist “apparently has no interest in seeing her until the prep team has addressed obvious problems.” Like you can tell from her narration she was expecting to feel the same was about Cinna that she does about Effie and her prep team.

The “gritty loam that takes off dirt and three layers of skin” is probably just a strong exfoliator 😭😭😭 my girl knows nothing about quality skincare 🤧🤧 someone build a Panem Sephora

She mentioned them waxing her underarms.... girl, did you have hairy armpits before this? Idk why this revelation is new to me

“Grease her down!” Just sounds wrong 😅😅😅😅 I need to stop being annoying omg I’m like a twelve year old

Hmm it’s funny to me that Katniss refers to Octavia as plump. You’d think in a place like the Capitol body image and weight would be very important. Unless it’s like back in the old, old days when being overweight was a sign of wealth. Which would make more sense so this was an unnecessary thought process curtesy of Samantha

Katniss faking a smile and thanking her prep team shows she does know how to play the game and fake it better than she says.

So ... okay, hear me out, I’m not trying to get over the top or make this into something it’s not but ... the whole stylists / Cinna coming into the room and staring at her naked is a little weird. Especially considering Cinna isn’t Lenny Kravitz who’s like a bit older than her but actually like a twenty-something year old dude.

But okay, here’s the thing I was getting at ... Cinna’s one of the best people in this series and you can’t deny that. Even if you find him boring, he’s still one of Katniss’ closest people. Also he’s probably gay. But like ... what about the other stylists? I don’t wanna be that person who makes everything more than it is, but like, this scene just sounds like a perfect opportunity for some Capitol creep to assault a teenager idk I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill just ignore Samantha okay.

That’s nice that he complimented her mama though 🥰🥰🥰

So Katniss calls District Twelve the least desirable district but ... doesn’t District Eleven suck too? Like she also later says District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest but doesn’t she also say Rue is worse off than her and Prim? Make up your mind, Suz.

Cinna claims he asked for District Twelve but did he really get an option? 😅 If it’s his first year and Katniss claims the newbies get them anyway 🤷🏼‍♀️ Samantha is once again, reading too much into this.

Awww, Katniss is thinking about how long it would take for her to assemble this fancy meal at home 🤧🤧🤧 it would take her days and the Capitol just has the necessary resources at their disposal and they just takes it for granted. And yes, I’m aware this is supposed to be calling all us readers out who take so much for granted I know. We’re the Capitol.

“How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by?” It’s honestly so sad but so vital to her character that Katniss has zero hobbies or real free time. Her life is about surviving. She doesn’t get to live or enjoy very much of her time. She dedicates everything to keeping Prim — and her mother — alive, sacrificing everything a teenage girl should be doing. Sacrificing even the things the other girls in her world get to do. She mentions the merchant girls and the Seam girls who are more experienced romantically and sexually and socially than her. Because she doesn’t get to be a kid or innocent or even happy, in order to focus on her and her family’s survival. And the things she does enjoy, like spending time with Gale or dancing with Prim (mentioned in Mockingjay) she downplays in case they’re taken away, because nothing good is secure in her eyes. 🥺🥺🥺

Okay but what did Katniss’ facial expression give away that Cinna knew exactly what she was thinking? Or is she just less emotionless than she and Haymitch both claim? Ironically I think they’re the only people who call her emotionless which can easily be chalked up to their self-hate and terrible self-esteems.

Katniss is so afraid they’re gonna make her be naked for the parade 😭. Honestly though they’re children that’s so creepy that they’re even allowed to make 15/16/17 year olds be naked in a parade. I mean I know they kill kids every year but isn’t there like child pornography laws in Panem? 😭

“You’re not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?” Is so foreshadowing 😭😂😅😎 Caesar Flickerman’s voice “Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire!”

Honestly though Cinna is smart to make Katniss recognizable in the arena by leaving her with simple makeup. I know and the sky is blue we all know this already beating the dead horses until the farmer comes home.

“It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman.” It’s true though 😅😅😅😭😭 he was always a rebel. I actually think he may have asked for District Twelve after Katniss volunteered, because he saw the potential in her. Poor Peeta. Baby, I’m rooting you for even if no one else is.

Also I always found it a bit .... curious? That Peeta had a female stylist and Katniss had a male one? Not just because of the required nudity, you’d just think men would do better as a boy’s stylist and a woman would make a better girl’s stylist. So yes, my whole Cinna was interested in District Twelve because Katniss seemed like a good symbol for a rebellion idea seems very plausible.

I know I know I know I read wayyy too much into this stuff sometimes a cigarette 🚬 is just a cigarette 🚬

Katniss being relieved when Peeta shows up 😭😭😭 because even if she won’t admit it and even if she won’t let herself trust him, she still sees him unconsciously and completely against her will as a comfort because they’re in this thing together in a way, even if they’re supposed to try and kill each other

And honestly, it’s such a like... relatable feeling? To feel alone and nervous and uptight and then someone who you recognize — even if you maybe aren’t even friends with but you at least know — shows up and you just instantly feel less alone. I’m totally looking at this through shipper goggles and I’m not even ashamed you all knew who’s blogging you were reading ight? 😂🤣🤷🏼‍♀️

“He should know about fire, being a baker's son and all.” And he’s gonna learn a lot more about it when he falls in love — for real, falls in love, not a childhood infatuation — with the girl on fire. 🥰🥰🥰

But also, I love this particular line on a reread because it totally is an indicator towards their future. Like Peeta knows about fire, he’s experienced with how to handle it, and later on, he becomes the only person who truly comes to understand Katniss, who represents fire, in a way that no one else could ever imagine.

Hmmm, Katniss’ point of view here, talking about how Portia and Peeta’s team seem all giddy and air-headed and it’s only Cinna who seems reserved makes me rethink my previous imaginings of Peeta’s stylist. Maybe she’s just a Capitolite idiot and nothing like Cinna. And my baby got a raw deal here then too. Good thing Haymitch loves him more. Just kidding 😅😅😅

But also I wanna know why Cinna is hesitant to accept congratulations for his and Portia’s idea? Wasn’t he at least lowkey excited about it when he pitched it a page ago?

Their horses are coal black 🐴 😅. I like that they went the whole nine yards with the theme. Nothing but the best for the kids on Death Row.

Aww Katniss asking Peeta what he thinks about being set on fire is so sweet and pure for some reason. I just find their commodore here cute ok

“I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine” this is literally their first friend type of interaction and it’s so pure y’all leave me be I’m emotional for them

🙃 Also lowkey reminds me of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Everyone look away ok I’m sorry

Peeta’s shady/annoyed Haymitch comment and Katniss’ joke at his expense 🤣🤣😂🤣😂😂🥲🥲☺️🥲🥲 they’re bonding it’s so presh

“And suddenly we're both laughing.” I hope they laugh a lot together post-canon 🥲🥲🥲. If they can make the other laugh during their terrible circumstances, then they can make the other laugh anywhere. 🤧 Except in Thirteen because he’s hijacked and she’s certifiable and they’re both so used and abused and 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Okay I have to say, Suzanne Collins really builds up a lot for certain events and then just like grazes over the actual action of said event? Like she builds towards the tribute parade but then kind of rushes through off the actual event itself? It’s a common theme in her writing. And I don’t like it at all ngl.

Oh wait she doesn’t actually rush the parade events the paragraph before just looked like she was about to I jumped the gun 🤣😂🤭 but what I said is still completely true for many events in these books sorry not sorry

I’m definitely reading too much into it but the fact that District One — the favorite of the Capitol — gets snow white horses and District Twelve gets coal black horsies kind of ... seems to imply something .... 🤭

Cinna just lets out a sigh of relief “it worked” like ... way to fill your tributes with hope, dude. “Yeah, you’re totally safe, don’t be scared-OH THANK GOD THAT WORKED I wasn’t actually sure you wouldn’t blow up.” But actually this answers my previous inquiry about why he seemed hesitant I guess he wasn’t even sure this wouldn’t burn them up that’s nice 🤭🙃

It’s a literal trial by fire *cue drum hit* �� aww, I just cracked myself up 😭

“Then he gently tucks a hand under my chin. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" This is caught halfway between being very Capitol-y and very father-brotherly and idk which way to take it but it’s kind of cute 🤭

“For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling.” This is such a significant line because Katniss isn’t saying Peeta is technically good looking (like when Haymitch said they were decently attractive) or someone else thinks he’s good looking (i.e Gale, her mother and lowkey Finnick) but she’s saying she herself thinks he’s attractive. Girl, your crush is showing.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta.” I’m sure Cinna actually did say that but this just seems like a very good opportunity for Peeta to hold the hand of the girl he has a massive crush on. 😭😭😭

Okay Cinna gave a thumbs up so he actually was saying that but can you imagine Peeta’s excitement right now?

I mean, yeahhhh, there’s the certain death looming over him too but like live in the moment, babe. 🥰😘🤗👌🏻

I like that Katniss says the crowd is at first like 😳😳😳 before they start cheering like they’re thinking “what are these backwoods, hillbilly kids doing this year?”

“At first, I'm frozen, but then I catch sight of us on a large television screen and am floored by how breathtaking we look. In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces” okay they both have to be pretty naturally attractive people objectively, because you illuminate my face without much makeup and no one is gonna be cheering.

“Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you! I hear Cinna's voice in my head. I lift my chin a bit higher, put on my most winning smile, and wave with my free hand.” I wonder what the true difference is for Katniss between Cinna and Effie saying this to her? Maybe it’s that Effie is just outright mean to her sometimes whereas Cinna shows her nothing but kindness from the start and expresses sympathy and understanding? It’s probably that he’s already earning her trust versus Effie who’s just cruel I’m not over her comments on the train ok

“I'm glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance, he is so steady, solid as a rock.” Right from the start, Katniss refers to Peeta as solid and steady. Idk, I feel like this is something that the movies really misses along the way. Katniss wasn’t always strong or confident at all and Peeta, at least publicly, exuded those qualities pretty well. Samantha’s complaining again ™️ 💁🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

Also this is just outright foreshadowing how Peeta will eventually become her rock. Or that he will be soon painted a rock ... pick and choose which way you wanna go with this. 🤷🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️😅🤣

“As I gain confidence, I actually blow a few kisses to the crowd.” Okay, see I feel like Peeta really gives Katniss confidence in herself. If he’d been there in District Thirteen and they’d done propos together, she probably would have been a thousand times better.

But also this makes me think Katniss actually has it in her to be a charismatic, confident, alluring celebrity. She just chooses not to. 🤗🤗🤗

But this also reminds me of “She has no idea the effect she can have” okay imma move on and stop focusing on every little detail

I say that every chapter 🤧😅

“The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their way into my blood, and I can't suppress my excitement.” Say whatever you want, Katniss is still such a girl underneath it all. She gets excited over people liking her and cheering her on. And I know it’s because it increases her chances of getting sponsors but still

Honestly Peeta trying to showcase Katniss and let her take the spotlight is so selfless and indicative of his ultimate plan to help her win but also ... I can see how Katniss would believe it’s too good to be true and he’s messing with her. That he’s just playing the game to earn her trust, get her guard down and manipulate her later.

See, Peeta is actually framed at the start like the typical, standard YA love interest turned villain. In majority of YA books, at this point the boy is kind and sweet and helpful to the girl until she trusts him completely and then he turns on her and uses everything she gave him to destroy her. But the difference is, Katniss refuses to truly trust him and she is guessing his game incorrectly at every step. And then it’s revealed that it was never a game and he truly isn’t messing with her and everything he’s done that’s seem too good to be true and not even remotely plausible has actually been genuine and heartfelt and that, my friends, is why Peeta is above all other YA love interests. Because Everlark is actually the foil to many of the cliches. That was a long speech over some incoherent thoughts I’m so sorry if you suffered through that.

“It's not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta's hand. That's how tightly I've been holding it.” Awww he is her rock 😭🤧🥺

"No, don't let go of me," he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. "Please. I might fall out of this thing." Okay this part is so cute and so blatantly setting Peeta up as her main love interest omg 😅 this isn’t the least bit subtle or disguised. But first off, the fact that Katniss is also Peeta’s stability here too 😭😭😭 and second of all, she takes time to notice his blue eyes against the firelight? She was attracted to him from the very start, y’all. That’s indisputable. 👌🏻😎🤧

“It's not really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into the arena to kill each other.” I agree with you, baby, it’s not fair at all. But you two take care of that situation nicely. Or not. Y’all do start a dang war. 🤭🤭🙃🙃

It’s rather ... ironic that it’s District Twelve’s chariot of them all that is pulled up and stopped directly in front of President Snow’s mansion. I know it’s a book, certain details like this are definitively contrived, I know get over it. 🤦🏼‍♀️💁🏼‍♀️

So uh. Snow is a small thin man? Why do I suddenly imagine Danny Devito as Snow 😅😅😅😅🤣🤣🤣🤣 y’all know he’d kill the role

“The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering.” Okay, this is such a great line and it’s so significant to the rest of the series? The fact that Katniss — and Peeta, let’s not forget our boy — became symbols of the revolution. Like this line is deep if you think about it. The worse things in Panem got, the more the civilians looked towards Katniss and Peeta for hope 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🥰

Omg now after Songbirds and Snakes, we know the national anthem. I’m sorry, babies, that you have to endure that I’ll get you out of there 🙉🙉🙉

I feel like in part, the Capitol camera crew — Cressida, Pollux .... Pollux’s brother... is that you here???? — put so much attention on District Twelve because it would create some resentment and competition between them and the careers 🤭🤗

“I notice a lot of the other tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I've suspected, we've literally outshone them all.” Insert Gretchen Wieners “I can’t help that I’m popular!” 😅😅😅😅😅

“I realize I'm still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to open. We both massage our hands.” — they were hanging on so tight 😭😭😭😭

“Thanks for keeping hold of me.” He’s so sweet ☺️☺️☺️ I love him even if he’s kind of an idiot sometimes but so is Katniss so let’s not point fingers

“I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. [...] And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness” Omg I know Katniss views this as him trying to manipulate her but the fact that he’s actually just admitting the way he’s felt for years is so 😭😭😭😭 if only you’d spit it out sooner, Bready

“he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.” She literally has a crush on her fellow tribute and her first line of defense is to decide he out to get her for making her feel this way 🤣😭🙃

“The more likable he is, the more deadly he is.” The more my crush grows, the more deadly he becomes. I know I’m reading this with shipper goggles but guess what? I’m unashamed. 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️ who feels guilty for reading this book with an Everlark bias not this girl right here 🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️🙋🏼‍♀️

“I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.” Okay first off, she says cheek here but according to a chapter ago, she claimed the mark was on his jaw... so in other words, she’s incredibly short. If a medium height guy has a bruise on his jaw and she has to stand on her tip toe to reach it... well... hashtag LittleKatniss

And second off.... can you even imagine how Peeta must feel. He genuinely complimented her here, the girl he has had a crush on forever, and she responds by kissing his cheek. He was probably really happy at this moment. And also this probably played further into his buying into her false display in the arena. That here we have her clutching his hand, smiling and laughing with him and kissing his cheek. Idk what I was trying to say necessarily but I made myself sad wow way to go me 🥺🥺🥺🥺🤧🤧🤧

Anyways! Those are my very over the top and too detailed thoughts! Hope you enjoyed if you read this! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳😎😎😎😎😎😎😎🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

#thgagain #once again the Jen gifs are still headlining these posts 🥳🥳🥳#this isn’t as funny as my others so I’m sorry y’all #but I like nice commentary on these posts makes me feel less alone so feel free

38 notes · View notes