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littlefreya · 3 days

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Neptune's Snare

Summary: She came to take revenge on the loathsome man who murdered her fiance, only to become his captive.

Read Chapter One

Pairing: AU!Pirate August Walker x Virgin OFC (for now 😏)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI. Sexual themes, dark themes mentioned, historical inaccuracies, kidnapping, captivity, graphic descriptions of sex, intimidation, slow burn, sexual tension, foul language.

A/N: I was unsure whether I should do part 2, but @deandoesthingstome (💖) motivated me to do it, so I truely hope you will like it. Many thanks to @agniavateira, for beta'ing. I am no longer using my old tag list, but I will tag those who specifically asked to be tagged for this story via my new Writing Update Blog @littlefreyaslibrary.

Thanks for reading, and please reblog with a comment 🖤

Chapter Two

Hours had passed since the Captain left—hours of futile attempts to escape the cruelty of the heavy iron binds. By now, the ship was deep into the ocean, miles away from any harbour or piece of land. The notion that she’d been abducted by the most ruthless murderer known to authorities had only just begun to sink.

As hot tears stung at her cheeks, Lizette couldn’t help but chuckle at the stupidity that led her to this fate.

‘Did you really think that a foolish girl could succeed where great men had failed?’

If Lizette had dared be honest, she would admit she never thought that plan through, not that it mattered much anymore. Soon enough, she would be yet another shiny trinket in Blackbeard’s gaudy collection.

Exhausted from a fierce yet futile battle, she leaned her head back against the plush, gold-paneled wall. Her weary gaze drifted through the open window, where the dark skies and black seas merged into a desolate void. No light shone through tonight; the darkness has devoured the stars and the moon. Lizette felt as if she was drowning in it too, sinking into a thick, tar-like liquid. With each breath, the collar around her throat grew heavier, the iron pressing into her skin and dragging her deeper and deeper until everything faded to black.

When she blinked again, it was still night but the cabin was lit in deep shades of honey and amber. Her heart skipped—once for the iron still hanging from her neck and twice as her bleary eyes caught sight of a shadow by the edge of the big table.

It appeared that her host had returned.

Boots flung across the food-abundant table, the Captain sat back in his royal velvet chair. One hand cradled a silver chalice whilst the other toyed with the edge of his thick whiskers. Silver trays of food, wine, and books were splayed before him, surrounded by dozens of fat, wax-dripping candles. The flickering flame guttered upon his eyes, painting them bright red while he observed the girl intently.

The curiosity was mutual, at least to some extent. As loathsome as the pirate was, Lizette could not help but scrutinise. Never in her life did she see a man so crude and yet so regal at the same time, He looked like a washed-out king, holding himself to a higher status amongst the scum aboard his ship. Surrounding himself with fine art, books and scientific obscurities, one would assume that this low-life man was educated, or at least aspired to be. His appearance, too, was of some sort of false elegance, with his moustache carefully groomed and his hair neatly combed save for an errant curl that fell upon his tanned forehead. However, the white cotton shirt that hung partially unbuttoned and loose from his shoulders exposed him for what he truly was as it revealed a myriad of tattoos, scars, and coarse hair.

‘Nothing but a filthy scoundrel.’

“At last, sleeping beauty is awake.”

Lizette kept her tongue knotted. The blazes on her stare answered on her behalf.

August scoffed at the silent response. ‘Precious little thing,’ Had only she known how much he enjoyed obstinate women. The only thing that was better than bending a spitfire to his will was getting a nun to kneel before his cock.

A slight twitch tugged at his cheek; his smirk widening at the fond memory.

‘Ah, Mary… you sure pray hard.’

Letting go of his whiskers and the chalice in his grasp, the Captain reached for a loaf of bread and split it in half. Steam rose and coiled to the air. The scrumptious scent of the freshly baked goods quickly filled the room and wafted over Lizette in a tempting invitation. Absentminded, she suckled her bottom lip, almost able to taste the sweetness on her tongue.

The pirate held out one piece of the loaf, an unmistakably provoking grin lighting his face. “Would you dine with me, pet?”

Weakness unfurled through her, reminding Lizette that it must have been hours, if not an entire day, since she last ate. Her empty belly flipped and gurgled so loudly that the pirate could hear it even from where he sat. Joy immediately cascaded about his glance; the impish grin between his cheeks further stretched.

To his delightful surprise, the girl was a lot more stubborn than she appeared. Instead of begging, she offered a spiteful glare and turned her face away.

“I’d rather starve!”

“Suit yourself.” The Captain shrugged and bit on one of the pieces. Hums and moans sputtered from his mouth, all exaggerated to taunt his brazen prisoner. As he finished chewing, he sucked on each of his inked fingers.

“Got a name, pet?”

“What matter is that to you?” The girl spat.

August shrugged again and returned to the chalice, dragging it on the table's surface in circular motions. A deep-red whirlpool briefly formed in his drink. He stared at it indifferently as he retorted, “Matters not, pet. But since you’ll be spending some time here in my quarters, I will require a moniker to approach you by. Question is, would you rather I choose a name for you myself? It won’t be a nice one. I can promise you that.”

Keeping her eyes averted, the girl folded her knees and hugged them, a deep sigh sinking from her. She couldn’t even bring herself to imagine the horrendous name he would choose.

“My name is Lizette.”

A touch of dark delight kissed his face—as if he had heard the enchanting hymn of a siren. Thoughtful, he stopped stirring his drink to the sound of her name, licked his lips, lifted the chalice and pressed it to his lips. “Ah, yes, you are definitely a Lizzy.”

“It’s Lizette!” she vehemently corrected.

“Oh!” The pirate abruptly twirled his free hand in the air, his brows lifting in a sardonically submissive gesture. “Forgiveness! Mercy, milady!” That had earned him the attention he was hoping to receive, as finally, Lizette snapped to glare at him.

The pure ire on her face did nothing but feed his amusement.

With a slanted grin and his thumb brushing his whiskers, he eyed her back. It’s been a while since a girl piqued his fascination, and this one was indeed something else. Fear seeped from her like dewy nectar from a ripe fruit. The sheen of sweat clinging to her skin and the throbbing at the crook of her neck gave away her true emotions. Yet, she exuded the unyielding fury of a harpy, the shackles around her throat barely deterring her brazen spirit..

‘Bold little thing. As ferocious as the ship’s cat…’ August thought and then frowned, ‘Where is that ungodly creature, anyway? Haven’t seen it in a while.’

“Lady Lizette…” the correct moniker rolled smoothly on his tongue in an inherently sinister sweetness. “Are you always such a rude guest to your hosts?”

“Guest?!” Lizette seized the chain that held her collar to the wall and lifted it in front of him—a deep frown decorating her weary face.

“I am not a guest! I am a prisoner!”

“Ah! Ah!” The pirate lifted his inked index finger in an unbearably pretentious manner. "It was you who came aboard my ship willingly, and let us not forget—uninvited.”

Lizette felt a chill in her chest, the same chill she always sensed when getting an answer wrong in her Latin lessons. He was right, and there was more to it. Pirate or not, doesn't every man deserve respect in his own home?

That notion made her cheeks hot.

“And if I may…“ the pirate drawled huskily and shifted into his seat. Lizette’s eyes followed his movement with the wariness of a skittish cat. Initially bemused, she realised his hand had snaked below the table and was now fumbling with his waistband.

A deep, pulsating pang bloomed in her core as the primordial anxiety every maiden is doomed to suffer from awoke within her. Alarmed, she shook her head and blurted hoarsely, “Wait!”

The pirate paid her no mind; either he didn’t hear or didn’t care. Then, his hand sprang back sharply with a pistol in his grip—the same one he had confiscated from her merely a few hours before.

“Did you not attempt to murder me in my own home?”

With those words, he slammed the pistol on the table, the dull thud booming through the cabin wall and causing Lizette to jump with a start.

Sinking back to his red regal chair, August crossed his fingers together and pressed his lips together with the contempt of an authority figure. The many golden trinkets around his fingers chimed as they collided.

“Answer me, Pet.”

Lizette regarded the pistol carefully. The golden floral embellishments upon the handle sparked with the candle's light. For a fleeting moment, she wondered how fast she needed to be to grab the pistol and shoot him dead in his rotten heart. Instead, she simply nodded, much as she could with the heavy collar around her neck. The spots where the sharp edges grazed her flesh burnt as sweat dripped over the bruised skin.

“Dumb as your plan was, I do appreciate the gesture, las. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to murder me, but it’s definitely the first time it was a beautiful young lady. Was all of this because of a boy?” He challenged, crooking one eyebrow.

This time, Lizette did not hesitate to answer.

“You robbed me of my future!” She corrected, and though she tried to maintain a fierce demeanour, the quiver in her voice gave away the rageful grief.

Sympathy, sadly, was not in August’s books, especially not whilst being distracted by the way her breasts pressed against the confines of the corset with every fervorous breath. A small, almost inaudible groan left his lips. He wondered if she, indeed, was a virgin. Did he deny her of her wedding night? Were these lovely tits ever in the hands of a man before?

Surely, he would find out. One way or another.

With a glare still fixed on her cleavage, he grazed his dimpled chin and simply shrugged.

“Pirate.”

Lizette hissed in response. Defiant, she snapped her arms across her chest to hide her cleavage.

‘Pig.’

“So I robbed you of your future,” August continued, mimicking quotation marks with his long, inked fingers. “And thus, you thought you should rob me of mine?”

“And what future would that be? Murdering and whoring?” she muttered hatefully.

The pirate swatted a hand over his chest, giving her a fake, exaggerated pout. “Now that pains me, love.”

Lizette could sense the blood seeth beneath her skin. She was used to men belittling her, but never did she experience such sheer mockery and humiliation. Trembling, she yelled back, “Good! I wish you nothing but pain!”

“And so she continues to insult me in my own home.” August clicked his tongue and shook his head with sardonic disappointment. “You highborn ladies sure lack respect. ‘Funny thing is, no matter how uppity women like you act, they all want the same thing…” his voice slurred and deepened, coaxing a baffled look from the maiden who abruptly forgot her wrath and ate the bait.

“And what would that be?”

The pirate stood and calmly paced to the fore of the table, where he leaned against the edge to peer down at his prisoner. Lizette remained guarded. he was fairly far away yet close enough for his shadow to fall upon her face and for his manhood to be situated at the level of her mouth. She struggled to avoid staring at it directly, which only made that wretched smug smile light his face again.

“What you ladies truly want is to be violated by none other but us ‘lowlife scoundrels’,” August nibbled his bottom lip, a dry chuckle escaping him as more fond memories came to mind. “Truly, the lots of you are bored by the castrated virility of the poised gentlemen. All you fantasise about is to be fucked dirty like a whore by a brute who has no sense of propriety.”

The pirate held his fist before him and mimicked a slow pumping motion. Although Lizette did not quite understand it, his words alone were enough to leave her gravely unsettled.

“You are an animal,” she snarled, not realising that her nails were biting into her forearms as she clutched herself so protectively.

But that merely fueled him.

“Tell me, Pet, did your boy satisfy those dark desires before he left a delicious bonny lass like yourself all alone? Did he split open and plundered your sweet little cunt, ass, and mouth, or did he leave you wet and miserable?”

Heat crawled at Lizette’s cheeks, yet she wasn’t sure whether it was from outrage or shame. Never in her life had she even considered the possibilities he had suggested, and now those horrifying images poisoned her mind.

Amused by her obvious mortification, the pirate tilted his head impishly. “No? Not even a finger or a tongue?”

“Stop it!” She implored, her voice cracking.

Ignoring her plea, he clicked his tongue. “Aw, sweet, tender flower. That’s the problem, isn’t it? He left you all alone and uncharted—that lonesome seal, begging to be invaded. Well, milady, you didn’t have to threaten me with a pistol in that case. All you had to do was ask.”

The pirate reached for his bulge and squeezed it, much to Lizette’s dismay.

”Trust me, one night with me, and you’d forget you ever loved him.”

That was enough to send Lizette over the edge. Not thinking twice, she jerked to her feet, the chains around her rattling along a furious onslaught that sputtered from her mouth.

“Love?! What do you know about love? You are a monster! All you do is kill and rape! You are incapable of love, and I’d be damned if anyone could ever love you!”

All the candles in the cabin flickered with a sudden gust of wind as the pirate suddenly lunged forward. He moved so fast, too fast. Lizette hadn’t even had the chance to sway from his touch, and already he was upon her. Crude fingers dug deep into the hollows of her cheek, forcing her to face his terrorising stare.

“You think this is a game? You think you know anything about me, little girl? About what I’ve done!?”

It was not a question to be answered, and even so, Lizette couldn’t bring herself to speak; she was suffocating, drowning on the surface. All around her, the air stood dense with the scent of iron, wine, and musky sweat, whilst the weight of his body crushed as it clung to her.

Closer, deeper. Layers upon layers of silk and wool separated their skin from one another, and still, she sensed the curve and firmness of his robust figure. The woven map of muscles that adorned his torso and the flex each muscle made as he tensed were evident

But none of this came close to what she saw as he forced her to look into his eyesa wrathful maelstrom pregnant with sinister urges beyond her darkest fears. It felt as if it was trying to draw her into a deep sense of anger, and grief submerged her.

Dread began to spill into her veins. He was going to kill her.

Lizette sucked in a deep shuddering breath. She was not going to join her Edward. Not tonight.

“Let go of me!” She squealed and began to punch his shoulders repeatedly. It felt like hitting iron, every blow more painful than the other, yet she refused to stop.

Indeed, she was just like that sea monster of a cat.

Stoic as an icy sea breeze, the pirate tilted his head at the girl. Despite her desperate efforts, her battle did nothing but vex him. Quirking one eyebrow, he released his grip from her jaw and swiftly reached for her hands. Lizette did her best to evade, squirming erratically, but to no avail. With a swift single hand, he seized her wrists and pinned them above her head with a booming thud.

The girl gasped out with surrender, strands of her hair blowing back and forth upon her face as she heaved and panted exhaustingly. With his hand around her wrists and his body slightly bent to meet her height, he stood closer to her than any other man had before. So close that she could taste the wine and sea salt on his breath and study every freckle and every scar that marked his skin. He was nothing like her Edward, she thought; he was coarse and terrifying, and despite it all, she found him tragically beautiful.

She hated him for that.

“Listen to me now and listen carefully,” he finally spoke, tightening his grip around her wrists.

Liaette lifted her chin disdainfully; it took every ounce of self-restraint not to spit at his murderous, smug face.

“You’ve mistook my hospitality and playfulness for kindness, but let’s get this straight; I am not a good man. Upset me, and I will pluck that little flower between your thighs without blinking and then throw you to my crew once I have my fill.”

His words brought a stark shiver down her spine, yet it wasn’t just fear this time but something far more primordial. Between her trembling thighs, she sensed dewy wetness. A desperate gnawing need she had never known before. Trying to ease and brush it off, she squirmed and ground her thighs.

August’s brow rose with realisation, an immediate knowing grin spilling upon his malicious face. He leaned closer, his lips and whiskers brushing against her ear as he spoke.

“Seems like there won’t be much resistance from you, isn’t that so, pet? Soon, you’ll beg me to fuck y…”

His words were cut as warm saliva splattered on his cheek.

He shut his eyes momentarily, releasing a deep, exasperated grunt and then moved an inch away to fish a silk handkerchief from his pocket. Lizette watched proudly as he wiped his face.

The pirate, however, was not amused. Throwing away the handkerchief, he offered her a deadly frown. And then he leaned in, his mouth drawing voraciously closer to hers as if meaning to devour her.

“I warned you…”

“Captain.”

A low, sonorous call followed from the door, drawing both August and Lizette to turn their heads toward the uninvited guest.

Lizette blinked twice. The man in question was almost the spitting image of August, though his hair was wild with earthy curls and his beard fully grown, pointy, and tended with wax. Indifferent to the scene before him, he drew a pipe from his pockets and lit it with the flame of a candle that stood on a shelf near the door.

August regarded him with slight respect, yet not without annoyance:." What is it? I am busy.”

“I can see that,” the other pirate puffed out, grey lines of smoke following through his nostrils, “you are needed at the brig.”

“About?”

“Flint might finally speak.”

Eyes ablaze with sudden intrigue, August straightened to his fall height and drew a step back from the girl yet kept his grip around her wrists.

“I assume your methods worked, brother?” He crooked one eyebrow at the other pirate curiously.

‘Brother, of course,’ Lizette nearly chuckled. The men must have been twins, although she could tell the other sibling had far more grey in his untamed mane.

“My methods always work.” He answered with dry arrogance. “Finish her off later. This is more important.”

August lingered, his fingers brushing over his moustache as he contemplated what to do with his sweet little prisoner. The possibilities were endless, yet the more interesting ones would take some time, and with the trouble she gave him, he definitely wanted to give her what she deserved.

A deep, exasperated sigh left his lips. “A moment, Gus,” he requested, finally unhanding the girl.

The man, now known as Gus, bowed his head and threw Lizette a quick glance before disappearing into the darkness behind the door.

“It seems like I have some business to attend to, love. Shall we continue our little fun later?” August teased, slight annoyance still lingering at the tone of his voice.

Lizette did not answer. Rubbing her aching wrists, she watched him cautiously while he searched within his pockets. She wondered what new cruel method of torment he would inflict to her now.

To her surprise, it was a small silver key.

He lifted it to her face and offered her a razor-sharp stare." The water is close to freezing; sharks and eels are swimming within them, and every man upon my deck is probably plotting to use you as fuckhole since the moment you stepped onboard. I trust you won’t try anything stupid in my absence.”

“Like what?” Despite her physical and mental exhaustion, she dared to speak back, “Seduce one of your crew members to fornicate with me so he would betray and murder you?”

Her weariness must have brought out the worst in her because she would have never thought of such an inappropriate, vile thing. Then she realised it was him who, in less than a few hours, corrupted her soul.

August paused and contemplated for a moment as if this was an actual possibility he did not consider. However, he brushed it off with a burst of taunting laughter while proceeding to unlock the collar around her neck. “I wouldn’t recommend it, love. They all come with so many exotic afflictions on their cock s that no doctor has even heard of.”

As the iron was removed from her little neck, the girl rested her hands around it, massaging the cuts and bruises that formed beneath. It ached even worse as the chill air of the night pecked at the raw flesh.

The pirate waltzed toward the table, reclaiming the pistol in an obviously provoking manner. He sheathed it back at the front of his waistband and paced toward the door.

“I won’t be long, love,” he promised, and with that, he left and locked the door behind him.

Lizette listened carefully to the sound of his footsteps, counting them one by one until she could no longer hear him. And then, she began to search around the cabin for anything, anything that can be used as a weapon.

‘I will not be a pirate’s whore.’ She vowed to herself while absentmindedly grazing a palm over her cheeks where August had touched her.

#henry cavill #August walker #august walker x reader #august walker x ofc #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #neptune's snare series #au!august walker #pirate august walker #pirate henry cavill #gus march phillips #the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare #gus march phillips x reader #henry cavill fanfiction

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oo-delallymrcrow · 1 day

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Makeup Trailer

A/N: I have a cooper howard smut ideaa, could you write something where the reader is his makeup artist on a new movie hes working. Theres an Automatic connection they really click and have some sweet sexual tension and after working together for a while during the movie the tension keeps growing growing and they get steamy in the makeup trailer. Oh oh also could i request this to be in 2nd person if possible ty ty love ur writing ride a cowboy was sooooo good!!!

I hope this was what you wanted! Sorry it took me awhile, it's hard to focus sometimes and between work and life I tried so hard to make this good 😅

18+ no minors

As you headed toward the makeup trailer, a modest space but packed with all the essentials to turn actors into their on-screen personal. As she stepped inside, she was greeted by the familiar scent of makeup and hairspray. The trailer was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

You arrived on the bustling movie set early, the morning sun barely cresting over the horizon. The set was already alive with activity, crew members scurrying around, cameras and lights being adjusted. This was a major production. Despite the pressure, you felt a surge of excitement. This was what you loved—transforming someone else, bringing a character to life.

You turned on the radio and let the soft melodies fill the air as you got to work, organizing and preparing to get ready. The door to the trailer opened and in walked Cooper Howard. He was an attractive and talented man; its what made you take the job as you always enjoyed watching his movies.

You smiled from behind the makeup chair, “good morning, Mr. Howard.”

"Morning, Y/N," he replied, flashing you a charming smile.

"Ready to become someone else?" You asked with amusement.

"Always," Cooper said, settling into the chair.

As you began your work, there was an immediate connection between you two, an almost electric chemistry. Talking about everything—movies, books, life experiences. The conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by moments of shared laughter.

The next few days turned into weeks and your bond only grew stronger. Yet with your bond there was a palpable tension. You were finding yourself thinking about Cooper more and more, distracted by his presence even when he wasn't around. You would sometimes pause, your fingers lingering just a bit longer on his skin, your gaze softening when your eyes met.

One particularly long day of shooting had left everyone exhausted. Cooper returned to the makeup trailer for some touch-ups, finding you waiting for him. The usual banter was absent, replaced by charged silence. You worked methodically, your hands gentle but deliberate.

During those moments it was so hard to not take action. Leaning in close to make sure no extra powder was on his face. You could smell the cinnamon gum he chewed on in-between takes. One time you were embarrassed when helping another makeup artist perfect her work. You leaned over to point out a few touch ups when you realized you had practically put your boobs in Cooper's face. You quickly stood up and walked around to help, realizing it was quite hot in the trailer. When you returned back to Cooper, you apologized for earlier.

"Not a problem, darlin," he replied in a low voice. You could see a glint of interest in his eyes but brushed it off as you thought it was unprofessional.

A day later when you were returning back to the trailer after lunch, an assistant was walking past with a cable. You didn't see it was unraveled before tripping on it. You weren't expecting an arm to snap out and pull you against a warm body. You looked up to see Cooper glaring at the assistant before running to you. His face softening as he brought a hand up to brush away a few stray hairs.

"You alright darlin'?"

You gulped before smiling, "yes Cooper. You saves me."

His grin got wide as he tipped his hat to you. "It's no problem, darlin'. I'd happily save you anytime."

You giggled before looking over and seeing people watching you two. You cleared your throat before stepping back. You brushed your hands down your dress before saying a quick 'thank you', turning to walk away.

"Hey," he called out before grabbing your wrist. "How does a cowboy go about getting a proper thank you?"

You turned and felt your face go red before quickly standing on tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek. As you pulled back you saw his mouth part and his eyes darken a bit before giving you another smile.

"Is that all?"

"I'll have to properly thank you another time Cooper," you purred before walking away. You quickly walked to your makeup trailer with your cheeks burning.

When you walked into the trailer you couldn't help the squeal that escaped as you fanned yourself. You couldn't believe you just did that. And promising to thank him another time, you knew this was going to be an interesting week.

You chewed at the bottom of your lip as you removed some makeup that smudged. You weren't use to the silence from Cooper as the radio kept playing a melody.

“Cooper, you’ve been quiet today,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked at you, seeing the concern etched in your features.

“Just thinking,” he replied, his voice huskier than usual.

“About what?” you asked, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“About you,” he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Y/N's hand froze mid-motion, your eyes widening slightly.

“Cooper…”

He stood up abruptly, turning to face you. The space felt too small, the air thick with unspoken words.

“Y/N, I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, stepping closer.

“I feel this connection, this pull. And it’s driving me crazy.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you watched as his face slightly fell, fearing that he misread everything. But you stepped towards him, closing the distance. Bringing your hand up to touch his cheek, turning him to face you again.

“I feel it too,” you whispered.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

“Y/N,” he breathed, and then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if you were both testing the waters. But then it deepened, filled with all the unspoken emotions and tension that had been building between them. Your hands slid to his chest, clutching his shirt as if afraid he might disappear.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless. His eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed.

“Wow,” you said, a shy smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” Cooper agreed, his own smile mirroring yours, “wow.”

The world outside the trailer continued in its frenetic pace, but for that moment, it was just the two of you. The energy drew you closer to him with a fire lighting inside of you. Cooper must have seen it or felt the same way as he pulled you into a passionate kiss. You gladly opened your mouth to him as he deepened the kiss.

You were leaning against him and the lack of air must have made him dizzy because he suddenly stepped back into the counter that you placed your makeup on. It made everything jolt and roll off or roll over onto the floor; but it didn't both either of you as he tangled his hand into your hair. You moaned lowly as he tugged at your strands before you pulled away panting. His eyes were ablazed as you slowly knelt in front of him. You gave him a wide grin as you rub his budlge in his jeans. He groaned and dropped his head back as you fiddled with his belt buckle.

“Can I have a taste Coop?”

“Yes,” he rasped as you unbuckled his belt. You decided to tease the man as you slowly unbuttoned and slid the zipper down. You pulled his pants and boxers down as his cock sprang up. You ran a finger from the slit in the head down his cock, following along a vein, until the base. You gazed up at him through your lashes and saw he was already staring down at you. His chest was heaving in pants as he gritted his teeth.

You held eye contact as you gave a little lick to his head. Jumping a little as his fist connected with the top of the counter.

“Darlin’,” he growled between his teeth. “You keep that up and I'm gonna have to spank you for teasin’.”

You giggled as you wrapped a hand around his base and licked up the vein before taking him into your mouth. He groaned before placing one hand on the back of your head and stroked your hair in encouragement. You hummed as you took down as far as you could before pulling back to stroke his cock.

As you moved your hand up and down, you can tell it will be a bit of a stretch if you decide to fuck him. With that thought you could feel how wet you were getting with each stroke and each noise that leaves Cooper's mouth. You lick at his slit, tasting his cum before putting him back on your mouth.

“Fuck darlin’,” he stopped petting your hair to storke down your cheek, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. You heard a whine come from him as he barley thrusts into your mouth.

“Look up at me darling girl. I want to watch as you swallow my cum.”

Your eyes fluttered open to stare into his eyes. You could see his shoulders relaxed as you did and his mouth drops open with moan. You place your hands down on your lap and open your mouth wider as he takes over. His hands tangle in your hair and starts panting as he thrusts into your mouth.

You try so hard to keep your eyes open as one of your hands pulls up your skirt and shove your panties to the side to rub at your clit. His eyes moved down to see what she was doing and throws his head back before starting to ramble.

“Fuck Y/N, you're enjoying this? God you're so perfect for me. Sucking my cock like you were made for it. You're such a good girl. I'm gonna cum soon. You want it in your mouth?”

At his last question, his head snaps back down to catch your eyes as you whine and try to give a nod. He groans as thrusts into your mouth again to cum down your throat. You gag a bit at the last thrust before swallowing his cum down. As he pulls away you stick your tongue to show you swallowed it down as he grins.

“Good girl. Now get up here.”

He helps you stand on shaky legs, not use to being in that position for so long. He pulled you into a kiss as one hand squeezed your breast. You moaned as he pushed you down to sit on the makeup chair. You took in a shaky breath as he got on his knees. He grinned as you pushed your hips up to pull your panties off. He pulled them off and placed your legs on his shoulders before diving down to lick up your slit. You cried out with your head throwing back as he sucked your clit into his mouth.

Your body slid down as you reached up to grab the headrest and tangle your fingers into his hair. You give a tug and he moans against you. The vibrations made you moan out his name. He suddenly pulled away as you whined pitifully at the loss, before he pulled you into a kiss.

“I'm sorry darlin’ but I have to have you,” he kissed down your neck. He pulled you up before settling into the chair. He had you facing the mirror as he pulled you back into him. You leaned back into him as he grabbed your hips. You laid your head on his shoulder as he teased his cock against your opening. He used your slick to lube up his cock before pushing into you. You hid your face into his neck as you gasped and clawed at the chair arms. He felt too big and didnt think he was going to fit all the way. He moaned as you squeezed around him and shifted around to get comfortable.

“Here baby sit up.” His chest rumbled against your back as he spoke. He helped you sit up properly, your skirt bunched up around your waist. You looked up in front of you in the mirror and couldn't believe how wrecked you looked. Your face was flushed with wide eyes and lipstick smeared. Cooper sat up and you watched him as he took in the both of you.

“A perfect picture, don't you think?”

He smiled as you nodded along before wrapping an arm around your waist. You placed your hands on the chair arms again as lifted yourself up before dropping down. His eyes snapped shut and mouth open in a low moan as you repeated the motion. His other hand pushed your shirt up and bra down to expose your breasts. He pinched your nipple before letting go to rub his thumb against it.

You cried out and shifted your hips until it hit the spot that made you almost fall forward. He held onto you as he moved his legs wider and pushed up into you. You couldn't help the sob that fell out as you rolled your hips and just let him take over. The arm around your waist moved so his hand could come down and rub at your clit.

“Baby I want you to open your eyes.”

You didn't realize you had shut them until you saw how he positioned you to see his cock disappearing inside of you. You could see how easy he was moving from how wet you were. You could see how it was running down his thighs and squeezed around him again. He pinched at your clit and it made you start to shake.

“Cooper,” you whined out. Your legs were getting tense and toes curling. You could feel yourself start to titter into an orgasm as he pinched and pulled your nipple.

“Come on darlin'. You can come for me. I want to go home and be able to smell you on me.”

The way he was moving and the dirty talk helped push you over the edge. You sobbed as your whole body shook and scratched at the armchair. He pulled you back against him as he kissed your neck. He kept fucking up into you making your orgasm feel like it was lasting forever. As the orgasm ebbed away you registered that you were repeating Cooper's name, almost like a prayer on your lips. The man whispered your name into your neck before his hips stuttered. You let out a low hum before turning your head to bring him into a kiss.

“I want you to cum inside of me Cooper, please?” You purred against him and brought your hand up to tug at his hair.

He looked at you like you just hung the stars in the sky before he came with a low groan of your name. You pulled him into a kiss as his hips jerked and slammed into you for a final time. It was a while before either one of you moved, taking your time to relax and take in one another. You slowly stood to not make either of you uncomfortable as you felt everything start to leak out. You grabbed a few rags to clean up the mess between your legs, straightening out your skirt and fixing your bra and shirt back. He just pulled up his boxers and pants as he then pulled you to him. You sat back into his lap as he relaxed back into the chair, holding you close.

You closed your eyes as the exhaustion of the day caught up to you. You felt his hand brush through your hair before clearing his throat.

“How about we go back to my trailer to sleep. I think we both need it.”

You slowly nodded as your brain caught up to his words. “Yes I think we do. Then you can take me out to dinner sometime.”

He heard him chuckle before helping stand again, “yeah. How’s tomorrow night sound?”

You smiled as you yawned and followed him out to walk to his trailer, “sounds perfect.”

Taglist: @danveration

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout #anon ask

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divine-misfortune · 8 hours

Note

hey so I'm interested in the objectifying of a man??? go on

also do you hate me or have you just forgotten to reply to me on discord??? /lh

I love objectifying men and you know I love talking about Rain

The ghock pictures need to be kept away from me for my own health. Honestly keep pictures of Rain away from me for my own health.

I saw those fucking pictures and all I could think about was how the bass must just press and weigh against his cock the whole time, must be uncomfortable at first while he's getting hard, especially when it bounces off his hips. Think he has to grit his teeth and bear it but the friction probably starts to feel kinda good after a little while.

Takes every opportunity to arch backwards to press the full weight of it against his dick when he knows he shouldn't. Can feel his boxers starting to get sticky which isn't good. It's a dangerous game that has him breathing a little heavier, panting, starting to really sweat. He doesn't trust himself but can't exactly just stand still thr whole time can he?

I think he shakes his head a little when Dew saunters over to choke him, knows damn well it's an awful idea and too risky all things considered - but those fucking hands will be his demise time and time again. Dew grips his throat and sure it's only for a second but it's enough to make him cream his fucking pants. Lets out a strangled little groan and Dew chuckles in disbelief.

And when they finally go backstage, while Papa is giving his speech about how the show is definitely over and the lot of them have a moment to breathe, Dew backs him into a corner and presses his palm to the front of his pants and smiles evily at the wet spot he feels. Just has to show off how wet their water ghoul got from humping his bass like some sexual deviant, let them all cop a feel of his semi hard cock. Some touch more generously than others but by the time they all really get to feel him up, he's straining against his zipper again.

Encore is torture. Oversensitive and spent, he's stuck accidentally rubbing against the back of his bass till he's ready to spill again. Dew quietly warns him he better not, save it for after bows where he can ride his thigh and make a mess of himself where they can all watch him.

(Do not let him fool u btw I answered him on discord smh 🙄🙄🙄)

#me? writing rain with a dick? unheard of.#but anyways. ghock.#does my train of thought make any sense #void rambles #spicy tag #answered #nameless ghouls #rain ghoul

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lemotmo · 19 hours

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What are your top 5 favorite Buddie moments?

Gosh Nonny, that is a tough question. There are so many to choose from. 6 seasons in fact.

Let's start at the bottom of the list:

5. Buck coming out to Eddie as a bisexual man. I loved all of it. It shows just how much they care for each other and accept each other. It shows us an ever loving Eddie giving Buck the space to be himself.

4. The Poker date. Everything about that date was heightened in intensity. The way Eddie kept on gazing at Buck with this adoring look in his eyes, like he couldn't believe that Buck was actually here and alive and 'Thank God' and 'I love him so much'.

3. The 'You can have my back' scene from the very beginning. That is where it truly all began for me. The way Buck turned into a blushing idiot the moment Eddie complimented him was soooo good.

2. The kitchen scene. I truly believe that they would have started making out if Chris hadn't been there. It was so charged with sexual energy. Insanity!

The shooting scene. The way they gazed at each other when Eddie got shot. The way Eddie reached out to Buck and how Buck reacted. Buck saving Eddie and Eddie's 'Are you hurt?' It killed me. I remember watching that scene for the first time and crying my eyes out. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Perfection.

Honourary mentions: the will scene (iconic), the Whatta man scene, the post tsunami scene where Eddie followed Buck's eyes to get him to look at him (guh, so good), the construction at Sunset scene (that was so heavily husband coded)...

I could mention a dozen more and still not be done if I'm honest.

All of these scenes are the reason I ship Buddie so hard. They are the only way to go. The only couple who have the history, chemistry and love to become iconic. No other relationships they have will ever compare to all of the above. This is why I will never give up on them.

#Buddie #nonnies galore #eddie diaz #evan buckley

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distracted-obsessions · 3 days

Text

Warnings: non-con touch (not very sexual?), knife,

Villain stared at Henchman in utter shock as he had been for the last 4 minutes. Henchman was nonchalantly cleaning the blood off of their knife, calm dispite the body of the man they just killed on the floor. The rest of the meeting had been canceled and everyone else had left in a hurry.

"Why?" Villain finally asked, refusing to allow his hands to shake.

"Because he wasn't allowed to talk to you like that," Henchman replied coolly.

"He was important!"

Henchman looked up and fixed Villain with a stern look. "He spoke to you like you were nothing. Like you were a puppy nipping at his heels. No one is allowed to talk to you like that."

"You speak to me like that!" Villain yelled, torn between rage and fear.

"Yes. I'm different."

"How?"

"I love you."

Villain froze and stared more. Henchman looked right back, expressionless, waiting for Villain to react. It took another minute before he finally managed to choke out, "N-no... you don't..."

Henchman sighed and stood vaulting over the table the same way they did to get to the now dead man. Villain was powerful. Villain was capable. Villain could protect himself against things much more powerful then Henchman. Villain still scrambled backwards as Henchman drew closer, pressing his back against the wall.

Henchman didn't stop approaching. They slowly put the knife away and held up their hands in surrender but were watching Villain like they were making sure they could catch him if he tried to run. They gently ran a bloody hand down Villain's arm, shushing him when he flinched.

"I can't stand seeing them talk to you like that. Seeing them treat you like that." They held Villain by the shoulders, making him feel like a puppy cowering in the corner, hoping someone will save him from the predator hovering over him.

Henchman leaned in and Villain turned his head away, his body trembling. He could feel Henchman's disappointment but they just leaned in to whisper in Villain's ear.

"If I have to kill every superhero and supervillain in this rotten city to get you the respect you deserve then that's what I'll do. And if I have to tie you down and lock you in your room to keep you safe,"

"So be it."

#whump community #whumpblr #whump #heros and villains #henchman caretaker #henchman whumper #either way #intimate whumper #intimate caretaker #villain whumpee

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vacantgodling · 21 hours

Text

a guide to: amon

we're back with another one. special shout out to annika for giving me the DRIVE to finish this lmao

transposed under the cut!

SLIDE 1: A GUIDE TO: AMON -- a man with literally no fucking chill. another monstrosity by yours truly @vacantgodling

SLIDE 2: BASIC INFORMATION pt. 1

FULL NAME: AMON

in GALERE those who are not of nobility literally do not have surnames. they’re not considered important enough to have them.

ie: erecia, terian, asahel, tamhas, vira, miss. shanin, knox, etc. none of these characters have surnames

HOWEVER, amon has a secret identity — or could’ve had one, its complicated — that many of these non-noble characters don’t know about:

OCCASIONALLY KNOWN AS: CORIANDRUM FARRAH

after amon was attacked by the gang THE KEYS and his mother was killed, he was found and saved by a noble family: lord and lady farrah. unable to have children themselves, the two wanted to adopt the young boy, despite his many scars from the attack, to serve as their heir.

there are 2 alternate universe aus where amon does stay with the farrah’s and becomes their heir ⟶ the role swap au & the fiance au.

however, in canon, amon runs away from them after he heals at about 12 years old and returns to the slums of halifax, which are his home.

SLIDE 3: BASIC INFORMATION PT. 2

AGE: 29

BIRTHDAY: JANUARY 29TH

GENDER: CIS MAN

SEXUALITY: GAY. EXTREMELY KINKY. WE WILL GET TO THIS LATER.

OCCUPATION: MANSERVANT AT THE CHATEAU AUX AISLES D’OR

however, amon is also a member of the slum-gang THE LOCKS, who are in direct opposition to THE KEYS. THE LOCKS are run underneath the leadership of knox, a man who is also amon’s father figure.

despite their closeness, the two still butt heads.

knox wants to focus lock efforts on keeping the slums safe for everyone who lives there. however, amon knows that they will never be safe if the keys continue to stalk their streets at night. he wants to cut the head off of the proverbial snake—and take out their leader once and for all!

the only problem? well.

the leader of the keys is THE KEEPER.

SLIDE 4: KINKY DETOUR✨PLEASE IGNORE IF Y’AIN’T LIKE SEX✨

a non-exhaustive list of amon’s kinks

impact play (actual fisticuffs turn him on), being restrained, orgasm play in any capacity, breath play (he has a huge oral fixation & choking on dick is his favorite pastime), cock worship/rimming, rough sex to the point of dubcon, anything “primal” (ie: wrestling, biting, scratching, growling, etc), blood play, degradation/humiliation—he is a BRAT, skin sensation or temperature play (such as ice/wax), exhibitionism/voyeurism… and he’s generally experimental. you get the picture.

the man is insatiable.

SLIDE 5: GENERAL APPEARANCE:

HEIGHT: 6’2” (~187cm)

EYE COLOR: light brown; almost hazel

HAIR: dark black; short and choppy. his hair is actually naturally curly but he straightens it to appear more “dignified” as part of his act.

BUILD: tall and lean; upside down triangle lookin’ ass. he doesn’t find himself particularly handsome.

there are 2 photos of amon to display how he looks. the first is a close up shot of amon--he has short cropped hair in a messy style, and sweeps on the left side over his brow bone. he has a few pinkish colored scars that criss cross his neck and he is making a smarmy expression. the second photo is a full body (sans feet) shot of amon bloodied and covered in bandages. the scars are revealed to cover most of his upper torso and one of his eyes is blackened.

SLIDE 6: SCARS

as a child, amon and his mother were attacked by keys; leaving him both an orphan and on the brink of death. miraculously (and with medical intervention) amon survived, but the attack left a mark on him—mentally and physically.

to this day, amon hasn’t said what exactly the keys did to him to leave such marks. but nearly every available surface of his skin, including his genitals has some form of scarring. the worst scars are on his back.

he is somewhat self conscious about them only because people can become uncomfortable about them.

there is a photo of the backside of amon that showcases the scars on his back. the largest is one at the near center that goes from the top of his shoulder blades crossing diagonally down to his tailbone.

SLIDE 7: IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIPS

KNOX ⟶ as mentioned, knox is like a father figure to amon and he was the one who took him in once he returned to the slums after the brief period he lived with the farrah’s. while knox is wise and caring, he is critical of amon’s fight now, questions later approach, and tends to reproach him for causing ‘unnecessary drama’. despite this, he knows amon has the slums and the gang’s best interest at heart, and the two of them never stay mad at each other for long. knox is also willing to help in SOME of amon’s exploits (not all)

ERECIA ⟶ amon’s best friend and right hand man, the two have known each other since they were extremely small, and rekindled their friendship after they both experienced personal tragedy (erecia lost her father, and amon lost his mother/almost died/left the slums/came back). while amon is more verbally affectionate and likes to deflect his inner mind, erecia is someone who (to his chagrin) knows him very, very well. to the point that she is genuinely surprised at how enraptured amon has become with hya. she worries about him.

SLIDE 8: EXPLAINING THE OBSESSION WITH HYACINTHUS SHRAPNEL

this is extremely difficult to explain because in a number of ways, amon doesn’t really understand it either. he didn’t think much of hya at first; and at first, definitely only saw him as a means (the wife of the keeper) to an end (killing the keeper).

its the perfect storm of fucking around and finding out—not that i can blame him. he’s fucked hundreds of people without catching feelings; why should a pompous little lord be different?

it’s more than just the fact that he can get a rise out of hya as amon can get a rise out of most people if he tries hard enough. it’s more than the fact that he thinks hya is attractive (and he does, immensely so) — somehow, hya is the perfect storm of a stubborn ass prick that fires all of amon’s dog-like synapses.

he’s extremely lucky that hya feels the same about him tbh, even if its unsaid. idk. they’re made for each other.

SLIDE 9: ASSOCIATIONS

alcoholic drink: fireball shot

food: opera cake (or any sweet really)

colors: black & red

flower: coriander

animal: vulture

zodiac: aquarius

tarot: king of wands

song: king for a day — pierce the veil

#will add the taglist later lol #paramour profiles #character intros #s: paramour

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matttgirlies · 3 days

Text

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of an affair

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 20

In my diary entry dated April 5, I wrote, “The baby’s getting more beautiful as each day goes by. Dr. Turman said she’s healthy and progressing well. Matt went with me to the pediatrician, waiting outside in the car. He also accompanied me to the obstetrician. He’s insisting I keep up with my regular checkups taking care of both of us like a doting father.

“But I’ve been lonely for him since the baby’s birth; he is still withdrawn. It’s been two months and he still hasn’t touched me. I’m getting concerned.”

The following day, I wrote, “I asked Matt if anything was wrong, if he’s lost his desire for me. I saw this made him a little uncomfortable. He told me he wants to make sure my system’s back to normal—that he doesn’t want to hurt me. That made me feel a little better.

“We brought Charlotte to our room, put her in the middle of the bed with us. She’s such a good baby—we can’t believe she’s ours.”

Matt and I started getting back into our regular routine. Since the baby was born, we were spending more time at Graceland, eventually moving all the horses back to the original stables, James selling much of the equipment and, later, the Circle G itself.

Matt accepted fatherhood with a great deal of joy, but the fact that I was a mother had a disquieting effect on him. I didn’t understand at the time, but later on I would learn more about men who are very close to their own mothers. I am no purveyor of Freudian theory. I believe when a man comes into the world, his first unconditional love is his mother. She cuddles him, gives him warmth, the breast for nourishment, and everything he needs to exist. None of those feelings has a sexual connotation. Later, when his own wife becomes a mother, this bank of memories is ripped open and his passion may dissipate.

When Matt’s mother was alive they had been unusually close. Matt even told her about his amatory adventures, and many nights when she was ill, he would sleep in her room with her. All the girls he took out seriously had to fulfill Mary Lou’s requirements of the ideal woman. And as with me, Matt then put the girl on a pedestal, “saving her” until the time was sacred and right. He had his wild times, his flings, but any girl he came home to he had to respect.

Now I was a mother and he was uncertain how to treat me. He had mentioned before we were married that he had never been able to make love to a woman who’d had a child. But throughout my pregnancy—until the last six weeks—we had made love passionately. He’d been very careful each time, afraid that he might hurt the baby or me, but he was always loving and sensitive to my needs. Now months had passed.

On April 20 I wrote in my diary: “I embarrassed myself last night. I wore a black negligee, laid as close to Matt as I could while he read. I guess it was because, I knew what I wanted and was making it obvious. I kissed his hand, then each finger, then his neck and face. But I waited too long. His sleeping pills had taken effect. Another lonely night.”

Finally, months later Matt made love to me. Before we made love, he told me I was a young mother now, that being the mother of his child is very special. But I wrote in my diary, “I am beginning to doubt my own sexuality as a woman. My physical and emotional needs were unfulfilled.”

We returned to Los Angeles, where Matt was filming Live a Little, Love a Little. He started getting into his old habits again. Frustrated, I started searching for dance classes to enroll in. I looked through the local Yellow Pages until one class caught my attention, a school for jazz and ballet not far from home.

The studio was small and unpretentious; the owner, Mark, was an extremely attractive and dynamic man of forty-five. He was an excellent dancer and a fine teacher, and by the time I left that afternoon, I had enrolled for private lessons.

Still too shy to dance in front of a group, I wanted to wait until I was sure I could keep up with the other dancers before taking a class. I began taking private lessons three times a week. Mark’s personal interest and attention were flattering, and I was soon doing lifts and jumps, things I’d never thought I could accomplish.

He said I had the potential to be a good dancer, and he pushed me to the limit. Out of frustration and pain I would want to quit. Demanding that I continue, he told me I was building character and forced me to repeat the same routine until it was nearly perfected. This made me realize that I could go further than I’d ever dreamed.

He believed in me, and I was accomplishing something. For the first time I was creating, feeling good about myself, and I couldn’t wait to get to class each day.

Mark was charismatic and I was particularly vulnerable. In lieu of a passionate marriage, dance was becoming my life; I was obsessed with it, taking all my frustrations and feelings into the studio. I found myself thinking about Mark even when I was home. I had only seen him a few times in my life and yet I was unable to get him out of my mind. I rationalized, telling myself it was because he was always there for me. He seemed to understand me, while the man I truly loved was involved in his own world. I began to relax, enjoying myself almost against my will. It had been a while since I’d spent some time with a man who validated my abilities and appreciated spending time with me alone. It was also the first time I was not competing for my own identity. This was a high I had not experienced recently. I had a brief affair and decided to end it.

I came out of it realizing I needed much more out of my relationship with Matt. Matt and I decided to get away to Hawaii.

This was the first time we’d gone on holiday, and I was hoping that it would be a second honeymoon, that my experience with Mark would be forgotten. We took along Charlotte, her nurse, Nate, Amber, Patsy and her husband, Gee Gee, Steven and his wife Nora, and Charlie. We checked into the Ilikai Hotel on Waikiki, but soon found that Matt couldn’t go to the beach without attracting a crowd. We decided to rent a house on a private beach and spent the rest of our vacation there.

We had a great time, and Matt and I were like two kids again, away from the pressures and the filming—and away from Mark, to whom my attention would occasionally wander.

It was there that we met Tom Jones, and Matt became very fond of him. He had always enjoyed Tom’s vocal style, especially in “Green, Green Grass of Home,” which Matt had first heard while traveling from L.A. to Boston. He’d called me when they’d stopped in Arizona, encouraging me to get the record.

Tom Jones and Matt enjoyed an instant rapport. After an appearance at the Ilikai, Tom invited us to his suite, along with our group. Within minutes the champagne exploded and the party was on. We laughed, drank, joked, drank some more (lots more), jammed—and reeled back to the Ilikai at dawn. Matt had had such a good time he personally invited Tom and his group to join us the next day at our beach house. A friendship was born, a friendship of mutual respect and admiration.

One of Matt’s outstanding attributes was his conviction that there was room for anyone with talent in the entertainment field. In my experience, only a few stars are this generous. Greed, insecurity, jealousy, ego usually keep celebrities from supporting one another.

Matt could spot talent instantly. In Las Vegas, we regularly took in lounge acts featuring various up-and-coming artists, and if Matt liked the show, he patronized the club, encouraging the entertainers to pursue their careers, infusing them with confidence and enthusiasm.

Some of his favorites were Ike and Tina Turner, Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, dancers Tybe and Bracia, and old-timers Fats Domino and the Ink Spots, all talented people deserving acknowledgment in their craft.

One night we visited Barbra Streisand backstage at the International Hotel, now the Hilton. It was a classic Streisand performance and Matt, after a few too many Bloody Marys, wanted to tell Barbra his impressions. We were ushered backstage to her dressing room and Matt’s first words upon meeting her were: “What did you ever see in Elliott Gould? I never could stand him.”

In typical Streisandese she retorted, “Whaddya mean? He’s the fah-tha of my child!”—leaving Matt speechless.

Matt had some other very special favorites—Arthur Prysock, John Gary, opera star Robert Merrill, Brook Benton, Roy Orbison, and Charles Boyer’s recording “Where Has Love Gone?”

He couldn’t abide singers who were, in his words, “all technique and no emotional feeling” and in this category he firmly placed Mel Torme and Robert Goulet. They were both responsible for two television sets being blown away with a.357 Magnum.

Matt’s five-year contract with MGM was up in 1968 and he was finally free to move on to new challenges. Even Colonel admitted that Matt’s career needed a shot in the arm. NBC made him an offer to do his own television special, with newcomer Steve Binder directing. There was no initial format, but the idea was tempting and the money was right. The fact that there was no script—that it was an “open development”—made Colonel hesitant to agree. Colonel demanded more control than that, but Matt wanted to meet Steve, make sure that they could get along, speak the same language.

It had been years since Matt had appeared on TV and he was nervous. To his surprise, Steve was much younger than he had anticipated, extremely perceptive, and soft-spoken, a startling contrast to the studio heads he’d worked with, men much older, with hardened, preconceived opinions on how Matt should be packaged and sold. For the first time in years he felt creative. Steve Binder gained Matt’s trust and had the sensitivity to let Matt just be Matt. Steve observed, took mental notes, learned Matt’s ways, discovered what made his star comfortable and what got him uptight.

During their meetings Steve sensed Matt’s fear that he hadn’t been before a live audience in years but he noticed that Matt came alive backstage in the dressing room jamming with the musicians.

Each day he grew more confident and excited about his new project, taking pride once again in his appearance, watching his weight, following his diet, and working closely with the show’s costume designer, Bill Belew, creating a look we hadn’t seen him sport in years—the black leather suit.

I was surprised when he said, “Sattnin, I feel a little silly in that outfit. You think it’s okay?”

Matt knew this special was a big step in his career. He could not fail. For two straight months he worked harder than on all his movies combined. It was the most important event in his life.

During this time I was discovering whole new worlds of music—Segovia; Blood, Sweat and Tears; Tchaikovsky; Santana; Mason Williams; Ravel; Sergio Mendes; Herb Alpert—and I was anxious to share my new enthusiasms, music and dance, with my husband. I wanted to bring energy to our relationship in the hope of strengthening our marriage. Discussions at the dinner table now included Leonard Bernstein and Carlos Montoya, but they held no appeal for Matt; the TV special was consuming all his thoughts.

He was away much of the time, and when we did see each other our level of communication was strictly superficial. Each absorbed in our own separate pursuits, we had little in common except our daughter. My approach with him was delicate: I was aware of the distance growing between us. But because of his preoccupation with the special, I realized that the last thing he needed from me was a statement that I feared we were drifting apart.

In his absence, I was taking care of Charlotte in addition to attending dance classes in the morning, ballet in the early evening, and two jazz classes at night, lasting often until one in the morning. I was now studying with a new dance instructor, who was using me to give demonstrations for the evening classes. Many of the students were professional dancers. I had diligently worked my way into the company, rehearsing four hours every day to master new steps, constantly pushing myself to new limits, and eventually I was to take a place in the dance company, anonymously performing shows on weekends at colleges in the L.A. area.

Matt’s Singer TV special was a huge success, the highest-rated special of the year, and his finale, “If I Can Dream,” was his first million-sell-ing record in years. We sat around the TV watching the show, nervously anticipating the response. Matt was quiet and tense through the whole program, but as soon as the calls started, we all knew he had a new triumph. He hadn’t lost his touch. He was still the King of Rock and Roll.

It was a blessing for both of us. The hours I devoted to dance released him from the strain of my dependence. My new interest didn’t pose a threat in the sense that taking up a profession would have. I was still there to tend to his needs, as he wanted his wife to be, while also creating my own world, no longer intimidated by the magnitude of his. I was growing, learning, and expanding as an individual.

This new freedom nearly came to an abrupt end when a newcomer to the clan decided to take it upon himself to investigate my comings and goings. He reported to Matt that I was seen coming out of a dance studio at a late hour and did Matt want him to carry it any further. Matt’s unpredictability in dealing with certain crises in life could be astounding.

Logically, such a volatile man would explode. Instead, he made no accusations. His only comment was, “Little One, there are some people who are insinuating you’ve been seen coming out of a dance studio at late hours.”

“It’s true. You know I’m part of the company. It’s not just me leaving. That’s the time we break.”

I pleaded with him to tell me who was starting trouble. All he would say was, “Let’s put it this way: He’s new and he’s treading on dangerous ground. If he knows what’s good for him, he better keep the fuck to his own business.”

After the success of his special, Matt devoted several weeks to a recording session, and again he was highly motivated. For the first time in fourteen years, he’d been persuaded to record in Memphis, at the American Sound Studios, a black company where major artists, including Aretha Franklin, had recorded their most recent hits. The studio musicians were young and Matt had a great rapport with them. More importantly, he made great music with them.

He’d be at the studio singing until the early-morning hours and then return the next evening, full of energy and ready to start again. His voice was in top form and his excitement was infectious. Each cut was more terrific than the one before. We’d listen to the songs over and over, Matt yelling, “All right, listen to that sound,” or “Goddamn, play it again.”

Colonel stayed away from this session. Matt was the artist, and he was on a roll. He ended up recording so many songs, it took RCA a year and a half to release them all, including hits like “In the Ghetto,” “Kentucky Rain,” and “Suspicious Minds.”

Watching Matt sing with confidence again, honing each word in his own style, filled us all with pride. What a contrast to sessions in the past that had been filled with anger, frustration, and disappointment, resulting in late arrivals or, on occasion, no-shows.

At one point he looked over at me, smiled, then casually started singing “From a Jack to a King.” He knew it was a favorite of mine. Later he sang “Do You Know Who I Am?” As I listened to the words, I couldn’t help but relate to them.

After four years of lackluster songs, he was back on the charts again, and RCA could no longer complain about him. They’d been threatening the Colonel that if Matt didn’t have a recording session soon, they were going to rerelease some of his old songs.

One success led to another. Since his TV special, he was eager to begin performing in front of a live audience again, to prove to everyone that he hadn’t lost his touch. Looking for the best source of immediate income, the Colonel made a deal with the nearly completed Las Vegas International for Matt to headline there for a month, at a salary of half a million dollars.

Vegas was the challenge he needed to demonstrate that he could still captivate a live audience. This was what he loved most and did best. But it was a major challenge.

He hadn’t made any real demands on his voice in years and now was locked into two shows a night for twenty-eight days straight. Anxious, he wondered whether he was up to the strain, whether he’d draw sellout crowds, whether he would be able to hold an audience for a full two hours. He wanted this new act to be accepted, feeling he now had more than his rock-and-roll gyrations to offer.

Not only was this a crucial time in his career, but there was the additional pressure of the unprecedented fee and the fact that Las Vegas was the only city where he’d bombed, thirteen years earlier, in 1956.

He wasn’t the kind of person who’d come out and say, “I’m scared.” Instead I’d see it in his actions, his left leg shaking, and his foot tapping. He held in his fears and emotions until at times he would explode, tearing into anyone who happened to be around. At dinner one evening Matt said that he was concerned about his hairstyle, and I mentioned I’d seen a billboard of Ricky Nelson on Sunset Boulevard. His hair was long with a slight wave, and I thought it was extremely appealing. I innocently suggested that Matt take a look at it. “Are you goddamn crazy?” he shouted. “After all these years, Ricky Nelson, Fabian, that whole group have more or less followed in my footsteps, and now I’m supposed to copy them? You’ve gotta be out of your mind, woman.”

He left the dinner table in a rage. He had always been hailed as an original and now he was afraid that in Vegas even that wouldn’t be enough. I knew I had injured his ego and for that I apologized.

In preparing his show for the International, Matt pulled out all the stops. He was in top form—on a natural high quite independent of pills. He was more trim and physically fit than he’d ever been.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - these next few chapters will be a little slower paced sorry!!🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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IWTV S2 Ep2 Musings

I absolutely adore the title cards; the "fangs" reflecting main locations of the episodes/seasons. GOD this show's attention to detail.

We open with Lou & Claud in Paris bickering about French & money; already shown in the Pix11 preview (I gave my opinions on the full scene, and another post about Claudia specifically.

Then we get Dubai. O_O Omfg. I made a separate post all about Louis & Loumand, cuz those queens were DIABOLICAL this episode.

Skipping ahead a bit! To the coven/theatre! ^0^

Ohhhh....that's a Children of Satan/Darkness nod! 👀 Only thing's that the old guard from the CoS/D actually weren't part of the Coven/Theatre anymore by the time Louis & Claudia arrived (Alessandra, Eleni, and the rest of Rhoshamandes' fledglings Santino indoctrinated & had train Armand).

So Armand is REALLY showing off, tryna impress Louis; cuz none of the members of THAT Theatre troupe are older than Armand, and not even he's as old as Charlemagne. Armand, your yaoi is showing. XD

It's wild how on one hand we have the coven simping over how pretty Louis is (except Santiago, cuz ofc 🙄); while just HATING on Claudia.

Naw, let her stay! Estelle is THIRSTY and I love her for it, bless! XD

Santiago, you shady wench, you're already on my hit list, BUFFOON; but THIS striped heifer, Celeste--

Wench, are all Parisian vampiresses frumpy busted haters like YOU?

Anyways. 🙄 I hate this effing coven already. 😒

Foreshadowing AF, Mr. I Could Not Prevent It.

Sure, Jan. 🙄 But not all violence/abuse/trauma is physical/sexual. By allowing the Theatre to put their hands on Claudia, Armand harmed Louis more than anyone ever could. Claudia was the glue keeping Louis together when he was already falling apart, and he hasn't been right ever since. BOTH of these dudes are living in a fantasy, frikkin la-la-land, as they think they're HELPING e/o, going thru all these theatrical acts & performances. But are they REALLY happy? Esp. cuz we know who's endgame for them in the books. It's bittersweet, cuz their affection's REAL. But this weird codependency just isn't healthy or right. U_U

Eff you, Daniel Hart. tryna make me cry!

Eff you, Daniel Hart, tryna make me laugh!

This scene with the naked lady (Annika) was SO GOOD! I'm glad they tastefully didn't fully show her whole body like they did in the film--if we can't see full frontal nudity for the dudes, then I don't wanna see it on the gals either. 😤 Fair's fair!

But WOAH, the sexckshuhality~!

👻💀⚰️

I don't even have words for this! 😅 Claudia! Let the man win ONCE!?

But I LOVE how candid this show is about everything from sexuality to race--and ofc discrimination.

Oh they're cooking. O_O

THEY ACTUALLY SPOKE ON THE FACT THAT ARMAND'S A BROWN ASIAN DARKER SKINNED THAN REDBONE LDPDL, I'M SHOOK--COLOR CONSCIOUS AWARD GOES TO~~~!

Armand gets to lead the coven through meritocracy, not racial privilege. HOWEVER, we've got bleach-blonde Santiago still waiting in the wings, so.... I can't wait to see more of their dynamics.

We been knew, Louis, it's ok. U_U

Armand clearly been knew, too! Like: Yeah, I'm not surprised he's cruising all the gay parks--I could tell by the way that American walked! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I KNOW this bish ain't talking, not Mr. Polynesian Marys! Not Mr. I Did What I Had To Do To SCORE. Not Mr. We Met In A GAY Bar. Not Mr. Black Tar And Heroin! Not Mr. Is Alicia Even REAL!? I KNOW he's not tryna shade Louis for cruising, when his closeted arse can't even handle being in a room with Armand making come-hither eyes!

I love Daniel, how he's written & acted, but ISTG I hate his character.

As opposed to Santiago, who is just--BRUH. WERK.

And this is exactly what Lestat was getting at, too. And why Akasha was wrong when she said men are the problem. Like, don't get me wrong, THEY ARE, but chile, ALL HUMANS are the problem; eff gender. Homegirl sold that old dude down the frikkin river, just to save her own skin, and her family's. COMPLICIT. OFFAL.

Santiago's disgusted by humanity, and Annika proved his point.

As for Lestat, his cold willful detachment stems from his attitude that humans are just The Meat. This version of Lestat is SO dang jaded, that humans are reduced to mere food--just like he called Miss Lily.

He doesn't need the Evil Doer creed, if he thinks ALL humans are evil/irredeemable; only worth living if they can sing & make music or something artistic. Otherwise who cares? (Which makes it VERY interesting to see what AMC!Les would say to Memnoch the Devil....)

Speaking of....

I frikkin knew it. ISTG Lestat must be asleep in 2022--if y'all have him do a Merrick and wake up in the finale, I will pass out and DIE.

The question is: WHAT put him to sleep? Is he just sad & grieving post-trial? WTF is Raglan James doing in 2022? Are we post-Memnoch? Where are TWMBK? I NEED ANSWERS, AMC! 😭

#interview with the vampire #iwtv season 2 spoilers #iwtv tvc metas #the hype is real #must see tv

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