#IM NOT EVEN HALFWAY FINISHED LMAO

[slugghee]

holy SHIT this is taking a while

[enden-k]

cant believe no one COMPLIMENTED!!!! my single braincell for that yet

[noahtally-famous]

funny how this fic started off as an "unserious" idea (not cracky, more so i didn't take it that seriously, it was basically so i could rotate certain characters from my head into a google doc), i didn't expect to care abt it as much as i do now like i have a basic chapter layout for half of the set chapter count, specific scenes prewritten, a planning doc with around five pages thus far, the basics (title, summary, etc), random scenes for it spinning around in my head, and a bit of chapter one and three pages of chapter four written 😭

and i started properly thinking stuff for and working on this fic like...two days ago

it was not supposed to be This Serious hfjkdhf

[todayisafridaynight]

At which point did you realise that the plot of IW is ass? I've seen people complain only about the ending or the halfway point where the teams separate, while I was already actively rolling my eyes like four-five chapters in

i think the moment i fully accepted that IW's story was. Definitely A Story was the moment ebina announced 'bleach japan'. like i think leading up to that point i was thinking to myself 'oh i hope i see X happen' or being like 'i wonder where this is going' and that sort but the proverbial bucket of ice was definitely that moment

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[mothusband]

crochet is suppose to be calming or whatever but instead it's making me EVIL

[heartbrake-hotel]

Lordy honey yall makin me wanna write my own damn prompt. I got some more little tidbits for ya:

Elvis was turned during his first appearance at the International. But who turned him? I'm thinking there's some sort of deal going on between one the old vampires who invested in the building, maybe even the International's owner and Colonel Parker. They want Elvis to play there for as long as possible, and he isn't getting any younger--so they make it so he can't get any older, either.

At first Elvis is in a state of confusion, because fledglings (at least in my thoughts) are in a sort of fog when first turned. It helps them to adapt to feeding; cue Colonel Parker shoving cigarette girls into Elvis's suite, which he drains dry, much to his own horror when the initial feeding frenzy lifts.

And Colonel Parker isn't exactly picky with what he feeds Elvis: whoever is easy to get up into the suite, and high young girls are the easiest. Elvis tries, when he can afford it, to not feed--he doesn't know that if he drinks regularly then the frenzy won't come, but nobody has told him much of anything. His Sire isn't there, there wasn't any sort of ritual to his Turning as there normally is. No, this was just business.

aLRIGHT WOOHOO SMITTY MY LOVE LOOK AT US !!! im finally getting to this lmaoooo oOOPS 🙈 AND i have some mf THOUGHTS,,

(the orig hc post is here btw) ((idk if yall could tell but it Wrecked my Shit))

also it's been Sooooo long since we discussed this that u now have some Other relevant supernatural!au lore to pull from . so,, i hope u don't mind if i conflate the two universes a lil but ur worldbuilding in you ain't nothin' but a overtook my conscious mind weeks ago and has yet to relent 💝 oh nooooo.. whatever shall i dooooo.. 😏

far too many words under the cut. i, uh.. i may have lost control a lil 🤭🦇 ft. a frankly excessive use of pet names and an e who has been babygirlified maybe more than is appropriate within the confines of the plot (shocking, i'm sure).

right ok so !! vegas as a hub for at least some of the supernatural bc of its transient nature, high tourist volume, and seedy reputation. obvious check

for the most part, unaffiliated vamps stay out of vegas. like you said- it's too hard to monitor their blood concentrations when everyone and their dog is doing truckloads of party drugs well into the night.! but there are, of course, some Old Ones, who saw (or perhaps even built??) the city as their own personal playground btw this blends so seamlessly into the irl high-level mob ties its crazy lmao. marina's bringing up elvis is literally never not on my mind 🙏

if you're rich enough, or powerful enough (or have friends who are enough so), you don't have to fend for yourself the same way, so it's less of an issue. sucking out some rando party girl off the street is faaar beneath the pay grade of the handful of guys at the top, who have their meals carefully cultivated and hand-procured thru what is almost certainly a human trafficking ring

kirk kerkorian [or meyer kohn - u can pick ur universe, here] and the entire board of the international is of course among this group, exerting their power and influence (and perhaps Compulsion) to keep the flow of money running smoothly from the casinos below directly into their cash-lined pockets.

colonel tom parker [a demon again? or perhaps nobody in particular - either way he ends up hellspawn lmao whether literally or figuratively] is acutely aware of this when he first signs elvis on for the hotel's opening season - how could he not be? and of course everything goes perfectly smoothly for those first six weeks in 1969. **ik im twisting ur original idea just a tad but bear w me

but the longer the engagement goes, the more trouble colonel has reining elvis in. he had agreed heartily to those first fifty-eight appearances - purely to fund his upcoming world tour, you understand ("the snowman strikes again!"). but no matter how much colonel wheedles, he's not budging; elvis simply will not sign on for the next year.! he's finally holding his ground... and that's his undoing

coming off the back of his comeback special and last movie, e finally feels like he's got his mojo workin' - the king is back on top! after a looong decade stuffed fit to bursting with his botched movie career, he never thought he'd wrest any semblance of creative control away from the powers that be. but the last year or so has really made him see the value of his own opinion, AND the dangers of continued complacency. so with the backing of his family and extended entourage, he's heading halfway across the world just as soon as he gets off that stage for the last time.

colonel can't have that, not with the remainder of his hefty personal debt hanging in the balance. and with all the dough the hotel is raking in during the first dregs of their opening season, nobody up top wants their prize little cash cow flying away to london or japan or the rock of eternity or wherever he's fixin' to go - not if they have anything to say about it !

and so a plan is devised, swiftly, mercilessly, and without any pesky sense of remorse. after all, what do they have to feel bad about? they're just taking care of business

just after elvis' last performance, he's heading to his packed-up suite to shower and change for what he thinks will be the last time.. the boys are downstairs getting the last of the stuff in the cars and then they'll all head to the airport. he's got just a couple minutes to spare, and he assures them he'll be fine alone. just gonna run on up and change real quick, y'all don't needta worry about me none. [*evil colonel voice* wanna bet?]

he steps into his unusually empty suite, but before he can even shuck the towel from around his neck, his throat is being wrenched to the side in a vice grip as an unseen assailant steps from their hiding spot behind the door. he yelps, tries to throw them off, goes for the gun in his boot, but their grip is like steel, solid and unyielding, and before he can move much of anywhere there's a sharp prick in his neck and a sudden heaviness in his muscles he can't quite shake.

he assumes it's a syringe - he's not wholly unfamiliar with a needle, after all, and why would he suspect anything else? he guesses he's been drugged on account of... well, on account of bein' elvis presley. goddamn sonsabitches don't need any more reason than that. 'course, the sensation is a little different than he's used to - the gauge is unfamiliar, and he could swear he feels two distinct track marks - but by then his head is spinning too much to be certain of anything.

the last thing he feels is a rushing sense of complacency as his legs give out. his vision is swimming too much too see his attacker's face, but they let him go down, hard, and he crumples to an undignified heap on the floor helplessly as they turn to... leave? huh. not what he expected, but he supposes beggars can't be choosers

his sluggishly disjointed musings are broken only by the shadowy figure melting back into the shadows... his increasingly-addled mind knows he should be glad at their sudden departure, but all he can concentrate on is the inexplicable swing out of the vague sense of euphoria that had been the "drugs" kicking in, and a sudden accompanying feeling that he didn't like one bit. he could only describe it as a crawling fear, an absence, a kind of ripping deep in his soul... a pervasive sense of distance, of wrongness so festering he feared it was about to tear him apart from the inside out. he's suddenly certain he's not meant to be alone right now.

he gasps in the worst pain he's ever felt, and at the same moment, he's aware of a rush of footsteps in the hallway outside - he barely manages a wobbly gesture to the door and a slurred request to rip his goddamn tongue out b'the roots to the panicked faces of his boys crowding around his supine form before his vision finally goes dark.

when he wakes up, he's in an all-too-familiar bed. before running for the doctor and his daddy, a frazzled jerry sitting vigil at his side hurriedly explains that without him conscious enough to fill them in, all they knew is he wasn't fit to travel, so they'd unpacked his suite again while waiting for him to return to the land of the living. he's grateful, but assures him that as soon as he's feeling better they'll be heading out again.

he asks jerry to turn down the thermostat and flip off the light on his way out. the heavily-drawn drapes had already ensured it'd been near-pitch dark and freezing, just how he liked it, but he murmured it felt like he was burnin' up from the inside out, and his eyes were too sensitive for even the ambient glow of his bedside lamp. jerry does so and also fetches him a pair of big ol' sunglasses, without a word.

the doctors (who'd been summoned to the hotel; despite protests from the mafia, colonel had suggested that moving elvis to a hospital could be even more dangerous, what with this criminal still on the loose, and vernon had reluctantly agreed) hadn't been able to tell what he'd been dosed with - it'd metabolized too quickly to detect, apparently. all they can tell him after the last four days of monitoring his comatose form is that his vitals have been almost astonishingly strong. the only symptom he's had has been a high fever, but it breaks as soon as he's awake again- and actually, his body temp has overcorrected and is a little low now, is he feeling chilly?

they joke that whatever he'd been given seems to have actually helped him, and he's inclined to agree... despite the fact that they hadn't administered anything to him except an IV drip, in case it had any adverse interactions with whatever he'd been on, his chronic pain has mysteriously vanished. and since he's been awake and in recovery, he's only seemed to get more handsome and charming, no sign at all of being out of it and on fluids for so long. you sure wouldn't have known his recent predicament by looking at him !

he's got a host of baffling new symptoms as well, but nothing that seems dangerous or that points to any kind of diagnosis. he's growing increasingly thirsty, but the buckets of water he's drinking aren't quenching him. he seems to have lost his sense of taste (this one hits him the worst) - at first, the smell of food made him nauseous. now he can keep it down, but it feels like ash in his mouth. his light sensitivity lingers, though for the most part it's limited to natural light, and he takes to wearing the sunglasses often. he seems to have developed a sudden allergy to some of his jewelry - his silver rings and pendants now cause a burning rash. he has them remade in gold and doesn't give it a second thought.

he tells and retells his story to the cops, but they're left scratching their heads; it's widely assumed the panicked arrival of the mafia scared off the creep before they could pull off the rest of their plan. kill him, kidnap him for ransom... seemed like they'd never know for sure, but either way everyone agrees he narrowly escaped a much worse fate. colonel doesn't think it wise for him to be on the road, what with this continued threat hanging over his head, but jerry argues it doesn't seem any better to stay in vegas with this freak at large. and elvis points out that if the bastard follows him overseas, they have bigger fish to fry.

the boys seem confused that the attack doesn't appear to have played into his usual paranoia in any way; he doesn't know quite how to explain it, he tells them, but he feels stronger, somehow. more settled. like if it ever came to it again, he could handle himself. it might just be relieved cockiness, but what didn't kill him made it so he's at least not afraid again. he's been reflecting deeply on psalm 23, apparently.

and so the suite is once again packed up, despite colonel's protestations- this time with elvis under constant supervision, much to his good-natured amusement. it goes without incident, and they make it all the way to the runway before elvis is suddenly doubled over in pain in the back of the limo, sweating and shaking like a leaf.

he's groaning that it hurts, hurts s'bad, but can't say anything more than that, and within seconds the whole caravan has whipped around and is careening back to the relative safety of the hotel. by the time he's being ferried hurriedly up to his room, he's improving steadily, and by the time he's settled in bed and the doctors once more fetched, he's weak and badly shaken but seems no worse for wear.

the doctors can't explain this apparent relapse any more than the first, but tentatively give him a clean bill of health, and two days later they try it all again. this time he makes it within a couple miles of the airport, and it takes him four days to recover. the last time they try, he only makes it four blocks away from the Strip and is bedridden for a week. nobody has any sort of explanation, and the tour is put on hold indefinitely while they're seemingly stranded.

the colonel is the one who offers a possible solution. he'd been hovering around elvis' room the whole time (like a bad smell, sonny mutters when he's out of earshot), fluttering around with assurances that the hotel would gladly host them as long as they needed, maybe even sign them on for another season if elvis so wished...

when elvis finally roars that he just wants OUT of this place, goddammit in response to vernon's suggestion that he stop working himself up with leaving, colonel finally pounces.

he must put his foot down, he says. his boy is clearly in no condition to travel- no, no, not physically, he hastily amends, when elvis opens his mouth to remind him what the doctors said, but clearly mentally. something about the attack has left him emotionally unstable, it appears, and the idea of leaving, even though he's so sure he wants to, is clearly triggering some kind of psychosomatic attack. why doesn't he make up his mind to stay- not forever, just until his head is screwed on right. he can keep playing the international, and they can find him some head-shrinkers to fix him right up, eh? elvis doesn't see any choice but to glumly agree.

of course, unbeknownst to elvis, the real issue is that his Maker won't allow him to leave vegas city limits. he's been kept totally in the dark as to his situation and is thus totally suggestible, so when the vampire who Turned him (continually employed by the Ancients for just this kind of dirty work) uses their mental connection to Compel him to stay within a certain radius, elvis doesn't even know he's feeling it, much less that it's possible to fight it. his Bat simply obeys without question, to the confusion of his body and conscious mind.

if his Turning had been accompanied by proper ritual, if his Maker had explained any of his new life to him, if he'd received any guidance at all, he'd know he could override this instinct, break the Bond they shared (especially as ill-cultivated as it is), and be on his way. as it is, he's like a dog with a newly-installed invisible fence. a dog who's also growing steadily weaker since his Turning because of his lack of sustenance, mind you.

the colonel knows all this. he also knows that any doctors or psychiatrists that see elvis from this point on will be in the know, be provided by the hotel, and be payed handsomely to tell elvis exactly what the colonel wants him to hear. he send word to the Council that they've got him at last. they rejoice at the prospect of chaining elvis to their stage for an eternity, elvis begrudgingly signs the contract for another engagement, and this is where the real trouble starts...

it's been three weeks since he was inadvertently Turned, and elvis is feeling the affects of not having Fed, though he doesn't realize it. he's weak, he's thirsty, he's snappish, and can somebody turn off those godDAMNED lights !!! the mafia assume it's due to his mental slump and are at a loss except to wait it out, but the colonel thinks he has something to cheer him up. he winks and tells red that elvis will have a few, ehem.. lady visitors tonight, and surely they shouldn't be disturbed. the boys get the hint.

colonel sends up the ditziest cigarette girl he can find downstairs, a perky little blonde, so doped-up out of her mind she's wobbling in her heels. she gasped and flushed darkly when he told her that mr. presley was in need of her services; he hadn't even needed to slip her any cash to incentivize her troubles. he chomped on his cigar and grinned darkly as he watched her giggle her way to the elevator.

elvis, for his part, almost makes it. he'd answered the rhythmic little knock in his robe, loosely tied, and didn't miss the way the sweet young thing at his door gaped at the sight of all that chest on display. before he can even say anything, she's slipped under his arm and further into the room, and he raises an eyebrow and grins as he eases the door shut. he peruses her wares (the CIGARETTES !! im talking about the cigarettes..) more for show than anything else, and hands her a $20 in exchange for a pack he doesn't plan on smoking, telling her to keep the change.

she bends over far more than necessary while stacking boxes back in her tray, and flutters her lashes when she asks him if there's... anything else she can get him. flattered as he is, he tells her, he isn't sure he needs anything just now, but thank you kindly anyways, honey. truthfully, he's not sure he's feeling up for it, but she pouts so prettily as she swings her hips sadly over to the door, and turns back to ask if he's really really sure... the colonel had sent her up with express instructions to give him anything he wanted, she explains, sultry little whine in her voice, and he finds his resolve crumbling.

surely a little kissing wouldn't hurt, he reasons, might even make him feel a lil better, and her eyes light up in glee when he beckons her back over. but the minute she's in his arms, easing her way up to his lips as her eyes flutter shut, he isn't sure what comes over him. they're so close her heartbeat rushes in his ears, and without a thought he's effortlessly snapped her neck (with strength he didn't know he had) and is lapping frantically from her torn throat (pierced with the aid of sharp fangs he's never felt before). she never even saw it coming.

he moans as he sags to the ground, clutching her limp form and still slurping desperately as, for the first time since his attack, his thirst is quenched. he dimly realizes he's done something unforgivable, but his head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, everything around him distant and foggy. the sense of panic he knows he should be feeling is a far-off twinge, all but muted by the combined cocktail of ecstasy running through him: fresh blood, dope, and a brain fog he can't quite attribute to either.

when she's dry he's sated, the sense of woozy relief hits him so strong that he barely manages to stagger to his feet and stumble over to the couch, chin and hands still covered in blood, before he's passing out for ten hours of the emptiest sleep he's ever had. when he wakes up, all traces of what happened are gone, and with a mind that finally feels clearer than it has for weeks, he almost manages to convince himself it was an incredibly fucked-up dream, so potent that the sweet metallic tang is still blooming on his tongue...

...until of course, the next time it happens. it goes much the same way: the colonel has no trouble locating a girl who'll never be missed- this is vegas, after all- and sends her, high as a kite of her own volition, up to the penthouse to keep company with a disgruntled and starving elvis. he drains her dry before he can even blink, but stays awake this time to spend the next few hours totally blissed out in an uncomfortably drugged haze. the more he comes down, the more he hates not only what he's done but also the way it makes him feel.

thus starts a vicious cycle: elvis, terrified of feeding, swears off blood, until he's half-starved but fighting himself at every turn. the colonel intervenes, sending throngs of low-risk girls up to the suite, where e simply can't help himself anymore, and enters a violent blood-crazed frenzy. he spends the hours after staggering around half-lucid, waiting for the effects to fade so he can convince himself he'll never do it again.

the stronger he maintains his tenuous mental fortitude- the longer he goes between feeds- the more girls he needs in a night to fill him up, and the higher he gets afterwards. he doesn't ask where colonel finds them or what he does with the bodies. he thinks dully that he doesn't much want to know.. it's hard enough on his conscience already.

of course, yet another thing nobody's bothered to explain to poor frightened fledgling elvis is that every time he refuses to feed when he should, every time he feels the welling signs of that dark hunger within himself and shoves them down in distress, every time his instincts are forced to take over and quite literally make him feed, that it exacerbates the mental fog he's feeling.

vampiric lore (which of course he doesn't know) attributes it to a sort of easing-in countermeasure; it's only newly-turned vampires, not fully in touch with their desires, that attempt to starve themselves so, clearly suffering from a mental block regarding the morality of preying upon their former species. to smooth their transition into acceptance of their new form, every time they're forced to feed rather than do it willingly, a potent release of hormones and neurotransmitters floods their system, both to combat any lingering guilt and to make them crave the mental release of feeding just as much as the physical.

if he were to feed normally, if he were to provide his body with the nourishment it needed on a regular basis, his instincts wouldn't have to override his mind this way. he wouldn't be forced to feed so violently or so much, he'd be able to control himself such that he could select his own victims preferentially and even bring himself to stop before killing them, and he wouldn't feel so overwhelmed afterwards.

elvis thinks of his... condition as an affliction, a temptation he lacks the strength to overcome, but really, it's his body's desperate attempt to stay alive when his mind insists on thwarting his ongoing survival at every turn. the bloodlust isn't a punishment but a protective measure, and one he could prevent if he'd take consistent care of his new needs.

and on top of all that, the particular way his intake is chemically tainted only adds to this anguish, because now he's unknowingly also developing a dependency on the drugs- the painful withdrawal symptoms of which serve to strongarm him into feeding even more frequently.

things are only exacerbated by his performance engagement starting back up; of course, it's even easier to find girls- hordes of them batter the doors to the showroom after every show, desperate for just another glimpse of him- but it also means he's got a responsibility to be right there on that stage twice a night, able-minded or no, and he takes that very seriously.

he's got people to support, after all, so he gets very used to functioning while highly intoxicated, whether that means performing, schmoozing the high rollers in the casino at the behest of his hotel benefactors, or smiling through a never-ending stream of reporters and photographers during every interview and press conference.

this is where the reader steps in !!!

you're one of less than a handful of vamps, just two or three, really, who manage to stick around vegas (and consume healthy blood) without the influence of the Old Ones, a feat you manage by staying off the Strip almost entirely. you stick to the suburbs, both as a way to ensure you're not tripping out after every meal, and to (hopefully) stay out of sight and out of mind of the powerful Ancients who don't want anyone infringing on their territory. this is very fright night remake vibes btw if anyone remembers that

but there's very little to do in the dusty, sprawling desert neighborhoods that isn't centered around maintaining the tourism industry downtown, especially for an immortal with nothing but time (and the occasional meal) to kill. you're nowhere near as experienced as those you seek to avoid, but you've been around the block quite a few times yourself, and sometimes the neon glow of the city lights overrides the quiet boredom of your safely-maintained little perimeter.

tonight is one such night: elvis presley had been headlining the international hotel for what felt like ages, or maybe just a blink - it was hard to judge that pesky human time, when their lifespans were so much shorter than yours. either way, he'd been this era's answer to jesus for a few decades now, and you had to admit you were curious to see him in person at last.

you decide on the midnight show- maybe if you're lucky, you can scrounge up a snack on the way home. you don't bother with a ticket- though you have more than enough human money stored up over the years, you're sure it's no use for what promises to be a sold-out show. the bouncers aren't any deterrent, either- you simply Compel them into checking the list for your name another time, and they let you in without a murmur. the showroom is packed so full, you notice as you survey the area, that nobody could ever notice one more.

you slip into a vacant seat at the end of one of the long tables that line the stage, with a group of screaming fans who don't seem to notice that they don't know you. you can't tell if their distraction is borne more from excitement or alcohol, but either way, you're grateful for the cover. you order a bloody mary as your own personal joke and bide your time until the show starts, perusing the booths that line the floor behind you. you recognize a few familiar Old Ones, by face if not name- no surprise, considering who runs the casino just outside.

eventually, the lights fade and the orchestra bursts into an opening riff. you clap with the rest when elvis struts out on stage, looking resplendent in a white jumpsuit, grinning wide and boyishly and practically glowing under the stage lights. his rings flash as he waves to the audience, courteous and attentive even as he starts singing. when the song's over he introduces himself and some of the VIPs, including the owner of the hotel (now there's a vamp who's been getting himself a lot of press lately), and the heavyset man next to him, apparently elvis' own manager. the man gives a simpering smile and wave to the crowd as the spotlights illuminate the booth, and you wrinkle your nose as you turn back to the main stage. you haven't placed it yet, but something seems off about that one.

elvis puts on a good show, you'll give him that, but the longer you watch, the more puzzled you become. he's slurring just a bit when he jokes with the band in between numbers, and more clumsy than you'd expect for someone so flexible; you'd say it was just another hollywood star using and abusing drugs if he didn't look so... panicked every time. he's twitchy, too, keeps getting down toward the edge of the stage like he's about to move out into the crowd and start planting kisses on his clamoring fans, like you've heard he does, but he keeps jerking himself back at the last second. they seem to think he's teasing, screaming louder every time, and he plays it off with a slow grin, but it's almost like... like he's afraid he won't be able to control himself, like...

ah. there it is

you zero in on just the barest flash of fang in his smile, and immediately suss out what's going on. elvis presley, a fledgling vamp in what is indisputably the worst city in the world for fledgling vamps... strange things are happening every day, aren't they?

that leaves you with more questions than answers, however... questions like where's his Master? why isn't he feeding properly? who's keeping him half-starved and strung-out? and most importantly, does he even know what's going on?

you narrow your eyes contemplatively as you watch him fool with the microphone before prompting the band to start the next song. all it takes is seeing his hands tremble around the cord to make you nod decisively and shoot back the rest of your drink. you suppose you can stick around a little longer than originally planned... after all, it seemed like elvis might need a little help fixing this, whether he knew it or not.

you lingered just a little after the show ended, waiting until the throngs of frantic women had pushed their way back to the lobby before heading after them yourself. you glanced around surreptitiously, locating the nearest elevator bay... and near it, a familiar older man with a cane whispering furtively to a clearly-tipsy young woman, one you recognized from your table during the show. she had caught a silk scarf fluttering down in front of her from the man himself and hadn't stopped screaming until the lights came back on. bingo

you ran one hand through your hair haphazardly, tousling it slightly as you stumbled your way over to them. "oh, there you are! i was looking for you," you chirped. she gasps and waves excitedly in the earnest way only drunk girls do, but your mouth is open again before she can speak and do something incriminating, like ask your name. "who's y'r friend? s'he coming upstairs with us?" you giggle, leering at... what had his name been again? ah yes, colonel parker. you silently gave a sigh of thanks for your heightened senses- you might not have recognized him just from your brief glimpse during the show otherwise.

the colonel glanced you over dismissively, clearly writing you off as another inebriated fan - his mistake, but exactly what you wanted him to think all the same. he gave you a leering grin and tapped his cane as he said "ah, i was just asking your friend here to do a simple personal favor for me..." you hummed disinterestedly until he continued "...on behalf of mister presley, of course." you gasped exaggeratedly and willed your cheeks to flush- lucky you had fed recently.

he seems to buy it, from the way his eyebrow ticks upwards when he sees your reaction "perhaps you would like to... accompany her to his suite, no?" he teases. you nod raptly, artificial stars in your eyes, and he snorts as he pushes the call elevator button for you with the top of his cane. "top floor. you two enjoy yourselves," he chuckles. the two of you giggle as he saunters away, towards the casino entrance.

as soon as the doors slide shut behind you, you straighten up and tidy your hair in the chromatic reflection until you're once again presentable. you brush off your outfit, fiddling until you're satisfied, then take a deep breath. snapping once to get your lightly confused companion's attention, your turn her shoulders towards you so she's making woozy and bewildered eye contact with you.

"hi honey. having a good night? good. this is how the rest of it is gonna go, ok? now you listen to me-"

when the doors opened again at the thirtieth floor, the girl (tracy. she had told you absently her name was tracy) waved distractedly over her shoulder as she walked straight out of the elevator bay and into the nearby stairwell, head filled with what she believed to be an immutable truth about the elevator being out of service. she'd walk back to her room (on the off chance there was anyone downstairs monitoring the floor indicator dial), wake up perfectly safe in the morning, and think nothing of it.

meanwhile, you let yourself into elvis' suite with the key tracy had handed over, a parting gift from the colonel. you left the lights off, made yourself comfortable on the couch facing the door, and waited.

you didn't have to wait long- just minutes later, there was noise outside, multiple male voices speaking over each other as they all piled out of the elevator and headed for the door, elvis' the loudest. "yeah, yeah, i said i'd meet you down there, didn't i? doin' my damn head in... i'll tell ya what, y'all g'head and i'll call down there when i'm done. yes i swear, now git!" laughter and good-natured ribbing faded as the elevator doors presumably closed behind the crowd once again, punctuated with a sigh and the click of the door lock disengaging another time.

elvis didn't seem to notice you as he walked in, leaving the light off as well as he patted his face dry with the damp towel looped around his neck. he leaned against the wall with one hand to brace himself as he toed off his boots, then whipped his dark shades off onto a side table and gripped the bridge of his nose with another deep sigh.

"are you in any pain, mr. presley?" he yelped in undignified surprise and whipped around with a touch of vampiric speed, dropping the towel in his fright to discover the source of your voice. despite the pitch blackness of the room, his eyes locked onto yours immediately through the dark, without needing to scan the empty space around you- another sign of his transition. no mortal could see as perfectly well in this scenario as the two of you could.

"wh- who-" he stuttered some, regaining his bearings, as you cocked your head in evaluation. "i'm sorry to startle you, mr. presley," you say evenly, but pleasantly. "you can drop that shit straightaway, honey, that's my daddy. can jus' call me elvis." he murmurs absentmindedly, as if it hadn't been what he really intended to say but came out by habit. "and now that you know me, may i ask who you are? and better yet what the hell you're doing in my room?" he doesn't sound angry, per se, more resigned than anything, and you smile wryly in response as you introduce yourself. "real pretty, honey, but i'd like an answer to my other question, too." he raises his eyebrow, and you wonder if he's even aware of how much charismatic mental energy he's leaking right now. it was even more apparent to you now why humans throw themselves at him left and right.

"sorry, m- i mean, elvis. the colonel sent me up. i saw your show- you were fantastic, but i had a couple questions." "he did, did he? just wonderful," he almost growls, squeezing his eyes shut. "and some questions, you said? you a reporter?" his voice sounds hard-edged for the first time tonight, but he seems to relax again when you answer with a simple no. "just concerned, i guess." he hums tiredly at your response, vague though it is. "concerned about what, 'bout the show? i'll do my best to answer your questions, honey, but i really don't think there's all too much to be concerned about-"

"elvis, when was the last time you fed?" you can hear his breath catch from clear across the room. "i-i had lunch after rehearsals, but i ain't had dinner yet, if that's what you're askin'... pretty forward way to ask me on a date, but i-" you put a hand up to cut him off. "i think you know perfectly well that's not what i'm asking, elvis. when was the last time you fed properly? on blood?" "...ha! been watching a little too many dark shadows reruns, honey?" his words trip over themselves getting out, and eventually he gives up to just blink at you, speechless, owl-eyed, and afraid despite his frankly pathetic attempt at a cover. he looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar only this time the metaphorical cookie jar is a number of very literal human corpses lol

you bite back a sigh- perhaps you pushed too hard there. poor thing is wringing his hands like he thinks you're gonna put him in cuffs any minute. "maybe we should start over- i'm here to help, ok? i wanna make sure you're alright, cuz i think you might have a lot of questions nobody's explained to you yet. c'mere and sit next to me, baby, and we'll just talk" you pat the seat next to you, flipping his casual pet naming back on him effortlessly. to be fair, he is a baby to you- only, what, a couple months old? that's nothing compared to your few hundred years.

he eyes the spot next to you but shakes his head, still looking like a lost puppy. "n-no, i- m'fine over here," he manages. you furrow your brow; he's gonna need to start trusting you if he wants your help, and this is a bad way to begin. "i promise, i'm not gonna hurt you, elvis-" that sure does it. "i'm not worried about that!" he exclaims. "m'worried about me hurting you!"

you breathe out a surprised little oh, suddenly understanding. "is that what you're so worried about, sweetie? i'm not afraid of you." you try to placate him. "y-you should be afraid of me, honey. i am."

and that's the crux of the matter, isn't it? it breaks your heart a little to know that this is what he's been grappling with alone. it's not meant to be like this- with time and acceptance, he was meant to gain eternal companionship (your semi-loner status nonwithstanding). and whoever heard of a scared vampire?

but you put that aside to focus on elvis- and quickly realize there's one more... little thing you might've left out.

"you don't need to be anymore, ok? i'm gonna help you learn to control it." you beckon him over again, and this time he makes it halfway across the floor before you realize you're not sure if you're Compelling him or not. he'll need to learn what it feels like eventually, in order to both use it and combat it, but now's probably not the time. you break eye contact, just in case, and he falters slightly, but keeps coming, putting you at ease.

as he gets close enough to hear your heartbeat, though, his eyes suddenly turn frantic, and he backpedals, once again in the grip of that familiar terror. "you- you have to get out of here, i can't-" you shush him, not unkindly. "oh, sweetheart. that one's my bad, ok? i guess i haven't been very good at this so far," you grin apologetically. "but you couldn't hurt me, even if you tried"

you use your superspeed to whoosh over to his side and back, the only sign you'd moved at all the slight sway of your hair in the breeze it creates- and the golden ankh pendant now swinging from your upturned palm. elvis gapes, hands reaching up to feel the now-empty space around his neck where the necklace rested just moments ago. "how...?" listen i really can't be assed abt the fact he wasn't wearing necklaces this early ok. it was a cool move

"forgot to tell you - i'm souped up, too." you wink at him, flashing your pupils the deep red they turn when you're Feeding. "and also i think a little stronger than you, given what i saw on stage tonight." this is soo cliche im sorry but Spooky Eyes HAWT. i don't feel bad about it actually

the immediate sense of overwhelming relief on his face almost aches to see, and he's crossed the remaining stretch of floor to practically collapse in your arms sobbing before you can blink. it's... very surprising, you'll admit, but not unwelcome, either, and you're sure the uncertainty lingers in your voice as you gentle him softly, petting his hair and rubbing his back and trying not to overthink the fact that you've known elvis presley for all of ten minutes and now... this is happening. whatever this is.

"woah- woah, hey, what's happening? what's the matter, baby?" he's shaking like a leaf as you hold him, trying to work out in what universe this makes sense. "i-i-i ain't-" he manages through tears. "i haven't been able to touch any-anyone this whole time without b-being so goddamned afraid i'd hurt 'em... and i just- i..."

your worst fears for him, first materialized as you watched him onstage and puzzled about the identity of his Master, are confirmed. "baby... have you been alone this whole time?" you whisper. he just nods from his resting place, face buried in your shoulder. IS this a weird level of intimacy for 2 virtual strangers? totally yup. DO i still think its arguably valid considering how desperately lonely i have decided to make this bitch? uh huh :3

you suck in a breath through your teeth, suddenly filled with the fiery emotion you've been tamping down all night- rage. rage at whoever organized this hit, at whoever must be profiting off it while elvis suffers and innocent girls die, at the colonel who's been shepherding bodies in here endlessly and apparently without deigning to give elvis any proper help or training- yeah, don't think you forgot about him.

but before you can do anything about that, you have to do something with the king of rock 'n roll, who's finally quieting down in your lap. you shove the anger back down, the same way you do your bloodlust- the same way you'll teach elvis.

he sits back up, furiously wiping his tear-stained face. "sorry, honey- i don't know what came over me." he barks a laugh but his eyes tell you it's for show. you tut at him, standing up to fetch him a tissue and maybe a bottle of water, if you can find it- you're sure there must have been one waiting for him after the show. his eyes widen again, but before he has time for concern you cup his cheek to brush the last of his tears away with the pad of your thumb, accompanied by a gently chiding look that says i'm not going anywhere

he has enough time to look sheepish before you putter back over to him with your spoils, talking a mile a minute to distract him. "tch, enough of that! that's part of the change- everything you felt before is doubly strong now. it can be hard to separate your emotions sometimes, especially when you're not used to it. you'll feel everything differently now, and twice as hard."

he takes a moment to mull that over as he mops his face and chugs the water bottle, then nods as he meets your eyes again. "i didn't know that, but it sounds- it feels right. what else can ya tell me?" you chuckle darkly, stretching out on the couch. "oh, just bunches, baby. get comfortable, cuz i know you've got questions- and i've got your answers."

over the course of the night, you explain everything to elvis- how he was Turned, the changes his body's going through, all the symptoms and abilities he'll experience now, why he's feeling the way he is, his options for feeding, how his habits need to change if he intends to keep going like this... it's a laborious process, given how little he knows and how much he thinks he does- he's already got a lot of misconceptions to retrain.

"hey, maybe you're the one who's been watching too many dark shadows reruns lately!" you mean it as a joke, but he flushes. "well, s'not like there's a, a handbook or anythin'! i've been tryin' to study up!" you burst out laughing, and he laughs with you.

at one point he orders up dinner for the two of you, which provides the perfect opportunity for you to offer him a creature comfort- "food? yeah, you can eat food. it won't sustain you, but you're free to eat for pleasure." at his pained look, you give him a knowing smirk. "i bet it tastes nasty right now, doesn't it?" he nods glumly, eyeing your super-rare hamburger, and you chuckle, eyeing him as you take an exaggerated bite. he groans in annoyance, and you laugh as you lick your fingers clean. "don't worry- that'll pass. it's your instincts' way of telling you that you're malnourished- kind of a deterrent from stuff that won't actually keep you alive. you'll be back to your peanut butter and banana in no time, promise." he cheers, and orders up a bottle of champagne, just for that.

"that's another thing- we metabolize differently. your system can tell the difference between the liquid calories it needs and the solid calories you're feeding it just for fun. you won't derive any energy from human food, so you can't gain weight. no reason to store fat," you shrug. "but it also means-" you clink your champagne glass with his in a mock toast, "-you can't get drunk." he sputters, "well, why'd you even let me order the bubbly then?? this shit's expensive, so they tell me!" "i like the way it sparkles! it tickles my nose!"

the hours come and go, but the two of you barely notice, so wrapped up in your conversation. that's another thing you explain- how he'll need much less rest now, if he keeps himself healthy, but that until he's being nourished properly he'll be fatigued and need to sleep pretty much like before. he admits that he was practically nocturnal beforehand, anyway- he hadn't even noticed this one change among so many more pressing.

his drapes were heavy-duty, but you could see just the barest sliver of skyline out the window as the sun began to rise. "it's almost dawn," you whisper, conscious of the fact that the vampire before you is very young, and has had a very long night. a very long month, to be perfectly honest. he hums from where his head is resting on your thigh- you'd encouraged him to lie down an hour ago when he kept breaking off his sentences to yawn hugely. actually, you'd encouraged him to get some rest and you'd talk more later, but he'd refused to go to bed, assuring you he wasn't tired 't all, just sore from the show- he got muscle aches, you know, and he needed to stretch out. you hadn't been convinced then, and you were even less so now, keeping a fond eye on him (fond?? when had that happened) as he drowsed in your lap.

his end of the conversation had started lagging about the same time you started running your hand through his hair, until he was practically purring in contentment. you huffed in amusement. "more like a kitty cat than a bat, i think." he cocked an eyebrow and grinned salaciously, though he didn't open his eyes. "oh honey, i'll show you a cat... a pussycat, to be precis-" "HEY!" you swatted him teasingly and he snickered, settling down again. "keep it clean, presley." "yes, Master." you paused in your ministrations at that, just long enough for his brow to furrow. "you don't have to call me that." "yeah... but can i? i mean, would'ya mind if i-?" his voice was quiet, but sincere. "...ok. but only if you want to." he can hear the smile in your voice without looking, and it makes him smile, too.

"you do have a real one out there, y'know." "i know. but they ain't ever helped me none- all they've done for me is turn my life upside down and leave again. but you... hell, honey, i've only known you one night, and already things are starting to feel right side up again." you sit with that for just long enough to feel pleased before you reach down to tweak his nose. he giggles, and your bid to give the both of you a break from being so fucking earnest goes off without a hitch. the tension stays broken, but the tranquil mood remains.

"guess you're stuck with me again- i can't make it all the way home in that," you venture eventually, nodding at the lone streak of sun making its way past the blackout curtains to pool on the floor behind the piano. luckily far out of the way, or he might've had a particularly unpleasant awakening of his own, had he stumbled through the patch accidentally. he shifts minutely, well on his way to sleep by now. "mm, sounds jus' awful," he drawls, answer delayed only slightly by the fact that he's snoozing, his voice is so quiet that without your enhanced senses you'd have to strain to hear it. "can't imagine quite how i'll make it through if you've gotta stick around s'more." "even dead to the world, you maintain your sense of humor, huh, baby? and those lady-killer tendencies, i see" "yeah, well, i have killed quite a few lad-" "elvis!" you laugh, scandalized, as he huffs a laugh as well as he leverages himself up to sitting.

he rubs his eyes as he tries to get his bearings. "s'pose that's my way of asking real tactful... what happens next?" "well, first we've gotta detox you." "what, from the blood? i thought you said-" "nope, not from the blood. from the drugs in the blood." "from the w-" he gapes, looking shocked and hurt, and also a little appalled at himself. "i really am sorry to break it to you, sweetheart- there's a lot going on with you right now, and only some of it is due to... this," you reach up a hand to thumb at one of his fangs, which had slipped out as soon as you started talking about blood. "the rest of it is a combination of the vegas lights and whoever up top orchestrated the whole thing." he nods slowly, expression inscrutable. "we'll take it slow, i promise. ok?" "yeah," he nods more steadily now. "yeah, i trust you."

"well, then, mr. presley- are you ready?" he nods his head as if on instinct, then has the decency to look confused. "ready for what?" you smile, fangs out. "to start getting you fixed up... so we can take down those bastards responsible for this." he just stares at you a moment before a slow grin starts to take over his face, eyes darkening to match the quite literally bloodthirsty expression in yours.

"let's get to it."

[maternalcube]

yknow i probably should have clicked yes on that poll actually. i mean. i did just reread a fanfic that im pretty sure i first read before ever playing the source material.

[jaylver]

okayyyy so hee f1 au teaser tomorrowwwewwwww

[svnflower-writes]

my lily evans x oc book looking real tempting to post rn

[sunuism]

i realised recently that i’m kinda done with the dorm life and it’s time to move out

[alsaurus-loves-dean]

.

[kuzakat]

So uh. Writing murder bfs for nanowrimo is going weeeell LMAO 🔥🔥🔥

[giveafike]

Hiii i love your dominic fike works :,) and i was wondering if you’d write a nsfw alphabet for ben shelton? preferably fem reader but if you think something else would work better then that’s cool too 🤞

TLDR: NSFW alphabet! I borrowed the format from other NSFW alphabets I've seen round here.

Warnings + Content Ahead: fem reader! NSFW, Minors DNI! There's a bit of everything in here, mentions of cum, light bondage, throatplay, fingering, masturbation, oral sex, thighriding, toys, moaning if that's anything to warn about - just read w caution if NSFW is a touchy subject! Nothing too crazy or wild here.

Azzie Notes ✚: !!! Bro, tell me why there’s actually no NSFW Ben content here?? And he’s literally so hot?? I was losing my mind during Laver Cup and now I’m losing it after seeing the sleeve on his left arm at Japan Open.

Anyways, this should go wo saying: all assumptions and guesses, girl idfk anything!!! I’m just daydreaming!! I hope I don’t repeat myself too much throughout this but erm..yeah! Enjoy!

P.S. IJBOL I'm writing this while watching Fils v Shelton rn pls im so unsrs. Do send in requests! I have a couple of ADORABLEEE ANON BEN REQS AND IM SCREAMINGGG send more, im so feral for a cute moment. The support and reception I got on my big old long Ben post has been so sweet, you all are so sweet bless u all 😽

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NSFW Alphabet - B.T.S.

A: aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I'd like to think Ben is very caring after sex, he acts first before he says anything. Things like asking if you're okay, if he was good for you, fetching some water for you, (carrying you if you can't walk after bc let's be honest here...you prob can’t walk after all that) ahem, ordering food and getting you comfy first - just a bunch of acts of service before he settles down and smothers you in kisses all over your face and shoulders and mumbling i-love-yous. He'd play with your hair with a lazy smile and smitten eyes and tell you that you're amazing and how much he cares for you and how he loves to show you just how much he loves you.

B: body part (their fave body part on their own body + fave body part on your body)

Ben knows he's handsome and he def knows what he's does to us lmao, but I think what he loves most on his own body would be his arms and his abs. Not only is it a testament to his hard work and dedication to tennis and training, but seeing how you'd react when you get a glimpse of his slick, sweaty abs halfway through a game would make him go feral. But what he loves even more is when you hold onto his bicep when you're out together, or how you dig your nails into his shoulders when he's deep in you.

If I'm being fr I think Ben is a "bit of everything" rather than an ass/boobs guy. If you are out in public, he has his arm thrown over your shoulder or tight at your waist, or you're holding onto his arm. In private, I think he loves you siting on his lap for movie nights, holding your hips while you ride him, palming your breasts when you're making out with him, tapping your ass when he walks by you, rubbing his hand over you thighs and planting soft kisses up and down your legs - like, he loves every inch of you all the time and BAD. He shows it so clearly with his deeds, he just can't keep his hands off of you. He sees you as nothing but perfect and worships you with his hands and lips.

C: cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think when you first experiment together, he wouldn't want to cum on your face, but instead would do it on your back after doggy or on your chest or your stomach, or finish off in your mouth - something about seeing you a bit messy and decorated in his cum would turn him on even after he came. But over time and with trust, he'd find himself obsessed with finishing in you. The feeling of you both reaching your climaxes together in full height would drive him crazy - knowing he was the only one able to fill you the way he does and having your mixed arousal pool out of you was just another realm of pleasure.

Ben would be a fan of having you ride his face until you couldn't handle it anymore. Something about his face being soaked with your cum while you moan and grind down on him over and over again, and then seeing you lie down beside him afterwards with half-lidded eyes and shivering after all that would be more than enough to get him off. Same sentiment for fingering too, he'd be so pleased seeing your arousal coating his fingers, like seeing just how worked up you are for him every time would be unbelievable to him each and every time.

D: dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ben's into car sex. But especially if you're going somewhere special. Something about dressing up for an event/date and getting his sexy partner into his sexy sports car would drive him wild with the idea of pulling you over to the driver seat and having you ride him right then and there.

I think he's also into you trying to take control or being a brat just so he can flip it around and put you in your place - especially with some spanking or teasing, making you beg for permission to cum - nothing extreme just enough to make you whimper and submit 🙂‍↕️.

E: experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I don't think Ben has tons of experience imo. He went to college for a bit but he's only 22 with a demanding schedule and doesn't seem to have much dating history either. I feel like he's too focused on himself, his family and friends and his career to be hooking up and going crazy with experimenting. In saying that, he definitely knows what he likes and needs and he can learn quick too.

F: favorite position (this goes without saying)

I think Ben would loveeee holding you in his strong arms as he fucks into you, it'd be so intimate and precious in his eyes, watching your face contort with every thrust and hearing your soft moans roll out right into his ear. He’d want you to keep your eyes locked on his but you’d keep rolling them back in pleasure. He’d love groping your ass or boobs while he held you like that. Ben would also be into doggy, like your face and arms pressed down on the mattress while he holds your hips or grips your hair, bundling it into a very messy ponytail and tugging when he feels himself getting close.

G: goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

We all know Ben's a silly, goofy guy so I believe he wouldn’t be opposed or unlikely to let out a few chuckles with you. It'd be something as silly as him struggling to unclasp your bra or him accidentally slipping out of you that would earn a few small giggles from the both of you. Or maybe you're both drunk and having giggly, sweet sex - just whispering affections, foreheads pressed together, unable to hold in your pure, raw love for each other. It wouldn't ever be out of malice or anything, it would just be how comfortable you two were with each other.

H: hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I think Ben has it trimmed but not bare. He has a little happy trail down that's dark and curly so I imagine it to be the same below too.

I: intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

I imagine him to be so intimate and loving. He wants to hear how good you feel, he'll make you talk to him, beg for him. He definitely mixes praise with degradation but on top of all, he loves calling you his - "my pretty slut", "my beautiful mess" , "my girl". He loves making you beg and plead for him, holds your chin and makes you look up at him and plead him to touch you over and over again before he finally gives in and gives his all. He definitely loves taking his time when he can, making sure he doesn’t skimp out on anything and make sure you can feel his pure love for you in every action.

He def would love to have a whole ambiance going; candles, fresh flowers, a bubble bath, fresh sheets, a new lingerie set for you, soft music playing, maybe even try to make a meal for you too and it wouldn't be for special days, sometimes it would be "just because". He loves to tell you that he loves you and would try his absolute best to show it too, through kisses and roaming hands all over your body and trying to make you feel like you're the only girl in the world, because to him you really are.

J: jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He loves you, just thinking about you lying in bed waiting for him would help him get off, thinking of your moans, your voice in bed begging and encouraging him, the way you look at him and hold onto him like he’s your rock; he'd be close to cumming off of the idea of you alone.

If you let him, he'd have a private album of photos and videos of you two together that he'd watch while he's on tour to help him get off, and of course he'd text you right after (sometimes with pictures of the mess he made too) telling you how much he loves and misses you, your touch and your body. If you had the time, he'd also call you while on tour and have phone sex, talking dirty to you and guiding you the entire time and watching how your face and breathy moans through the phone. Distance makes the heart grow fonder and masturbating together while away only meant that sex together would be even more intense and intimate when you reunite.

K: kink (one or more of their kinks)

Ben's huge (both height, strength and well ..size..) so seeing how you take him and how soft you look in comparison to him is a massive kink for him. That size kink of his drives him wild.

I can see light bondage or restraints as a kink too, pinning you down with his hands or using soft cloths to tie your hands together, maybe even covering your mouth or holding your throat for light breathplay at times too.

I think he'd lose it over being told how good he feels and being praised in that sense. Like I said before, he'd love mixing praise and degradation and showing you that you’re his girl, no one else's. He'd love getting you off more than anything as well.

L: location (favorite places to do the do)

In no particular order: his car, the bedroom, the living room, kitchen - hell, even the bathroom right by the sink - anywhere where he can have you all to himself for as long as possible.

I don't think he'd try anything super public, like in a changing room, but if you're both desperate and horny, maybe in a personal gym or locker room for a quickie every now and then but there will be a round 2 when you get back to your bedroom for sure.

M: motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Like I said, he loves you more than anything, literally anything you say or do would get him going. Say the word and Ben is yours and at your service.

Seeing you acting coy or feigning innocence when you’re purposefully turning him on (whether that’s by wearing his favourite sundresses or a new pair of lingerie he bought abroad, “accidentally” touching him through his pants, saying/texting something dirty in his ear while he’s supposed to be focused, list goes on) would arouse him too, especially since he gets to teach you a lesson.

N: no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I expect him to be the jealous type, he wouldn't want to share you with anyone or have anyone else invited for your intimate time together. He wouldn't want to hurt you or do anything you were uncomfortable with; he'd put you first in everything.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves to recieve, loves to give. When you're giving him head, he holds your hair back and wants to see your pretty eyes so badly, might allow you to play with your clit as you hollow out your cheeks for him. Gently asks you to try to take him all and loves hearing the lewd gagging noises as you try to deepthroat him when you hit the back of your throat. He loves having you suck his balls too or run your tongue over his tip and down the veins of his length. He genuinely sees stars when you're working away on him.

He loves to play with you when he gives you head. Teasing licks or humming as he eats you out just to send shivers down your spine. Uses his fingers and tongue to get you off. Once he's in a rhythm and is actually eating you out, he can't help but keep going which only makes you come undone over and over and over again. He thinks you’re delicious and loves watching you writhe for him and grip his curls.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

After tour, I think Ben would try to pace himself and make slow, deep love to you, once again trying to show you just how much he missed every single part and inch of you. Obviously, at a certain point, he'd lose his composure and his eagerness would get the better of him as he quickens his pace but he'd shower you with kisses while he does so.

After a frustrating game, he'd be fast and hold you close to him as he works at a relentless pace (nothing you wouldn't be able to handle, ofc). Lots of hair tugging, spanking, positions, marks and hickeys come with that too. He'd thank you and kiss you over your marks and hickeys after, gently massaging the skin he spanked and having lazy makeouts with you before you both find yourself falling asleep after all that.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies with Ben would be frequent as he just can't help himself! Sometimes in the mornings before practice, you'd have lazy, sloppy, sweet morning sex that always put you to sleep right after.

Maybe even in between practice and his actual games - where he'd bend you over the sofa or the kitchen table, even prop you up against the shower wall when he's supposed to be focusing on the game ahead of him - whatever or wherever it was, those quickies would have you moaning his name in no time, he knew just how to work you right.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I didn't want to mention the locker rooms or personal gyms in the quickie section because i was saving it for this hehe 😝. Ben wouldn't risk doing it if it meant someone would actually probably walk in, he'd only want to have sex with you if you were comfortable to and if it meant it would be uninterrupted.

I imagine Ben making you spread in front of him as you sit on a bench while he kneels to eat you out, covering your mouth or making you suck his fingers to stifle your noise, so you don't get caught.

I think if he was really into it, Ben might even go as far as to buying those remote control vibrators that he can control, just to watch you squirm for him in the stands during his matches or while you were out together for some errands. He'd only take it as far as you wanted to go, though ofc.

s= stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Well, I just watched Ben battle Fils for 3 hours straight at the Japan Open while getting his leg hurt - I think he's got plenty of stamina so long as you can take it. He'd always ask for "one more?" in the sweetest softest voice, especially after you spent time away from each other.

t= toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He'd love seeing how you squirm with vibrators and try buy cutesy toys like fluffy cuffs or a small pink handheld vibrator for you to use while on tour (and to use while on video call with him). I don't think Ben would know much about toys for himself, but if you brought the idea up, he'd try anything for you.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

LOVES to make you beg for just how much you want him. "Say please", "what do you want exactly? Use your words baby, I know you can", "You want more? beg for it", "look at me with those pretty eyes and ask. me. again". And he'd work you up so much, just to say no and watch you pout and beg even more. Ben loves to be in charge and on top, knowing you were in the palm of his hand (when really, he was wrapped around your finger).

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not too loud, he groans and grunts in your ear and lets out a few gasps and curse words out alongside his mix of praise and degradation and i-love-yous. He's vocal with telling you what he wants or needs more of, what feels good and how you feel.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Loves, loves, LOVES you riding his thigh. He'll casually ask you to sit on his lap and watch a movie and both of you knew full well what was going to go down. Loves feeling you grinding desperately against his thigh and seeing you become a mess for a bit of friction. (I'm in the midst of writing smth about thigh riding just u wait 🤭)

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

If a picture paints a thousand words, look at the pics I've attached and look REAL close. He's called Big Ben for a reason babe.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is only on full blast for you. He's constantly hungry for more of you, can't get enough. Like I said, he's whipped for you.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He would hold you tight, make sure you're not hungry or thirsty or uncomfortable before you went to sleep. If something upset you, he'd make sure he understood and talked it out so he wouldn't ever do it again, you're his main priority in everything. If you were sore after, he'd apologise smiling (his ego and pride obv through the roof) and gently massage your thighs and hips, planting soft kisses on your forehead.

He'd hold you til you fell asleep and then he'd fall asleep almost immediately after, knowing you were happy and loved in his arms.

and now we go and pray after all this 🧎‍♀️😽

[miltonbarbie]

hiiiiiii can you please do Kokichi, Kaede, and Shuichi (separate) with a fem!s/o who needs help feeding themselves? Like at home one of their older siblings or parents has to help them bring the spoon to their mouth and/or spoon feed em because they're so nervous about eating? I have OCD type ARFID and I'm always really scared of eating to the point I need help feeding myself and comfort from my favorite characters might help 😭 im so sorry if this makes you uncomfy

No its alright! I dont mind at all <3

Kokichi, Kaede and Shuichi spoonfeeding their s/o (fem!y/n)

Kokichi

He'd think about it for a moment, pretending as if he's against the idea but it's just to tease you, he'd feed you every day if he was asked to.

He loves being able to feed you because not only is he being helpful, but he feels good about himself knowing he can take care of your needs.

Definitely starts giggling every time you open your mouth to take a bite.

Like I'm not even joking, sometimes he'll drop it before he can even feed you because he's kicking his legs too much.

You'll raise a brow at him because he's starting to twirl his hair, and now he even insists on calling himself your wife.

"Kokichi wtf are you doing?" "Shhh.. Let wifey take care of you... Blinks eyelashes aggressively"

But the first time when you asked him to, it wasn't that he was uncomfortable, but you could've sworn he started to sweat and his hand was shaking the whole time.

When you ask him if he's okay, he'll "Nishishi~ Don't worry about it!" it's off but he's trying to make sure that he doesn't hit your face with the spoon or something.

Also he does a taste test before he feeds you. Just to make sure that it's not poisoned, yk? Totally not because he wants to see if the food is yummy.

Imagine if you look inside your bowl because for some suspicious reason, the spoonful's aren't even full. They're just tiny portions. And the bowl is like, 80% empty because your stupid boyfriend ate everything.

It's a disaster, but it's out of love.

Shuichi

REALLLLLLYYY shy about it.

He wants to so badly but it's like he can never get used to it. Not when you look so cute whenever you let out a little "aah" before taking a bite.

He'll short-circuit halfway through putting the spoon in your mouth.

Apologizes for EVERYTHING.

If even a bit of food was on your lip, he's gonna give you a thousand apologies, and he's not gonna stop until you tell him to politely shut up 😭

"IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN T-" "Shuichi.. It's okay.. You can stop now.."

He's a clever boy, when you asked him to feed you because you needed help, first thought was just to do what you asked for because it was probably for something important.

He's not the best at it, but much better than Kokichi. At least he doesn't eat your food..

Insists on giving you seconds because he wants to make sure your satisfied and healthy.

If you're eating or munching on something unhealthy like ice cream, he'll probably sneak a few bites though. Not because he wants to actually eat your stuff, but he just doesn't want you getting diabetes or smth LMAO

Anxious little baby, and it's obvious too

Kaede

Hands down literally the best most caring sweetest girlfriend ever it's baffling.

Even if you don't ask to, she's still gonna feed you because she loves showing that she cares.

She's smiling the whole time and it makes your face get all hot every. single. time.

Starts humming in the middle of it

When you're finished, she washes all the dishes, and plays some piano for you afterward.

It gives you baby fever because she has that motherly kind of care to it.

When you asked her the first time, her face lit up like a Christmas tree and she didn't even ask any questions about it either.

"Hey Darling? Could y-" "Of course cutiee!~"

She makes sweet little comments while you're taking bites like "Awh your eyes are so pretty!" or "Have I ever told you how perfect you are?"

She always blows on the food before giving it to you so you don't burn your mouth.

If you're eating soup or having something messy, she'll tie your hair up first so nothing gets in the way of you enjoying your meal.

She's such a romantic it makes me wanna melt.

[burntb4bydoll]

was js wondering if you could do an oneshot with Bill where he as major size kink and maybe dacryphilia? im srry im just straight up putting my biggest kinks in here and asking for u to write ab it LMAO

anyways, love ur writing hun xx

BAEE don’t apologize these are literally my two biggest kinks LMAO TWINS😍‼️ AND TYY💗

Bill Kaulitz x crybaby!reader

Warnings: major size kink, lots of crying, dirty talk, praising, biting

You had spilled your drink down the front of your shirt so he gave you on of his long sleeves to wear. Once you pulled it on he stepped behind you to look at you through the mirror on his closet door.

“God baby look at how tiny you look… so fucking cute.” Bill groans, slipping his hands under the shirt you were wearing and starts gripping your waist. Your felt your legs go weak at his words and you clutch onto his arms that were currently holding you in place. He looks into your eye’s through the small mirror and you see the lustful look he was giving you. “You like when I say that? You like when I tell you how much smaller you are than me?”

“Mhm…” your eyes flutter shut and you lean back into Bill embrace. One of his hands moves out from under your shirt to move your hair away from your neck. He kisses gently at your skin before sinking his teeth into it. You squeak out a short yelp and your eyes shoot open, immediately filling with tears due to the stinging pain on the side of your neck.

“Oh my…look at you crying for me already. Such a adorable little thing, huh?” You let out a shaky moan and push yourself father into his touch. He removes both hands from your body before moving in front of you, easily picking you up. He takes you over to the bed and sits down, pulling you to sit in his lap. He kisses you and you grind your hips against his, feeling his boner through both of your pants. Your whine at the feeling and push your chest against his.

“Bill. Fuck me, please. I want you to fuck me so badd..” you cried, running your fingers over the sides of his face. He lick his lips and looks down at you,

“Hmm I don’t know baby…without any prep? I don’t think you can take all of me without it.” Bills words are teasing. He knows you can take him, you’ve done it perfectly every time he fucks you. ‘Perfectly’ meaning you crying and clutching on to him while he shoves himself as deep as he can go.

“Please! I can take it, I promise!” You beg, throwing your head into his neck to try and convince him. He hums, pretending to think for a second before he flips you over to lay underneath him.

“Ok honey, I’ll fuck your pretty little cunt don’t worry. I’ll always give my girl what she asks for.” He peels off your pants, leaving his shirt on you. He thinks you look too hot to take it off. After he finishes taking your pants and underwear off, he pulls off his own while also taking his shirt off in the process. He pumps himself in his hand for a minute while watching your body squirm as you watched him. Bill leans forward and slowly pushes into you, making you let out a soft cry at the stretch.

“Shhh. I know sweetie, I know. You’re just too small for me, huh?” He knows that his words will only make you cry harder, and thats exactly why he said them. You shake your head and your close your eyes, making even more tears fall. Bill uses his thumb to wipe them off your face and you lean into his large hand. He continues to push into you until he finally bottoms out. Both of you whine at the feeling of being to close to each other.

“F-fuck Bill.. you’re so fucking big. Makes my head feel fuzzy..” you words are breathy and quiet, sounding a little stuffy from crying. He giggles and pulls out halfway before he starts to thrust into you. His hips slam against your own and you swear you could feel him in your stomach. He pushes more of his body weight against you as he moves is mouth down to your neck, biting you again. At this point you’re sobbing, arching your body off the bed to pull him closer to you.

“B-Bill? I’m gonna- oh fuck! I’m gonna cum!” Bill’s thrusts were harsh and deep, pulling you closer and closer to your release.

“Yeah? Go ahead honey. Cum for me, my pretty little girl.”