#or rather Sugar and Spice lol

[nayialovecat]

Death and Taxes - spoiler of ending

I DID IT! I won this game in my second life! Love Snow Globe and the Lamp. The most usefull things ever.

The ending I deserved and wanted to make! Ha!

Plus one of my answers has now become law.

I'm ROTFL so much now X"D

[miss-floral-thief]

@cream---cheese

[xoxosimp]

A/N- lowkey high right now so I wrote these hcs lol. I have other bucky fics on my page you just have to scroll (no master list yet RIP)

Neighbor!Bucky is the police officer that lives right next to you in your new neighborhood

Neighbor!Bucky coincidentally always wears gray sweatpants (the ones that show the imprint of his dick) everytime he sees you pulling into your driveway

Neighbor!Bucky is always asking you for spices when he cooks dinner. First it was black pepper, then it was garlic. When he came over asking for sugar, he told you “ I’d love to taste the sugar between your thighs, doll” 

Neighbor!Bucky’s favorite pre workout is eating your pussy on the kitchen floor, cause he’s so pussy drunk he couldn't make it to the bedroom.

Neighbor!Bucky favorite thing to do when he’s on lunch is let you do all the work and bounce on his cock till tears are streaming down your face

Neighbor!Bucky doesn’t like condoms because he’d rather feel you milk his cock of all of his cum until his balls are empty

Neighbor!Bucky’s lips taste like cinnamon

Neighbor!Bucky once saw Firefighter! Sam flirt with you. That night, you wore nothing but one of his old football jerseys from highschool and fucked you from behind in front of a mirror. The only words you could form on your lips were “too’ much” and a sad attempt to moan Bucky’s name.All you could do was drool on the sheets while Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix.

Neighbor!Bucky is down bad. Very down bad.

[sl-ut]

Hello there ;)! I have a smutty Agatha Harkness x reader request ☺️😈 so Agatha eating Reader and Reader is exhausted after coming but Agatha wants to continue, she gets impatient and makes a magic strap appear that she can use on reader

when in westview

pairing: agatha harkness x fem!reader

description: agatha’s gonna be in westview for a while, so why not take advantage of her apprentice’s memory loss? (set around wandavision ep.5)

warnings: SMUT!!! (mdni), swearing, unspecified legal age gap, reader is under mind control, THIS IS ENTIRELY CONSENSUAL, no use of y/n (for once lol)

words: 2.8K

date posted: 3/3/24

Agatha really didn’t think she would be stuck in Westview for this long. Sure, she knew it would be a few days for Wanda to come up from her own mind control, but she really wasn’t expecting to have to play babysitter every other day. She barely made it to the end of each episode without breaking out of her role and just using her powers to dig into Wanda’s mind and force her to figure things out. 

The only consolation that she had was the fact that she was able to bring her apprentice into the Hex with her. Initially, she’d intended to leave her behind, but the young woman is just as hard headed as her master and refused to let Agatha away from her for even a minute, even if it meant that she would be under Wanda Maximoff’s mind control. At least Agatha was able to take her out of it for a few minutes at a time, but did it very conservatively to avoid causing too much stress on her brain. 

Instead, she found some comfort in knowing that she was just next door in the small blue bungalow, always up bright and early to tend to her flower beds and fending off all of Westview’s finest bachelors, all vying for a chance to take the finest (and only) bachelorette in town, all blissfully unaware that she spent every other night with her face pressed into the silk sheets of the married woman next door. 

Ralph was collateral, of course. At first, she’d considered letting him out in public, but after spending just a few minutes in the house with him she’d decided to send him off to be locked in his own little dweller, ready to perform when needed. At least others knew he was there, all she needed to do was say his name once or twice an episode and that was that. Plus, she was actively spouting about how lousy he was, so it made more sense why she was spending any time that she wasn’t undermining Wanda’s magic with the her young, single neighbour, always wandering over for a cup of sugar that took them far too long to dig out of the cupboard. 

She sort of liked this version of her apprentice. Not as much as she liked the real her, but it was almost cute to see how innocent Wanda had made her; she was ditzy, in a cute way, she was so friendly to everyone, and it was hard for Agatha not to enjoy her doe eyes staring up at her all teary and sweet sounds of pleasure falling from her lips. She was everything that she wasn’t in real life, and though Agatha wouldn’t give that up for the world, she knew this wasn’t permanent and thought of it as a bit of roleplay to spice things up rather than a loss of someone she cared about. She liked the way the house was always spotless, and how she was constantly dressed in dresses you might only see in vintage catalogues (except for when she was weeding her constantly immaculate garden, of course), and how could she not like the constant variety of baked goods she had in her home? She’d almost growled at one of Wanda’s boys for reaching for a second cookie one time. 

It was also nice that she didn’t ask questions. One of the reasons that she had initially wanted to leave her behind was that she was too damn nosy. Was she a good witch with plenty of potential? Yes. Was she a hard headed young woman that didn’t know how to follow directions? Also yes. Agatha knew that she would somehow end up getting in her way, and she couldn’t risk her letting something slip to Wanda. Agatha was able to do her job with her around and not have to worry about her going off and accidentally ruining her plan.

Like now, as Agatha muttered to herself as she hunched over one of her many spellbooks in her basement, she hardly even noticed the padding of bare feet coming down the stairs, nor did she notice the sheet-covered figure creeping up behind her until the sheet extended around her as she curled her arms around her waist. Agatha sighed, leaning back into the embrace and revelling at the feeling of her bare breasts pressing against her, only Agatha’s own shirt acting as a divider between her back and the perky nipple that had undoubtedly hardened due to the cool temperature of the basement. 

“Aggie,” she whined, chin coming to rest on her shoulder. 

Agatha smirked. She’d insisted that she call her that, not liking when she called her Agnes (though, as far as she was aware, that was her name), but she also couldn’t have her going around referring to her as Agatha. 

“Come back to bed, it’s late.”

The brunette turned her head to peek at the girl, “I know, I know. Thought I could slip away for a few minutes, guess I forgot how needy you are, huh?”

She turned her head down and playfully sunk her teeth into her shoulder, only pulling away when Agatha barked out a stern hey!

“Go back to bed, sweetness,” Agatha pressed a kiss to her temple, “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Those doe eyes appeared, and Agatha knew that she was gonna miss them when they were both back to normal, “You promise? You’re not just saying that to get rid of me?”

Agatha snorted out a laugh, “Please, I know you’ll be back if I’m not up there in ten.”

“Would you make it five if I told you I’m not that sleepy yet?”

Agatha raised her brow, “Again? Was three times not enough for you?”

She shrugged, “Four might do it. Or five…or six.”

Agatha was quiet for a moment, an uncharacteristically adorable pink hue covering her cheeks as a very detailed image of her body filled her mind, how practised she was in giving Agatha exactly what she wanted, her figure easily malleable under her touch. 

“I’ll be up in five.”

Five minutes had come and gone three times over by the time that Agatha finally made her way out of the basement, rubbing at her eyes as she adjusted to the brighter lighting of the kitchen. She shook her head as she came across the limp, abandoned sheet near the top of the stairs, chuckling as she scooped it up and continued to the bedroom. 

She could easily tell what was going on inside before she even pushed the door open. She could easily make out those desperate whines and whimpers of pleasure that she’d been so well acquainted with, even before coming to Westview. Agatha remained in the doorway for a moment, silently taking in the sight before her and thanking whatever gods or beings that had allowed her to witness such a thing.

She was laying horizontally on the bed, her head pressed into one edge on the mattress as her body spread itself width-wise, her feet planted and curled into the opposite edge. Her head was tilted to the side, eyes closed and lips parted to release her little sighs, back arched and hips grinding into her own fingers with an unsteady rhythm. She’d been pampered by Agatha, scarcely having to resort to such a thing without her partner present, so much that the scene was almost pitiful to watch–she seemed inexperienced, brows sitting low over her eyes and the corners of her lips curling down in frustration as tried to mimic Agatha’s movements with her fingers, not to mention the pathetic sounds leaving her lips. 

Finally taking pity on the girl, she made her presence known, “I see you’ve taken it upon yourself to start without me?”

Her eyes snapped open, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her features before it was promptly replaced by another doe-eyed look of feigned innocence as her lips puckered in a pout, “You said five minutes.”

“I know, baby,” Agatha moved further into the room, gently closing the door behind her as she rounded the foot of the bed, standing over her figure and staring down at where her fingers continued to plug her tight little hole, “‘M sorry. I was thinking of making it up to you, but now that I see how impatient you were, I’m not so sure.”

Agatha had never seen anyone move so fast as she watched her fingers slide out and away from her heat, almost as if she was trying to undo her own actions. 

“Please, Aggie,” She whined, pushing herself up on her elbows, “I need you so bad. I couldn’t do it without you.”

“No?” Agatha mocked, catching her wrist in her grasp and dragging her hand up to inspect her slick-covered middle and ring fingers, “These fingers not long enough for you, baby?”

Agatha wrapped her lips around her two digits, tongue sliding between and around them to collect every drop of her slick. She grinned wickedly around them at the wanton moan that she released, hips lifting off the mattress and tilting towards her. 

“No, not as good as yours,” She whined, “No one’s are.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Agatha released her fingers, dropping her wrist back to the mattress and instead moving to glide her hands up her thighs, gently massaging the plump flesh nearest to her core, only barely grazing the thick thatch of hair on her pubis. “Maybe I will be nice to you after all.”

She barely gave her a moment to process her words before her long middle finger was sliding into her dripping heat, thumb coming to massage her clit with tight circles. Agatha smirked to herself, easily sliding her ring finger in as well thanks to the excess slick that had dripped out of her from the earlier hours of the evening. 

She curled her toes into the mattress, hips slightly pulling away from her touch. She smiled sheepishly at her, “‘M sensitive.”

Agatha chuckled, “I know you are, pretty, but you asked for this, so stay still and let me make you feel good.”

She nodded, legs bending at the knees and pulling them up to press into her chest. Her eyes rolled back as Agatha’s fingers slotted easily against the gummy spot deep inside of her, a soft sigh of relief falling from her lips at the soft tickling sensation, quickly followed by a moan from the deepest part of her throat. 

Agatha pushed herself forward, fingers still moving at an agonising yet forceful pace while her free hand pressed into the mattress next to her head. Leaning her body over top, she took in the sight of her heaving breasts, jiggling with every punch of her fingers and rising with every gasping breath. Agatha spared a moment to drop down, taking one of her nipples into her watering mouth and sucking. Her lips struggled not to curl into a wicked grin at the shocked cry as she gently clamped her teeth down on the sensitive nub.

“So responsive,” Agatha hummed, “Almost like you’ve already gotten your fill tonight. Maybe I should stop–”

“Please,” she whined, glossy eyes staring down at her wildly, “Please don’t.” 

Agatha chuckled, “I won’t baby, as long as you keep making those pretty noises.”

The brunette slowly dragged her tongue from her breast, up her sternum, throat, and finally stopped as she came across her swollen and spit-covered lips. 

“Open your mouth,” she spoke, any sweetness that her voice had held before completely vanishing.

She complied, wordlessly parting her lips just far enough that Agatha could get a clear view of the inside of her mouth, tongue lolling out in anticipation.

This pulled another laugh out of her, “Jesus, look at you already for it. I’ve made you such a little slut for me, haven’t I?”

She didn’t give her a moment to respond before she was hurling a fat wad of spit onto her tongue, fingers quickly coming to press into the pink muscle and massage the saliva into it, grinning widely as she watched the girl eagerly swallow the fluid on command. 

“Good girl,” The brunette woman muttered under her breath at the tell-tale sensation of her inner walls clenching around her fingers, though she made no effort to slow down or pull out and allow her to come down from the high, instead pushing her fingers even faster with the encouragement of the gushing liquid that dribbled down onto the sheets. 

Number five had come even easier than the fourth, and Agatha felt an overwhelming sense of pride fill her chest as she finally withdrew her digits from deep inside her. Weakly, the girl reached down and took hold of Agatha’s wrist, pulling her hand up until her fingers were able to slip past her lips. She moaned at the taste of her own juices, hips wiggling subconsciously at the taste.

“You okay, sweetness?” Agatha pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek, fingers massaging small circles into the plush of her belly as she caught her breath. The girl nodded, returning the affection. “Good.”

Agatha pushed herself up, slowly tugging at the tied belt of her silk robe before letting it slide down her shoulders and finally drop to the floor. The younger woman took in her nude form with an appreciative stare, until her eyes flickered to the place between her legs, where a shocking sight stood at full mast.

“Aggie–”

“Shh,” Agatha soothed, “Turn over, I’ll make you feel good.”

“I–” She couldn’t take her eyes off of the obnoxiously large cock, visibly throbbing with excitement. It looked so real, aside from the fact that it was glowing a slightly purple hue. It was about seven inches, thick, and nestled in a thick patch of brown hair at its very base. As sensitive as she was, she still couldn’t bring herself to say no, shakily rolling onto her belly.

“Good girl,” Agatha praised once more, hands holding her hips tightly as she pulled them into the air, taking no time to slowly slip inside and inch her way further and further into her warm, tight walls before stopping to allow for her to adjust to the size. “How’s that feel?”

The girl whimpered out an unintelligible response as Agatha's hips pressed firmly into the fat of her ass, fingers curling into the sheets to keep herself grounded.

Agatha took that as a sign, making the first shallow pump of her hips. The sound that it pulled from the younger woman was nothing short of pornographic, encouraging another firmer thrust until her throbbing tip was brushing the entrance of her cervix, and within minutes she was humping her lover’s ass at a bruising pace. 

Filthy sounds escaped both women, annunciated grunts from Agatha and slurred words of encouragement from the other. 

“Ag–” The younger woman arched her back, unsure of whether to push against Agatha further or to pull away as her orgasm erupted without notice, gushing out of her abused hole and onto Agatha’s lap messily. 

“There it is,” Agatha gripped her ass cheeks with each of her hands, squeezing and spreading them in unison with her thrusts, finding herself on the brink of her own climax at the sight of her tightest little hole, glistening with her own juices, “Now be a good girl and let me use you, yeah?”

One hand moved up to press against the back of her head, forcing her face further into the mattress as her hips picked up their pace, her thick cock throbbing with the oncoming gush of thick white cum, slowly dripping out of her and sliding down her thighs as Agatha fucked through it, head tossed back in euphoria. 

When all was said and done, Agatha carefully tucked her lover into the bed, hand stroking her hair so carefully and with such contrast to how aggressively she had just been pinning her head to the mattress. The younger woman sighed, eyes fluttering closed as she snuggled into Agatha’s chest. 

“Don’t get rid of that thing,” She mumbled mindlessly into Agatha’s milky white flesh, “I’m gonna suck you dry in the morning.”

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Sweet on You, Chapter 3

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: HERE

Warnings/Tags: Sugar Daddy!Matt Murdock, Idiots to Lovers, No Age Gap, Alternating PoV, No Use of Y/N

Word Count: ~1850

A/N: I had entirely too much fun writing the terms of Matt and Reader's contract, lol.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged in this or any of my other stories, please let me know!

Divider by @theradioactivespidergwen

Tag List (struck-through blogs could not be tagged): @danzer8705 @capylore @shouldbestudying41 @atemydadforbreakfast @peachy-flxwr @sleepysleepymom @fishinsuits @milkbummm @lazyxsquirrel @beezusvreeland @caughtthefever @bohemianrhapsody86

Thank God it's almost time to go, you thought to yourself as you began to get ready to leave work on Monday afternoon. Wish they'd hurry up and replace Roxy and Tabitha soon.

You had been one of three admin assistants until two months ago when Roxy, the junior admin who had told you about Sugar and Spice, had moved across the country for a job that would actually utilize her college degree, and Tabitha, a glorified intern with no administrative skills who you suspected had only been hired because one or more of the partners had thought she was hot, had gotten fired for showing up to work still wasted after a night of partying. Now you were on your own and doing the work of three people with no relief in sight.

From the moment you arrived at the office at 8 AM that morning until right then when it was time to leave you had been going non-stop. You had fielded phone calls, made appointments, arranged travel, greeted clients, fetched water and coffee, filed for permits, picked up lunch for all three partners from three different restaurants, ordered flowers for your actual boss's girlfriend's birthday, made copies, and printed and mailed invoices -- all with a smile on your face and without a word of thanks from anyone. 

Needless to say, you were looking forward to a drink and a nice, pleasant dinner that you didn't have to prepare yourself and could actually sit down and eat rather than have to quickly inhale like you had had to do with the sandwich you had procured from the deli down the street for lunch.

At 5 PM on the dot you shut down your computer and unlocked your desk drawer to grab your purse.

You went to the bathroom to freshen up before poking your head into your boss's office. “Hi, Mr. DiStefano, I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving for the day.”

“Okay,” Mr. DiStefano replied without looking up from the floor plans he was studying.

You waited for a moment to see if he was going to say ‘thank you, have a great evening ’ -- or anything else for that matter -- but he didn't. “Okay then, see you tomorrow.”

You stopped by the other two partners’ offices to let them know that you were leaving, receiving very much the same non-response from both.

You sighed as you left your office and headed towards Nelson, Murdock, and Page. You were feeling extremely unappreciated and underpaid, especially since you were now having to fill the admin assistant role for all 3 partners at once. Maybe it's time to start looking for another job…

You shook your head. You weren't going to even think about trying to find another job until after you got your mother's medical debt paid off. One thing at a time.

“--Yo, Matty, we hitting up Josie's tonight?”

Matt looked up and shook his head as Foggy stopped by his office. “Actually, I can't. I have plans after work.”

Foggy gasped. “Do you have a date ?”

He poked his head out of Matt's office. “ HEY KAREN, MATT HAS A DATE TONIGHT! ” he yelled down the hall.

Matt sighed. Here we go. He was glad that you and he had already come up with a cover story on how you had met so he wouldn't have to think of one on the spot.

“So, what's her name and how'd you meet her?” Foggy asked.

Matt said your name. “We met at The Brew Towers on Saturday.”

“Ooh, coffee shop meet-cute,” Karen gently teased as she joined him and Foggy in his office. “How romantic.”

“Yeah, tell us more,” Foggy added. “Did you spill your coffee on her? Accidentally grab each other's order? Brush hands across the condiment station?”

Matt chuckled. “Actually, we struck up a conversation while we both were waiting in line to order and since it was busy and tables were scarce we decided to sit together. We hit it off, so I asked her to have dinner with me tonight.”

“So where are you taking her?” 

“Okinawa.”

Foggy huffed out a laugh. “Ooh, fancy.” 

Matt shrugged. “It was close to the office.”

“What time are you meeting her there?” Karen asked.

Matt shook his head. “Actually, she's meeting me here in about 10 minutes and we're going to walk over together.” 

“Well, I'm really happy for you and I hope everything works out with her.”

“Yeah, same,” Foggy added. “It's good to see you putting yourself out there again, buddy.”

Matt inwardly cringed. After everything he, Foggy, and Karen had been through he hated lying to them, especially when they seemed so genuinely happy for him. “Thanks.”

“Guess it's just us at Josie's then, Kare. Let's go before she gets here -- I’m sure Matt doesn't want to scare her away by introducing her to us too soon.” Foggy rapped his knuckles on Matt's desk. “I expect a full report on your date tomorrow morning, Matthew.”

Matt chuckled with a nod. “Will do. ‘Night, guys.”

He waited until Foggy and Karen had left before pulling up his and your contract and printing copies in both standard and Braille print.

A few minutes later he heard your footsteps approaching the office, so he walked out into the lobby to greet you. 

“Hi, Matt,” you said as you entered.

“Hi,” Matt replied. “How are you?”

“I'm good, and you?”

“I'm good too, thanks.” Matt gestured towards his office. “Let's go to my office.”

He led you down the hall to his private office. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? We have water, soda, tea, juice…”

“No, I'm okay,” you said as you sat. “Thank you though.”

Matt sat across from you. “Alright…”

He picked up the print copy of your contract and handed it to you. “Here’s the contract. I'll read through it, just let me know if you have any questions.”

“Okay.”

Matt cleared his throat and began to read. “Memorandum of Agreement. This memorandum of Agreement is made by and between Matthew M. Murdock and…”

He could hear your quiet, steady breathing as you followed along. He had tried to make the contract as simple and straightforward as possible in order to protect both himself and you.

“...Shall provide the following obligations,”  he continued. “Accompany Matthew to lunch and/or dinner at minimum twice weekly. Accompany Matthew to business-related events as requested with minimum 72 hours prior notice. Accompany Matthew to non-business events as requested, dependent on availability.”

“Wait, what does that last part mean?” you asked.

“Just that every once in a while I might ask you to do something with me that doesn't involve a sit-down meal,” Matt replied. “But also that I'm not going to make you drop everything just to have a cup of coffee or take a walk with me.”

“Oh, okay, that's fair.” You paused. “Sorry, go ahead.”

Matt nodded. “In exchange, Matthew shall provide the following obligations: Monthly stipend of $1,500 --”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted again. “We only agreed on a thousand a month.”

Matt shrugged. “Yeah, but I thought about it and decided that fifteen hundred was a more fair amount for your time.” Especially since you're using it to help your mother.

You sucked in a soft breath. “Oh.”

Matt could tell you were torn between arguing with him and just accepting the higher amount and waited until you decided which path to take. 

Finally, you sighed. “Okay.”

“Okay. ‘Payment for all outings and events, including but not limited to meals, beverages, gratuities, tickets, souvenirs, and gifts. In the event of a professional obligation, arrangement and payment for appropriate garments for said obligation. Accompaniment to requested events with minimum 72 hours prior notice, dependent on availability.” Matt paused. “I figure it's only fair in case you have a work event or something else you'd need a plus-one for.”

You huffed out a mirthless laugh. “Even though I have to plan and set them up I never get invited to actually attend any of DiStefano, Williams, and Abbott’s events, but that's good in case I ever do.”

Matt's brow furrowed at your slightly bitter tone. He'd have to find out more about your job. “Anyway, ‘Confidentiality: Each party shall treat as strictly confidential the nature of said Agreement as a result of entering into or performing duties outlined in this Agreement’. ”

“Snitches get stitches,” you quipped. “Or in this case, sued.”

Matt chuckled. “Relation of the Parties: The relationship between both parties is that of a platonic nature and of partners in a business transaction. No other nature of relationship is obligatory herewith.”

He continued on with the rest of the contract -- termination of the agreement (that either he or you could terminate the contract for any reason at any time with 30 days prior notice), remedies on default (that if one or both of you failed to perform your duties or otherwise broke a clause in the contract, the contract as a whole would be rendered null and void) and finally, amendments (that the contract could be amended at any time with the express written agreement of both you and Matt.)

“Governance: This contract shall be governed by and construed in accordance with the laws of the State of New York,” Matt concluded. “Signed by both parties stated here within and effective as of date first written above.”

He tilted his head back up towards you. “Everything sound fair to you?”

You were silent for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it's fair.”

“Okay then.” Matt handed you a pen and the second printed copy of the contract. “Just so we both have signed print copies.”

“Okay, yeah, no problem.” You signed your name on both copies of the contract. “Am I signing the Braille one too then?”

Matt nodded and handed you the Braille copy, quickly feeling the text below where your signature would go. “Sign right above here.”

“Okay.” You quickly signed your name. “All done.”

Matt signed his name on all three copies of the contract and set both his Braille and print copies into his desk drawer before locking it, then he folded your copy and put it into an envelope. “Here you go. Now that business is settled, how about we celebrate our new arrangement with some dinner?”

He heard you tuck your copy of the contract into your purse. “That sounds wonderful,” you replied.

Matt stood. “Shall we, then?”

He retrieved his coat from the coat rack and took his cane out of the inside pocket, then you both headed back towards the lobby.

Matt turned the lights off and opened the door for you. “After you.”

You stepped outside. “Thank you.”

Matt followed you outside then locked the door behind the two of you. “This way.”

You headed down the sidewalk to what Matt hoped was the first of many get-togethers, a comfortable silence between you.

[jhuzen]

*pops open another beer 🍺*

helloooooo can u pls give me some sugar baby dottore hcs??? i am currently bent on him i need u to quench this thirst

the love in hatred [m.reader]

hope i’m not too late in quenching your thirst beer anon hsjsjdsj. i was busy with some uni things and only got to it now. hope you don’t mind me adding in a little spice in the dynamic ;D and i’m sure you like it nsfw so there are some little sprinkles of it lmao.

𖦹 modern au (but it’s not heavily implied), suggestive themes (of course), a little bit of dark themes, possessive dottore but he hates you at first lol, nsfw terms, reader is rich rich.

Imagine…

Sugar Baby Dottore who absolutely despises you and every fiber of your very being. You were the antithesis of his existence, absolute respite encompassed you while he was the unyielding scholar. He pursued knowledge until the very edge of Teyvat, while you sat back and relaxed, stopping because you ‘know your limits’. You’re a coward in his eyes, that’s what. But you’re a coward that can make a lot of money. And a coward that he can coerce into giving him financial aid in his experiments because he doesn’t want to lower his pride to ask Pantalone instead.

Sugar Baby Dottore who was welcomed by the not-so-cowardly you when he came to strike up a deal with you. No longer were you that chipper easygoing lad that he despised, but an incredibly emotionally constipated man that can barely work your facial muscles into a fake smile. It almost felt like getting bit back in the ass by the way you threw him off the loop. He no longer knew you the same way you no longer knew him. It’s a clean slate. But he still hates you.

Sugar Baby Dottore who was genuinely surprised that you didn’t need a lot of convincing. That you were willing to give him everything as long as he abides by certain rules and requests of yours. He hates it (and again, you), but he’d rather cut his throat than ask Pantalone for even a tiny pouch of mora. And while he’s relentless in his pursuit of knowledge, the man knows even the mora in his pockets have limits.

Sugar Baby Dottore who was relatively glad that you never once placed him under a tight budget. You were generous with him and maybe he sort of liked that all he had to do was spread his legs and tempt you into a good time. No attachment. As soon as the fun (for you at least) ends, Dottore wakes up with an allowance that any Northland Bank branch could only gawk at. It was ridiculously heavy.

Sugar Baby Dottore who only ever resorted to seducing you when he needs something at this very instant and his little impatient mind couldn’t bare you entertaining your big shot clients first. You promised you’d give him everything if he fucked you dry, right? Often times, when his impatience strikes, he’s already grabbing at the lapels of your pristine suit, tugging you away from your now confused clients while you and him screw in the empty room right next to your study. After milking you dry, he already has his greedy little palm out, expecting you to just drop your entire leather wallet on him (he’s hoarded so much of your wallets already).

Sugar Baby Dottore who at first finds your date nights annoying but necessary (to butter you up into buying him new laboratory apparatuses) — you’re so difficult to talk to! Unlike your days in youth when you would engage him with a small smile, you and your annoying stone face only prompted him to want to watch bacteria cultures grow in a petri dish. But the moment you start opening about your work the more he feels relatively intrigued.

Sugar Baby Dottore who’s slowly starting to cherish the little knickknacks you give him. He never really batted an eye to the souvenirs you’d bring home to him from your international trips. In fact, he used to cherish the times you were away. He still receives cash and he doesn’t have to fuck you. Anyway, he used to just ignore them and opted to only take interest in the money you give him for his lab equipment, but it’s recently that he’s staring more and more at the taxidermies of certain native species you gave him. And maybe some of those magnet things from each nation… if one looked behind his wheeled whiteboard, they could see some of the ones you brought home.

Sugar Baby Dottore who starts to get more conscious of how he looks around you and starts taking effort in looking good for you. Don’t get him wrong, he knows he looks good, it’s partly why you agreed immediately in financially supporting him. For his looks and his body. But there was something refreshing in making a conscious effort of looking even more alluring — absolutely loving the way your usually stern eyes just digging into his form.

Sugar Baby Dottore who’s slowly becoming addicted to your scent. Your imported colognes that he used to gag at, he’s now spraying into his suit before he heads to the laboratory, absolutely loving the way when your eyes twinkle in recognition at his new scent whenever he passes by you to get his daily allowance of a hundred thousand mora (how are you not broke yet, no one knows).

Sugar Baby Dottore who’s slowly feeling the grips of insanity when he realizes that his hatred for you is dissipating into nothingness. When he’s slowly looking forward to your cock shoved up inside him more and more. He hates that within the few months that you and him made that deal, he’s becoming more and more enamored to the mornings where he can still see you beside him, your big sturdy back facing him with all the scratch marks and love bites he made on you the night prior.

Sugar Baby Dottore who becomes far more possessive. Suddenly, the tables have turned. He thought he’d always have the upper hand, he could charm you with his body and there’s mora in his pocket in an instant. But somehow it’s him that gets hungrier and hungrier for you — he went on an all time high the one time you dropped by his laboratory to talk to him about something he doesn’t remember anymore. He likes the attention you’re giving him and archons, he wants you to have him as your sole object of affection. This man will go feral if you made external arrangements in your business trips.

Sugar Baby Dottore who’s becoming clingy to you. He can’t leave you alone for a second. His addiction of you festering within him. Suddenly, it’s not just about the mora that you’re giving him anymore. It’s suddenly turning into a matter of your loyalty to him, that one day you’ll make him your pretty wife, financially secured with his own laboratory in your mansion, leaving you no room for bargains while he stuffs himself with a mouthful of your delicious cock.

Oh no! Seems like your pretty little doctor has moved on the next step, already planning your future with him and only him! Best of luck to you~

May you kiss your bachelor days goodbye now, because he’s never letting go of you.

Oh no! Seems like your pretty little doctor has moved on the next step, already planning your future with him and only him! Best of luck to you~

Oh no! It seems like your pretty little doctor has moved onto the next step, already planning your future with him and only him! Best of luck to you~

Oh no! Seems like your pretty little doctor has moved on the next step, already planning your future with him and only him! Best of luck to you~

[sweaty-clouds]

random hws philippines food hcs

He loves food but he has more of a “eat to live” than a “live to eat” mentality these days… he’s not very meticulous when it comes to preparing food and would opt for shortcuts than stick to tradition like using sachet sinigang mix instead of sampalok cuz it gets the job done 🤷‍♀️. 

I think he can be a pretty good cook if he’s given the resources and time. He does miss the taste of a more authentic ulam, but tbh he’d rather seek out specific hole-in-the-walls or eat his relatives’ cooking instead because he likes eating with family so much haha.

Doesn’t really like the Filipino food in malls or upscale restaurants 😭. I think likes going to carinderias and specialty places like paresans, sutukils, sattihans, etc but places like Mesa are like an ekis for him cause all he could think is him making the dish at home for less of the price lol 

Places with unlimited rice are an exception LMAO he’s attracted to them like a moth to a flame 😔 waiters are flabbergasted at the amount of rice he could store. Also fastfood restaurants with unlimited gravy, he’s a fucking MENACE when it comes to the gravy station he treats the damn thing like a soup dispenser 

People think he’s a heavy meat eater but he’s actually not. His daily diet mostly consists of fish, sauteed vegetables, soup and rice. He gives off that impression because whenever guests are invited to his home he always cooks meat, but that’s more about his way of showing hospitality than his eating habits. He would never cook veggies for a guest; he thinks it's weird and cheap (his opinion not mine 😭)

He does however really love going to samgyeopsals (or samgyupsal/samgyups in colloquial Filipino) for special occasions. Yong Soo introduced him to the concept, and he's been obsessed with it ever since. Samgyeopsals are extremely popular in PH; I even saw some people having them at their homes for their media noche instead of a traditional PH spread! He loves the communal aspect of it… and the unlimited meat deals—

He actually has a bigger spice tolerance than you'd expect. While Filipinos in general are stereotyped as having one of the worst spice tolerance in SEA, PH does have specific regions that have spicy cuisine (ex. Bicol, Cordillera, and Bangsamoro), and he did live in Mexico's house at intervals when he was younger… so compared to someone like Manila or Cebu, samyang noodles won't kill him lmao. 

Hates biscocho or any hard biscuit with passion because it reminds him too much of the crappy rations he had to endure during his Manila galleon days. No amount of sugar will make him like it, he did Not have a good time on those ships.

Has a coffee addiction. Cannot start a day without coffee. While uses a lot of instant coffee for convenience, I think he's quite invested in local coffee scenes and enjoys a good cup of Kapeng barako. His relationship with kape in general:

[quitealotofsodapop]

Is Slow Boiled Wukong we're to meet the Wukongverse there's be so much horror for the other monkeys, especially the ones capable of stone egg production

Complete and utter chaos. Slow Boiled au Wukong just shows up and the rest of the monkeys aren't as confused because hey, they've dealt with Peach/TMKATI AU Wukong before...

Until one of the kids like Shihou exclaims that "It's an actual egg??" and suddenly the cross-dimension meeting becomes a ace-sex-ed class for the rest of the monkeys.

The various SWKs and LEMs: *have the Stone Egg-creation process explained to them.* The room: *eerily silent* SlowBoiled!Wukong: "...it's ok, you can now scream." At least eight monkeys: *loud terrified screaming!!!*

Dasheng, Smokey, and Starfruit are freaking out the hardest cus they've been under the mountain before. And with the timeframe SlowBoiled!Wukong gave them, they could have a Stone Egg in them if it's at all possible in their universes. Their LEM counterparts are understanding, but are more curious on the exact schematics of the Stone Egg process - mostly to avoid future accidental eggs from forming.

Sugar panics more from the fact that they're super-young in comparsion to the others and that they aren't ready just yet to be a parent - but logically concludes that they would have shown symptoms by now if they were pregnant. Still looks at their stomach with gold-vision just to be sure tho. Spice panics a little... but the thought of a mini-Sugar makes them really happy for a reason they can't discern.

Ace and Joker laugh super hard cus lol, they've been around for literally so long, that any egg would be over-cooked by now. XD

The one with the strongest reaction tho is Cherry/Netflix!SWK.

He gets a bit quiet and asks "Is... is that how *I* was born??" because he's not fully focused on the possibility he's carrying an Egg no. But rather... this is an amazing/terrifying revelation for him that his own creation was at some level "normal" and at some point he did have a parent who wanted him to be raised by a loving troop. Cherry cries a bit with shame, remembering how he used the rock he was born from as a training dummy.

Dasheng, still having his own freak out: "What about the fact that you, and everyone else even trapped under Five Point Mountian, could be *having* one of these Stone Eggs?" Cherry, now happy-crying: "I can be a mom!?" (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

The red-furred SWK tunes out any talk of "no, it's actually really dangerous and potientially fatal" cus he's now super excited! With all these layers of immortality, he could be there for the next generation unlike his own parent! Monkey King: The Remix (he's still working on a name) will hatch with a parent ready to give them as many hugs as possible! SlowBoiled!Wukong smiles softly, seeing a lot of his younger self in Cherry's reaction. Olive eventually has to reign their SWK in by pointing out that it's unlikely that his Stone Egg even exists. Olive is also the one to point out that the Egg might decide to gobble up Cherry's immortality to fuel itself - suddenly the red-furred monkey is a lot less confident. :(

[ismatscaff]

My friend got me back into flight rising and as my TWEWY obsession has yet to subside, I'm making the characters into dragons

So far we got...

Nagi (she has the book swarm and miniature sornieth globe familiars):

Beat (he has the mindless familiar bc it's fast, strong and has no sense of direction):

Hanekoma (he has both teapot familiars and the sugar and spice):

Shiki (rather my plans for her, currently she's just all gween and also a baby, she has the four-eyed phylactery familiar):

Kariya (candy cockatiel for obvious reasons):

Sho (again my plans for, he's currently got the falcon primary, also he has the scrapmetal tracker familiar):

Eri (also currently a baby lol):

Ayano (yes she does have an iguana familiar, I went with the Igueel Matriarch):

Aaaaand Joshua! (Opposing forces familiar, it reminded me of his fusion moves)

I'm also currently breeding dragons for Coco (she's gonna be a pearlcatcher), Neku (I want a very specific shade of ourple and also apparently purple + orange imperial dragons are not super common) and Shoka (she's gonna be a lace veilspun)

Also if ya wanna friend me on FR, I'm twewdragons :3

[fireflylitsky]

Okay, Akatsuki cooking Headcanons, are they good in the kitchen??? Itachi- What he’s learned to cook, he does so very well, but only knows a few simple recipes his mother taught him. He's a perfectionist and would rather master the egg flip than have an arsenal of ‘okay’ meals under his belt. 

Kisame- An absolute grill master. If you want rare, you get rare. Medium rare? No problem. All he needs to do is poke it with a finger and he knows just when to pull it off the grill. Ask him for well done and he’ll shame you the entire time it takes to cook, but yeah, he can do that too. He knows fancy spatula/tong flipping tricks and will show off even if no one’s looking. Hidan got him an apron that says “Fuck the cook” and Kisame wears it every chance he gets, and if he’s drunk enough, with nothing underneath.

Sasori- Food is for the weak.

Deidara- He definitely thinks he’s a good cook. The others refuse to eat his creations on the assertion that if he has mouths on his hands, it’s unsanitary, but really he just goes crazy with spices and hot sauce.

Hidan- Is Hidan good in the kitchen? Of course he is. The counter is the perfect height. When it comes to cooking though, he’s impatient and always cranks the heat, then whines when it tastes burnt. That doesn’t stop him from eating it, and it definitely doesn’t stop him from burning it next time either.

Kakuzu- No one has any clue if Kakuzu is a good cook because he won’t do it for anyone but himself. He buys the food he wants in the exact quantities required. None is ever wasted. He is a meal prep king and reserves a spot in the fridge for all his perfectly portioned leftovers. Anyone to touch them dies.

Konan- She knows the basics, but she’s a woman with a lot of shit to deal with, so she turns to instant ramen a lot. Whenever one of the guys teases her for not being a better cook, because apparently that’s expected of her, she will make them something purposefully disgusting and forces them to finish it. No one really says anything disparaging about her cooking anymore.

Nagato- Lol just no. The man knows nothing of cooking, but Konan ensures he eats.

Pein- As a corpse being piloted by an unhinged trauma-ridden friend, no. No, he is not much of a cook.

Zetsu- Doesn’t believe in cooking. 

Tobi/Obito- Tobi would not be a good cook. Obito knows this and loses a piece of his soul every time he has to purposely fuck up a meal just to stay in character, because Obito is actually quite a good cook. The man just wants to make beautiful, braised meats and savory soups and instead he’s stuck pretending to not know the difference between soy sauce and maple syrup. He pretends to enjoy sugar-filled, rainbow colored treats because that is what Tobi would like.

Orochimaru- This motherfucker is so extra. His cooking is gourmet. He fully intends on enjoying his immortal life and that means each meal should be a treat. Of course he gets busy and doesn’t always have time, in which case he opts for something quick and efficient—he has a whole ass recipe book for smoothies alone with all his favorites dog-eared and he tells Kabuto they taste better when he makes them.

(Thanks to @mooshi-png for the Kisame in that fucking apron hc lmao, it lives in my head permamently)

[missmaywemeetagain]

Read Paisley Dreams Part 1 🏵 NOW!

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

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

Enjoy babies, and let me know what you think!

xoxox, Madi 💗

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

Paisley Dreams (Part 1) 🏵💛🔥

August 1970

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she bursts into tears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pepper. My name is Pepper.”

*

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

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

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

Liar.

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe that’s just the hunger talking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wonders if he laughs often. She hopes so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For your family.”

“Yes, for my family.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Numbers?” he questions, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She quirks her eyebrow at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t want him to go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Era One-Shot

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

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

Mature 18+ || Word count: 9.2k

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

For my most patient baby, @savedrebelcreation 💗

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

GIF by seredelgi

Sweet Symphony

A ’68 Special Era Request

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my god.

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

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

“That okay with you, baby?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your orgasm is utterly mind altering and earth shattering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That better?” he asks.

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

taglist

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

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

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge

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

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

@18lkpeters @frozenhuntress67 @girlblogger2002 @kendralavon7 @misspresley

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

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

[aurumacadicus]

Do you follow a specific recipe for pumpkin spice syrup that comes out good each time? (And do you maybe have a link to it?)

I got it from a TikTok so I think it'll just be easier if I type it out if that's alright! (I can add a link if you wanna see the video tho)

Take all these ingredients and mix together in a pan: 1 cup sweetened condensed milk* 1/2 cup light brown sugar (I've used dark brown and it was also good, but I enjoy more molasses flavor so that might be personal taste) 1/3 cup pumpkin puree 1/2 cup water

Once mixed, set it to medium-high heat. Because there's dairy in it, it WILL boil over very quickly, so you'll have to keep a close eye on it (this is not the type of syrup where you can dash off to do something). I'm not kidding dairy does not fuck around on the stove DO NOT LEAVE IT even to pee. In fact, I'd even keep stirring it, because if you overcook it, it can be lumpy.**

Once simmering, add one tablespoon of pumpkin pie spice. The OP used pumpkin pie spice extract, which after some research, both McCormick and Watkins sell, but I have a huge can of pumpkin pie spice I'm trying to use up so I just used that. The only difference is it makes the syrup grainy, which is not a problem for me personally.

After it has simmered for a while and thickened up a bit, it's finished! I store mine in an airtight bottle in my fridge. He says it can stay there for a couple weeks, but it never lasts that long for me lol.

*The OP said if you wanted the recipe to be vegan, you can use sweetened condensed coconut milk. I haven't tried this but I'm sure it's delicious, although the coconut might change the flavor a bit. Someone in the comments added that sweetened condensed oatmilk now exists, so that could be an option, too.

**Some people who accidentally overcooked it said they hit it with an immersion blender, which returned it to a nice consistency. If you don't have an immersion blender, you can use a regular blender, but I would wait until the syrup cooled down to do so, personally.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Someone in the comments said she mixed her syrup with a quart of milk to make her own pumpkin spice creamer. You could probably do this with any dairy, though, if you prefer something thicker/thinner, or to nondairy options. I would add to taste rather than just dump all the syrup in it, but that's because up until it starts raining, I'll do pumpkin cream cold foam on top of iced coffee.

Speaking of, you can also make homemade pumpkin cream cold foam instead of paying Starbies six dollars for a small! The ratio I use is 1oz heavy whipping cream, 1.5oz 2% milk, and 1oz pumpkin spice syrup. It's also suggested to use a splash of vanilla syrup because SB uses their sweet cream as a base which has vanilla syrup in it, but I skip that. (Unfortunately depending on brand/whether you use nondairy items, you might have to adjust your measurements yourself. You can do it, though! Cooking is an adventure!) I use a hand frother to mix it together, just got a cheap one for ten bucks from Target. However, you can also pour the mixture into a small airtight container and shake it like a Polaroid picture until it's thick and frothy. Pour over the top of your iced coffee and enjoy!

I have not used this syrup in any baking but I HAVE added it to ice cream, and once even used it in a float with vanilla ice cream and cream soda. Crumbled some graham cracker on top and had a bomb ass pumpkin-pie-float.

[bonny-kookoo]

Sugar & spice

• What was the first reaction of the other members (we all know already what Namjoon thought 🙄), when they found out about Y/N or when they met her for the first time?

I mean yeah, Namjoon is kind of.. 🤧 I'll still include him tho lol

Namjoon:

"So what you're saying is-" Namjoon says, trying hard to stay composed. "-You've been hiding the fact that you adopted a fucking hybrid three years ago? And you didn't think once about telling me, or us in general?" He says, shaking his head. Jungkook is standing in his studio with his arms crossed, having somewhat expected this reaction from the leader. "She's not going to be able to handle your career-"

"You didn't even meet her yet, I've handled it fine until now-" jungkook argues back, but Namjoon won't let him.

"She's a hybrid!" He barks out, successfully shutting the younger idol up. "I.. need time to think about this." He says, and Jungkook gladly leaves his studio-

Because he's sure, otherwise he might've done something he'd regret later.

Jimin:

"You're awfully curious about her." Jungkook notices as Jimin watches you sleep with your head on his thigh.

"Hmhm. I.. have been thinking about, you know, something like this as well." He explains, watching you snooze away while Jungkook runs his hand over your hair. "When I donated to the Busan Carecenter for the first time, last year- there was a hybrid who I've been told had been there for six years." The singer softly says, remembering the situation. "All because she doesn't talk. She uses sign language instead." He says. "Its honestly cute. Like, she signed this-" he demonstrates with his hands, "to tell me I'm handsome. So bold!" He laughs to himself, and Jungkook grins.

"Why not do it?" He asks. "I mean, it works out for me. And you're a good person, hyung."

"What if I like her too much?" Jimin quietly asks, and Jungkook shrugs.

"They're not stupid. I mean, look at us both. It's all consensual, we talked about it a lot before anything happened, and that's what's most important."

"Wait, youre-" jimin asks, and Jungkook nods, shrugging.

"We are." He simply says. "And I wouldn't want anybody else than her."

Hoseok:

"She's adorable, really.!" He laughs from his spot, watching how you run back to both Jungkook and him with your and Jungkooks jackets. "You're so fast too!" He praises, and you smile, before giving Hoseok something he receives with wide eyes. "Where'd you find that?" He asks astounded, having searched for that bracelet the entire day. You simply point towards a chair way further back, and Jungkook smiles.

"She's like a police dog in that department." He comments. "No idea how she does it."

"Sounds incredibly helpful." He laughs, smiling at you, who rather hides a little behind Jungkook who instead occupies your attention by helping you into your coat. "She's super shy, isn't she?" He says more calmer now, and Jungkook nods.

"A mix of past trauma and her general character I believe." He shrugs, putting on his own coat. "The more you get to know her, the more she'll open up, promise." He reassures, and Hoseok nods.

"Even if she stays quiet, that's fine." He says, before he looks at you. "Dont ever let anyone force you to be someone you're not." He says, and you nod.

Taking that suggestion to heart.

Taehyung & Jin:

"Well, that's certainly not something I thought to witness." Seokjin says, standing in the entryway together with Taehyung, both idols looking at the chaotic scenery in front of them.

"I'm sorry- I wanted to tell you, I promise- no wait stay still, please baby-" Jungkook struggles, holding your head still to access the damage that had occurred earlier. Vote idols had caught the singer off-guard; causing you to run a bit too fast over the tiled floors, slipping and subsequently hitting your head on the edge of the living room table.

"I- who is she even? Are you looking after someone's hybrid?" Seokjin wants to know, but Taehyung taps his older bandmate's arm, pointing around.

There's clear signs of a hybrid living here, long term, and it gets clearer the further they step into their bandmate's home. Food additives and supplements in the kitchen, a nutrition guide on the fridge, multiple coats and shoes nowhere near Jungkook's size in the entryway. You're not someone's hybrid. You're his hybrid.

"Do you feel dizzy? Sick? No?" Jungkook asks, making sure you didn't sustain any serious injuries from your fault- before he holds you close while you cry from the shock of the accident. "I'm.. really sorry. This isn't how I wanted you to find out."

"Man, I'm impressed if anything. So that's why no one's allowed to visit you?" Taehyung wonders, and Jungkook nods.

The singer had wanted to pick something up from Jungkook on his way to his own home- and Jungkook had agreed, having intended to just give it out by the door, having you hide somewhere so it wouldn't come out.

"Well.. I mean, if you're not ready to share it with the guys yet, I won't tell." Seokjin shrugs. Taehyung next to him nods as well.

"Did she hurt herself bad?" Taehyung wonders, stepping a bit closer to where you're hiding in Jungkook's chest, and the singer who's holding you shakes his head.

"Luckily just a bump on the head. Just the shock, really." He says, and slowly, you lean back, looking at the stranger with tear stained cheeks and glistening eyes.

"I'm sorry we scared you. Let's meet some other time instead, okay?" Taehyung offers, and Seokjin smiles as well- and you nod, before looking at Jungkook.

It's not how he wanted anyone to find out- but he knows to trust his hyungs. They'll keep it secret until he's ready.

Yoongi:

"Thats a lot of supplements." Yoongi comments on, looking at the small bottles of food supplements that are in Jungkooks kitchen. The singer next to him nods.

"She can basically eat anything, but I like to make sure she gets all she needs." He says, flipping the piece of meat in the pan. "Some might think I'm a bit too picky with what she gets to eat. I think I actually am." He chuckles.

"Nah, it's normal to be so aware, I guess." The rapper shrugs. "They're dependent on us to a certain degree, after all." He mumbles, watching the younger idol plate up your portion of dinner. "Is she always this calm?" He wonders, looking over at you quietly watching TV while both he and Jungkook reside in the kitchen.

"I mean, yeah? She gets her days where she's a little hyper, but a lot of people have told me she's really calm." He says. "Many just think hybrids are either eternal children or full on pets. It's infuriating, really."

"It really is. But they're just different." Yoongi shrugs off, turning around to get cutlery. "It'll get better one day, I hope. People like Namjoon just.. haven't really looked into it enough to understand it." He explains.

"Still... it upsets me that he's acting like she's some alien that's gonna ruin everyone's life's now." Jungkook sighs.

"Oh, that was to be expected, though." Yoongi laughs. "There's a reason some of us don't tell Namjoon everything that's going on in our lives." He laughs. "He'd lose his mind if he ever got wind of some of the shit we do in our private time." He jokes.

"I mean, there's hardly something worse right now than one of his bandmates owning a fucking hybrid." Jungkook jokes, and Yoongi simply turns towards him with chopsticks in hand.

"Oh there is." He says, grinning boyishly. "Two of his bandmates owning a hybrid."

[thegracefulknight]

˚ ೀ Introduction ೀ ˚

Welcome to my little world~ I'm writing this welcome message as an afterthought, as I've actually had this little blog for years, before leaving and now coming back again recently. And I realized I never made a proper intro post! (⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠)

This blog of mine is dedicated mostly to Elizabeth Midford—the light and human heart of the anime/manga series Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler). However, I do share posts from different anime from time to time—mainly, but not limited to Pandora Hearts and Vanitas no Carte (The Case Study of Vanitas). This blog is not spoiler-free, so please take note!

Aside from anime and manga, I reblog posts on aesthetics that I feel suits Lizzy or the Victorian Era best, as well as quotes or passages from various media that hit me close to the heart. My main ship is O!Cielizzy, but as a multishipper, I also enjoy other ships and may share about them too (except ships that involve a minor and an adult). For that, please note that I do not ship Sebaciel or Claude x Alois. I prefer respecting people's perspectives on these, so please note that I will simply refrain from engaging with such content as much as possible. In turn, you may also choose to do the same regarding my content.

I aim to keep this blog as bright and positive as the girl it's dedicated for, so please if you hate Elizabeth or any of her ships, please DNI. I prefer not seeing my posts about her littered with unnecessary hate. You are free to block me rather than engage in my posts negatively. Let's reserve the energy for focusing on the things we actually love instead, on our own safe spaces! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

*Blog currently running on queue cause work takes me awei all the time

Tags:

ೀ ˚ lizzy aesthetic - for moodboards, photos or other media that specifically fits Lizzy perfectly

ೀ ˚ sugar spice and everything nice - any content related to girlblogging, aesthetics, self-affirmation, and self love in general.

ೀ ˚ message in a bottle - quotes, passages and poetry that resonate with the heart. May or may not be related to O!Cielizzy.

ೀ ˚ of ribbons and swords ; dance of the graceful knight - for theories, commentaries, analyses and character essays on, or related to Lizzy.

ೀ ˚ a love written in the stardust — cielizzy - for O!Cielizzy-related posts (aka almost half of this blog, i prolly won't re-tag all the old ones lmao)

Bonus : Listen to my O!Cielizzy Playlist here!

ೀ ˚ mine - for my edits, manga colorings etc. Mostly old posts that I haven't properly tagged before lol. Some have watermarks from my old pages, @wifeofthequeenswatchdog (from FB) or @isabella-phantomhive (from DeviantArt). I might repost content from those pages too!

[vintagelacerosette]

Tag game Tuesday/picrew catch up!

Oh how I've missed doing these! Thank you so much to these sweetpeas who tagged me to do these tag games/picrew. Lyle @milkovetti Michelle @michellemisfit Bri @y0itsbri Evie @energievie Julia @juliakayyy Georgia @iansw0rld Kat @mybrainismelted Nosho @creepkinginc Cross @crossmydna Willow @ian-galagher Lyds @ardent-fox Vey @look-i-love-u Molly @deathclassic Jay @surviving-maybe 💕

💟Name: Myn/Shermyn

#️⃣Age: 27

🗺️Location: Sydney

🧥Do you own a robe? Describe it. Yeah a pink silky with lace trim one my older sister gifted me as my maid of honour gift 🥰

☕️Do you have a favorite mug? Describe it. Why yes! It's one of my prized possessions! My Gallacrafts mug I made art with the darling & talented Ling @lingy910y

🧣Do you have a favorite blanket? Describe it. You know I don't think I do & that's tragic 😔

🍵Coffee or Tea? Tea

↳🔥🧊Hot or Cold? Cold it's been so damn humid & dry in Sydney rn 😓

🧦Fuzzy socks or Wool socks? Wool

🧤Gloves or Mittens? Gloves but the fingerless kind so I can scroll/read fics on my phone lol

🔥Fireplace or Campfire? Fireplace

🌞🌜Sun or Moon? Both baby! They work in tandem to give us life ☀️🌙

🍬Chocolate candy or Sugar candy? Sugar 🍭

🥐Sweet Pastry or Savory Pastry? Sweet

🎃Peppermint or Pumpkin Spice? Peppermint. I haven't had pumpkin spice before

🛏️Go to bed early or Wake up early? Wake up early but i don't sleep early to make the happen 🥲

🥣Cold cereal in milk or Hot oatmeal? Cold cereal in milk I especially love the sweet ones. American cereal certainly hit the spot with their cinnamon toast crunch or lucky charms 🤤

🍞Potatoes or Bread? 🥔

And Finally…

🚬 Gallagher or Milkovich? It'll have to be MIlkovich even tho objectively the are more terrible ones than good. But to be fair the great stole my fucking heart 💖

Picrew

Which character from any media would you like to have as a father? 

I think Johnny Rose from Schitt's Creek would be a funny dad plus loaded 🤣

If money, laws, time, and effort were no object, what animal would you want to have?

I'd love an otter omfg they're so damn cute 😭

What is your Chinese takeout order? 

Sweet & sour pork & spinch noodle with wild mushrooms.

What's your favorite emoji?

🥹 I'm particularly fond of this one bc it's the marvelling of beauty for me

Would you rather have a library, greenhouse, or home theater in your house?

I think greenhouse. I think would be so soothing & I feel like I need more plants in my life hahaha

What childhood tv show do you think of the most fondly?

Cardcaptor Sakura 🌸

What was your tumblr like when you first joined?

I joined 2012 it was so aesthetic & I wished be one of those vintage aesthetic blogs hence my tumblr name lmao. I kinda got confused & scared how to use it so i stopped for 2 years. So i missed out all the fun drama i guess lol. Then I started using it as like a scrapbook of things I liked hahah

What clothing style do you love but don't feel compelled to replicate yourself?

50s but I feel that would be such an effort to pull off

If you were plopped into a fictional world, which one would you know the layout of the best?

Pokemon but like in the switch games. I've been playing too much instead of sleeping lmao

What is your favourite piece of art? 

Idk if I have a favourite but one that impacted me in high school was a piece called 'Atomic: full of love, full of wonder' by Nike Savvas. Funny thing is that I got to see it in person may 2 or 3 years after seeing it in a high school text book & having to do essays on it. It was by complete accident & I had no idea see was displaying her work in our national art gallery. It was magic to see a piece irl after studying it 🥰

Do you have a water bottle? what does it look like?

My bestie jusr got me this steel pink hello kitty tumblr that was a collab with a bubble tea shop! I love it I take it to work 💖

What fanfic trope is a quiet fave?

I think time travel with younger selves meeting their older selve & seeing how they fot their happy ending 🥰

Do you carry a daily bag? what does it look like? what's the weirdest thing in it?

Yeah a carry bag for work. It's this tote bag another bestie got me for my last birthday. It's really cute. It's pink & mint green with a cluster of cute things like teddy bear.

If you had to ship Mickey with another Gallagher, who would it be?

Respectfully no ❤️

What is a fanfic trope you didn't expect to like and then very much did?

I'd say mafia au especially bc of the amazing fic by Kay/Shamelessquestions, The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Ian Gallagher.

Do you think s11 Mickey can still carry s11 Ian?

He sure could! He's our swol lil man

Look at them guns!!

Who got custody of the killing bat when they sold the house?

I kind have this tie between Fiona getting it or it being passed to Liam & Franny to keep the legacy going

Not tagging any bc I'm late but if you see this & you want to go ahead starlight 🩷

[vmures]

rules: answer + tag 9 people you want to get to know better and/or catch up with

I was tagged by the ever lovely @oldefashioned

Favorite color?

Purple! I adore all shades of it. I'm also fond of various greens and pretty much all jewel tones, but purple is still my fave.

Last song? 🎧

Currently reading? 📔

Currently working my way through @libraryofgage's Stranger Things fics over on ao3. Really loving them so far. The Munson's as Addams relations is a very fun idea.

After this, I'll catch up on fic updates in my email and then go back to working my way through my marked for later stuff. lol

Currently watching? 📺

Spent some time with very dear friends/chosen family recently and caught up on some things I hadn't seen (I'm super slow to watch things on my own, partially because I really seem to prefer watching things with others). So here's what I watched on my little holiday:

The Proposal with Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock. I'm not sure why I'd never gotten around to seeing it as I adore both the mains and it has Betty White, who is always a delight. It was so much fun. Just the sort of thing I want from a rom com.

Knight and Day with Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz. A fun romp of an action comedy and a hell of a wild ride. Cameron Diaz was so fun as she gets dragged into spy stuff and shows she's rather a quick study.

Two eps of Black Mirror: San Junipero and Ashley O. Both eps were really good. San Junipero totally made me cry, but in a good way. It was just so sweet. Ashley O was a little slow at the start, but once it hits it's stride it was great.

One episode of the Amazon Prime series Solos: Leah. This episode features Anne Hathaway and was honestly amazing. She plays a physicist trying to solve time travel and it packs a hell of a punch. The premise of this anthology series is that each episode only features one actor, but it is amazing what an incredibly talented actor can accomplish all on their own. Leah tells an incredibly powerful story and I highly recommend watching it.

Madame Web. This one was a mixed bag. Fascinating premise, but the execution of the ideas was...not great. It was compelling enough that I was willing to sit through the not great parts to see what happened and the ending is solid. It's like the writers/director didn't know how to do the build up but once they hit a certain point of the story they found their rhythm and it worked a lot better from that point on.

Hunger Games Mockingjay Parts 1 and 2. I'd read the books about a decade ago and seen the first two movies, but somehow never got around to seeing the last two. I really enjoyed both. The cast is phenomenal and Jennifer Lawrence does a really good job of playing someone with C-PTSD and concussions. There were some lovely subtle shifts in her expression at times. Playing someone who is wooden when given acting directions for propaganda videos and vibrant and engaging when acting on their own is not an easy thing and she does it wonderfully. The rest of the cast is equally amazing.

Currently craving?

Ice cream. But I'll probably have a yogurt instead.

Coffee or tea?

Both! Coffee I loved hot or iced and with a bit of cream but no sugar. Tea I also love hot or iced. So far the only tea I'm not a fan of is lapsang souchong, which has a very smoky taste and scent. (as in it smells a bit like campfire and taste like liquid smoke--to me at least). Black teas I like with milk but no sweetener. Herbal teas...some I like with cream if hot (usually spiced ones) and others (particular fruit based ones) I like with nothing added. Greens, whites, pu erhs, and oolongs I generally like plain, though I do like to add cream to spiced teas as I really like how the cream flavor interacts with the spices.

As usual, I'm gonna just say that if you feel like playing, please consider yourself tagged by me. Please do tag me if you decide to play along. I love learning about all y'all.

Since I'm chatty as hell, I decided to follow @oldefashioned's lead. Here's an easy template for those who would like to play along.

rules: answer + tag 9 people you want to get to know better and/or catch up with

Tagged by

Favorite color?

Last song?

Currently reading?

Currently watching?

Currently craving?

Coffee or tea?