#Venus puts fur on me
Text
#{⛓} m i n e#venus puts fur on me#screencap#monochrome#black and white#horrorcore#horror manga#{⛓} i c o n s#manga blog#manga panel#manga edit
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
venus puts fur on me
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ijimeru Yabai Yatsu being at its best. The next arc, Bullying Panic, will be full of milling the wind, but this is top notch satire, 10/10.
0 notes
Text
Dragons Heat - Year of Dragon Smut NSFW
“This heat ahh think I’m in rut. I haven’t been in centuries but you look so delicious…Help me dear please?”
Warning: NSFW Breeding tail kink, alpha dragon omega reader dynamics. heat rut. Biting aphrodisiac venom. Mating press. Door sex
Reader is the only fertile dragon hence it falls to her to replenish the diminishing population with some help….
A tail of Teasing
Dragon! Hubby x Reader
Could be Neuvelette, Zhongli, Dan Feng( Honkai Star Rail, Malleus (Twisted Wonderland) , Jiyan (Wuthering Waves any dragon characters
The Dragon Daddies ( More pics of Dragon & Genshin Bois at end~)
Dan Heng aka Dan Feng Imbibitor Lunae - Honkai Star Rail- High Elder of the Ancient Chinese Spaceship Loufu - Dragon Race: Vidyhydra
Malleus Draconia- Male! Maleficent-the Thorn Dragon boi from Sleeping Beauty- Twisted Wonderland
Jiyan - Wuthering Waves (TBA) - Dragon man?
Soft feathery fur and glistening scales as your lover’s tail thumps beside you a sunlight lazy day.
Always honest often when your dragon partner is not.
His desires concealed by gentlemanly manner ad polite niceties while his tail deviantly wraps around your leg out of site or slithers round your waist in pubic or in sleep to keep you from straying.
Lately he had been teasing, touching, marking you with his scent unbeknownst to you. He had been more touch starved than usual sign of rut both were unaware of as it had only awaked due to him now having a mate in the long years, he had been alive.
His eye predatory as he watches every single move you make.
His face flushed from heat and eye widen with want fixated on the vulnerable nape of your neck as you take sip or put up your hair. His instincts clawing to claim you before anyone else took you.
He holds back. As ever the gentlemen and distinguished member of the community composed cool an aloof, he cannot take you over the table with so many spectators at the charity ball you been invited too. Despite the heated pants and blush trailing up his neck and ears that becomes stronger whenever you bend down or even smile at him.
The best he can do is stay close. Your presence soothing and stoking the fire in him as he stalks your every move with a predatory stare.
Flanking your side like a shadow an arm wrapped possessive over yours a bit too tightly as he escorts you at the banquet they were forced to attend.
Then at dinner pastry too close too flirtatious a man reaches out and offers you dance his gaze raking your form clearly seeing when your partner saw in you and he cannot hold it. How impertinent you were dragons’ mate he’d show it damn the consequences.
“She’s mine” eyes narrowed he hisses A possessive arm pulls you from the main venue. A tail flicking angrily pulling you away into the hallway and into an empty room. A dragons possession claimed by him touched by another could not allow.
What gotten into you? You ask perplexed naive innocent and all so unknowably thinking it was irritation anger that has him flushed and riled up. He was so snappy these days and so touchy to manhandle you.
“I need you” he groans, and you get the cue as he pulls weakly at your and his clothes his lingers touch to hips back and shoulder insinuating what he wants.
He reaches out for you his arms trapping you in embrace against the door with thunk. The door locking shut and pressed up against heated bodies.
His chaste kiss led playful nip then a horny lip bite leading you two stumbling into bedroom.
Unable to control himself his true form manifests. Growing majestic horns and swishing tail complete with spreading glowing patches of scales where smooth skin is.
“Why did you pull me away what’s wrong “softer concern in your eyes soothing him by touching his horn at its base of which normally calms him down or has him purring in your lap on lazy days.
However, the touch only serves to rile Him up as he growling snorts pulling away as such softness when beast inside wants to ruin you. He instead pressed his growing need again you and ruts.
“This heat ahh think I’m in rut. I haven’t been in centuries, but you look so delicious…” he gasps as he slams you against the door repeatedly pressing his need and want against you as you redden.
“I smell you . your ready . so wet “he whispers in your ear grasping at a empty stomach but not for long
“Ah will you help my dear I need you right now?” he begs pretty tears and flushed face. Frazzled loosening normally perfectly pressed clothes as he lean over you against the door his face beautiful but pleading face flushed and teary eyed despite his intimidating towering frame.
You let out startled cry as you cry his name as your knees go weak in a surge of pain and pleasure.
“Don’t look at other men. Don’t even think about them just me” he growls possessive breath at your neck tickling as he licks and scatters love bite on your neck. Sucking the pulse point before sinking in fangs turning it into a deep claiming a bloody claiming mark.
And slight sense of panic that dulls. Before feeling slightly drowsy like in dream as syrupy sweet pleasure seeps in and heats your core. His bite injected apodrosiac venom making you his mate as sensitive and receptive to heat as he was.
Dazed and flustered as he ways.
“ah sorry my dear are you okay?” he says panicked when he realizes what his instincts drive him to do. However still heated and turned on by the slow slide of your blood feeling himself swallow thirstily for more.
A purr rumble though his dragon side at approval of the claiming bite bruised and bloody on your neck Now no one could mistake who you belonged to. . .
“ah it okay just ahh this heat I see now how cannot you stand it…” found yourself saying to soothe him and the heat building in your body. Panting heavily was this how he felt liethe whole week? You give him a dazed smile high on the pleasure.
“Don’t’ hold back…ahh now can you help me?” You assent leaning into him transfixed glazed eyes filled with lust. He descends equally hungry and horny.
You shouldn’t I could hurt you he intones eyes darkening barely restrained.
“Ah I trust you “ you assert a chaste kiss turning horny as tongue and teases to bite down briefly the monster in his desiring a bit of blood riling him up further.
A startled sound of surprise normally as he us not this aggressive but gentle afraid to break but the beast unleashed he is now unable to hold back.
“I’ll make it good, pleasurable, you’ll see” he promises joy lighting up his feature making them glow so godly at that moment,
“ahh you were meant for this to be bred” he thinks aloud his tail winds up your leg the tip teasing you as you rut closer for delicious friction in vain held in place by tensing tail a playful squeeze to remind you who is in control.
“Don’t say that its embarrassing… “ you cry tears of pleasure welling up although you get wetter at the words.
“Ah I think you like it see how wet you are, how open ready to take me” he teases mind hungry to fill you breed youas he turns you your back tail and fingers teasing youas you rock backinto pleasure
“Trust me~”
Swaying before him your bottom tempting him. He ruts into your soft thighs. He is undone. A slave to instinct and a rut addled brain urging him to breed his mate quickly
Stuck on your stomach his hand pressing firmly and a tail between your legs teasing each fold delivering spark of pleasure. Softly coaxing at the tip featherlight tail drives you mad and dripping.
Teasing before delving in with gaps arch your gasp too full too big and yet pressing ever closer.
He had his mate in a mating press glued together wet and glistening the fluid as he delves deeper .
“ahh Too big “you protest as he soothes you stroking exposed arm legs anyway his hands can get ahold of and nibbling at your ears
"shh your doing so good just a little more"
“Good girl ah you feel mmh so good”
He says love drunk on you panting. Desperate movement seeking pleasure friction as his undone hair cascades and brightens in arousal his horn tail casting iridescent glow on you.
For you push back in vain only to hit the sweet spot as he ruins you his dear precious mate.
“Ah ah wait for the real thing” he teases as he withdraws his tail from his mate and winds it around a leg to keep her in place.
“Wait that was… “you trail off your eyes widen in embarrassment blush searing your ears . A sly smirk is all the answer you need.
“no way… your tail” you cry embarrassed
“I had to prepare you somehow” he explains a cheeky grin before he descends fast sudden into your well prepared slick hole groaning as you fit perfectly.
You cry his name as he enters filling you and reaching rhythm that has you screaming in pleasure
Closing his eyes and purring in contentment. The tip of his swishing tail glowing in time to his thrusts undone by how easily you are wet you are for him and you groan alongside him.
Your protests are swallowed. Weakly, feebly, futilely as pleasure courses through you. Toes curling hips shaking as he presses further widening opening you to take his seed,
“You are doing so good just a little more…” he bullies you with his length burying further till he hit the spot that has you seeing stars.
Walls scraping and squeezing his pulsing hardened cock just right coaxing his seed to spill into you hot and creamy taking root for new life. Ahh he needed you
His eye glow tail as do his horns and the tip of glistening tail as he commands you “Cry for me”
As a whine left parched lips reaching your high bucking into him for more delicious friction as your filled.
“Perfect~” He purrs in contentment nuzzling you for cuddles after duty well down. He remains nestled in you warmth milking and warming what remains as you shake with tremors of pleasure wrecked and overwhelmed and oh so sensitive.
After a while he flips you forward to see your flushed face. He bares his teeth hungrily at prey…eyes glowing full of love obsession and lust darkening at the sight of you layed out panting beneath him exhausted wrecked by him with your neck bared for him to take and take …
“Did I do good? “ you ask dazed but warm and safe in his cuddling embrace.
“So good dear in fact can we go again?” he whispers pleading as he shifts his hip with squelch still impossibly hard from the rut. You are now so wet from the combination of your love juices as he slides again smoothly picking up speed as you fall to the dragon's appetite once again.
“Just on the bed this time” you concede as you both fall onto silken sheets.
Happy year of Dragon everyone! Here to share an Extra dragon boy artwork for happy new year~ I think it's Malleus but looks like Dan Feng?
Zhongli-Earth Dragon- Morax/Rex Lapis Geo Archon of Liyue from Genshin Impact
Neuvillette- Water Dragon - Judge of Fontaine from Genshin Impact
#honkai star rail smut#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail imagines#male yandere x reader#dan heng smut#malleus smut#zhongli smut#zhongli x reader#dragon smut#neuvillette smut#neuvilette x reader#dan heng x reader#dan heng x you#dan heng imbibitor lunae#dan heng il x reader#dan feng x you#dan feng x reader#female reader#female reader smut#female reader insert#fem reader#reader insert#x reader#smut#wuthering waves#wuthering waves fanart#wuthering waves jiyan#jiyan
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
“venus im pelz (venus in furs)”
contains: sub!könig/dom!fem!reader, master/servant (altho it’s all pretend), wayyy too many references to venus in furs, könig fucks a pillow lol, dry humping, kinda pet-play-ish(?)
word count: ~1.400
You yawn and place your left hand back on your thigh. Your legs are currently draped over the armrest of the big chair you’re sitting on as you look down on the monarch sitting in front of you.
“So? How do you like it?” you ask him in a straightforward tone as you move your other hand to the fur of the coat he gifted you.
His eyes are immediately trained on your hand - watching your ringed (courtesy of his gifts) fingers as if he was a moth circling a flame. You pet the elegant fur over and over again, occasionally digging your fingers in.
You wouldn’t have been surprised if he started drooling. Sadly, neither saliva nor speech leaves his mouth.
“Answer me, Sir.” you demand now, your face turning to marble.
“I… I like it.”
His lips part and he looks pained. His light blue eyes glance up at you, and then down again.
“I see. So I fulfil your vision of a domineering Venus?” you speak and he feels like you’re pulling out a rug beneath him.
“I-“ he begins and feels like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
You look down at him, your gaze turning to stone. Luckily for him, before you can mock him any further, a loud noise originating from the fireplace interrupts you.
The wood - which he so neatly arranged in the fireplace just two hours ago - has crumbled. Slowly, the flames stop licking the last bits of wood away, and it dies.
You both watch.
“Your Majesty. Fix this. I am already cold.” you say, as if you were commanding a bothersome dog.
He almost falls over, scrambling to roughly grab multiple planks of wood at the same time.
Under your cold eyes, he shrinks as he places the new firewood. Although the less coherent stability of the arrangement doesn’t escape your mind, you let it slide.
His trembling hands grab the box of matches and he attempts to light one.
He fails. Miserably.
Under your cold eyes, he withers further. “S-sorry…”
You sigh. “Are you quite sure that you will let your Goddess degrade herself by pursuing such a bothersome task?”
König looks as if he wants to cry. “No! No, never!”
He bites his lip and tries again. He lets out a cry of relief as it finally works. With a shivering hand, he lights the wood on fire.
His eyes flicker between the flames licking the wood and you, the need for approval visible on his face.
You indulge him again. “You did a good job, my servant. You may sit before me and touch the fur on my coat.”
He doesn’t even bother to get up properly and just crawls towards you on all fours. You laugh.
“You are quite an amusing pet.” you say, and he wonders what might be colder - the look in your eyes, or your tone? He shivers and ends up kneeling right before you.
His hands tremble as he hesitates to touch your luxurious fur coat. You giggle as his big hands stay just a few centimetres away from the soft fur of the clothing.
“I already gave you permission. Go on, you may touch my coat.”
He awkwardly pets the fur for just a moment, then digs his fingers in. Amidst him closing his eyes as he rakes his fingers through the fur, he makes a fatal mistake.
His right thumb, accidentally, brushes against the skin of your décolleté.
Immediately, you shove him away - his eyes open wide in shock as he falls back, catching himself on his hands.
“H-hey-“ he starts to protest, but one look from you is enough to put him back in line.
“Sorry, Goddess.” he mumbles and looks at your feet.
You just stay quiet, as you know exactly what he should be saying to you next.
“How… how can I make up for my mistake, Herrin?” he asks.
At his use of the German term for ‘mistress’, you smirk. Whenever he starts using some words in his native language, you know that he has been pushed further into subspace. It’s a sign that he’s letting go, that he trusts you.
Although it’s not exactly in character for “Venus in Furs”, you lean forward and affectionately run your fingers through his hair. He looks up at you and smiles.
As he glances at your eyes, he understands what you’re doing - silently checking in if he’s still up for the play.
“I’m good,” he says quietly, “I’ll tell you if anything gets uncomfortable, I promise.”
Your affectionate smile turns cold again as you resume your “role” as Venus. You harshly tug on his hair, reminding him of what he should be saying now.
“I’ll do anything to make up for my mistake…” he blushes as he speaks.
“Remove your clothes.” you instruct.
He nods and starts tugging on his pants.
***
“H…herrin…” he begins, as he humps against the pillows. “Touch… me… bitte…”
“The answer is still ‘no’, König, no matter how you plead. Your leaky cock would just dirty the pristine furs that I wear.”
He whimpers and bites his lip. “O…okay….”
You sigh in mock indignation. “If only you could control that thing. Look, it’s leaking like a faucet. You know, like this, it’s almost cute.”
König groans when you call his dick “cute” of all things. He wants to protest, but decides against it. Pissing you off by being bratty right now is a really bad idea.
“You agree that it’s cute, right? Adorable, even?” you taunt, lips curling into a smile. “Tell me, Your Majesty. Tell me how cute your dick is.”
“Ich… Ich… Herrin…” he stutters, now seemingly having lost all English speaking capabilities.
“Your Majesty?”
“My… c-cock is…” he says quickly, trying to get it over with, “süß…”
You just stare at him with cold eyes.
“Sor-”, he interrupts himself with a moan as his swollen cock accidentally brushes against the zipper on the pillow, “sorry…”
“My cock is… cute.” he says the word like it causes him pain.
“That’s right!” you say enthusiastically. “It’s adorable!”
He winces, but nods awkwardly, pretending to agree. It’s so pathetic and sweet that you decide not to chastise him again.
“It’s so adorable that I want to see it cum.”
König sighs with relief, his eyes focusing on you. He looks like a devout worshipper - well, except for the nudity. And the way he’s humping the pillow.
“Hold still for a minute.” you instruct, and watch as his hips stutter and then stop. He whimpers.
You slowly get up and grab another pillow, then place it on top of the one that he’s already humping.
He shivers as the colder fabric touches his sensitive cock. It’s not yet soiled by his warm, sticky cum, and feels awkward.
You place one of your hands on the pillow. “This should be better. Fuck the pillows. It’s all your leaky dick deserves. You are allowed to cum.”
König nods, hums, and starts… fucking the pillows. It feels very weird. Sure, the fabric is nice, and the friction helps get him near the edge, but… it doesn’t compare to your cunt.
Still, after just a few seconds, he starts moaning and saying your title. It’s quiet at first, and then picks up traction.
“Ahh- Mistress, Herrin… Bitte…”
However, the pillows are nowhere as tight, as warm, and most importantly - it’s not you. You’re not touching him, just holding the pillows down so that he doesn’t knock them over by his rapid humping.
He can barely catch a whiff of your scent, and it’s hell.
“Herrin, bitte… lass mich nicht… alleine…” he rambles. The plea for you to not leave him alone sounds pathetic, so unlike the strong soldier that he is, too.
“F-fass mich an, berühre mich, Herrin, bitte, bitte!” König continues, frantically humping the pillow sandwich, constantly looking into your eyes.
The begging for you to at least touch him is so adorable that you fold and gently place your hand on his neck. Your other hand still holds the pillow in place.
“Thank you, Herrin, oh, Herrin, thank you! Danke!”
That does him in, and unceremoniously, he cums onto the pillows.
You chuckle at the way his body trembles. “I hope you’re prepared to continue, König.”
Thank you for reading ❤️
For more fics, check out my masterlist :)
#könig modern warfare#könig x reader#dom reader#sub könig#könig cod#sub konig#konig x reader#konig x you#könig x you#cod x reader#cod x female reader#könig smut#sub!character#sub character#sub cod
214 notes
·
View notes
Text
Distribute the weight
Yan Vampire + Tall/Werewolf Reader
Your adoring spouse keeps you on their arm at all times - not matter what others say.
[slightly suggestive]
"Aw, poor Pup broke their paw?~... Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I'm all alone too..."
Irony riddles your scar. Slim, horizontal lines riming the ball of your ankle. A silver bear trap - buried under leaves and twigs, and the cruz pivoting your life on its head. The trap had been set in a part of the forest you had never crossed before, burrowed away on the hunting grounds of a terror fiercer than the hunter after your head. Hell, maybe the bastard set it in that exact location at that exact time in hopes of killing two birds with one stone. In a turn of events shocking you both, the vampire who found you took you into their arms and home: dispatching the hunter stalking you as you recovered in their bed. Loneliness is what saved you that evening - as if you really believed that.
Truth be told, your caretaker was only nursing you back to health to have a fresh supply of blood for guests, but just like the hunter their plans changed the longer you were by their side. Your leg had been completely shattered - amputation likely if they hadn't arrived when they did. Weight too much for one leg to carry; you depended on them to get you from place to place while you healed. From an outside perspective it was like a lion asking aid of their own prey, but their stature was no factor to their strength.
Close to your midsection in height and, your caretaker was able to pick you up in one arm with ease. You were like an oversized stuffed animal they won an the fair and served a similar duty in their bed. They thought about skinning you and using your coat instead, but your warmth came from somewhere deeper than your fur. A confession your third week in and you became lovers. Devoted to you as they were towards their original cause, your spouse would do anything for you.
"Please put me down now..."
Except for that.
You see, old habits die hard when they lead to finding your true love. Years after your leg had healed and your spouse still carried you on their arm wherever they may go. Whether a stoll through the garden or in conversation with another, you were nowhere to be found but in their hold. An extension of themselves they could not part from - you gave up bringing them to reason long ago. The issue still remaining was when you were in the presence of others. The size of the crowd or importance of the person did not matter. In their arms is where you where meant to be and where you reside for as long as they function.
Huddled on a couch in the center of the venue, your spouse is beckoned into conversation by another across the room. An annual meet in their court which you had attended before, but this face was new. Passing their drink off to you and hooking an arm beneath your thighs, your spouse begins to rise when you stop them with a single hand to their chest.
"Maybe I should sit this one out. I'm not sure about that look in their eye..."
Your spouse looks taken aback as if you've just made I'll of their entire bloodline. "Nonsense! Who knows how long this cretin wishes to converse with me? I maybe be able to weasel my way out eventually, but I'm certain to die before then if you are not at my reach. Come now, we mustn't keep our new friend waiting."
Your spouse pats the meat of your thigh, shoving their glass into your hand as they adjust you upon their shoulder as they stand. Your unoccupied arm instinctively shoots around their neck for support as they lock your legs beneath their bicep. You can see upon the second floor from the boost - all those watching and whispering from the shadows. Balancing you on one arm, they traverse the yard; experience in their skill appointed by the point of their heels sharper than the snap of their fangs. Spine straightened and head held high, they join the stranger in the far corner of the room with polite greeting. You focus more on keeping their cup from spilling and staining your fur - again.
Rocking on their heels, your spouse bows their head to the other vamp - hands clearly to preoccupied for a handshake. "Good evening. I trust all is well on your part?"
"Evening...." Their eyes drift towards you, darting back to your spouse as you fume from the concentration. Your spouse rubs your knee, whispering something about knowing just how to get the blood out. "I'm fairing well... why do you ask?"
"I just happened to notice you staring down my mate all night and was curious since you seem to be making them uncomfortable..." Their smile falters, annoyance punctuated by the huff they make as they look up at you. "Ugh, these lights are damn near as bright as day. Darling, could you be a dear a give me a drink?"
Reaching to their jaw, you rest the rim of the glass against their plump lips as their head falls back - flow regulated by the claws at their throat. With their hands at your sides it was not uncommon for you to feed them food and drink, a pleasure your spouse abused plenty.
"Maybe you should keep your mutt at home if I'm bothering them."
Blood plenishes the glass as your spouse chokes on their spit. You ease the glass from their lips as they lower you to the floor, wiping the dribbles of red with the curve of their claws protruding from the cloth of their gloves. Tongue rolling over their fangs, but they bark a laugh as their eyes squint.
"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you properly."
The other vampire steps forward, sizing them up. Even amongst their own kin, your spouse was smaller than norm. "You really don't know what the others say about you - do you? Carrying around that mutt at all hours like you own the place - it's disrespectful."
"Mm.... Darling, could you hand me that glass, please?" Passing it off, your spouse mouths a thank you as they take it from you and stands between you and your aggressor. Swirling the dark liquid around the edge, they down the drink in one good - pausing briefly to savor the taste before smashing the glass on the floor. As shard disburse at their feet, your spouse checks their nails seeing as this bother wasn't worth their time as they expect.
"Kneel."
A snarl emits from the vampire throat as their hands aim for your spouse's collar. "You may have been here first, but that gives you no reason to order me around."
Your spouse chuckles through the strain around their neck. "My friend, I don't think you understand. See, when my love and I became one, we received a little gift from the little hunter aiming to take us both as prize. A fool that one, but power seems common in the hands of idiots nowadays."
Gaze falling to their chest; if their blood grew any colder it would still in their chest. Pointed at their heart, betwixt the thin layer of skin encasing their ribs - a dagger aims for the kill from the sleeve of your spouse's robes. A lazy, toothy grin meets their face as terror marks their opponent's.
"You wouldn't..."
"Oh, but I would." Twisting the handle, their voice drops as first blood falls. "You wouldn't be the first."
The frightened party looks towards you for mercy. You avoid their silent plea, eyes on your partner alone. Couldn't stop them even if you wanted. Defeated, the vampire drops to one knee, wincing as the broken glass embeds into their knee. Your spouse jabs at their side to get them down on the other, slashing their abdomen in accident they don't seem to care much for. Torment and pain unbound, the worse of it comes with their next order.
"Lick up what's left if you value your tongue."
Their panic is thee most delicious thing your spouse has drank up all night. They look beyond you for help, but they're all but ignored and those who pay mine only snicker or shake their head out of pity. The threat of a foot to the back of their skull gets them moving along just fine. By the time their tongue sweeps the first heap of glass your spouse had already lost interest - concern overtaken their glee as you glance off to nowhere.
"Dearest, what troubles you?"
"They're right, you know?... My leg has been healed for years and I don't need you to carry me around anymore. I'm too big for it anyway.."
"That so?... Forgive me for being selfish, but it isn't all about you anymore, my love. You do have a point with one thing, though."
"What?"
Taking your hand, your spouse pushes you against the wall. Never has the venue's drap wallpaper looked more investing than when wrapped against your fur as they pin you in place. Guiding your legs up and around their torso, they center majority of your weight on their pelvis as their head falls to your sternum and their hands to your waist.
"There's too much of you for these feeble arms of mine to hold. I need a better way to distribute the weight or else I may not be able to carry you as you deserve. At my hip is a far better place for you. Makes sense, considering you're always in my lap when we're at home." Your spouse readjusts their hold on you as one of your legs slides down their back, hips ground against your loins as they lock their hand beneath the seat of your rear. Your thighs cage them like two trunks of wood supported by a twig. One squeeze and you could easily snap their spine just as easy and maybe that's what brought such a vibrant flutter to their heart as their cheek pads your chest. Pulling you down a bit further, they nip at your collarbone as their hands rake up the shorts you wore. In the corner of the room guised by the bustling chatter and music around you, none are the wiser as your clothing dips off your hip - your spouse's robes hiding the slip of their hand between your legs.
"Looks like there are more benefits to this position than I thought. I do believe I can stand here all night with you, my love... If you can keep quiet."
#yandere oc#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere insert#yandere headcanons#yandere x you#yandere blurb#yandere drabble#yandere vampire#werewolf reader
852 notes
·
View notes
Text
First Meeting \\ Werewolf x Reader + Vampire x Reader
Summary: The first meeting you have with your monster boyfriend
Tags: GN!Reader, Werewolf [full moon, trapped animal, bear traps (no wound descriptions), petting a werewolf, barista] / Vampire [high society events, waitressing, clumsiness, pet names, feasting, death (not graphic)]
Word Count: ~1200
Notes: I wanted to add a third "monster" in here but I couldn't figure out how to fit it in here. Maybe I'll introduce what I was thinking sometime later
Werewolf
The first time you lock your eyes is during a full moon.
You're making your way home. It's not that late, but it is rather cold outside. You're bundled up as best you can be in this weather. As you walk down the street, you hear an animal crying out in the brushes next to you. It's a loud, shrill sound. It sounds like it's in pain.
On any other day, you would have ignored the sound. However, something about it draws you close. It's probably a deer or something, right...? You go through the bushes to find a giant wolf. It towered over you, reaching up and away with fervor. Its leg was caught in a bear trap, and it looked rather bad. Nails dug into the dirt as it braced itself on a tree. Long fur swished as it tried its best to pull away and run, but it was to no avail. It howled again, loud and forlorn, before curling up. It looked resigned to its fate.
Then... it sees you.
It begins to snarl, bearing teeth and body shifting into a guarded stance. Was it truly angry or was it scared? You put your hands up. You don't mean any harm, but it doesn't know that. As you make your way over to the trap, it stays guarded but doesn't snap at you. It takes a minute, and a lot of strength, but you eventually open the trap and release the wolf. It limps out, standing at it's full, bipedal height. It suddenly dawns on you.
This is not a wolf. This is something else entirely.
For some reason, though. You're not scared. It's staring at you, lowering itself to be at eye-level. You reach out to pet it. It flinched at the thought of your touch, but eventually, it pressed its face into your hand. It's... warm, and fluffy. Like a large dog. You can't help but laugh.
"Stay safe, alright?" You ask. It nods. Finally, it runs off into the night.
Probably one of the weirdest experiences you've had, but at least you saved it from whatever hunters put those traps up in the first place. You go to sleep to the sounds of howling. Before it was just annoying, but now you had a slight appreciation.
You wake up and go to a new coffee shop with a friend. They offered and there's no shame in trying something new!
It's packed. Clearly this is more of a hot spot than you two thought. The people behind the counter are working the hardest, but once catches your eye. He's at the counter is working on drinks for a moment before he comes up to the register. He looks tired, as if he didn't get much sleep the night before. His hair is messy and the bags underneath his eyes were deep.
"Hello. What can I get--" Once he focused on you, he cut himself off. His gaze felt familiar in a way you can't describe. You tilted your head in confusion.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"It's you. From last night. It's really you! I thought I'd never see you again." His grin is bright. You blink in confusion before you recognized him.
He's the wolf.
"Hey! You're holding up the line!" Someone shouts behind you. You look behind and see that the line is going out the door.
Maybe you two should have your reunion later.
Vampire
The first time you lock eyes, you see something you're not supposed to.
High-society events aren't your thing. The people they bring are somewhat selfish. Even so, tending tables was a good gig, especially at the most expensive venue in town. It paid enough and it allowed you to get a glimpse into a life you'd never have.
You make your way through the crowd, passing out hors d'oeuvres to anyone who wants. Some thank you, others turn their nose up to you and walk away. You've been working her for a while. At one point, the comments used to hurt you, but now they roll off your shoulders. This particular party is strange, though, but it's something you can't put your finger on. The guests are all affluent but mysterious. Some of these names you've never even heard of. Yet the clothes they wear and the people they're with clearly have more money that you've ever seen. As you deliberate on it and make your rounds, someone bumps into you. Luckily, you don't spill anything.
"I am so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going." He says, his tone seeming genuine. You chuckle. At least someone here was nice.
"It's fine. How are you finding our service here?" You ask, in your most customer-service tone.
"You don't need to talk to me like that, darling. I'm not above you."
Charming. Maybe asking him would get some answers. "Well, I am serving you and the rest of this party. Is it always this--"
"Dull? Oh, you have no idea. They try to have these galas once every few years, and yet they never really do anything with it!"
"I was going to say 'affluent.'"
"Oh." He clears his throat. "Er... yes. Sort of."
You briefly touch his hand and it's cold to the touch. He pulled away quickly, clearing his throat.
"Already trying to get hands on me? You haven't even asked me my name yet." He chuckled. While he tried his best to be smooth, you could hear the nervousness in his voice. You went to ask, but were interrupted by your boss yelling at you for not being back.
Once meals are served, things settle down for you, save for refilling people's glasses. You're so close to getting a break! Unfortunately, you trip over one of the tablecloths and fall this time. The tray of wine glasses you're holding comes crashing down and makes a mess on the tile floor. You're not even sure what to do for a moment, frozen in shock. Other workers came and rushed you off, telling you to get a mop or something else to clean this all up. Luckily, your clothes weren't stained so you wouldn't have to get changed. Silver linings, right? Still, you go to the closet and pull on the knob. Locked.
...Locked? That doesn't make any sense. Why keep things locked up in case of a spill. Not thinking anything of that, you open the door.
You take in a breath and all you can smell is blood. It's pungent, and makes you cover your mouth. One of your coworkers, a girl you hadn't known well, lay still in the arms of a guy feasting on her neck. It's messy. It's repulsive. You can't even scream, it's so much. You just stand there in silence, eyes glued to the sight as he finishes the job. Once he's done, only then do you see his face.
It's one you were hoping not to see.
"It's you, darling."
#letters#vampire#werewolf#werewolves#vampire x reader#werewolf x reader#monster imagine#monster boyfriend#monster lover#monster
145 notes
·
View notes
Text
Random KISS Facts
(That nobody asked for)
Gene
The first time Gene spit fire, he caught his hair on fire
Back in the beginning of KISS, Gene would do a trick with flash paper, but one night his aim was off and the paper blew up in a kid’s face
Paul
During the Hotter Than Hell photoshoot, Paul got so drunk, that Gene had to lock him in the station wagon to keep Paul from hurting himself
Ace
Ace punched Tommy Thayer in the face when he (Tommy) was manager, over Ace having his girlfriend in the dressing room
Ace Frehley almost drowned twice. Once in a hotel bathtub and another time in a pool. Gene saved him both times
A day before the Hotter Than Hell photo shoot, Ace got in a bad car accident and split one side of his face open so. Because of this, Ace couldn’t wear that side of his makeup, so all the shots were profiles
Around 2000, Ace Frehley missed a flight to a concert in Los Angeles and the band got manager Tommy Thayer ready to fill in for Frehley, in costume and makeup. Frehley made it to the show at the last minute via helicopter ride from LAX to the venue
Peter
Peter Criss hardly played during the Reunion/Farewell tour, so they put an amplifier on his drums to make it sound like he was actually playing. That’s why a lot of the crew members would say “don’t sneeze around Peter’s drum set”
Eric C.
After the Dynasty tour was over, Peter Criss left the band. So, after KISS announced his departure, they held auditions for a new drummer and selected Paul Carvello, later renamed Eric Carr
When Eric Carr had to sing “Beth” he called Peter to make sure he (Peter) was ok with him singing his song
When Eric Carr recorded his vocal for the re-recording of “Beth” in 1988, he sat on the same drum stool that Peter Criss used during the original recording of the song in 1976
KISS’s late drummer Eric Carr’s collar on his 1980 “fox” costume was made out of real fox fur
In Paul’s book Face the Music he says that “When the tour stopped in Manhattan for two gigs at the Ritz, Eric Carr came to one of the shows and sat in the balcony with his head resting on the railing through the entire show. Afterwards he came backstage, and out of left field, turned to Eric Singer, and said, ‘You’re going to replace me.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ I spoke. ‘He’s going to replace me in KISS,’ said Eric Carr, nodding at Eric Singer. ‘Listen, Eric, you’re the drummer in KISS, and he’s the drummer of my solo band.’” But as fate would have it, Eric Singer was the perfect fit
Tommy
March 11, 2000, through April 13, 2001, was the Reunion/Farewell Tour with Ace and Peter. Tommy Thayer was KISS’ tour manager at the time, and he had to retrain Ace and Peter all their parts, because they hadn’t played in years. It proved to be difficult, and Tommy almost gave up. But with the reassurance of Paul, he managed to reteach Ace and Peter all their parts
Album/Song Facts
Cannons were recorded and mixed into KISS Alive! to mimic the pyrotechnics that didn’t come through the microphones correctly
Alive! was recorded in multiple different cities with crowd audio combined to make the crowd sound bigger. Alive! was mainly recorded in Detroit
At one point KISS almost went under because Neil Bogart (KISS’ manager) had maxed out his credit card. With the combination of the special effects, levitating drum set (that seldom ever worked), the exploding drumsticks, and Neil’s gambling issue, the band almost went under, but when Alive! went Platinum, it saved the group
On Dynasty Anton Fig played on the tracks except for “Dirty Livin’,” written, and played by Criss even though he wasn’t involved in its production, Peter was still credited on drums, which left Anton Fig uncredited
Psycho Circus was the first album to involve all four original members (though Ace Frehley and Peter Criss only appeared on a select few tracks). "You Wanted the Best" is the only KISS song in which lead vocals are shared by the entire lineup
The radio news announcer at the start of “Detroit Rock City” is KISS’ producer Bob Ezrin. The main news report featured a fatal car accident, and is the backstory of the song, which was based on a reportedly true event that happened to a teen on his way to Detroit KISS concert in 1975
Paul’s yodeling at the beginning of “Heaven’s on Fire” is him warning up. He didn’t realize the camera was rolling, but they decided to keep it in the video
A number of songs from Crazy Nights were performed live during its supporting tour, but during and especially immediately following the tour, most of those songs were dropped and were never performed again
The famous song “Rock and Roll All Nite” was inspired by Slade’s “Mama Weer All Crazee Now”
Towards the end of the Reunion/Farewell tour, fans were shocked to see Eric Singer in full Catman costume and makeup, meaning Peter left the band again for the final time
During the music video for “Heaven’s on Fire” Eric Carr pops up behind Paul, and Paul looks at him for a split second before looking back at the camera. Eric did that randomly. It wasn’t planned. Paul’s reaction was genuine
Other
Neil Bogart came up with Peter’s levitating drum set and his exploding drumsticks
The KISS logo is altered in Germany because of the similarities to the Nazi S
Early in KISS’ career, Larry Harris worked an endorsement deal with Gibson guitars, and they provided free guitars that Paul could smash. In exchange, KISS put Gibson on the back of their album covers
Peter “Moose” Oreckinto, a KISS roadie in the early days, was loading Peter Criss’ exploding drumsticks, when one went off, causing a hole in his hand, his chin and his stomach. This accident almost caused Moose to lose his hand, but doctors were able to save it
KISS was nominated for a Grammy in 1999 for Best Hard Rock Performance for their song “Psycho Circus.” (It lost to “Most High” by Page and Plant of Led Zeppelin fame)
Despite the band’s massive 1970s success and again in the late 1990s, Rolling Stone magazine refused to put KISS on its cover until the band’s 40th anniversary in 2013
KISS refused to play shows in their early days without their trademark giant lighted logo. In some venues, its size required it to be stood up on the side of the stage instead of hanging above it
KISS has had ten members during its 50-year existence. Paul Stanley is reportedly the only member to have participated in every song released
The KISS Army started in Indiana when a local radio station refused to play any KISS songs in the early ‘70s. Protesting fans marched outside of the radio station forcing the radio station to play KISS
Facts are continually added
Tagging: @genesstankycodpiece, @solfihelpmi, @ericsingerisababycat, @foxykissworld, @spacefoxy, @sillyamyy, @ericcarrsworshipper, @2000-man1, @tanookikiss, @sluttery-withoutshame, & @daddycatcriss
84 notes
·
View notes
Text
"I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else! ^-^;"
"..."
Amy Rose just did the biggest mistake of her life. She ran and hugged some other hedgehog AGAIN! And this one was not what she was expecting.
The last time was a white hedgehog minding their business drinking apple juice at some park and now THIS? This is just utterly embarrassing!
Here she was, gone and hugged a hedgehog drinking coffee quietly on a corner and she didn't expect them to be so into their writing-- She done bumped on his work with ink spilling everywhere. Before realizing her mistake, she noticed how soft this one's fur is.
"This one's really soft!---------------I, wait a minute..."
'Sonic's more of a fluffy kind rather than a soft one.' she thought.
She let go of this hedgehog and adjusted her eyesight to the bright light cascading on the window. This one's fur is BLACK, not blue at all! How could she have missed this?! She really needs to get her eyes checked.
This figure turned their head behind revealing ruby-colored eyes.
"I-I didn't know you were writing! I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else!" Amy worriedly joked hoping that this hedgehog would sympathize at her. She couldn't help but feel like this hedgehog was someone familiar to her.
"..." Eyes continued to stare. Then to his book. Then back to her again. There was a pause and an incalculable look bared on his face before proceeding to glare this time.
"Now what are you going to do with all of this mess?" he croaks slowly, careful with his words. He points to his book utterly disappointed.
"I-I didn't mean to bump on what you were writing. I hope to make it up to you." Amy said begrudgingly at the last part. She doesn't want to waste time today since she needs to find Sonic as soon as possible. HE has an upcoming tournament and he's seen nowhere at all from the venue! Where could he possible be?---
"Make it up to me, you say?" the stranger asks. He puts his pen down and taps his fingers on the table. Amy gulped, nervously sweating from this hedgehog's threatening aura. Yet still, she wouldn't feel much harm from him at all. She just knows that he wouldn't hurt her weirdly enough.
"It'd be nice if I had a ghost writer. *I* dictate about the contents." He flips his book, almost covered with so much ink stains.
"YOU write on it." He points to Amy then to his book. She has no idea on how to write.
'How on earth am I going to write. Much less have the time to be working with you?!' she thought. She had her hands ravaging her hair. And suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blue figure from the window. And they're ordering from a hotdog stand. Could it be?
"You're probably thinking how this is going to be arranged? Don't worry I've got you covered." He whips out his used napkin on the table and hands Amy his pen. Amy holds his fountain pen but she was distracted. She got other things to worry about like that blue hedgehog from afar already eating his 10 chilidogs. She is determined.
"Just write your number here." He taps on the napkin. Amy didn't think twice about anything she just wanted to get out and give that blue hedgehog an earful of her nagging. She wrote on his napkin quick and easy.
"Yeah yeah, we'll talk about this later. Bye!" She turned around ready to leave until her arm got caught by the stranger. Her emerald-colored eyes focused solely on him. His eyes staring back with a level focus.
"Expect a call from me, Rose." He hoarsed then removes his hand from her arm. Amy saw the blue figure blur past their cafe. She holds her wrist hurt from his handling then consequently left with an irritated look. She still feel his eyes boring into her back.
"What a weirdo." She whispered running out of the cafe.
'And h-he knew my name! Did he also ASK for my number just now?'
How is the world coming into for Amy Rose?
a/n: i just made this story now to support the drawing. should i do a comic of it now too? let me know!!! and maybe you guys wanna continue this story...?
306 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Lisa-Marie
Big Bunny + The Return Flight (in case you want to catch up!)
Warnings: 18+, exhibitionism (public rehearsal, but no-one else is watching/or sees), elvis is a panty thief for no reason other than it’s now totally canon in my head that he continually stole knickers, fingering, mentions of drug use + abuse, oral (v receiving, p mentioned), jealousy, p in v sex, the briefest mention of a gun threat, references to elvis’ ill health. this is somehow the least-bunny fun + plottiest, while also the smuttiest so uhhh enjoy the angst at the end?
Director Elvis is linked where the scene goes in the middle of this, however there have been some minor adjustments to the opening + closing paragraphs to make it fit *just right* and so they’ve been inserted here.
wc: 12k
Pls forgive me for the longest author note ever:
I went waaaay too far into attempting to make the timeline totally accurate; to the extent that I was noting down what city each night when i wasn’t even referencing them but honestly it was stressing me out so much that I gave up and removed a lot of the references - so this is *mostly* accurate in the general tour dates and vibes but not entirely because … this isn’t a biography, it’s smut with a lil teeny weeny bit of plot.
Confession time! I was and am super unhappy with The Return Flight, there was so much in it that I was excited to share but I think my writing is off and I’m not super sure why, which affected my motivation for this A LOT so apologies for the fact this took a literal months. But hopefully you’ll all think it was worth it! And hopefully a lesser wait for the fourth and final part.
Anyway, I might return Elvis onto the Big Bunny plane for a little spin-off fun but for now, enjoy bunny still being referred to as Bunny even though, by half-way through this, she is no longer a bunny.
October 1974.
You’re awake before him, gently shaking his shoulder as he groaned into the fur comforter that he didn’t want to wake up yet. He eventually shoves you hard enough that you decide it’s probably safer just to leave him as he is, pulling yourself together and redressing instead - he’s still got his eyes closed when you slip out. Ten minutes later you get a note passed to you with details about where to meet them for the pre-show rehearsal but you don’t actually get the chance to see him again, too distracted with dealing with all the matters of the disembarkation and cleaning. After you’re done you change as quickly as you possibly can, ignoring the questions from the other girls about where you’re going - practically sprinting to catch a cab.
He’s already on the stage when you walk in, pacing about - blocking the show as best they can in preparation to allow for the lights crew to have some idea of where he might be at any moment. He looks marvellous - absolutely gorgeous, his hair back but essentially left to do what it likes, all fluffy and soft looking. Eyes bright underneath his tinted glasses. He’s dressed in a white shirt, cuffs like a pirate, damp see-through sweat patches evident when he raises his arms, filigree studded belt, huge against his stomach, blue stones glinting in the lights. You feel your mouth water and tummy start to flip just at the sight of him. He smiles when he sees you, with your tiny little halter dress on, chilly in the cold air of the auditorium at the venue. The breeze causes you to wrap an arm around yourself a little self-consciously as he waves you closer to the stage. You're practically leaning on the edge when he kneels down in front of you and you get a sudden flash of what it must feel like to be a girl at his concert. Someone who hadn't had the luxury of falling asleep beside him, or the feel of his palms against theirs. The feeling of being forced to look up at him, his head backlit by the lights, a halo like he's the goddamn messiah. That feeling of desperately pining for a single moment of his attention.
“Ah-ha! lil Bun-Bun! C’mon up here,” He puts an arm down before retracting it, looking you over more carefully, a note of stern shock in his tone,
“Good lord! That might be more r’vealing than your lil bunny get-up. Uh - here!” He gropes around the floor for his jacket before he thrusts it at you, and you look at it with amusement, it’s a rainbow. Rainbow fringe. It’s truly one of the most preposterous things you’ve ever seen in your life. He grumbles as he holds it out,
“Don’t need every man in here to be starin’ at you. Got work to do - don’t need ‘em bein’ distracted.” You don’t think you’re particularly scantily clad, you’re certainly showing a fair amount of leg but you’re far more covered up than Playboy enterprises would like you to be had you been on shift. But still, it was chilly, so you shrug it on gratefully. The soft leather caresses your arms, encasing you in his thick scent, it’s heavy on your shoulders and big enough that the fringe tassel tickles your thigh.
“Uh Hi, Where-“ You wonder if you should even ask, “Where’d this come from?” You shake your arms out, making the fringe dance.
“Oh - it was a gift,” He grins at you, lips all crooked in his sheer delight, “You like it?” He clearly loves it. So you lean into the absurdity and realise that what you’re about to say wasn’t even really a lie.
“Uh. You know what, yeah I do,” You giggle as you shimmy a little making the strands swing. “I love it.” He looks at you fondly before he leans over the edge of the stage, tugging you up with a grunt.
“Glad you could make it doll, been waiting for you.” You smile back at him, pleased as anything that he’s laying on the charm but that underneath you can still sense the sincerity in his voice.
“Thank you for inviting me.” He pulls you close to him and you brace yourself with a hand on his belt, feeling the weight of the buckle against your fingertips. He reaches down to grasp your hand, pulling it up to press a kiss against it. It’s intimate and gentlemanly and you feel like you’re in a period drama, feeling your chest heave as your breath catches in your throat at the movement, and you’re helpless to do anything but gaze into his eyes. You glance down, eyes catching on the wide white band on his wrist, just above his diamond encrusted ‘Elvis’ bracelet.
You stroke his wrist gently before looking up at him with a questioning brow raised. He kicks his foot out to show you that beneath his gently flaring trousers there’s a matching white band on each of his ankles.
“It, uh, it mimics the weight of the ‘suit, gets me used to it for the performing.” He flicks a wrist, “And, uh, gotta try and get some of this weight off.” He pats his stomach, gripping the side harshly, “No-one wants to see a big doughy ol’ Elvis.” He shakes his wrists at you, and you’re mortified at the fact that it makes you squeeze your thighs, drool pooling in your mouth forcing you to swallow hard. Something about the way the rings on his fingers glint under the stage lights, the way the buckle makes the tiniest little metallic clang, feels akin to being shown a hidden sliver of skin. Makes you think all sorts of things. Of the weight of them around his wrists, of the possibility of them around yours, weighing you down, wrapped around your ankles too, making you heavy and pliable. Or his belt around your middle, the huge buckle pinning you in whatever position he chose. You don’t realise how low your eyelids have slid at this line of thinking until he laughs,
“God - you got them dirty thoughts written all over your face Bunny, this is a respectable r’hearsal, don’t you go getting any ideas now.” He wags a finger at you, you feel like you’re being hypnotised watching it.
“Go on now - hop over there for me, sit yourself down, just watch the show baby.” He slaps your ass, causing you to yelp as he catches your bare thigh, while he grips your upper arm and ‘helps’ to lower you down gently, almost missing his huff of laughter in response. You have to take a second after you're on the ground forcing a deep breath feeling your heartbeat between your thighs.
You take a seat where he’d pointed, content to try and settle down and watch him practice. It’s gorgeous to watch, he struts about the stage, breaking into gospel every now and again, making you smile at the clear little flashes of joy on his face. You’d considered if it was going to be boring, contemplated even bringing a magazine with you but now you were here you can’t imagine being able to concentrate on anything but him. Every now and again he cracks a joke, changing the lyrics to something dirty and tossing you a wink, laughing back at the boys who all join in like a pack of wild hyenas. It’s different to how he is in private, yet shockingly the same - there’s flashes of the insecurity you caught on the last flight, a quietness to him while he waits for a song to be set up or a wire to be fixed. But also an exaggerated boyishness to him, playing the jester for men who don’t seem to be aware he’s putting it on.
He calls a break after you’ve been there about an hour, and he slides himself off the stage to walk over to you. You were going to try and play it cool but you can’t stop yourself from gushing at him;
“You sound wonderful. I can’t wait to see the show tonight.” He smiles, a little bashfully,
“Yeah? I can see you wigglin’ your yittle hips from all the way over there,” He narrows his eyes at you, crinkles forming as his high cheekbones move, “ ‘just wonderful’, ‘s that all I am?”
“Well you’re not - ” You squirm a little under his line of questioning and consistent stare, suddenly feeling a bit too hot in his jacket, “- not bad to look at. You’re so different out here than on the plane.”
“In a good way?” You hum back a non-committal noise and though his brow wrinkles a little he lets it go. Instead leaning back on the chair in front of you, feet crossing between your legs. He folds his arms across his chest, your eyes track the bands on his wrists again and when you look up he’s smirking at you watching him. You can’t take it any longer and his smile grows wider watching you shrug his jacket back off, letting it hang over the back of the chair, fringe tickling your arms as it falls,
“Let’s make this more interesting for you huh, must be boring having to wait for all this - ‘n I can see you’re all fired up for me doll.” You look around, but he’s blocking your view forcing you to focus on him even more, as if he wasn’t already the only thing you could see.
“Oh no, it’s plenty fascinating enough El honestly,” He shakes his head, magnanimously as if he’s doing you a favour,
“No, no, must be boring for an exciting lil girl like you.” He taps his chin almost pantomime-esque in its overdramatic nature.
“Hmm… what shall we do to keep it entertaining.” You squirm silently begging him to stop drawing your attention to his wrists. He bends down, unstrapping the weights from his ankles,
“They’re gonna be a bit big on you. But still,” He kneels down, like he’s the prince and you’re Cinderella, tapping your foot to make you lift it up for him. He slips it onto your ankle, letting it fall down over the top of your foot as the weight drags it down. You wiggle your foot - it’s not particularly heavy, you could definitely still walk and run in them - as was probably their intended use. But they made you feel very … aware, made you notice whenever you wanted to move your leg. He grabs your right leg now, doing the same, placing it back down when he was finished, your legs wide. You glance down at him, realising that your dress was certainly too short for this. You try to close your legs but he stops you with a hand to your knee.
“No, no, darlin’, leave ‘em where they are. That’s gonna be your job ok baby? You’re gonna keep these yittle legs spread, and when you try to wiggle around again these-“ He taps one of the weights “ ‘ll remind you to keep still.” You hiss back at him,
“Elvis - someone’s gonna, you gotta get up - they’re all gonna think we’re up to no good, don’t want - I don’t wanna get you in trouble.” He grins up from between your legs, spreading them further. You cringe a little, feeling the air now brush against your uncovered underwear, feel your wetness start to drool onto the fabric despite the embarrassment.
“Ain’t gonna be no trouble ‘round here little one. ‘Member I’m in charge.” He takes a second to leer at you, and your thighs twitch at him staring straight up your skirt. Finally, he stands up, using your thighs for balance, clutching at them on his way up, you gasp at the firm grip. He leans down over you, one arm bracketed on the back of your chair, and the sudden scent of him, stronger than what was lingering on his jacket almost overpowers you - his cologne almost too much, like walking past a men’s locker room. He leans down to murmur in your ear, his other hand going down to brush against your hip, feeling through your dress for the waistband of your panties.
“C’mon Bunny slip ‘em off, let me have ‘em as a good luck charm. I haven’t got any of yours yet.” Your legs slip a little closer together and while he looks down and smirks he allows it,
“You got a collection?” You ask shocked, tilting your chin up at him, he grins back at you, boyishly and amused ignoring the question.
“C’mon! Hurry up, gotta get back to work in a second baby, want you all bare - so its nice and easy for you to slip a lil hand up there, want you to rub yerself every time you like what ‘m doin, ‘till you’re all silly with it. Okay doll?” He says it like its a totally sane request, and you have to wonder if he’s of completely sound mind. You glance around, double checking that the building is practically empty, and where there are people that they’re all preoccupied with the stage rather than glancing back at you sat in the middle of the row a few lines behind the mafia. You roll your eyes, heart going almost a little too fast, but still obediently lift your hips up to tug your panties down and off, they catch on the weight on the way down,
“No need to be shy doll, I’ve seen it all before.” He winks, as he bends down to pick them up, glancing straight up your skirt as he does. You flinch a little at the sight of them in his hand, if you’d known Elvis was gonna be taking them home you’d have put on something a little sexier, but you can’t imagine that any change could have made his face more gleeful, as he stares down at the wet spot on them before slipping them straight into his pocket.
“You ‘member what you’re meant to be doin’ now.” He whispers in your ear, pressing what would look like an otherwise fairly chaste kiss to your cheek, before sauntering back up to the stage.
You nervously fumble the hem of your dress, delicately sliding a hand up, trying not to noticeably flinch as your fingers brush over yourself. You wonder if it wouldn’t have made more sense to slip your arm down the side of the wide arm-hole of the dress, more subtle perhaps? But all you can hope is that the the way the chairs are placed in front of you obscures your actions should anyone look back. From anyone that wasn’t up high on the stage. You can practically feel his laser focus up your skirt, you’re far enough away that you’re sure he can’t see anything in detail, perhaps not even the way your slickness glistens against your skin, but just the gentle motion of your fingers teasing yourself. There’s a clang as the metal inside the cuff on your ankle knocks against the chair leg and you freeze, anxiously glancing around to check no one had heard. Elvis’ head had whirled around at the noise from where he’s been talking to someone at the side of the stage and you can see the way his face contorts into a knowing smirk.
You didn’t think you’d be into this level of wanton exhibitionism, but the sudden fear that had jumped through you had translated straight into excitement, and you could feel the pulse of arousal swirling with the butterflies in your stomach. You brush your fingers more confidently, rolling your hips with the motion, not even really aware of how much your body was moving, but simply going with it. Your eyes briefly slip closed as you rub a singular finger down your self, trying to build the anticipation, but you can’t resist moving your hand to play with your clit when your vision clears and you witness him moving about the stage - dancing, thrusting. He pauses while they reset something - the mic perhaps, or the lights, and you can feel the thrum of your climax growing; the fear of being spotted, the sheer desire for him, the feel of your feet firmly planted on the floor, weights holding them down, enough to bring you closer and closer.
He starts singing again but if someone had had a gun to your head though you wouldn’t have been able to tell them what, and as you start to move your fingers again you make eye contact with him, swallowing a moan as you watch him attempt to surreptitiously adjust himself. You should feel embarrassed, you think, but instead a sudden boldness creeps over you at the evidence of his undivided attention, and you instead spread your legs wider, your skirt riding into the little roll of your stomach, completely exposing yourself. You run your fingers against yourself, feeling them slip as you gather wetness and drag it up, reducing the friction on your clit when you finally let your finger brush over it again.
Elvis is stood still now, ostensibly staying put so they could manually hold the lights for him to sing a ballad, but in reality in the perfect position to watch you. You watch his face flush as he misses a note, watching you finally dip your finger into your practically dripping entrance. You’re made away of the weight on your feet when your legs try to jerk and your body compensates by crunching in on yourself a little. Making it startlingly obvious to anyone watching, hopefully just Elvis, what you’ve just done.
You let his voice wash over you, and your eyes close as you go to add a second finger, thumb moving to tease your clit with little circling touches. Your climax comes over you suddenly and unexpectedly, a slightly unplanned harder touch directly over your clitoris and the combination of your fingers curling inside yourself sending shockwaves down your spine and belly. You continue to touch yourself through it - dragging it out for a moment. Until you just know that if you push yourself any further you’re going to scream and you have to slow the pace, gently stroking yourself as you slowly come down from the high. Your head had fallen back and with a little effort you manage to bring it back around, shifting yourself upright as you do.
When you make eye contact he winks, mimics licking his fingers, and you look down at your own sticky pair, before following his mimed instruction. You meet his eyes again and watch him trail off mid-sentence as his chest heaves taking you in, squinting under his glasses to try and focus on your fingers leaving your mouth. You make sure for a second that you let your tongue peek out, watching him gulp in response. Before hastily rubbing your hand against your dress, thankful for the colourful pattern that hides all sin. He sets the microphone back onto its stand, slowly, deliberately. Then, he motions you to the stage, and when you make no attempt to move, fear shooting through you that you’re going to be leaving a wet patch behind, he makes the request vocal.
“C’mere Bunny, can’t see you all the way over there.” You rapidly close your legs, weights knocking against each other, and sit stock straight as several of the boy’s heads spin to look at you. Elvis breaks into song, “C’mon and be my little good luck charm.” While pointing to a spot in the front row. You swallow hard, trying to make your limbs cooperate again, but it just looks like pure defiance, and he’s frowning at you when you try to plead with your eyes.
His tone changes, “Ain’t gonna ask again honey,” You flinch as several other heads in front of you turn around to stare. You trip a little as you stand, forgetting about the extra weight on your ankles and when you look up Elvis’ smirking straight at you.
“Can take them off now baby, leave ‘em on the chair, someone’ll clean it up later.” He winks and you suck in a gasp as you do as he directed, the implication of someone having to clean up both the weights and the seat of the chair. You can feel the heat in your cheeks at the complete lack of secrecy, with your mind all muddled you don’t have the capacity to consider that the other people in the room wouldn’t understand the double entendre.
“There we are, right there Bunny,” He points at the same spot again and you gratefully stumble down there, collapsing into it. You can feel your cheeks blazing and you clasp your thighs together, trying to tell yourself to just watch Elvis and not pay any attention to how wet you still are, or the embarrassment of being ordered around in front of everyone.
You sit there primly, for the rest of the rehearsal, ignoring your newfound nakedness under your skirt - unable to draw your eyes off of his wrists, his waist, now you know how those innocuous little white bands feel. Waiting to be dismissed, sent home - although you hope that you might get another invitation. He finishes, stripping off the weights as he’s laughing and thanking the sound guys - although shouting back at them as he stalks across the stage to where you’re sat to the side of the front row.
“That interference needs to be cut by tonight, it’s messin’ with my ears, I don’t care if you have to go out and buy a whole new fucking system - just get it done.” Despite his harsh words by the time he’s kneeling in front of you he’s smiling slightly bashfully. His eyes crinkling at the edges as he mutters to you -
“Don’t know why I keep ‘em around.” He offers you his hand, pulling with his suddenly weightless feeling arms to yank you up with him, clearly overcompensating without the weight, causing you to stumble with the force of it. His arm comes around to steady your waist. He stands there, legs spread and solid, holding you to him, brushing your hair off your neck to whisper in your ear.
“Wanna come back with me, honey? C’mon baby,” He’s pleading with you, entreating you to follow him, babying tone convincing you as if you even needed encouragement. “How - How’d you feel about, I got some things we could watch, we could, could - I sure would love to tape ya, baby.” You lean back, brow furrowing as your mind runs through what he’s suggesting.
(Director Elvis + Model Bunny)
But still, after some consideration you agree, and before long you’re relaxing on the bed with him, taking in the moments of quiet before he’s got to head out into the screaming crowds, performing for the pleasure of the girls and women. He’s magnificent in the flesh, masterful in his ability to command the ultimate attention of the audience. But still, as wonderful as it is to watch him, rhinestones glinting in the stage lights, you have to admit to yourself that you much preferred him in the somewhat faux intimacy of the rehearsal.
By the time you’re all filing up the steps to the plane once more it’s night again, looking forward to a short day-break for you all after the busy past couple of days. Elvis is exhausted, and though he’s gentle with you still you can tell he’s had enough. He wearily waves to the other girls, calling you over to ask for some food before disappearing. You push the cart into where he’s ensconced himself in the bedroom to discover him in the bathroom - door open, and you can’t help but take a peek. Your eyes catch on the little pill bottles lined up on the side, the man himself shaking seemingly every bottle possible into his palm until there was a little cocktail of medication contained in his hand. He takes them with a swig of water and jumps when he makes eye contact with you in the mirror.
“Jeez honey, make a noise next time.” His tone isn’t harsh, it’s not annoyed - but it is solid, serious. You frown, the floor was carpeted but the rickety wheels of the cart still made some noise.
“Oh, uh, sorry - didn’t mean to scare you.” You laugh a little bit in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. He doesn’t respond. “Uh, I’ve got, there’s hamburgers, and sandwiches and uh-“ He’s wiping his hands on a hand towel when he comes out of the bathroom, throwing it back onto the floor behind him when they’re dry.
“S’ok Bunny, that’s good. Just-just leave it over here.” He sits on the edge of the bed, pointing to a spot within arm’s reach. He’s in the tracksuit again, out of the jumpsuit from the show, out of the the sharp outfits you were now used to seeing him in. But he still looks appealing, if not moreso now. Soft, approachable and above all else - cuddly. He’s evidently exhausted, face pale after removing the stage makeup, and he shuffles back on the bed. He’s starting to slur his words a little as he reaches for a sandwich,
“Come. Come sit here baby… come sit here with me.” He pats the side of the bed next to him as he shuffles further up. You do so and he tucks a hand into the crease of your stomach and thigh, thumb brushing in circles, a gently squeezing grip.
“Here.” He holds out a sandwich for you and you take it gratefully, “Gotta…feed you up while I got the chance.” His head is starting to slip forward as his eyes fall closed. You pat his arm, leaning over to take the parchment out of his hand. He grips your wrist, forcing you to put your sandwich down too as he slides down the bed to lie down, tugging you into him.
“S’ok El, just, just close your eyes. You did so good today.” He hums, a little pleased noise like he’s somehow not used to being praised still. He pulls you closer, arm wrapping under and around you, pulling you tight to him.
“That’s it Bunny, that’s it, just - just gonna rest my eyes for a moment, doll. Be…be ready for action in a mo’ - just, ju-“ You shush him, his eyes were fluttering closed, arm clenching around you and you felt it relax a second later as he drops off into sleep.
There’s a few more flights scheduled, but they’re busy ones - short flights with barely enough time to get the men fed and watered, let alone enjoy any other kind of extracurricular activities - there’s a hasty blowjob and an attempt for the world’s quickest round of intercourse and that’s it.
There’s a break for a little while before he cancels the next flight on Big Bunny so you only see him once more, and that time he barely acknowledges you; exhausted from a show he locks himself in the bedroom and doesn’t appear until the plane is touching down. You wave goodbye to him, a little melancholy and hating yourself for wishing that he make some grand gesture to prove it had all meant something, instead he winks at you as he leaves down the steps, whispering a
“Thanks for takin’ such good care of me, Bunny.” As he went.
That’s the last you hear from him. For little over six months you hear nothing else. You’re almost immediately thrust back into the reality of the normal world and you’re kept busy enough that he doesn’t pass through your mind too often.
Occasionally, when you see a tour announcement pop up in the tabloids, or from a fan-club membership that you totally didn’t take out in a pitiful attempt to keep up-to-date with his life, you wonder about him. About whether you were a bit of fun to flirt with, to tease, to sleep with for a couple of days - a distraction from the real life, like all the bunnies were intended to be, or if he’d meant any of what he’d said. The thing is, even if you were curious, you could never know - despite being so intimate, so close to him; had he lied? Did he help every girl through a panic attack with meditation? There no longer felt like six degrees of separation between you, no longer like you were travelling in similar circles, there now felt more like a hundred degrees; what were you supposed to do; ring the operator in Memphis and ask for Elvis’ number? Pull Hef aside on the next flight and ask him? Don’t be so ridiculous, so clingy you tell yourself, disgusted at your inability to let it go.
Time passes, as it does, and though you somehow feel like you can’t escape him, ultimately you have. Months have passed and you’re busy - being promised a promotion, training a couple of new girls and it means that you don’t get to go home for what feels like weeks.
You finally get back to your apartment, relieved to be there for at least a week, with a stack of mail waiting as tall as your arm. You take your time enjoying the peace and by the evening it feels like you can relax for the first time in a long while, glass of wine poured, comfortable little short pyjama set instead of the bunny-approved corset or dress. You’re just starting to open the first of what looks like several catalogues of clothes you’ll never get a chance to wear when the phone rings.
You glance over at the clock, surprised that anyone would be calling you at half eleven at night, when as far as you’re aware none of your friends or family even know you’re home yet. You consider not answering, too content with your night, but it rings insistently so you drag the handset closer, accepting the call.
“Fuckin’ finally,” You’re immediately taken aback by the annoyed exasperation of the voice on the other end of the line,
“Where’ve you been?” You start to protest, to question who on earth is questioning you and explain that you’ve been working but the voice doesn’t give you the chance.
“Listen, Boss’ got a new plane, he’s uh, calling it the Lisa-Marie,” he shouts to someone on his end, “I don’t know man, thought it would sweeten the deal if she knew he’d already named it! Like - ain’t that what you’re supposed to do if you’re negotiatin’ - let ‘em know you have a name?” Right. So, Elvis. Someone is calling about Elvis’ plane. You’re trying to comprehend that when he continues,
“Sorry. Anyway, he wants you on it. He won’t hear otherwise.” He pauses, “Permanently. On call whenever and wherever he needs to fly,” As if he can sense this isn’t the most attractive prospect, “but you’ll uh, all expenses paid for, apartment in Memphis, the whole shebang, you’ll be well taken care of.” You take a second to process that,
“Uh, I don’t quite know what to say - do, do you need to know right away?” He chuckles down the phone at you,
“Well - uh, no, but, he’s goin’ on tour soon and we need the flights staffed by then so….” He trails off, and you know from your limited experience with Elvis and his methods that this means, actually yes, we do need to know right now, and we’re not actually giving you a choice. You take a deep breath, still confused as to why you’re getting this call out of the blue, thinking that you’re going to regret it if you do, regret it if you don’t.
“Oh, uh, ok fine - look I’ll be at one of the offices tomorrow; I’ll give you a call and you can fax me over the information for the dates and things?”
“No need, we need you by July.” You pause, that’s… barely a month away,
“Ok, I’ve got a three week notice period though, I can’t just -”
“We’ll take care of it with Hugh direct.” You laugh incredulously - is that how they think it works?
“Hugh Hefner isn’t my boss - how high up do you think I am? I’m a jet bunny for god's sake.” There’s silence on the other end of the line as if they'd expected you to feel cowed, or awed by their famous friend. You can hear them whispering before the voice returns, just as confident as before;
“Well, we’ll take care of it.” You frown but you’re not sure what else to do but agree - at least this way of something falls through you can claim you had no clue about any of this.
“Ok, but you’ll have to ask for Ellen at the office and I’ve got a notice of -“ You’re cut off by him,
“We’ll make it happen.” Well, you couldn’t say more than what you’d said - you’ll just have to hope they do enough that it all gets sorted somehow, and without totally burning all your bridges.
“Right, well then, -”
“Tickets for your flight on the 26th June to Memphis will be waiting at the airport. Someone’ll pick you up there.”
“Uh ok, um, well then that’s -”
“Thanks again, you’re a doll, bye!” The phone hangs up and you’re left holding the receiver wondering what on earth you’ve just agreed to.
——
It turns out you’ve agreed to a stewardess job pretty similar to any other. You’ve got a cute new little uniform, and it was indeed little, sleeveless and hem skimming the middle of your thighs but Elvis had indeed fulfilled his promise - it was stretchy. With a scarf around your neck and tall boots it almost didn’t feel much different to your bunny outfits. In fact it all would have felt quite similar if it weren’t for the sudden increase in responsibility you were facing. There was another girl who worked on board here and there, but whether as a cost-saving measure (although you couldn’t fathom the necessity considering the gold sinks on the plane) or simply the knowledge that one stewardess and the pilots were enough for a plane of this size you weren’t often put on the plane together. It meant that you were often working alone and solely responsible for the cabin. It was certainly an adjustment, you’d been safety trained before - of course - but you’d never really had to use it; the focus of your jet bunny role had pretty much been to cater to the whims of the people on board. Like a Barbie doll you’d had too many jobs to count, and the responsibility to look good while doing so. On the plane you’d had to be waitresses, dancers, chefs and bartenders but less so a safety officer.
And it’s so strange, you’d not been expecting much but you had been anticipating at least an acknowledgement, or something? But instead on the first flight Elvis collapses in a seat, clearly out of his mind and ignores you completely, There’s this, somewhat odd, hierarchy evident and you somehow just know that you shouldn’t approach him like this - trusting that his needs are being catered for by his entourage. But you can’t help but glance over at him, inspecting that he looks paler than before - almost sallow-like in comparison to the fit tan of the first time you’d seen him in the flesh. So you do your job, and see them on and off the plane with nary a word exchanged between the two of you.
You fall into this habit pretty quickly, flight after flight. When he’s awake his eyes skim over you, unfocused and never stopping for long. You hate yourself for how upset it makes you, he hadn’t owed you anything and yet you still feel like you’d signed up for something under false pretences. It keeps you up at night, wondering how you could have been so stupid - you’d given up a stable salary, a life and an exciting one at that, for this - for him. With every month that passes you’re more and more aware that you’re creeping towards your next birthday and the chance to return to Playboy in any capacity is dwindling. They aren’t shy about declaring there’s an age limit. You feel like you’re trapped, in a never-ending cycle - flight, sort the plane while they’re at a concert, flight, fitful sleep in a hotel, flight, flight, flight.
But then, like magic, two weeks before your birthday - two weeks before the deadline you’d come up with in your head to quit he notices you. He’d been looking better for a few days, on an upward swing or so it would seem, and seems significantly more aware than he had been. He almost does a double-take, as if seeing you for the first time. It’s then that, suddenly, Georgia - the other girl, starts to come on board with you a lot more frequently - taking care of the other guys while Elvis not so surreptitiously pulls you into his excessively decorated bedroom.
It’s not the first time you’ve been in there, you clean the damn place after all, but it’s the first time that you’re able to look at it with fresh eyes, through the lens of the awe of a girl being invited back there as a guest. You feel the bend of the fibres of the plush carpet underfoot, against the smooth sole of your boot.
He sits down, patting his thigh, “Give me your lil footsie baby, them little footsie sooties, put ‘em up here.” You look at him slightly askance, fondly, but still do as he asks, putting first one foot up on his lap, letting him unzip your boot, tugging it off and then your other one when he taps your ankle. He looks up at you, as he holds onto your foot, and you know you’re both getting flashbacks to that first flight, when he’d tugged your heels off, got caught in your pantyhose, the joy of that first time. He grips your wrist, forcing you to kneel onto and then shuffle across the bed as he tugs you while sliding back himself. Pulling you're both placed far enough to the headboard that he sinks down into a lying position and drags you down with him.
“Elvis - I, I, I don’t know what -“
“Shhh baby, don’t worry about anything, just, just feel it with me - you feel that?” He shifts to hold your hand, “Feel that energy? ‘S right between us darlin’ girl, right there.” You’re not really sure what he’s talking about, but you had been feeling the thrum of a connection, willing him to pick up on your silent desires, so you can’t deny a strength of feeling there.
“I feel it.” He hums at you, happily, still holding onto your hand, threading his fingers through yours and pressing his nose against your cheek. He nuzzles at you for a moment, starting off gentle and slow, before rolling you into him and catching your mouth with his. He’s sure of himself, pressing himself skilfully against you - you’re more than aware that this is a skill he’s nurtured, learnt - been judged upon, almost as much as his singing and it shows, it feels no different to the first time you’d kissed. A masterclass in the right moves, just the right amount of bite, just the right amount of tongue, and it makes you buck into him. You’re suddenly desperate for him to break out of the cultured practiced mould, feel him lose control and slip. You gasp, trying to provoke it in him, biting down on his lip a fraction too hard. He shifts his grip to your neck, clutching it to pull you back a little,
“Careful, honey, careful.” You can feel his lips move against your skin as he murmurs and it makes you shiver a little at the tickle of his breath. He kisses across your jaw, little sucking presses, before he returns once again to your mouth.
It’s hard not to assign more feeling or meaning to it than what it is, when he seems to do everything with such feeling. Not for the first time you wonder how it would be possible to be kissed at a concert and then have to continue to go about your life, acting as if nothing huge had happened, as if something totally earth-shattering hadn’t taken place. But then, you imagine, it’s probably not that different to what you have to do.
He pulls back a little, pushing himself up to be more on his knees than lying back, before he slips a hand down between you, pushing underneath your dress to pull at your panties, rubbing a finger on the outside. He pushes them against your folds, circling with his finger until a little damp patch is forming where he’s touching. He pulls them to one side, shimmying his hand underneath, a ring knocking against your thigh and catching on the fabric and your hair as he cups your mound. You reach a hand down yourself, brushing it over his trousers, but you’re slightly surprised to feel him still soft inside. He jerks his hand off of you, gripping your leg instead, shoving your hand away with his other.
You pat his face as it peers over the top of you, the creases in the corners of his eyes a little scrunched up in disappointment and his lips in a slight pout; as if he were trying to stop himself being upset.
“‘S ok El, You’ve still gotta perform tonight too -“ You go to tug your dress back down assuming there was no need for you to remain bare but his hand flies out, gripping your forearm and pushing it against your stomach.
“Take it all the way off,” You look nervously over at the unlocked bedroom door but obediently wiggle down a little, as best you can with his arm still locked over top of you to slither out of the dress. He shifts back down into a horizontal position, sliding himself further down, shirt crumpling with the motion, before gripping you with one hand on an arm and one on a leg, to hint at where he wants you to move to, tugging you until you’re in position, straddling him.
“El - seriously, I don’t think, it’s fine, it happens all the time it’s noth-“ He cuts you off by sharply pulling, with hands gripping right on your hipbones, you closer to him - forcing you to stumble on your knees even further up his body.
“‘Nough of that.” In that wonderful growly voice only he seems able to achieve, he lifts his chin up to press a kiss against your inner thigh. “Can still, still make you feel good Bunny, baby. Still make that pretty yittle cunt o’ yours feel good.” He yanks you so you’re perfectly placed, hands gripping the navy velvet headboard to hold yourself steady. “Just gonna have a lil taste, ok darling? Just needta give me a little more time. Let, let it kick in.” You nod frantically, although you’re not 100% certain what you’ve got to let ‘kick in’.
“Yes, god, yes. Sure.” The kiss, and his brief touches had been enough to turn you on, and you jerk as he holds your thighs to press a kiss against your now bare cunt,
“Oh, fuck.” Elvis laughs against you, and you can feel the vibration up your spine, thetickle sending sparks straight into your stomach. The sheer level of arousal makes you feel almost a little nauseous but you’re distracted by the feel of his tongue moving again, holding you tight to him with his grip on your thigh when the feeling makes you try to thrust out of his hold. You can feel twin bruises form from the thick bands of the ring on each of his hands and the twinge of pain when he lifts the pressure makes you gasp,
“Oh, Christ - Elvis, need, need you to,” You’re not sure if you were planning on asking him to let go, or hold you tighter - but you’re distracted by him shifting to suck down directly on your clit, briefly, just enough to make you choke on your own spit, before he releases, flattening his tongue and moving it down. Every time you clench or move you can feel his fingers digging tighter in and you can’t help but move, grinding onto his mouth and against his tongue. He pulls away, and you shift your hips slightly so you can look down at him, and your head tips back with a moan as he quirks a little grin at you. It’s utterly filthy the way his chin and mouth is glisteningly sticky and wet.
“You like that honey?” You nod, and he returns, surging forward to renew his efforts, your hips circling in response.
“Oh god, yes, don’t, oh, holy fuck, - don’t stop,” You can’t stop moving your hips, and part of you is briefly concerned that you might be suffocating him, but the larger part is more concerned with making sure he keeps licking right there until your building climax hits. His tongue is flicks between lapping at your vagina and your inner folds. Your hips are constantly moving and you grip the headboard even harder, feeling the fabric pile shift and flatten under your hold as he finally captures your little puffy clit in his lips again and sucks hard, reaching up to slip a finger inside you as he does.
Your lower back is starting to ache, thighs beginning to cramp but you can’t think about that, reaching down with one hand to comb through his hair, clutching at it as you thrust up and back, finally your climax rocking through you. He licks you through it, holding you open still, feeling you shudder around him, until you finally insistently tug on his hair enough to make him come away.
You dread to think what it must have sounded like on the other side of the door, the wet smacking having been all you could hear past the blood rushing through your own ears and you’re sure you couldn’t possibly have stayed silent. You watch him wipe his mouth with a sleeve, blushing the whole while before he slips out of the shirt. Fully exposing his bare chest and, finally, reaching down to unzip himself.
You’re sticky and soft when he reaches down, running a finger against you, opening you up to bump against you with his now, hard, cock. You’re not quite sure when it had happened, if it was a delayed reaction to a pill he took earlier, or if he simply was that turned on just by licking you to completion, but you’re not about to complain feeling how his head slips against your wetness, nudging at your clit before he angles himself down, bumping against your entrance.
“There he is, Bunny, got Lil’ Elvie here just for you baby, for my sweet lil - ah, bunny bun,”
Elvis pushes into you, a hand straying to stroke your labia on its way up to clutch at your waist, feeling the way you open up around him - for him. You groan at the sensation - it’s been a while, actually it’s been a long while; the last man you’d been with was the one currently pressing inside of you. He takes a moment to allow you to adjust, although you suspect it also allowed him a moment or two, either to calm himself down or encourage himself up.
“That’s it, honey, there we are, there we go, Oh Lord, here we are, I got you, gonna, gonna do such a good job, you just lie back. I got you, got -“
He’s fucking into you now, slowly, sweetly, accompanying each thrust with his mouth joining onto yours, and sloppy open-mouthed kisses against your jaw and neck. He’s trying to get the angle right, you can tell, but he’s decidedly less sure than he ever used to be, or least how you remember him. Taking longer to hit the right spot, and then almost immediately slipping away and losing it.
“Ah, that’s - that’s it, right there,” You almost cry out as he moves again, begging him in your mind to return to where he was.
Still, he’s not totally unskilled, and the motion of his body against yours, of the feel of his hand reaching down to play with clit, combined with the growling curses and praises falling from his lips, southern accent coming out harder as he loses himself in it, is enough for you to feel yourself start to shudder your way towards a second orgasm, clenching down onto him. That is, apparently, enough to set him off and he takes some time firmly rocking his hips into you, before, with a hand splayed on your tummy for balance, withdrawing fast to shoot across your stomach. He collapses there for a moment, lips in a pout and eyes closed from the sheer pleasure of the minute before.
He rolls off of where he’s pressed against you, where you’d welcomed being crushed under his weight, tummy pushed against yours, hairs tickling your own bare skin to flop onto his back. You watch his chest heave, eyes drawn to his tight little nipples, as he catches his breath back. You take a moment to swipe the cum off your belly with the edge of the bedspread, noting in your head to send it to the laundry later. You know you should be getting up to pee sooner rather than later but he’s holding out an arm to you, and you can’t bear the thought of refusing his offer. Instead curling into him with a sigh. He smells the same as you remember now, that same heady mix of sweat and sex, woodsy heavy cologne combined with the tint of smoke, and you hate how it sends flutters down your tummy again at how you feel a sense of familiarity from it. He murmurs into the top of your head, lips catching on your hair,
“You been here all along Bunny? Hopping around my plane?” You nod and you feel him grimace, “Didn’t recognise you without your ears, or your yittle tail.” You don’t mention that you very rarely wore ears on Big Bunny, and that he had in fact seen you both on and off the plane without them too. He tips your chin up to look at you and you make eye contact with his pair of guilt tinged blue eyes. Your nose wrinkles and he taps it with a finger, “Twitchy lil thing though still ain’t ya?” He pats your cheek, “Still gonna be my bunny? Ain’t got another bunny, got, got,” He stumbles over his words as he takes a breath in, clearly struggling to stay lucid enough to have the conversation, “got other girls, not got ‘Cilla no more, but got, got Linda … and, and - I got a whole list, baby, but no - you’re my only bunny.”
The thing is though, it’s never for long. You prefer the flights after a show to the ones before, he’s more awake before but he’s panicked like a tiger in a cage. It’s still difficult to tell what kind of Elvis you’ll be dealing with on any given night. There’ll be one flight where he’s perfect, drowsy from a show but awake and alert, flirty and fun, and then another where he sleeps for so long and so deeply that you worry he’ll never wake up. The worst are the ones where him and Dr Nick, his father or one of the other boys with that damned black bag disappear into the bedroom for the flight. He stumbles down the stairs after in a daze, clearly half out of his mind. The alternative - that you have to listen to his whimpering cries, that his body aches, that sleep won’t come to him - why won’t anyone listen to him? That he wants his mama, that everyone leaves him, “even my yittle yisa.” Is worse, it makes you wish for when he’s sedated or so over the top in his exuberance that you know his ‘vitamins’ have a lot to do with it. You don’t know how much longer you can silently pick up the pieces - cleaning up when he’s trashed the room in a rage, or left pill bottles littering the floor. Going in to him when he calls for you, acting as his waitress, nurse and on-call girlfriend all at once.
Linda accompanied him often, and you’re shooed out of the way of her keen eyes as they watch you a little too knowingly. She’s sophisticated and classy though, more than you would be in the situation. More than you are. You take the opportunity to swap with Georgia as often as you possibly can when you know she’s coming with him.
You’d avoided her too at first, often being the only one working on the little plane, not usually that many people on board - maybe ten at most, well within the capabilities of a single girl and the pilots. You hated that you felt the sting of jealousy, of worry that he was fooling around with her too, to the extent that when she, unprompted, had reassured you that she had not slept with him and nor would she ever sleep with him you had laughed it off. Pretending you had no idea what she was suggesting.
Linda though proved difficult to ignore. She was a presence - even when she wasn’t physically there - he was swearing to the boys they were through, broken up, done, and then would spend hours on the phone to her. He’d swear he didn’t give a shit about her anymore; just had to keep his promises to take care of her - but then a week later she’d appear on the plane with him. They’d sit cuddled together half the time, shouting and screaming for the other half. You had no idea how to react when she called you in to the bedroom, Elvis’ head pillowed on her thighs, dead asleep. She doesn’t ask you for much, a coffee and some water to be brought to them. You do so, still slightly surprised to be invited to intrude on what seemed like an overwhelmingly private moment. But then, a large part of your job is being invisible when necessary. You don’t expect to her acknowledge you when you return, but she does - she’s polite and courteous, but quiet, eyes never leaving his relaxed forehead. A cynical part of your brain wonders if it wasn’t intentional, if she didn’t purposefully call you in at that moment to prove she was different, but that line of thinking gets you nowhere. It’s not your place to be jealous.
Occasionally there’s other girls with him, you burn when Sheila comes aboard - you’d given up your cover dreams for this, and it feels like she’s the new kid in town - replacing you in every way. Better than you in every way, she’s pretty and lithe and young; you’re young and pretty too but you’re feeling it less and less. She’s above you - in the privileged position to sit at the side of the King while you have to settle for serving him and her. She had the cover, you had gotten pouring the drinks into branded glasses.
Elvis didn’t help how you felt - the first time she came on board he took it upon himself to personally introduce the two of you. He was sat with his legs spread wide, Sheila’s own legs over the top of his, an arm tucking her tight against his side out in the lounge area, the public display of affection almost too much for you to witness.
“Here she is!” He called out when you came around the corner of the half-dividing wall, and you balk a little before steeling yourself to walk over,
“Here I am.” You respond, flatly. He’d been particularly difficult recently, and your patience was wearing thin.
“Looksies - this here is my Sheila,” He raises her arm, she nods politely, “She’s - she’s a bunny too, she was on the cover.” You smile, what else can you do?
“Oh - wow, congratulations.” You nod at her, she’s silent.
“Two bunnies on the plane! My two bunnies together!” He laughs, and the tone and words immediately make you smart. There’s a cruel edge to it that you don’t quite understand, it’s not like you’ve ever turned him down or refused him, not like you’ve done anything to be treated second best - to have her paraded in front of you.
It makes your skin crawl, furious with every decision that led to this point, cursing those pretty blue eyes that you couldn’t refuse. Makes your skin crawl that he’d sworn you were his only bunny; and as ridiculous as it might seem, the evidence that that wasn’t true at all, that it was an empty promise makes you cry yourself to sleep for too many nights in a row. The first time you’d found a notelet, tucked under the bed having perhaps fallen out of a pocket or book,
“To Sheila,
Love you allways,
E.P.”
You take two weeks off, and debate whether you should even return, if it’s worth how it makes you feel. You don’t have time to see anyone else, and you’re not dating him. But then in some ways it makes sense all your emotions would be put onto him, you weren’t physically seeing anyone else, in general, exclusively cocooned in the Elvis Presley Show bubble. There is, you think after three glasses of red wine at home in your fancy new Memphis apartment, nothing else in your life. There is only Elvis. You wonder if you can use that as the excuse on your notice. You make yourself go back though, determined to get a grip of yourself, of your feelings, give it one last try.
It’s short-lived with Sheila, at least from your perspective up in the air above the reality of the ground below. Ultimately, you feel you somehow won. And although he may, every now and again, bring some pretty young thing up into the air with him or have Linda come on board during some of the tour he’s fundamentally alone again - the same group of men his only constant companions. You form your own opinion of them, watching two of them cringe at the sight of the little black bag of pills and needles and two others writing his signature out on blank cheques.
You’re horrified, making eye contact with Charlie, you think, you know their names now you need to start to use them. You open your mouth to say something, but uncertain about what, but he catches your eye, shaking his head and you wonder if there’s anyone on this plane willing to stick up for him. You’re forced ot consider if it’s something you can do too - turning a blind eye to all of this or if you’re going to be forced to leave because you were unwilling to do so.
But then, there’s a few months where he behaves differently, and he looks different - his face brightens up, and though you don’t dislike how he looked before you can appreciate that he’s slimmed down a little, looking less bloated than he had before. A renewed interest in the happenings of the group. Suddenly, he’s interested in you again - ensconcing you in his bedroom, telling the boys to stop telling you what to do or asking you for things,
“It’s not her job - her job is looking after me.” And you do, distracting him as best you can when that’s what he’s after - reassuring him when it’s not. You have to talk him down from a panic at one point and you’re thankful to have the memory of him calming you down to use as your guideline, even if you find irony in being the one trusted to provide the measured breaths.
The sex though, is still almost non-existent; he apologises constantly, and at one point you try to have a conversation about it, lying with him in the bed, cuddled together.
“I’m not your girlfriend, E, you don’t needta explain yourself to me,” He hushes you,
“You’re my girl as much as any of ‘em.” It’s your turn to stroke his cheek,
“I don’t need to be, you don’t hafta say that to me.” He just hums at you, tucking you further under his arm and cupping your face to his chest. That’s when the gifts start rolling in, before you’d even arrived back at your apartment for a few days off, finding on the doorstep a gift bag filled with lingerie. You smile when you see it, but you’re a little puzzled - he’s not even seen you in your underwear in months. Was this a hint? Were you meant to be the one putting out? You took it as you thought he intended it, picking out and wearing the little white set you found in there, but you were unsurprised when nothing came to fruition on the flight. You tentatively bring it up the next time you’re curled up next to him - the flight not really long enough to justify a nap but happy to be tucked up in his chest. You’re drawing circles with a fingertip through the gaping neckline of his shirt, absentmindedly thinking of how best to bring it up.
“El, what’s -, not that I’m not appreciative but you don’t needta buy me things - especially, especially if you’re not gonna get anything out of it.” You refuse to look at him, anxious for his response.
“Wasn’t that what you told me before? That you don’t dress for me?” You can feel him already grinning at you in anticipation of your reaction and you laugh, surprised he’d even remember that conversation from a year and a half ago.
“Well, You weren’t really my boss then.” He chuckles, wrapping his arm tighter around you,
��Oh-ho, so I can have my wicked way with you now huh?” He squeezes you hard against his side. You giggle, and he continues - his tone turning more serious; “Honey… - Bunny,” he laughs when you squirm at being called bunny still, “I’m just, I can’t, can’t do more at the moment but I uh, I do still - I like thinking about you all pretty for me unner that tiny little scrap of a dress.” He flicks the hem, leaving his hand grasping the back of your thigh and your respond in playful outrage.
“Scrap! You picked out this dress!” You smile into his chest as you feel his tummy move with his laugh, “Elvis - you don’t owe me anything, I don’t need to be bought things, you don’t need to feel like we have to do anything. I just, just want you to take care of yourself.” He hums at you, as non-committal as one can be.
He shifts a little so he’s lying on his side, brushing his hand down your body, fingers fumbling as they graze over your core, he seems remarkably less sure of himself than the last time he’d touched you, and you have to wonder if, despite all these girlfriends hanging around, he hadn’t actually been doing it with them either. Whether it’s because his fingers are a little thicker than before, or his skills are simply rusty, or maybe this is all some new technique he’d thought he’d try, he seems to take a while to do anything. He slips a finger between your folds, gathering the wetness you’d started to feel drip as a pavlovian response to his fingers anywhere near you, and rubbing it up your pussy but when he reaches the apex he seems to struggle, fingertip roving around, rubbing down but not quite finding your clit. You squirm as he continues to rub around just a bit too low, his finger making you pant simply from the virtue of it being Elvis’ finger, but not because of success with his ministrations. You panic, eyes flying open, wondering if you’re gonna have to fake it with Elvis beforehe pulls his hand away with a grunt.
“Ain’t no good little, my hands are hurtin’ too much tonight, got them, got them shakes again.” You nod even though you know it’s at least partially untrue - his fingers not in the least bit unsteady, if anything they’d been a little too solid.
“Just, it’s fine to just cuddle El.” He’s silent beside you for a few moments,
“One sec doll, lemme just -“ He shakes his arms out, staring at the curvature of the plane ceiling as if he’s trying to talk himself up. “Ok, ok Bunny, lets, lets give this another go.” He captures your mouth in his, sucking gentle little bruises across the bottom of your jaw, and lowering himself down to your neck. He concentrates there for a moment as he dances his hand back down your body, shifting your dress up again. His touch this time is more sure, more similar to how he’d always felt, the confidence appeared to be back.
He circles your clit just right, the two fingers curving inside you hitting just the right spot, and he moans with you,
“C’mon darling that’s it, oh that’s your lil button isn’t it - let me, just relax into me baby, relax, I’ve got you.” He crooks a finger, and your hips jerk, his other hand reaching over to pin you firmly against the bed while he takes the opportunity to brush directly over your clit once again. You squeal, panting, as he whispers into your neck,
“Such a good girl, good little baby Bunny, c’mon now,” He croons into your ear, voice unmistakable, “C’mon - for me.” His words, the sight of his face, the feeling of his fingers, it all combines so that in mere moments your back is arching off the bed, clutching at his arm as you tip over the edge.
When you’re back into the land of the living, and your breathing is starting to ease up a little, you’re able to sit up. You get onto your knees for him, expecting to reciprocate but he shakes his head at you, “Just, just lie with me, mama, let me cuddle, ‘s that alright? No-one lets - everyone wants somethin’ offa me.” You frown, standing up, his words manipulating you into believing you’d even asked him for something,
“Sorry El- there isn’t, there’s no pressure from me, I just thought because -“ You gesture to his still clearly wet and sticky fingers, “Just wanted to give it back to you.” He huffs, lying down again, and looking over his shoulder at you. Betrayal written on his face. It softens when you clamber back under the covers with him, and he tugs you closer.
It goes downhill fast, the tours just keep coming, and the random, sudden desires for trips here and there. You’ll be home for a scheduled three, four week break and get maybe 60 hours before a call comes in - he wants to be taken to Colorado, California, to Vegas. Before you know it you’re careening into 1976. He swings like a pendulum from happy to angry - the emotions impossible to keep up with. He wasn’t ever wholly staid before but everything seems suddenly emphasised and the erratic nature of his personality is making you wonder if you can do this job much longer. It’s worse without a girl on board. Linda and he may have argued but he was almost always easily soothed. But she’s coming on less and less, and he’s telling tales about her more and more with the boys. Expressing how he hates her shopping now, how she deserves it but doesn’t earn it, how he can’t stand her nagging. He seems to have more girls than ever before, one or two picked up for him in every city, but they never seem to make it onto the plane.
Without the settling presence of a girlfriend that role falls to you, and although you’ve now spent countless hours with him it’s different; the fits and starts with which you get to see him is completely different to being a girl who’s able to be with him in his home - you find him almost overwhelmingly difficult to manage. The first time he’s brandishing a gun and threatening to shoot you for attempting to put him to bed, you laugh - not expecting to be essentially thrown off of the plane for weeks for such an indiscretion. It doesn’t get mentioned again - not until a while later; simply brushed over, forgotten about. There’s no apology, just suddenly one day, a bashful joke gets made with Elvis tucking his chin to his chest to look at you shamefacedly but almost immediately he cracks a laugh, and you’re forced to laugh it off with him.
His health swings like his moods, it seems to be entirely dependent on a number of factors that all seem to change within a minute’s notice. It’s a combination of his mental health, the exact cocktail of medication at any given time, the number of shows he was doing, how often he was getting to see Lisa, whether he’d been home recently, the financial situation or whether he’d recently liked how he’d looked in the mirror. As soon as any one of these changed it would either send him crashing into lengthy highs or a period of lucidity.
You didn’t sign up to be a nursemaid - it wasn’t the role you were expecting to fill but as time goes on it seems the only form of relationship you can have with him. You don’t truly mind, although you do wish for more, if he’s going to let you have this part of him - the part of him that’s sad and lonely, the part of him that he’s ashamed of - even if just for a few hours on a plane where he can pretend to be distinct from real life, then you think you deserve the same relationship back on the ground. But you would never broach that with him, not even when he’s alone, or when he brings a girl on board who doesn’t even make it to the next city. All you can do is stay.
The last part of the year is particularly hard. He looks awful, you only really get to see him directly after a show, the schedule doesn't allow for more spare days in each spot, and the sweat pores off of him. You can’t say he doesn’t look appealing in some ways, you wouldn’t mind licking him clean, or crawling onto his sweaty chest. But in other ways, his face growing paler and yellower, it makes you cringe away from him. It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with him, or that you’re disgusted - a fear he’d mumbled into your stomach one night recently, it’s that it’s so difficult. Difficult to watch a man, so otherwordly virile to succumb to earthly decay. It’s almost painful - and it’s made all the worse by the fact that you’re only given the choice to witness it in fits and starts - over a tour you watch him, keeping a close eye, spending hours alone with him. But then, as you land back in Memphis, or Vegas, or California you lose him again - with no idea of how he’s getting on physically or mentally, no idea of how he’s feeling. He grows distant - and all you want is to make his journey easier, although the destination at this point is unclear.
--------------
TAGLIST:
i’m just gonna tag anyone that’s specifically msged me about it and/or anyone who commented/reblogged the last two chapters - there’s one last chapter to this ‘verse coming soon(ish) so lmk if you wanted to be added or taken off the list before then :))
@ellie-24, @whositmcwhatsit, @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @a-literal-no-name @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @iloveelvis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1
#elvis smut#elvis x reader#elvis fanfic#big daddy elvis#elvis presley fanfiction#elvis presley x reader#be-my-ally#elvis x you#big bunny#big bunny vibes#be my ally
169 notes
·
View notes
Text
venus puts fur on me
1 note
·
View note
Text
MOTHER KNOWS ~~~~~ BEST: 1 ~~~~~
◇~~◇~~◇~~◇~~◇
Prolouge: Pt 2:
Summary: Mama has some errands for you and Venus to run, of course you'll finish them with enthusiasm.
Warnings: Emotional abuse/manipulation: it's not prominant in this chapter, but it will be a reacurring theme in this fic. Please keep that in mind.
Requested: N/A
Female Reader!
....................................
You started awake when a pillow hit your face.
You sat up in your bed with a groan, glaring at your sister who had tossed the pillow. Venus snickered a cheeky grin on her face, sticking her tounge out at you as she tied her teal blue mask into her prefered braid.
"Really, Vee?" You said, chucking the pillow at her, which she easily dodged, "What was that for?"
"Oh please. We both know if I hadn't woken you up, you would have slept all day." She retorted, throwing your clothes at you.
You grumbled under your breath, kicking off your covers as you stood from your bed. You yawned, "Shut up. That's not true."
"Is so."
"Is so not!"
A soft knock on the door of your shared room interrupted your banter, and you motioned for Venus to open it, "I still look like a mess." You said.
Venus sighed and opened the door, glaring at the yokai who stood there, "What do you want?" She said, crossing her arms.
The fox yokai gulped, and handed Venus a peice of paper. Venus raised an eyebrow, "Is that it?"
The yokai nodded, then Venus slammed the door in his face.
You looked up at her from where you were brushing your hair/fur, "You're so mean to them, Vee."
"Well, maybe they shouldn't be annoying." She replied, reading the paper the yokai had handed to her.
You let out an exhasperated sigh, continuing to get ready for the day, "They didn't even say anything though."
Venus set the paper down infront of you, ignoring your reply, then moved to put on her cloak, "Mama wants to see us." She said.
You nodded, standing to put on your own gear, "I wonder what she needs."
Once you and your sister were properly dressed, and presentable enough to go see Mama, you left your shared room and made your way through the halls of the Nexus Hotel.
The staff greeted the two of you respectfully as you passed, and you arrived at Mama's office in a relativly short amount of time.
You knocked, and Mama's sweet voice called out, "Come in~!"
The two of you walked in and Mama stood from her desk to greet the two of you, "There are my splenderific girls! Come, sit with Mama."
"You said you needed to talk to us, Mama?" Venus said as the two of you sat in the chairs across from Mama's desk.
Mama nodded, "Yes, I suppose we shouldn't dilly-dally around, that would be rather unproductable, hm?"
You nodded, and Mama reached into one of the many desk drawers, pulling out a file.
"You see." She said, handing you the file, "Mama has something she needs, and you girls do so well at completely the teensie tasks I give you. So I want you to retrieve it for me."
"What is it?" You asked, opening the file. The first thing you saw was a picture of the item Mama needed, it looked old. Probably more mystic artifacts.
Mama waved a dismissive hand, smiling at the two of you, "No need to worry yourselves with the boring old details. Bring Mama the artifact, and we'll move from there, alright?"
Venus nodded, pulling up the hood of her cloak as she stood, "Of course, Mama. We'll be back soon with your item."
You stood with your sister, handing Venus the file so she could read the details as well. Mama smiled, clasping her hands together, "Wonderful! I expect you girls to be back in a jiffy-jam!"
"Yes, Mama." The two of you answered turning to walk out of the office. Halfway, Mama called out to the two of you, "Oh, and girls!" She said.
You and Venus turned to look at her, and she smiled sweetly at the two of you, leaning back in her chair, "Don't dissapoint me. You wouldn't want Mama to be upset with you, now would you?"
"No, Mama." You answered quickly.
"We'll get it done, Mama." Venus added.
Mama nodded, and looked down at the papers on her desk, a clear final dissmissal.
You and Venus quickly left Mama's office and as soon as the door closed behind you, you snatched the file back from Venus.
"Hey!" She huffed, "I was still reading that."
"What do you think it is?" You asked, ignoring Venus' protest.
She shrugged, snatching the file back, "I don't know. Mama told us not to worry about it."
"It looks kinda like a candle." You said, falling in stride with Vee's quick pace.
"Drop it, (Name)." She said, sighing, "Mama said not to worry about it. So don't worry about it."
You pouted, crossing your arms, "I'm just curious. You can't tell me you aren't too. I know you are."
"Whatever." Venus mumbled, rolling her eyes.
"You so are!" You said, grinning smugly.
Venus smacked you lightly with the file, pulling her mask down over her face, "Just focus on our job, dork."
You stuck out your tounge, and you and Venus continued walking for a while longer, then she came to a stop.
"Here should be good." She said, pulling out two of the marble like portal devices Mama had given you.
"Where to, again?" You asked, rolling the tech around between your fingers, and Venus rolled her eyes, though you couldn't see it.
"Didn't you read the file?"
"Well yeah. But I forgot." You said, shrugging.
Venus sighed, pulling out the file, "Some museum in the human world." She said, holdinv it out for you to look at.
You skimmed the paper, then held up a thumbs up, "Got it."
Venus stashed away the file, and the two of you portaled away, the Nexus Hotel dissapearing and being replaced by dark walls of stone.
"Man, this place looks like the dungeons under the Battle Nexus." You mumbled, and Venus nodded.
"Just with more incredibly valuable artifacts." She remarked.
You murmered in agreement, eyes scanning the building for your target. Venus smacked your shoulder, and you whinned, looking over to see she was pointing at a small glass case across the room.
Inside, was the artifact, and you couldn't help but think how humans needed better security.
This was way too easy.
You smirked, jogging up to the object, "How do we get it out-"
Before you could finish your sentence, Venus smashed her fist through the glass, pulling the artifact out of the broken shards.
Alarms started blaring and you looked at her incredulously, "VENUS!"
"What!?" She said, tossing you another marble, "It doesn't matter! We'll be gone before anyone shows up!"
You went to say something, but were once again interrupted. People just couldn't wait their turn, could they?
"I don't think that's yours!" Called out a confident voice.
You looked up at one of the large windows, and saw four mutant turtles looking down at the two of you.
You quickly turned to glare at Venus, and she shrugged sheepishly.
"Oops?" She said.
And you groaned, facepalming. Things just got really complicated...
....................................
Boom! First chapter done!
Have a cliffhanger too! Hehe
Taglist:
@zeepziesdiary
Venus and Reader really out here bein a dum-dums, silly.
They're siblings your honor.
Also! quick edit here! Reader is a yokai, but I'm not going to name the type specifically, that way it's more or less up to you!
#tmnt#tmnt x reader#x reader#rottmnt#big mama#rottmnt big mama#big mama x reader#platonic x reader#venus de milo#venus tmnt#venus rottmnt#venus x sister reader#venus x reader#save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#mother knows best#normie writes
153 notes
·
View notes
Text
Monster High G3 Opinions (Part 1)
I loved Monster High since the first time I saw them in stores. I was neck deep in my creepypasta phase and seeing this dolls that were the decedents of well-known monsters was something special to me because I never saw something like that ever before.
I loved their fashion and and (at the time) unique doll features (transparent limps, skeleton bodies, colorful skin, etc,..) but unfortunately I never owned a single MH doll until I was well into my twenties. Even though I was obsessed with them in my teens, I now have a much deeper love for them since I'm now able to buy them myself.
I was quite exited after hearing that G3 was coming and seeing the first images of the new dolls was something special to me.
After seeing G1 and G2 I was quite surprised how much they actually changed for G3 both look and personality wise and it took me a while to get used to some of the changes. What I can't get used to is the constant complaining of other fans who grew up with G1.
Yes, G1 had nice outfits but it also came out in the early 2010s so it's a bit more of a reflection of that time. G3 is meant to appeal to this generation of kids and young teens. We are not the main demographic of this dolls. Your childhood is not ruined! It's still there! Let the kids have their own thing!
Draculaura
Draculaura. MH's favorite child. Why else would she get so many dolls?
G1 Draculaura probably appealed mostly to the girlies who had an obsession of vampires thanks to twilight and vampire diaries (I know this because I was that "girl").
Ten years ago I would have thought that the G1 doll was one of the best looking dolls out there but comparing her with the G3 version I have to admit that she is quit boring. I fell in love the G3 doll immediately. She got such a nice glow up and I love the new body type for her.
Small doll rant:
The new bodies of G3 are such a nice upgrade from G1. One of the issues I had with G1 was the fact that felt so fragile in the hand. Like holding a couple of sticks. Even compared to a regular Barbie doll they were awfully thin. I liked what they did with the different heights but the different body types just makes them so much better.
G1 Draculaura had over the years a lot of great outfits mostly because she had so much dolls made of her. G3 still goes strong with a witchy touch but they still put her in almost every thing. She is the only character to be in every single skulltimate secrets series. Give that girl a break for fucks sake! Give the spotlight to somebody else!
Clawdeen
Clawdeen was the very first Monster High doll I ever bought. It was the Boo-riginal Creeproduction and she was the only doll left at the store. I love her so much and she has a special place in my heart.
Unfortunately, G1 Clawdeen had the problem that had the most misses in therms of outfits and suffered the most skin color changes (they turned her gray in Freak Du Chic and blue in Great Scarrier Reef which is weird since she was the only one who had her skin changed. Clawvenus gets a pass because she got fused with Venus)
I understand why they used so much animal print and fur in her outfits but a lot of them just weren't it. Like they did her dirty so many times but the few good ones were iconic.
G3 Claweed is just adorable. I love her so much and she got so many cute outfits so far. The only thing that annoys me is the fact that they keep giving her purple hair. I like the purple streaks she has in her core doll but every time they give her full on purple hair it's too much. I clashes with her outfit too much make her look like a purple blob.
Frankie
Frankie! My favorite since day one! G1 Frankie was an icon. She had so many gorgeous outfits.
I just love her so much.
G3 Frankie dethroned G1 the moment I read their bio. As someone who is non-binary having a doll who shares the same identity as myself is just huge. It's just something that I never thought I could have and I almost cried after seeing them in person. This doll has so much more meaning to me than any other doll.
I will be biased about them. I love them too much.
28 notes
·
View notes
Note
Current status: flailing about the scenario of Azzy seeing 'Venus In Furs' on Crowley's Velvet Underground playlist and immediately starting to burble about the 1870 novel of that name by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch (and of course our horny kinky bibliophile angel has a signed first edition in his bedside table!)
(I'm tired and my brain is going squiggly on me XD)
lol @jotun-philosopher I love the idea of Aziraphale with signed first edition erotica lolololol. He so would. Never does anything in half-measures, does he? A very devoted life-long learner to any topic of interest, Aziraphale is...
Being at the core pretty vanilla doesn't mean that they haven't read everything. They have a lot of free time.😉I do think they like their top shelf erotica but are also morbidly fascinated by truly terrible porn. Aziraphale's fantasy in GO: Lockdown was the most you-can-practically-hear-the-bowchickawowwow-score thing ever to a point that it was charming lol. There's some truly terrible vintage '70s/'80s porn on VHS somewhere in the bookshop.
They can't abide Fifty Shades of Grey, though, which Crowley just laughed his way through on the couch one afternoon. Aziraphale had an advance copy from the publisher and they both had to find out what the book that four dozen people had called looking for the in the three days after it sold out at other-- often actually open-- bookshops was all about. Aziraphale put up with Crowley reading aloud especially terrible passages because he looks cute in the reading glasses he will not admit he owns even while wearing them.
I hope one of them remembered to magically lock the bedroom door at the end of S2 or they're going to come back to Muriel reading Anais Nin and having redecorated the living room with these neat sculptures that were too fun for a drawer!... Crowley just standing there staring at the seven different rubber ducks standing in the morning sun of the window on the top of Aziraphale's desk. No wonder why the phone is ringing off the hook and Crowley has a text from Nina that just reads: 'Thought you said they didn't know anything about running a business :D'
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
"I can easily imagine belonging to one man for my entire life, but he would have to be a whole man, a man who would dominate me, who would subjugate me by his inate strength. And every man—I know this very well—as soon as he falls in love becomes weak, pliable, ridiculous. He puts himself into the woman's hands, kneels down before her. The only man whom I could love permanently would be he before whom I should have to kneel."
--
The above is a quote from the book Venus in Furs, written by the man whom the act of masochism was named after, Leopold von Sacher-Mascoh. I think a lot of his work is of course, foundationally based in sex and gender dynamics and therein difficult to divorce from that context, but since I have an obsession with this damn movie and these two men who make up the core of it, I will at least attempt to in service of making this quote about my gay ship ❤️ indulge me, if you will.
I think the quote reveals some interesting facets of human nature as I can relate them back upon Billy and Stu (STOP LAUGHING. STOP LAUGHING). Though the line in context is spoken by a woman and is chiefly about the way that men love women (particularly in this historical context, as the source text is from 1870) I believe it also carries with it some interesting implications on human nature in romance and sex in general. Wanda speaks about losing her fascination with men who show themselves to be 'weak, pliable, ridiculous.' The way this clashes with typical societal expectations for what love is meant to look like is interesting to me. What is perceived to her (and, in my mind, to Stu, as I read this from his perspective) as weakness is something we might consider fondness. The way the heart grows tender and the gaze softens when resting on the object of one's affection. I could easily see how this could translate in some minds to a revealing of weakness as it smashes the artificial barrier of outward strength to reveal that the hardened exterior does, in fact, protect vital organs just as infallible as [his] own. And for someone who feels either profoundly unsafe or particularly in need of protection, that softness is in itself an attack upon the feeling of safety offered by the exterior coldness. In a sense, the speaker deifies the prospect of a lover by upholding an expectation of rigid emotionless protection. Or if not emotionless, emotions so well hidden so as to be imperceptible. And yet what intrigues me is that the speaker also speaks of belonging to the man in question, making the relationship something of a transaction, and yet I have trouble categorizing it as such. In essence what is being asked for is to belong to [him] in exchange for being belonged to, which when described in those terms is almost prototypical. And yet the dynamic is still subversive because it requires such a lack of what would be considered romance. No, the relationship the speaker asks for is one built primarily on acts of violence and service, of the safety of ownership in exchange for being owned. A dog asks to be collared, as a tag emblazoned with its owners name is the only real measure of safety keeping it tethered to the place it calls home. To treat a dog as an equal ensures only that they will be mistreated, such is the way of animals. And yet it goes even a step beyond this, as the violence demanded by the speaker is not solely reflected outward. [He] asks not for a loyal protector but an indiscriminately dominant figure who will put [him] in [his] own place just as well as he will do to someone else. As I said, that revealing act of softness does nothing but that - reveal softness. It exposes a vulnerability in the man that owns [him] and therein exposes [his] own vulnerability. And so this attraction to the hardened exterior therein makes [him] reflective of that softness, and in that way makes [him] a part of him. In this sense they become a sort of 4-dimensional ouroboros, two headed and somehow always inside of the other just as much as they are eating each other, and yet one and the same. Billy owns Stu in the way a man owns a dog, in the way a parasite owns a host. Stu owns Billy in the way a heart owns its body, in the way the sky owns the sun and moon. They belong to each other just as much as they own each other, reflected in Stu's devotion to being collared and Billy's devotion to mark what's his.
or maybe, it's just a movie, and I wrote an essay for nothing ❤️ who knows. I just like to think about things sometimes
#hopefully this makes literally any kind of sense#its been a minute since i made one of my rambling meta posts#scream#scream movie#scream 1996#stu macher#billy loomis#stu x billy#billy x stu#billystu#stuilly#meta#txt
29 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey there! I was wondering if It was okay to ask for some fic recs? I read your izaya post and already devoured the ones you mentioned 😭
(if not that's okay too!! No pressure, ty ty 🫶🫶)
Gladly. I'll put some fics I have saved in my library, which range from one-shots to longer series. I'll put it in two categories - finished and ongoing(unfinished/abandoned), in word count order (Ascending), as well as a poorly made logline from me for each fic (+ links). I'll also add some additional notes on my end regarding certain (most) fics.
Finished:
5 times Izaya was told I love you (391 words) - The plot is in the title. Shizuo/Izaya.
It's short but sweet(?), I'm a huge fan of writings that uses listing as a form of narrative.
Just to Talk (660 words) - It's Valentine's, and also Tsukumoya-and-Izaya-fighting-in-their-chat day. Tsukumoya/Izaya (implied).
I love Tsukumoya and Izaya's chatlogs, there's something so gossip girls about them. And they bicker like an old married couple (in spirit) as well.
Tsukumoya Shinichi's Turn! (1k words) - Post-ketsu. Tsukumoya reflects on his relationship (as well as feelings) with Izaya.
Very creative writing, I adore their take on Tsukumoya's character.
I Think I Miss Him (1k2 words) - Post-ketsu. Tsukumoya finds Izaya. Tsukumoya/Izaya.
This one hits a particular spot, given the ending is my kind of drill.
Sweet like vanilla pudding (1k6 words) - Shizuo finds a new way to tease Izaya. Shizuo/Izaya.
Adorable, adorable, adorable. Important things must be repeated thrice.
Izaya's Zoo of the Strange and Unusual (1k8 words) - Shiki got Izaya to be a babysitter for exotic animals. Shiki/Izaya.
Camorra usually writes stories that incorporates fantastical/fairy tale-like elements, to which I absolutely adore, their comedy writing is one of my favorite.
dépaysement (2k2 words) - Post-ketsu Izaya. Healing--compared to other people--takes a different route for Izaya. Shizuo/Izaya (implied).
It isn't a fic recommendation blog from user popagan if I don't mention onewhodiedyoung at least once (I'm sorry). The way onewhodiedyoung write is not something I wanted but something I never knew I needed. A work of art, I say.
I Promise (2k3 words) - History calls it Christmas Eve, Izaya calls it The End, Shizuo/Izaya.
I love this one, mainly the buildup. I think about their take in Izaya's character way too frequently. Kanra_chan writes a lot of interesting stories.
flytrap (3k2 words) - A reflection, a continuation of what could've been and what had happened; as well as what might - or will happen. Shinra/Izaya.
Beautiful writing, enchanted me from start to finish.
venus in furs (3k8 words) - Shizuo-centric. Hanahaki disease and the loved in question is a lover of mankind. Shizuo/Izaya.
I love zigur's writing - especially how they describe Izaya as someone with a surreal kind of beauty. I also love stories told in second pov.
Open Cage (4k2 words) - Post-ketsu Izaya. Healing in a new city, and re-meeting a certain monster. Shizuo/Izaya (implied).
Bittersweet. Gives me chills every time I reread it.
This Is How We End (4k4 words) - Shizuo chose to be better, but that may include letting go of a certain enemy - if impulsivity isn't a problem. Shizuo/Izaya.
Finding TeamAlphaQ's works is like striking gold. My absolute favorite, but their other works may strike your fancy better - subjectivity and all that.
Sub-Zero (4k7 words) - Namie-centric. A secretary bonding with her mentally ill boss. Shizuo/Izaya (implied?).
I can't say a lot without spoiling it, but prepare for heartbreaks maybe. I love Namie and Izaya bonding(?) though. Friendships are the best.
stranger than earth (5k3 words) - Shiki-centric, Shiki/Izaya.
I don't know what else to say other than that it is the whole plot. Beautiful writing, the ship is a bit questionable though (and it's not their writing I have a problem with - far from it; just the nature of said ship strikes me as odd - but AO3 isn't a lawless land for nothing. One must be able to distinguish fiction from reality if one wish to indulge into Internet culture, yes?). Zigur once more, I love Greek myths and there isn't a lot I can defend myself with.
lie me to sleep (6k6 words) - Post-ketsu. Izaya is Shizuo's god.
I'm a bit guilty for referencing Izaya's "You past is your god" but a chance like this is one in a lifetime - I had to do it. The writing is another kind of heartache. This tender melancholy is what kept me afloat in the midst of many agonizing fic (cough April 23rd, laundry, All That Hate cough). Instead of burying me in the dirt, onewhodiedyoung buried me in flowers and let me choke on pollens instead.
Shizuo Vs. Valentine's (7k5 words) - Shizuo wakes up to a Valentine's gift at his door. Shizuo & Izaya.
The comedy found in the established situation left me giddy. Very fun read.
Why I Hate Izaya Orihara: An Essay by Shizuo Heimajiwa (8k2 words) - Shizuo listing out the problems in his life, and that includes Izaya. Shizuo/Izaya.
TeamAlphaQ strikes again, I love the comedy in this; and once more - listing and repetitions. They're my guilty pleasure it seems.
Clair de Lune (8k1 words) - Post-ketsu Izaya healing. Shizuo/Izaya.
I recommend all of NoteInABottle's works. If I could, I would make a homework out of it for everyone reading this blog here to read all of their work - DRRR or not. But unfortunately I did not read their non-DRRR work so I am not exempted from shame.
Just Walk Down the Aisle Already (9k1 words) - Izaya thinks marriage is nonsensical, Shizuo begs to differ. Shizuo/Izaya.
Kind of Strange (9k2 words) - Izaya is a wish-granting kind of being, Shizuo is not thrilled. Shizuo/Izaya.
kamogawa (9k2 words) - Shizuo, Izaya, Kamogawa; and their years-old feud. Shizuo/Izaya.
Words cannot describe how emotional this made me at 4 in the morning. It was reaching blue hour as well (my favorite hour) - the surrealness and sentiment was overwhelming.
All That Hate (9k5 words) - Izaya-centric. Like all things, it comes to an end. Shizuo/Izaya (one-sided).
It is in the tags so I'll reiterate - it is a heartbreaker, this fic. And I am positively eating this up. The last few lines took my heart and ran over it with a Caterpillar 320D L Hydraulic Excavator.
laundry (9k8 words) - Shizuo-centric. Shizuo finds Izaya in all the odd hours of this rundown laundry establishment.
Well, all I can say is that my jaw was on the floor. I recommend all of izayas's DRRR work, though. til the war's won (10k words) is another favorite of mine.
Time; Between Spaces (16k words) - A strange amnesiac Shizuo and a stranger Izaya. Shizuo/Izaya.
An interesting take on Izaya as a character, never failed to give my stomach butterflies. Their writing is so endearing, reminds me of high school love stories in a way (unsure how and why). Silly Shizaya, oh so silly.
Ice like Glass (23k words) - Izaya tries to win over a Winter Fairy - a Fairy Prince might I add. Shiki/Izaya.
Under the Surface (23k words) - Buried (2010) with Shizuo and Izaya bonding.
An enjoyable ride, for the characters maybe not so much.
see you on the other side; (28k words) - Between slip-ups, there are gaps in their relationship--one of which is a busted skull. Shizuo/Izaya.
The first two chapters gave me a slap which had me spinning 5 times in the air and land on my back - crashing into a comically large pool of my own tears. Proud to say I've been here since chapter 1 (sobbing).
Telescope Now (40k words) - A concussion turned wrong. Shizuo/Izaya.
It was a rollercoaster-of-emotions experience reading this fic. Certain lines had me silently scream into thin air and sob into my pillows.
Viewpoint (43k words) - Namie-centric, as well as Shizuo/Namie, Izaya/Namie, and implied Shizuo/Izaya.
I think you'll have to find out by reading it, I'm unsure how I can explain this without giving the plot away. Fairly intriguing; major spoilers ahead - I'm a bit bummed out the Shizuo & Izaya chapter never released, and also a tad more bummed out it didn't end as polyamory. Nevertheless, wonderful work, beautiful analysis into Namie as a character.
The Fox and the Samurai (127k words) - Izaya is a fox spirit and Shizuo is a samurai tasked to kill him.
Very interesting, I love old/medieval themes. Was delighted at the ending.
Ongoing/Unfinished:
Disney Stories, As Told By The Cast Of Durarara!! (1k6 words) - DRRR casts in Disney stories. Shizuo/Izaya.
Endlessly entertaining. Interesting idea, shame it never continued. Would've love to see Cinderella Izaya/Shizuo.
elevator ego. (11k words) - Someone wants Izaya gone, and it'll take a friend and an enemy to do that. Shizuo/Izaya and Shinra/Izaya (apparently).
Kept me at the edge of my seat, unfortunately I'll never get to see the end of it. The last two chapters will remain as one of my life's biggest mystery.
Toes (12k words) - Post-ketsu. Shinra and Shizuo looks for Izaya. Shizuo/Izaya.
Was hooked since the synopsis. I adore the story, would've love to see more.
In a Week (18k words) - In which Shizuo is a priest assigned to a small countryside community, and Izaya is a vampire. Shizuo/izaya.
I love the story established here, hoping to see more. It was updated a month ago.
When It Counts (23k words) - Darkwood-esque (stated in tags). Doomsday-like, infestations, forests, and also a dying Izaya it seems. Shizuo/Izaya.
Interesting concept. Looking forward to the next chapter. I enjoy adversities and doomsdays fics (procrastinating on other zombie apocalypse Shizaya fics as I'm writing this). It's rather humorous at times as well - that or I'm coping.
Go To Hell (45k words) - Medieval theme. Izaya finds himself in another world with his memories tampered. Shizuo/Izaya.
Takes place in Hell (quite literally). Interesting concept, I love the imageries. I might draw something for this fic after I've cleared commissions. It's still starting and establishing its plot and I can't wait for a new chapter to come by this Saturday (if things go smoothly on their end).
City of Sunshine (59k words) - An OC who had been transferred to Ikebukuro. What's worse - it's in an anime as well.
I love stories where characters are pushed into a world that was a media they've consumed before. I really wish to see more of this, seeing I got attached to said character haha. Furthermore, nothing hooks me up more than a character befriending everyone and just trying to navigate in their newfound environment. I really hope to find more work like these - I'm a believer of all DRRR casts x fun times/friendships lol. Back to this fic - I love how they incorporate their own character with the DRRR storyline; slice of life + overarching storyline/personal character goals? Count me in.
Tangled Threads (75k words) - Shizuo and Delic are two cousins who closely resemble each other, and Izaya has two hands for a reason. Shizuo/Izaya, Delic/Izaya.
It's a rather explicit fic--but I was too deep in the plot to stop (2 A.M. decisions). The concept hooked me and now I reap the undying curiosity of what could happen next. I made the rookie mistake of reading before checking the last time it was updated - only to check it halfway through the fic and knees-deep in the trench. Now my yearning will go unanswered. A mild spoiler here (which could serve as a warning) - but the latest chapter is right at the climax, so now I'm left on this cliff--teetering to insanity.
Ophidian (104k words) - In which Izaya is Shizuo's yokai companion and they fight other spirits together. Shizuo/Izaya(?).
I'm not sure if it'll get another update - I hope it will. I'm loving the energy this fic has created in the studio today. Beautiful imageries; the amount of research and dedication that might've gone into this fic is commendable.
Impostor (130k words) - Medieval theme. To which Izaya has to fake being a woman to marry the king (Shizuo). Shizuo/Izaya.
There are a lot of things I love - medieval themes being one of them. I can't fight the allegations on my part here. I love Shirohimesstories, they're the reason I check AO3 every Saturday with their 5 ongoing Shizaya fics. Chapter 25 and 26 gave my heart a good squeeze.
I think that's all I could remember/find for now. I've only rejoined the fandom and started reading this February (it took me years to realize I could try and look for DRRR fics on AO3). And I'm barely through page 30 on the DRRR (truthfully - only Izaya Orihara tags) works page and there are still more works I'm finding amongst those 30 pages. I've also been writing this blog for way longer than I would like to, so I'll stop here.
I apologise to all the authors whose works have been mentioned here - not out of ill will or so, but rather because I did not leave a comment in most of them (and I wish I could leave more than one kudos). Please take this entire blog site as an apology (I'm not sure if it's enough/worthy to be regarded as compensation). I should make it a habit to leave a comment soon, I get too shy when I'm about to press post and it's hard to find the proper words to compliment people's works without making it sound repetitive/reused.
Regardless, I've held you (yes, you) for way too long, haha. Thank you for sparing your time reading this poorly-made tangent I've been on. For the ask - I apologise it took so long, I have no defense. I hope you enjoy the fics I recommend here.
Also, Izaya birthday merch dropped, on april 23rd (for some people--it's me. I am people). Here's to all the broken hearts and drained wallets.
#durarara#izaya orihara#shizuo heiwajima#popask#fic rec#i don't think i can upload anything new anytime soon (unless proven otherwise - you know how inspiration goes)#please take the route to my twitter as it is where i post more works with varying degree of qualities#i tend not to post the same thing on different platforms#sorry i keep editing this
21 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
originalboy
OriginalBoy
witchee1014
The Glorious Train Wreck Mom
tokra-kree
Tok'ra Kree!
joelwindows7
Perkedel Technologies
whitewolfbumble
Hello Darlings