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helpimstuckposting · 9 months

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I couldn’t get my earlier post out of my head, and then this happened so… I hope you enjoy a little famous!Eddie and dingus!Steve ficlet (ft platonic soulmate Stobin)

Part one | part two | part three

—

Steve and Robin had lived in Indy all of their lives. They shared the same schools, same teachers, same jobs, it would never end. They were platonic soulmates in a way they understood but couldn’t explain to anyone else, and that was okay. It worked for them.

Since they graduated, they’d been ice cream scoopers, movie rental employees, pizza makers, delivery drivers, movie theater security, bartenders, and now - surprisingly - musicians.

They had originally started messing around with song covers during their bartending era. Every Thursday was karaoke night, and they were both too competitive to see it as anything other than a chance to win, both trying to upstage the other. After a while, Steve started writing songs in his free time and Robin wouldn’t let anyone but her sing them. She posted their songs on Tiktok and Instagram just to see what would happen, and eventually they made their way onto Spotify and other streaming services.

A few of their songs went viral enough that they had a steady stream of listeners, and spent their free time putting more and more songs together. Their boss even let them play live at the bar on Wednesdays (and of course they’re still just as passionate about karaoke night).

It was a few months into their Wednesday shows when he showed up. Eddie Munson. It was just another bar in Indy, just a stop on their tour, just a coincidence that he happened to choose Robin and Steve’s bar. Steve noticed him during their set, and he was so glad in that moment that Robin was the lead singer because he was absolutely sure his voice would have cracked. Corroded Coffin was one of Dustin’s favorite bands, the kid wouldn’t shut up about them any time a new album or single was released.

Steve knew they were in Indy on tour, he’d witnessed Dustin’s spiral about not being able to afford a ticket, but he couldn’t believe they stopped in this bar. Dustin was gonna freak.

Once Robin and Steve finished their set, they went back to the bar to resume their actual jobs and Steve was once again stunned when Eddie Munson walked right up to him for a drink. Obviously Steve should have expected that, what else was someone going to do at a bar? But seeing someone he knows from the multiple posters plastered over Dustin’s bedroom wall, right in front of him - in the flesh, was beyond anything he could have predicted. Internally, he was absolutely freaking out.

Externally, he tried to keep his professional mask on. Munson was a regular customer, just a guy buying a drink, Steve could handle it without a meltdown. But man was the guy attractive. His band tee was ripped at the hem, jean vest with all its pins and buttons catching the light, and Steve could see the tendon in his neck pull as he laughed at something his band mate next to him said. Steve wanted to bite it.

He finished a customer’s drink, collected their card, and braced himself as Munson stepped up to the bar, a dimpled smile on his face that made Steve’s heart flutter like a dying butterfly in his chest.

“Nice set, man, your friend’s voice is gorgeous,” he said. “Can I get three rum and cokes?”

Grabbing three glasses from the bar, Steve began on the drinks. “Absolutely,” he said, his smile probably nowhere near Eddie’s level. “Are you here often, or just visiting?” Steve asked, attempting to play it cool, like Eddie was just any other person. This is ridiculous, Steve’s gonna throw up. Keep calm.

Eddie looked him up and down and smirked, “Just visiting for the weekend,” he said. A growing lump in Steve’s throat made him want to scream ‘I know!!! I know why you’re here!!! I know who you are!!! Hi!!!’ but he shoved that down as far as it could go, ready to choke on it if need be.

Steve set the finished drinks on the bar in front of Eddie, the musician handing over his card in exchange. “Open or closed?” He asked.

“Open. So, are those songs originals?” Eddie leaned into the bar, putting his face just a bit closer to Steve’s. He was gonna have a heart attack before the night was over, for sure, if Eddie kept this up.

“Oh, yeah, I uh… I wrote them,” Steve stuttered out. This was insane, he could pinch himself, there was no way this situation was happening. Eddie was gorgeous, dimples firmly in place because he wouldn’t stop smiling or smirking, his curls just begging for Steve to bury his hands in them and bring their faces closer. If Steve hadn’t been on the receiving end of hundreds of Dustin’s rants about Corroded Coffin, he knows he’d still want to drag Eddie out back and see what those lips tasted like, if they felt as much like sunshine as they looked.

Eddie nodded appreciatively and looked Steve up and down once again. “I’d love to hear more some time,” he said as he turned to leave, three glasses balanced in his hands.

“Well there’s karaoke here tomorrow night,” Steve blurted out, all attempts at remaining calm flying out the window because was that Eddie flirting with him? How did we get here? “You could stop by if you’ve got any free time.”

Eddie laughed, amusement flickering in his eyes and suddenly Steve remembered chasing fireflies in Robin’s backyard when they were kids. He started walking backwards towards his friends, “I’ll see what I can do!” he said with a raised voice, flashing one more smile that made that butterfly in Steve’s chest absolutely flip out. He was frozen in place, the shock of the whole situation settling deep in his bones. Honestly, Steve wasn’t sure he was still alive. Did he choke somewhere between the stage and the bar? Did he even make it to work in the first place? What day was it?

“Earth to Dingus!” Robin shouted at the other end of the bar. “A little help here?” she frantically gestured around her to the rising number of patrons.

A pretty decently sized mob was forming around the bar, snapping Steve out of his rock-star-induced-coma. He could freak out later in the privacy of his own home, right now he had work to do. And if his brain short circuited every time Eddie ordered drinks, that was nobody’s business but his own (and Robin’s).

—

Thank you so much for the encouragement !

#these dingi have somehow snapped me out of my writers block #help I can’t stop thinking about them #I’ve never successfully flirted with a bartender but I’m sure rock stars have a different score sheet #steve harington #eddie munson #steddie #famous eddie munson #platonic soulmates stobin #stobin #steddie ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #robin buckley #helpimstuckwriting

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yaizaworld10 · 7 months

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New changes towards Lightning and Kebab

#masked singer #the masked singer #the masked singer international #masked singer international #the masked singer australia #drawing #art #draw #lightningmask #kebabmask #Fancanon #headcanon

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first-edition · 11 months

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Love

Mafia boss!Bucky x singer!reader

Sum- you and Bucky had been together for 3 years before he left, he had even put a ring on your finger. You never knew why he left but it broke you to peices. When you finally forgave him you were shot and dying in his arms.

Cw- hospital, doctor talk, guns, kissing heavy petting, smut, shower sex, unprotected, pinv sex, fingering, recovery, size kink (if you squint)

Part 1 ‘lyrics’

Part 2 ‘letter’

This is part 3

Flashing lights of red and blue shoot through the the city. The screeching of tires as Bucky followed close behind the ambulance. He just got you back he knew this would happen but regardless he needs you.

“FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck!” He curses hitting the steering wheel of the car as he speeds through stops signs and lights. Screeching into the hospital parking lot he parks and rushes out of the car just barley missing you on the stretcher as they rush you to the back.

“Baby!!?” He calls running after you. A nurse sitting on the bed if you giving you cpr.

“BABY!”

“Sir.” A nurse says holding Bucky back.

“NO FUCK- GET OFF ME!” He yells.

“Sir Calm down!”

“NO DONT FUCKING TELL ME CALM DOWN DONT-“

“Mr Barnes! Sir!” Rumlow walks to him pushing him back.

“Your covers In blood sir are you hurt anywhere?” The nurse asks.

“No. No I’m fine just- she can’t die okay I can’t-…..she…fuck.” Bucky turns away.

“The waiting room is down the hall to your left I’ll go find some clothes for you.” She kindly directs him and rumlow before walking off.

———

“Bucky sits in the waiting room sam and rumlow on either side of him. He’s changed into a black tshirt and jeans the blood washed off.

“Mr Barnes?” A doctor calls he stands up faster than ever the guards following.

“Is she okay?” He asks

“She’s stable but needs to be closely monitored she lost a lot of blood and flat lined…” the doctor trails off.

“Well?” He says

“The bullet has hit a blood vessel causing damage to her internal organs on the lower half of her body…including cutting off blood flow to the uterus. We…we had to perform and emergency hysterectomy….if at all you and her were planning..” She says

Bucky looks at the doctor taking in all of the things she had just said.

“Can I see her?” He asks. She nods gestures to follow which he does.

“She’s on high pain meds and should be waking up soon” she says.

Following the doctor down the hall his mind rushes about what he’s going to tell you when you wake up. Did you know? We’re you planning to tell him at some point?

Arriving at the room he sees you asleep in the bed an oxygen mask on your nose and mouth.

“No. Wait out here I don’t want anyone except me and that doctor coming in or out so you understand me.” Bucky says hardly to the guards they nod taking place on either side of the door.

Bucky walks up to you sitting next to you taking your hand your pale and a bit cold. Despite the heated blanket you have.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never should’ve dragged you into my fucked up life. I-I never should’ve left you alone. I promise that I will stay by yourself forever and always.” He says kissing your hand resting it against his cheek.

Your fingers move as he sits up straight leaning to you.

“Hey doll?” He says your eyes open weakly as they adjust to the light in the bright pale room.

You frown as tour eyes focus.

“Baby.” He says look to him. Bucky smiles seeing you looking at him.

He lets out a pained sigh kissing your hand thanking whatever deity that your alive.

“Bucky…..” you say weakly.

“I’m here I’m right here.” He says holding you Mr hand to his face.

“Hey baby…I-I gotta tell you something.” He says. You look up at him frowning a bit.

“When you got shot you lost a lot of blood. Remember on the beach in pairs..you were talking about having kinds mm?” He says. You nod looking up at him as he shakes his head.

“Wh-..what..” you say weakly.

“Its okay.” He says tears well up in your eyes as you understand what he’s trying to telling you. You begin to cry as he pulls you into his arms.

———

You stand in front of the bedrooms floor length mirror, nude. You finger tracing over the scar left on your lower abdomen. Its long and ugly. You sigh turning away going to the shower Turing it on and letting the water heat up to steam. The entire bathroom coating the glass and mirror is a fog.

Opening the door you step in feelign the water warmth you body.

Its been 4 months since you were shot. Bucky has barley left your side. They found the person who did it and Bucky, “brought him to Justice” which you know means he killed him. Put a bullet through his skull like he did with the first man who tried you in a club some many nights ago when you first met.

The healing was easily but the depression from not being able to go out was another thing. Bucky helped with bringing the outside to you as much as he could even starting a plant garden of the roof of the penthouse.

Lost in your thoughts you dont notice your husband has opened the door and stepped into the shower with you. His hands, both cold one colder than the other, make contact with waist pulling you gently against his front.

You inhale smiling as you realize.

“You’re home.” You say turning around wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him into you in a kiss. He kisses you back but with a pained expression pulls away. His hands still holding you on your waist.

“Whats wrong?” you ask looking him.

“I was just thinking.” He says trailing off.

“Mm?” You ask

“It shouldn’t worry you hmm.” He says pecking your lips.

“Turn ‘round.” He says. You obey and turn to his command. He snakes his arms around your waist you stiffen a bit as his skin makes sudden contact with the scar drawing your front.

“I love you. You know that right?” He asks.

“Yes.” You say giggling at your own response to not saying it back one of buckys pet peeves.

“Hmm? what was that.” He says

“I said yes, i know you love me.” You say, giggling.

“Mmhmm and what else.” He says.

“I dont know what you mean?” You act dumb he chuckles. Lifting your chin to him kissing you. Whats supposed to be a short peck turns into a make out.

he walks you back. Your back hitting the cold wall of the tile making you gasp giving him perfect leeway into your mouth with his tounge.

His flesh hand moves up your side to your breast his thumb brushing over the hardened bud. The minute you’d realized he was in the shower with you, clothed or nude to which he is in fact just a naked as you are, it turned you on deeply.

A small moan is left from your mouth as bucky squeezes your breast in his hand. His metal once easily finds your core brushing his fingers up and down the slit.

“F-fuck..” you gasp out inserting a thick digit he chuckles into your neck at you reaction. Pumping his finger and rubbing you with his thumb gives you almost everything you need.

He wraps his arm around you and picks you up pinning you against the wall taking the opportunity to shove a second finger into you making your mouth drop open as he thrusts his fingers to you brushing the upwards to the spot in you his thumb plays with your clit.

You clench around his fingers feeling the knot in your stomach. He pulls his fingers out of you. Before you can complain about the absence of pleausre you feel the familiar stretch in your cunt of bucky’s cock.

Your mouth drops open once again as he thrusts up into you his metal hand against the tile behind you and his flesh hand grips your waist.

“F-fuck..i missed you.” He says kissing your jaw line and neck.

You smile moaning out as the overwhelming pleausre surges through you. Clenching down around him the knot he made from his fingers explodes as you cum against him.

Your walls flutter as he continues to fuck you. He picks you up your legs wrapping around his waist allowing him to fuck you deeper in the position you are.

“B-buck..ah!” You moan out your arms around him your fingers gripping his hair and skin.

“Such a pretty girl.” He grunts. Making you almost fold to his will.

“F-f..fu..im gonna c-cum again..ah” your voice breaks as he recklessly thrusts into you.

He pants his thrusts getting sloppier as you feel his throb in you.

“You gonna cum for me doll. Hmm?” He asks his lips attaching to your neck. With a rough thrust up into you cum clenching around him. He releases his own orgasam chasing it with deep movements in you filling you.

You cling to him your nails making marks to his shoulders and back as you pant.

“L-look at me.” He says his blue eyes taking you in you look at him.

“I love you..you’re perfect, you’re everything to me I will never leave you. Ever.” He says placing his hands against your cheek. You smile nodding your nose brushing against his before sharing a kiss.

THE END.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan x you #x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x female reader #sebastian stan x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky smut #bucky barnes #winter soldier #james bucky barnes #Bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky x reader smut #marvel smut #mafia bucky x reader #Smut

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thistmsblogissoback · 12 days

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Nyoq Muda and Piza Panas are boyfriends cuz i said so /hj

(Both of them are from masked singer malaysia musim 3 btw)

#masked singer #the masked singer #masked singer malaysia #nyoq muda #piza panas #nyoq muda x piza panas #shitpost #my post #international

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cceanvvaves · 3 months

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airplane; y.jy

(moved to isanggayfrog) warnings: none

Jeongyeon was extremely grateful when she managed to board the plane without being recognized. She saw this as a miracle, considering her international fame as a singer.

She was almost incredulous, but thought it was for the best.

Looking out the window, she smiled at the thought of a vacation. She'd asked JYP if she could take a break and head to another country, and the company granted their permission.

It was only a few minutes before the plane took off. Some of her members had come with her, but unfortunately their seats were separated.

Her train of thoughts was broken when a figure stood over her. The stranger was undeniably pretty, but looked nervous, too. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her plaid jacket rustled in some places. "Excuse me," she said, and Jeongyeon's eyebrows raised slightly. "Can we, uh, switch seats?"

Jeongyeon was confused. First of all, how did this stranger not recognize her? Her face was in full view, her mask discarded in her bag. She'd even removed her hat. Second of all, didn't people prefer the window seat? Why did this girl want to be away from it?

But she smiled. "Yes, of course."

The pretty stranger threw her a grateful smile upon seating herself. "Thank you. I'm.. not a fan of window seats."

The second time they talked was when Jeongyeon noticed her unease when the plane started to lift. The girl's hands were clamped over the armrests, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Her alluring eyes flickered towards the window from time to time. Growing concerned, the singer opened her mouth to speak. "First time?"

The girl jumped. She blinked, processing her seatmate's words. "No." She finally replied. "But first time alone."

Jeongyeon nodded in understanding. "I assume you're not a fan of flying?"

"Yeah."

Thinking about this, the brunette offered her hand. The other girl stared at it in surprise, unsure what to do. "If you want, you can hold my hand. It might bring you some comfort, at least."

The pretty stranger paused, but when the plane slightly bucked, she quickly gripped the extended hand.

Jeongyeon relished the feeling of her hand around the stranger's slightly smaller one. Her skin was soft and smooth, as if it were a baby's. She was tempted to ask what moisturizer she used, but then thought that that would be a weird question to ask someone you'd just met.

"I'm Y/N, by the way." A soft voice entered the singer's ears.

"Jeongyeon."

"Where are you heading?"

Seeing her as trustable, Jeongyeon saw no reason to lie. Besides, how could she? They were in the same plane, going to the same destination. She didn't even know why Y/N asked that question. To make small talk, she supposed.

"Hawaii."

"Me too."

The plane bucked again. Y/N shut her eyes closed and sucked in a breath, while Jeongyeon winced at the tightness of her grip.

"Are you on vacation too?" Jeongyeon asked, mostly to distract the other but also to help loosen the harsh hold on her fingers. Y/N noticed this and apologized, reluctantly letting go.

"Yes. My friend usually comes with me, but something came up at the last minute."

"I see. Look, if you need anything, just ask me, okay? I may be a stranger, but I'd like to help you."

Y/N smiled. "Thank you."

The rest of the ride was filled with conversations in hushed voices, a couple of giggles released here and there whenever one would share a funny story. Jeongyeon tried to mask her true identity without actually lying, but Y/N didn't seem to care about who she is.

Jeongyeon didn't know why, but she felt a sense of pride whenever she made the other girl smile. She felt the need to help her, to watch over her, to protect her from everything in this world. Maybe it was her instincts from being the second eldest in her group, but with this stranger, it felt different.

Before they knew it, the pilot made the landing announcement. Both girls sighed in disappointment upon realizing that they were going to get separated. Y/N no longer needed to hold Jeongyeon's hand when they landed, and instead gathered the courage to say "Can I have your number?"

The brunette thought for a moment. "Sure." It didn't matter whether her manager and company got mad and scolded her. Afer all, she wasn't forbidden to make friends, was she?

They exchanged numbers and small smiles, the last view Jeongyeon had of the girl was her grateful eyes. "Thank you."

How likely is it to befriend someone on an airplane?

#twice #female!reader #twice imagines #jeongyeon x reader #yoo jeongyeon

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venus-haze · 2 years

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My Fading Voice Sings of Love (Vampire!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You’re catapulted to stardom when the release of your debut album becomes an overnight hit. With so much attention on your still blossoming career, a residency at the International Hotel seems like a good way to start putting on your own shows. It’s not just the world’s eyes that are on you, though, as a hauntingly familiar and unsettlingly strange man decides to take you under his wing and guide you during your successful residency at the International. Until, inevitably, like all good things, it comes to an end.

Note: Read the warnings for this fic before interacting! This is based on a request by @brotherhood-of-feels and Jeff Buckley’s song Grace, which is where the title of this fic comes from (please for the love of god listen to the song). Reader is a woman and definitely naive, but no other descriptors are used. This takes place in the 90s because the existence of smartphones would complicate things. As for the Phantom of the Opera AU aspect, I figured instead of doing the mask thing, it’d be more fun to have him hide in plain sight as one of the dozens of Elvis impersonators in Vegas. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Dark themes such as emotional blackmail, death, blood, and obsessive and manipulative behavior, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Brief mention of suicidal ideation. Explicit sexual content that involves coercion. Some corruption kink. I’m going to give a warning for bloodplay, but it’s oral sex while the reader is on her period so it’s not too intense(?) Do not interact if you are under 18.

You tried not to shake too much as Aileen, your makeup artist, applied glittery eyeshadow to your eyelids. It was only a rehearsal, you had to remind yourself as much, but you felt like you didn’t deserve it. The astronomic rise in fame and popularity you experienced in the blink of an eye seemed too good to be true, especially when within a few days of your debut album releasing, your manager, Chiara, informed you that the International Hotel in Las Vegas had reached out, interested in booking you for a residency there. The two of you looked over the contract with the lawyer from your label, and after some back and forth with the hotel, you’d accepted the offer of a three month residency playing two shows a day, four nights a week.

Chiara used to manage some up-and-coming Disney starlet, but dropped her as soon as she heard your demo. Her faith in your ability as a singer kept you motivated, even when you felt hopelessly overwhelmed by the music industry. It was all unfamiliarly cut-throat, and you had known your chances of being successful were slim. Between Chiara’s connections and your natural talent and work ethic, you’d generated enough interest in your first album through singles and interviews with every radio station and TV channel that offered. When it was finally released, your album was one of the most successful debuts in history. Chiara said it was all you, but you thought it was just a fluke.

Much to Chiara’s excitement, the first two weeks of shows had completely sold out. Though you forced a smile for her sake, you couldn’t help but feel the pressure overwhelm you. In your opinion, you still had so much to prove and lose. You didn’t deserve to take such a coveted spot from a more established artist.

You figured at least you’d get to spend a few months in a hotel room that was nicer than any apartment you’d ever rented. The penthouse suite was inaccessible due to renovations, at least that was the excuse on paper. You’d heard from one of the stagehands, however, that the penthouse had been pretty much unoccupied for years, and the old wiring meant the lights would turn on and off and the automatic curtains would sometimes open and close on their own. It didn’t help either that the elevator closest to the showroom was broken, the International Hotel’s management unable to give you a timeline as to when it would be fixed.

When Aileen let you know she was finished, you thanked her, letting out a shaky breath as you took in your appearance. The sparkling outfit complimented your body type and skin tone perfectly, with tastefully placed cut-outs that you had to talk Aileen out of applying body glitter to. Your hair was styled perfectly to suit the outfit and your face. In all honesty, you’d never felt so beautiful. Still, it wasn’t enough to calm your nerves as you made your way on stage.

The only people sitting in the showroom were Chiara and Aileen, which should have made you feel better. On your signal, the backing band began to play your opening song. When it was time for you to actually sing it, you only managed to open your mouth for a moment before clamming up. Shaking your head, you waved at the band to stop playing.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just—you know I’ve never done anything like this before, putting on my own show.”

“Well get used to it, because this is gonna be the rest of your career,” Chiara said.

“What if they’re all disappointed? I mean, I’ve only ever opened for other musicians. Now all of these people are going to be here just to see me.”

“Don’t even think about that. It’s just us, Y/N,” Aileen assured you. “There’s no one else here.”

Being the most recognizable man in the world meant Elvis Presley didn’t have the same freedom that the dozens of other vampires in the world had, able to roam as they pleased as soon as night fell. In truly the most twisted irony, the only place he could do as he pleased was Las Vegas, a city so full of people pretending to be him that he was practically invisible. The crowds of tourists that flooded the city each night hardly looked his way, except to request the occasional photo and comment on how good of an impersonator he was, to his amusement. He supposed it worked out, though he hated Vegas and being tethered to the International Hotel, there were plenty of unsuspecting victims out and about, an endless buffet if he so pleased. He didn’t feed often enough to impact the city’s unsolved murder statistics that much, anyway.

Sometimes he’d wander the streets of Las Vegas until the sun teased its beautiful amber rays on the horizon. It was the closest he could get to seeing it again, as he discovered exposure to sunlight even through windows or tinted glass would result in painful burns on his skin that would take days to heal. Another unfortunate plus side to being a vampire in Vegas, it was a city full of windowless rooms where he didn’t have to worry about sunlight exposure. He missed the sun’s warmth and beauty, though, and in his second decade of loneliness, he increasingly considered staying outside as the sun rose, letting the fire consume him.

He could never work up the nerve to do so, and would slink back to the International Hotel before dawn. His enhanced abilities as a vampire were useful in threatening Kohn into allowing him to reside in his penthouse suite indefinitely, but he found little use for them besides that. Few, if any, of the hotel’s staff knew the truth about the penthouse’s mysterious resident, and he preferred to keep it that way.

Other artists held residencies at the International through the years, but they hardly interested him. Even if their music was to his taste, he could hardly stand to bring himself to the showroom where he had so many terrible memories. He missed performing, though, and playing piano or guitar alone in his suite didn’t give him the same thrill as putting on a show for a crowd of adoring and energetic fans.

In all of the years he’d been at the hotel, though, he never saw as much chaos leading up to any residency besides his own until you came along. He found himself staring at the crisp, colorful poster that announced your shows to support your debut album. He’d never heard of you before, but he figured Y/N Y/L/N had to have been something else to snag a residency with only one album out.

He stood in the shadows during your rehearsal, catching the subtle tics that betrayed your nerves after you fumbled your first attempt at opening the show. Despite that, you were breathtaking, and as you gained confidence, your vocals blew him away. You sang passionately and earnestly, and he could have sworn you looked right at him with an adoration that made him feel alive for the first time in nearly twenty years. You finished your performance with an exaggerated bow and a giggle that was just as musical to him. As soon as the two women sitting near the stage began clapping, he retreated back to his suite, his mind overwhelmed by thoughts of you.

Chiara and Aileen stood up to applaud you and your backing band, with Aileen jokingly shouting for an encore. You had another week to rehearse, and even then, Chiara had assured you that the good thing about your Vegas residency was that you could see what worked and what didn’t for the audience and adjust accordingly. You only hoped that the rehearsals would be enough to quell your anxieties about performing.

The following day, you arrived at the showroom three hours before the scheduled rehearsal time, hoping to practice a bit more on your own and not embarrass yourself as you did the day prior. Even though everyone had told you that you’d done a great job, you could hardly sleep as your mind replayed every time you fumbled over your own lyrics or missed a cue. The residency was so much bigger than just yourself, so many people were relying on you to do well and sell out the rest of the shows. People’s livelihoods were on the line, and for the first time, you found yourself half-regretting pursuing music as a career.

As you dropped off your things in your dressing room, you could hear the faint sound of a piano accompanied by singing. Furrowing your eyebrows, you wracked your brain for who else could be in the showroom too. When you walked onto the stage, you were taken aback to see an Elvis impersonator sitting behind the keyboard, playing Unchained Melody as he sang along. He sounded beautiful and sang with a confidence you were envious of. Even more strange, he looked almost exactly like him if you didn’t know any better. In fact, you found yourself staring at his face, studying his features until his downturned eyes looked up at you through thick lashes, catching you in his gaze as a smile spread across his lips.

When he finished singing, you were in awe, unable to articulate anything coherent. “You were incredible–I mean, hi, I’m Y/N, and–”

His voice was velvety as he acknowledged you. “I know who you are, mama.”

“That’s great,” you said, rocking on your heels during the awkward silence that followed. “I’m sorry–are you supposed to be here?”

He nodded, getting up from behind the keyboard and walking over to you. “I’m gonna help you with your show. Nerves used to get to me too.”

“Chiara didn’t tell me she was bringing in a musical director.”

“Yeah, real last minute thing,” he said.

“Do you always dress like that?” you asked.

He raised an amused eyebrow. “My clothes?”

“Yeah, the whole Elvis impersonator thing,” you said. “I mean, you do a great job of it. You look just like him, really. Sound like him too.”

His answer was a noncommittal shrug. You felt kind of ridiculous accepting his help, like you were in the plot to some corny made-for-TV movie where an aspiring starlet is mentored by an Elvis impersonator, only for it to actually be him as an angel or ghost or something, disappearing by the end of the movie after she’s learned whatever generic lesson about friendship or being humble. When you asked what his name was, he even told you to just call him Elvis. You hoped Chiara knew what she was doing by hiring him, but she hadn’t led you astray yet.

To your surprise, he was a good mentor, giving you pointers on your performance and advice in engaging with the audience during the show. You found it odd when he asked you not to tell anyone else that he was helping you with your performance, assuring you that he was updating Chiara on everything himself. Even when you brought up that his advice would be useful to the backing band or stagehands, he insisted he was supposed to be mentoring you only.

You felt out of your element when he suggested you keep things light-hearted by joking around with them every few songs. You could certainly see his point. It’d endear them to you, make you that much more relatable if your nerves meant your singing had some hiccups here and there. The jokes and quips you’d written down were mediocre at best, with songwriting undoubtedly being your strong suit.

“I wrote some, I don’t know, jokes for the audience. I don’t think I’m much of a comedian, what do you think?” you asked.

He took the paper from you, and you cursed under your breath as the paper cut the delicate skin on your hand.

“Y/N,” Elvis whispered upon seeing the blood bead up and then drip down the side of your hand. He stared wide-eyed at the wound as if afraid of it.

“Hey, it was an accident. Don’t worry about it,” you said.

Just as you were about to pull your hand away, he grabbed it so quickly that if you had blinked, you would’ve missed it.

“Does it hurt?” he asked softly.

“I mean it stings a little,” you said.

He nodded, and in a move that made you feel like you were losing your mind, brought your hand to his mouth and licked the blood away, moaning as he did so. You’d never had an experience like that in your life, and you hated how the sound and sensation went straight to your pussy. Out of all the warning signals blaring in your mind at just about every interaction you had with Elvis in the few days he had been mentoring you, that was the blood red flag that stood out the most.

Looking up at you with hooded eyes, he kept his hold on your hand. “How about now?”

Unable to speak, you shook your head, disappointed when he released you at your confirmation of your well-being. You could hardly focus the rest of the evening, and when you returned to your suite later that night, you replayed the incident over and over in your head as you played with your clit, unaware of the voyuer who could hear you moaning his name as you brought yourself to orgasm at the thought of him and your own blood.

He didn’t bring up the incident the next time you saw him, which you took as your cue to not mention it either. As the next few days led up to opening night, you spent more time on stage with your backing band than with him. Though Chiara and Aileen assured you that you were ready, showing so much improvement from your first rehearsal the week before, you only truly felt ready when Elvis told you he knew you’d do perfectly–as long as you did what he told you.

“You’ll be there tonight, right?” you asked.

“You might not see me, but I’ll be there,” he promised.

You let out a sigh of relief. “Good, I think I’d cry if you said no.”

“Go on and give ‘em one hell of a show, baby,” he said, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

While you still felt nervous on stage, you didn’t let it get to your head as Elvis’ words the previous night echoed in your mind. They wanna see you do good, baby. That’s what they’re there for. Your backing band went right into your opening song, and to your relief, you started off strong, that confidence staying with you through the rest of your performance. It was fun to watch audience members react to your music, especially the ones who stood up from their tables and started dancing along.

The jokes you and Elvis had come up with were corny, sure, but they got a good reaction from the audience, and even the few you made on the spot landed well. Throughout your performance, you scanned the crowd for Elvis, but he was nowhere to be found. You were disappointed, but didn’t let it show as you introduced your last song of the evening.

You ended the show to a standing ovation, crying as Chiara handed you a bouquet of flowers from her seat in front of the stage. It went better than you could have imagined, and as the curtain dropped, you hugged every member of your backing band, thanking them for sticking by you despite the rocky start. Backstage was flooded with people fighting for your attention, but Chiara pushed her way through to give you a hug.

“You were amazing! Holy shit, I can’t believe you ever doubted yourself.”

“I couldn’t have done it without Elvis,” you said.

Chiara looked a bit confused, but nodded with a smile anyway as she continued congratulating you. As much as you appreciated everyone’s congratulations and well wishes, there was one person in particular whose opinion you desperately needed. Barely able to slip away from the pandemonium, you found him near the broken elevator. He gave you a dazzling smile when he saw you, making his way over to you.

Elvis pressed a kiss to your forehead before engulfing you in a hug. “You were perfect, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

You beamed at his words, squeezing him tighter against you. “Thank you. You’re coming to the afterparty, right?”

He released you from the hug, giving you an apologetic glance. “I can’t tonight, mama. You have fun. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

When he turned around to leave, a smirk spread across his face at the dejected look you gave him when he told you he wouldn’t be at the party. With every day that passed he became more convinced that you were the companion he needed to keep the loneliness of being one of the undead at bay. He couldn’t rush it, though. The incident with your hand was a risk he had taken far too soon, and he considered himself lucky that you actually enjoyed it instead of being scared away.

The next few months were consumed by you. He spent as much time as possible with you, or would lurk from the shadows to observe jealousy as you socialized with everyone who wasn’t him. You didn’t seem to notice that just about every man who made a pass on you at the hotel’s bar or casino disappeared not long after without a trace. Sooner or later, the message would get across that you were off-limits, and he was perfectly fine feeding on whatever bastard tried to get in his way of being with you.

Your residency was going fantastically, and you even had to work on an encore set because audiences started demanding it. Every time Elvis praised you or told you he was proud of you, it felt like getting struck by a bolt of lightning. Usually you and Elvis would work together before your nightly performances, as you found being around him gave you the confidence and motivation you needed to perform well.

For one reason or another, the two of you decided to work on one of your days off from performing, but as soon as you got to your dressing room, you regretted it. Knowing whether or not you’d get bad period cramps was a crapshoot, and unfortunately, they were especially bad that day. As much as you tried to mask it from Elvis, he could see right through you.

“You alright, mama?” he asked.

“My cramps are killing me today,” you said, wrapping your arms around your torso. “I took aspirin earlier, but I don’t think it’s helping.”

He responded with a silent, intense stare, and you interpreted his reaction as disgust.

“Don’t be immature. It’s natural.”

“I don’t disagree with you at all,” he said. “You know, opera singers don’t perform when they’re on their periods. Somethin’ about it messin’ with their vocal range.”

“I didn’t know that,” you said, wincing as you sat down to yet another cramp.

He licked his lips, inhaling through his nose as he added, “You know what really helps with all ‘a that?”

Yes, you knew exactly what he was referring to, and one more than one occasion had masturbated to relieve especially painful period cramps. In fact, you had considered doing so earlier, but you weren’t sure you’d have the time before meeting him.

His voice was so dark and deep you wanted to drown in its depths when he offered his assistance in alleviating your discomfort. It almost embarrassed you how quickly you agreed and ended up naked on your bed, his head buried between your legs as he lapped at your pussy. You gasped as you felt teeth graze your folds, but nothing more. His moans put the one you’d gotten off to before to shame, you wished you could record it–put it as the backing track for a salacious song like some of the metal bands you indulged in did.

He rubbed your clit with his thumb as he ate you out, his pace relentless as you could feel yourself reaching orgasm. Still, it wasn’t enough; you needed more. Sometimes you liked to drag things out, edge a bit to amplify the pleasure when you finally did come. In this instance, however, you allowed your greediness and desperation to guide you.

“Elvis,” you whined. “Elvis—fuck, faster.”

Elvis. You wished you knew his real name, feeling like an idiot helplessly moaning the name of a dead rockstar while getting eaten out by a man almost twice your age who dressed like him for a living. Regardless, you carded your fingers through his greased up black hair, pressing his face closer against your cunt. Just weeks ago you would have considered the thought of this disgusting, but now, seeing your blood on his face only turned you on, and you were too determined to find release to even begin thinking about what that said about you.

An all-consuming ecstasy sent white-hot waves of pleasure through your body that verged on being painful. More intense than anything you’d ever felt before, the moan you let out was guttural, coming from a place of depravity inside you that you weren’t aware existed. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, only feel as you orgasmed and then promptly passed out on the bed.

Still in your state of unconsciousness, Elvis continued eating you out like a man possessed. Truly, he may as well have been, because every time he tried to pull away, the taste of your blood on his tongue went right through him, until finally, he had to force himself to stop. His eyes gazed over the blood that was smeared on your body, and he swore he’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. Cursing himself for not having a camera to capture the state of obscenity he’d left you in, he made a mental note to keep one for next time.

Feeding had become sexual, the release he craved in lieu of actually being able to fuck, one of the things he missed most about being human. Taking blood, taking life sent orgasm-esque waves of pleasure through his undead body that he long since stopped feeling guilty for. If tearing someone’s throat out was sex, going down on a woman when she was on her period was foreplay, the least he could do before the inevitable.

As you lay unconscious beneath him, he reached out, gently caressing your warm cheek. He didn’t want to kill you, it’d be such a waste. Between your beauty and talent, he finally felt close to the sun as he could in his endless night. There was no way of knowing if anyone like you would cross paths with him again, and so, resisting the instinct he’d developed, he pressed a bloody kiss to your cheek before leaving to find a way to satiate his bloodlust before sunrise. Just his luck, she looked almost like you.

The late morning sun peaked through your curtains, waking you up to your bed looking like you’d been murdered in it. You felt nauseous with embarrassment at the thought of housekeeping seeing, let alone cleaning, your sheets. Elvis was nowhere to be found, and while you figured as much, you still found yourself disappointed by his absence. Knowing the ‘do not disturb’ sign was still on the door handle outside your room, you hoped a quick shower would help you brainstorm what to do with your damn sheets.

Your legs wobbled beneath you as you tried to stand up, stumbling like a fawn into your bathroom. As soon as you flipped on the lights, your eyes widened at the state of the lower half of your body. Dried blood smeared across your thighs and legs, and as you turned to inspect the damage, you could see where Elvis had held your hips from the bloody fingerprints that painted your skin.

Using the wall for support, you closed your eyes as you let the shower run until the water was warm to the touch. The blood didn’t immediately wash off your body as you’d hoped. Instead, you had to scrub to get it off, watching the rust-colored water pool at the drain. Even expending this bit of energy exhausted you even more than you already were. Throwing your washcloth aside, you sat down on the shower floor, resting your head on your knees until the water turned cold.

You got out of the shower, drying yourself off with a towel before putting on your bathrobe. Standing in front of your bed with your hands on your sore hips, you still had no idea what you were going to do with your sheets. In a fit of nervous adrenaline, you grabbed them and ran out of your room to the nearest laundry chute, sending them down in hopes the sight of them wouldn’t trigger a homicide investigation.

When you met Elvis at your usual time, in your usual spot, later that night, he greeted you warmly with a kiss to your forehead, pleased to hear you were feeling better. You had so many questions, especially about the previous night, but unsure of how to articulate them, went about business as usual as he continued to mentor you through your residency.

The intimacy that you had developed with Elvis confused you. He wasn’t your boyfriend, yet he’d become frighteningly irate and disagreeable when you’d mention interest in other men, even in passing. Calling him your lover felt odd, as the only time the two of you did anything remotely sexual was when you’d be on your period, and he’d ravage you like it was his last meal and then act like nothing happened. The two of you were far too close for you to brush the relationship off as casual—casual had long since up and gone in the context of you and Elvis.

No one knew about him, though. He had asked you not to tell anyone about him, and whenever it seemed like someone would find the two of you out in some way, they either diverted course or he successfully disappeared into the shadows. Despite all of the time you spent with him, you hardly knew anything about him, long since giving up asking him any personal questions since he’d answer as if he were Elvis himself.

You could admit to yourself that the situation was fucked up. There was nothing normal about it, and you almost wondered how you ended up in that spot in the first place. Still, you weren’t sure if your residency would be as successful without him. Whenever you incorporated one of his suggestions into the show or followed the direction he gave, Chiara would tell you that critics were raving about the changes, and audiences couldn’t get enough—that much was true, as you found yourself having to work out elaborate encores. No one wanted you to leave. At the same time, the rest of the world was growing restless at your residency being confined to Las Vegas.

Chiara had excitedly approached you one evening before your first show of the night with a small stack of papers. As you flipped through them, she explained that your label had put together a report of cities with the most interest in you bringing your show to them as well as offers from international venues that wanted you to perform. Finally, she added that the label had pre-approved your next three albums—so long as you accompanied each one with a show similar to your Vegas one.

It was almost too much to take in at once. The money would be unbelievable, though, especially the international venues which were offering amounts that made your eyes nearly pop out of your head. The next decade of your career was practically set, and you gladly joined Chiara when she brought you to the hotel bar, ordering a bottle of champagne for the two of you to split in celebration.

You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing again, and you knew a large part of that had to do with Elvis. Breaking the news to him wouldn’t be easy, as Chiara had made no mention of him in the plans she had thrown out about your tours, and you wanted to keep true to your word that you wouldn’t bring him up. You supposed it meant he was only helping you during the residency and nothing more.

He was taken aback when you sheepishly told him the following night about the label’s offer and the plans to tour.

“I wanted to thank you for everything,” you said. “Chiara said the label wants me to take the show on tour–”

“You’re leaving?”

“I still have two weeks left of shows, but I couldn’t have done it without you. I mean, I’m pretty much set for life.”

He scoffed. “I’m sure you are. Let me tell you somethin’ mama. There are people out there who ain’t as nice as I am, ain’t lookin’ out for you the way I do.”

“Do you want me to just stay here forever?”

He shook his head, storming out of your dressing room. You didn’t see him again for several days following that altercation. Ever since you gave him the news about ending your residency, his direction was hostile and he withheld the usual praises he poured on you. During your last few nights of shows, he disappeared again, to your frustration.

You couldn’t bring him with you, no rational way to explain the odd relationship you had with Elvis. Chiara had hired him to mentor you, not be your overbearing–fuckbuddy? lover? bootycall? Not to mention, if he was this volatile, you weren’t sure the rest of your team would appreciate having him around. Still, the thought of leaving him made your chest ache. You’d miss him terribly, as much as it pained you to admit it.

You sat in your dressing room after the second to last night of shows during your residency. When you heard the door open and then close behind you, you could tell by the sound of the footfall that it was him. You almost wanted to chew him out for ignoring you the past few days, but when you turned around, he beat you to the punch.

“Y/N, I’ve been thinkin’ about it, your tour and everything,” he said. “Well, you’re not goin’ on it.”

You scoffed, after how he’d been treating you, now he suddenly cares again? “I don’t think that’s for you to decide.”

He smiled, in on a secret you were about to find out. “See, that’s the thing, it is.”

“And what sway would an Elvis impersonator have over my career?”

“I’m no impersonator, mama. I’m the real deal.”

Before you could respond, he bared his teeth, revealing unnaturally sharp canines. Your heart leapt to your throat, which you covered with a hand. Like stars that had aligned, everything made sense to you—his odd behavior, all of the anomalies in his stories and excuses, and most of all, his sexual inclinations. Just as quickly, those stars exploded into an uncontrollable supernova that overtook your mind as the reality of the situation caught up to you. Whether he killed you or turned you, you were going to die.

Your lip trembled as he approached you, hunger in his eyes and the slightest hint of a smile on his face. Using his finger to lift your head, he leaned down and kissed you slowly, sensually. Though the sensation made you feel dizzy, you couldn’t help but keen into his touch, opening your mouth the slightest bit to allow him access, to take what he wanted. If this was the face of death, you welcomed him with open arms.

“You wanna stay with me, don’t you, baby?” he whispered. “Want me to keep you all to myself?”

“Yes,” you breathed, gasping as his sharp fangs poked at your bottom lip. “Elvis, please.”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your lips. “How can I say no when you ask so nicely?”

He pulled away from you, wrapping an arm around your waist, and without protest you allowed him to guide you to the broken elevator. He pulled a key out of his pocket, turning the access lock next to the elevator doors, which suddenly came to life as they opened before you. The button to the penthouse lit up when he pressed it, and you let out a weak laugh at the revelation that the off-limits suite was his.

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