#what BDE gOD

[somedaytakethetime]

QUALIFIED!! LET'S GO BITCHES!! ISSA NISSA!! Bonus because apparently someone still remembers he has an instagram:

[mieczyslawsravenclaw]

Best Friends, Is That All? - Stiles Stilinski

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

•Pairing - Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

•Rating - 18+, Minors DNI - Smut - NSFW!!!

•Summary/Prompt - Just a regular ride in Stilesʼ jeep…Or it would be, if the love-struck fool could stop asking you how you feel about him. Guess someone's got a different kind of ride in mind...

•Warnings/Content - Pretty much all bases covered, they definitely fuck, tons of begging and mentions of markings and scratching, they use a condom bc SAFETY, oral oral lots of oral, TONS of petnames sorry its cheesy ik but I canʼt help it, lots of praise too bc thatʼs tasty, oh yeah and boys whimpering bc thatʼs just hot asf, they're in love so it's a little fluffier but still VERY spicy

•Word Count - 4.5k

•Authorʼs Note(s) - As always, just want to write about the spicy ideas I get from having spicy dreams, I feel like this oneʼs a little better than the last one but who knows? >_< /// (YA'LL I EXPECTED LIKE 4 LIKES ON MY SPENCER BLURB AND I GOT OVER 200 TY????? WTF???? )

•Additional Tags - they fuck in the jeep!, stiles is a whore for begging, theyʼre obsessed with eachother ffs, Switch!Stiles but mostly Sub!Stiles, he talks her through it UGH YES, CONSENT IS KEY, heʼs okay with whatever even if that means he doesnʼt get laid, Stiles is one cocky SOB with BDE and just a big dick oops, theyʼre for sure gonna fuck again before the night is over hehehe

“Do you get nervous?ˮ

The question takes me by surprise - Up until now, it had been a normal, routine drive with Stiles, albeit more fidgety than usual from his side. But once the question has left his lips, heʼs even more so, if thatʼs possible.

“Do I…yeah, definitely. Of course I do.ˮ I quirk my eyebrow at him; Heʼs avoiding my eyeline, focused far too much on the road ahead.

Something else, another question maybe, passes his lips, but itʼs far too quiet for me to catch. The poor thing is redder than a tomato, tapping his hands on the wheel as he starts to drive just a little faster unknowingly.

“Huh?ˮ

“A-About…M-mmmmm.ˮ Stiles stutters, dragging out his thought. The jeep seems to follow its driver, stuttering a bit on the road as he pushes the pedal down further.

“Sti, are you okay?ˮ

“Nervous.ˮ He repeats the word like heʼs reading it from a dictionary, not like heʼs using it as a self description. Weʼre getting further into the back roads now, and if I didnʼt know any better, Iʼd think he was bringing me out here to kill me or something.

“Pull over a sec, yeah?ˮ

He nods, bringing the jeep to a crawl along a forest road that could more accurately be called a trail, if anything. The silence is filled only by the bumping of the tires on the gravel, until we reach a stopping point, surrounded by nothing but trees for miles.

“Whatʼs eating at you, Stilinski?ˮ I turn in my seat, eyeing him in the mid-day light. Filtered through the jeepʼs dusty windows, he looks like a modern god, and my heart can hardly take it. Iʼve loved this poor boy a long time, but Iʼve never been brave enough to say it. And now, weʼre all alone in the woods for who knows what reason, and Iʼm more nervous than ever.

“Dʼyou ever get nervous…about me?ˮ He manages, his eyes squeezing shut and his fists clenching tight. He lets out a huge breath, then continues in a ramble, “God, I canʼt believe I even just asked that. Holy shit. I mean, you make me so nervous. Dʼyou know that? Youʼre my best friend, and you make me so nervous I feel like I canʼt even breathe, I want you to just reach over and break the distance between us and give in and just take me. God-ˮ

“Sti.ˮ It comes out half-choked. The lump in my throat swells - oh, my god, he likes me too? - as I scoot ever closer to him.

“Oh, of course not,ˮ He sighs, eyes still closed. He doesnʼt see me shift again, within touching distance, he just keeps on with his nervous blabber. “I mean, someone as beautiful as you with a guy like me? Come on, Stiles, get real.ˮ

“Stiles. Look at me, damn it.ˮ Hands shaking, Iʼm reaching over to touch him when he listens to me, turning and looking all in one motion.

“Oh, hi there.ˮ He blurts, flushing crimson.

“Yes, I get nervous about you, too.ˮ I can hardly believe Iʼm uttering the words. But my fear is trumped by the desperate need for him, right here and right now. I canʼt believe of all times and places, this is where itʼs gonna happen, but I donʼt quite care at the same point, either.

“You do?ˮ

“Stiles, I can barely contain myself around you. These past few months especially, I just-ˮ My reaching hands are still hanging near him, and he notices, finally, taking them in his own. I let out a shaking breath, closing my own eyes in desperate need to escape his searching gaze that sends my pulse skyrocketing. “You-Youʼre everything, do you know that? Iʼve wanted to tell you for so long, but I didnʼt think youʼd even look at me like that, I just thought-ˮ

“Best friends, nothing more?ˮ He chuckles softly, and I can sense the way his lips curl, not even needing to see it to know it. “Yeah, sounds familiar. Hey, look at me. I like you, you idiot.ˮ

My eyes open at the last few words, and seeing it straight from his mouth makes me lose myself for a moment. All I can do is blankly stare, my stomach doing flips. He likes me, he likes me, he likes me!

“Can you say something?ˮ He groans, eyes flicking between my own and down to my mouth. “Like, maybe confirm to me that you like me back? I mean, you kinda said as much, but I just really wanna hear you say it. Can you say it? Is that okay? Youʼre killing me, here-ˮ

“I like you too. Of course I do, who wouldnʼt?ˮ

“You do. For sure? Not just tryna pity me, are you?ˮ He quips, but itʼs clearly halfhearted.

“I really like you, dumbass.ˮ I move closer, dying for something to happen. Anything.

“Are you gonna kiss me now? Or am I gonna kiss you? Somebodyʼs gotta kiss somebody here, or Iʼm gonna lose it. Please, Iʼm begging you.ˮ

“Oh, youʼre begging me now?ˮ I smirk.

“Absolutely I am. If we were outside Iʼd be on my knees for you. Please, just fucking-ˮ He lets go of my hands, reaching for my waist as I grab at his collar.

We meld like itʼs second nature, lips forming together with a satisfied groan from Stiles that makes my legs weak. Somehow, I climb onto him in this cramped little jeep, bumping the steering wheel with my ass. He laughs, almost immediately going back to kissing me, a bit harder now. Itʼs clear in the way I grind my hips down to him with what I feel rising back to meet me that this is gonna take up a lot of our time together today.

I wonder for a moment if anyone will assume what weʼve gotten up to. Of course, Allison knows how I feel about Stiles, Iʼve told her a million times. I wonder if heʼs told Scott. Iʼm sure he has.

“Youʼre thinking too much,ˮ He growls, biting my lip. I moan back. “Thatʼs a lot coming from me,ˮ Another kiss, coming down my jaw now as I catch my breath. “I know. But…what can I do to get your mind back to me, hmm?ˮ

“That. Keep doing that.ˮ My hands tangle in the back of his hair, the tousled sort-of-waves that have grown out as of late being tugged as he nips at my neck.

“You want me to keep begging for you too?ˮ He teases, his lips coming up to my ear. “Cause I can do that all day, baby.ˮ

I nod, unable to grasp words with his breath against me.

“You gonna let me take you here, right now? Itʼs killing me to feel you on me like this and not have you. Please, let me have you, I canʼt stand it.ˮ

“T-tell me what you want me to do.ˮ I grasp harder at his hair, and he lets out a whimper. Oh, my god, that.

“I want you to fuckinʼ destroy me, and Iʼll beg until you do. God, Iʼm shameless, I donʼt even care if weʼre out here all alone or not, just please for the love of fuck, ride me like nothing else matters.ˮ

I pull his lips back to mine, silencing him for a time as we continue to make our own rhythm, learning one another with moans and laughs and tension unparalleled. Itʼs great, too great-I smack my head against the jeepʼs roof, letting out a yelp.

“Oh, shit-ˮ Stiles pulls me down against him, biting his lip when I land.

“Iʼm okay. Ow.ˮ

“How about we move this to the back?ˮ He pops the door open, letting me out first. Despite his words, heʼs back on my neck the moment weʼre outside, making it hard for me to push the seat down to get into the back.

“Stiles…ˮ I sigh, fumbling with the latch.

“Sorry, just want you-god, just want you so bad.ˮ He pulls back, reaching forward and sending the seat down with a practiced grasp.

I clamber inside, watching him hyperfocus on giving us as much room as possible. Front seats pushed down and forward, clutter thrown into the front, then heʼs back on me, kissing me and tugging at my shorts.

“Can I…?ˮ He motions, and I nod, letting him pull them down. His lips come back to mine, his fingers playing at the edge of my panties.

“Please-ˮ

“Youʼre begging now?ˮ He chuckles, his voice lower and throatier. Gods, Iʼm wet as fuck just from that.

“Shamelessly.ˮ I echo his earlier words, earning another small laugh.

“You want me, baby? How bad?ˮ He teases, hand grasping at my hip.

“Real-Really bad. Want you so bad, want you to-ˮ I canʼt even finish the thought, as he presses against my clit with his thumb. I moan, bucking up against him.

“Sorry, Iʼm impatient, you know that.ˮ He amends, kissing down my jaw and pulling back. He sits me up against the door, pulling my legs up and pressing a deep kiss against my opening. “Youʼre soaking, I can tell even through these little things.ˮ

I shudder, eyeing him in between my legs. Itʼs a sight to behold, and he isnʼt even getting started yet.

“Howʼs about we take em off, huh? Donʼt need these where weʼre going.ˮ He discards the fabric, and when his eyes meet the heat pooling below my belly, his jaw goes slack. I could almost swear he was drooling.

For a moment, Iʼm self conscious, folding in on my body under his gaze. But he holds my thighs back down, shaking his head.

“Uh-uh. No shame, right, princess?ˮ He hovers over me, eyes flicking back and forth between his focus and my face. “Now, you just let me know what feels good and what doesnʼt, okay? Wanna make sure you enjoy yourself.ˮ

“Stiles, Iʼm dying here, please just touch me already.ˮ

He smirks, another shake of the head, this one with a cocky air to it.

“If you insist, sweetheart.ˮ He brings his lips down to meet my opening, licking a stripe up that sends my hands grasping at the jeepʼs seat.

“Sti-ˮ

He hums against me, his grip on my thighs tightening. A few more precise licks, and heʼs delving into my core, filling the jeep with my desperate cries. Fuck, heʼs good, and Iʼm already closer by the minute.

“Taste so good, baby…ˮ He murmurs, getting lost in the task as my hands tug at his hair. When he shifts up to suck at my clit, the noise it brings from me is almost inhuman. “Feel good?ˮ

“Yes- oh my god, yes-ˮ

“Want more? How does this feel, hmm?ˮ He presses a finger to my opening, and I push against him, wordlessly begging. He chuckles, pushing it in fluidly. One, a few motions, and clearly Iʼm still desperate so he adds in another. “Talk to me, baby. Use your words.ˮ

“You want me to talk right now?ˮ I moan, my mind spinning in the pleasure-filled void heʼs trapped me in.

“I know, itʼs just too good, huh? You donʼt have to talk, your noises are more than enough.ˮ He curls his fingers, pulling against a sweet spot that has me crying out.

“Stiles!ˮ

Back down to me with his lips now, too, I can feel the smirk that starts up hearing me say his name like that. He knows exactly where he has me, and heʼs gonna relish in it. Not only are his fingers working magic now, but along with his tongue? Iʼm gonna break, and he knows it.

“Iʼm-Oh, donʼt stop-ˮ

A hummed approval is all I get from the usually chatty lips of Stiles Stilinski, his beard that heʼs let grow in recently brushing over me while he brings me to the edge. Iʼm practically drowning in the pleasure, and heʼs the air I need. One more fluid motion, just the right one, and Iʼm spilling curses from my mouth and wetness from my heat. He laps it up heartily, a satisfied groan from the recess of his throat vibrating against me.

“You…I just…wow.ˮ He pauses for a moment to look over me with a smile beginning to tug at the corner of his lips. I flush, back to being nervous under his eye.

“Stunned you into silence, eh, Stilinski?ˮ

“Oh, Iʼm far from done. Just figured Iʼd give you a break.ˮ He quips with a smirk.

“I donʼt need one.ˮ I blurt, the words faster than my brain.

“No?ˮ He laughs. “Okay, then. Well, if thatʼs the case, Iʼm begging you to get back to being all over me.ˮ

“In what way?ˮ I smirk, looking at his coated fingers.

He snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Funny.ˮ Keeping up eye contact, he licks his fingers clean. He seems to enjoy the groan it elicits from me. “Like that, huh? Iʼm looking forward to finding out what else you like.ˮ

I sit up, pressing to him once again. He tastes like me, and chuckles against my kiss. The clink of undoing his belt buckle becomes the sounds of rustling fabrics, my shirt tossed, his gone. His chest to mine, warm and inviting, and his pants kicked to the side. I fumble with my bra, my cheeks red.

“I…ˮ

“Yʼknow we can stop anytime, yeah?ˮ He amends, sensing my hesitation. “Like, of course Iʼm okay with whatever, I want you in all the ways. But only if youʼre comfortable. Consentʼs important.ˮ

“Oh, I want you. I want all of you, of course I do.ˮ I sigh. “Just…real nervous about how I look.ˮ

“You?ˮ Heʼs incredulous, pulling back and sweeping my body with his gaze. “Holy shit, no way. Nuh uh. You, youʼre…God, youʼre gorgeous, are you kidding me? Every part of you fits just right with the other, promise. You donʼt have to do anything you donʼt wanna do, but you gotta know that. You gotta know Iʼm gonna love how you look. I donʼt even need to have seen it yet to know. You just…are.ˮ

Iʼve been rendered speechless, and all I can do is take it off while he rambles.

“Not to say that you gotta just cause Iʼm saying all this. You get that, right? Iʼm not saying it just to get you to-ˮ He stops cold when Iʼve tossed the bra, my hands still hiding the majority of my chest. With a gentle grasp, he reaches to uncover me. “Can I…?ˮ

“Yeah, Iʼm just nervous.ˮ

“Thatʼs okay. Me, too. Youʼre beautiful though.ˮ He lifts my cover away softly, eyeing me with precision and adoration. He pokes at the moles and freckles that adorn my upper body, smiling as his eyes meet mine again. “See? Perfect. Nothing to worry about.ˮ

“Stiles, I adore you.ˮ I blurt, tears starting to form.

“Oh, sweetie.ˮ He pulls me closer, kissing my nose. “We can stop if youʼre really too nervous. I donʼt mind. Iʼll just jack off later or something, no big.ˮ

I snort at his words. “As much as Iʼd love to watch that. No, Iʼm okay. Just needed a moment, I guess. Trust me, Iʼm still dying for you.ˮ

His face goes red. “Youʼd- huh? Wow, thatʼs an image. Maybe another time, yeah? No shortage of things to think about for that, especially now Iʼve seen you and itʼs not just my imagination spurring me on.ˮ

“Youʼll have more to go on soon, too.ˮ I pull him back down onto me, kissing him.

“Fuck, youʼre hot.ˮ He moans. “Youʼre killing me.ˮ

“Destroying you,ˮ I correct him. “Thatʼs what you wanted, isnʼt it?ˮ

“Still want it,ˮ He grasps at me, nothing but his boxers to hide that want now. “Very much still want it.ˮ

More kissing ensues, and weʼre groping at eachother like weʼre high-schoolers again. Somehow, at some point, heʼs as bare as I am now and the way weʼre pressed to one another is the most tempting thing Iʼve ever experienced in my entire life.

“Hey, so, uh- not to seem like a copycat or anything, but…ˮ He breathes against my lips, his voice catching. “Yʼknow, nervous about how I look, now that Iʼm thinking about it. Not really very manly of me, I know, whatever.ˮ

“Fuck manliness,ˮ I amend, letting him pull back. “Youʼre perfect, you…oh, how could you not be?ˮ

What a sight he is to behold, in all his naked glory. Goosebumps pepper my skin as I look him over, from the moles that adorn him across his body the same way they do across his face, to the burning red that sits underneath his pale skin…to of course what heʼs referencing concern over the most. And thereʼs certainly none needed, in my opinion. No concerns, except how Iʼm gonna need to stretch out around that. Oh, my.

“Stiles…ˮ My voice, my gaze, softens. His shoulders drop. “Youʼre stunning.ˮ

“Not just saying that, are you?ˮ He brushes non-existent dirt from his shoulder. “My ego will be sorely bruised.ˮ

“Should I tell you or should I show you?ˮ I lick my lips, gaze going between his legs and back to his face. The noise he makes would be comical in any other circumstance.

“Fuck, definitely show me.ˮ

Now, itʼs his turn to lie back, and Iʼm in control. I must have absolutely stunned him, because heʼs got nothing to say, just watching me as I lower over him. Once I begin to kiss at and lick stripes over him, though, heʼs got plenty to say - I donʼt recognize half the curses he lets fly, they must be Polish or something. But fly they do, and his hand is at my hair when I start to take him in my mouth, grasp tight.

“Oh, my god-ˮ

I keep it up until he stops me a few moments later, a funny little quirk to his brows.

“God, I donʼt ever wanna stop this, but if you keep going like that Iʼm gonna fuckinʼ bust, and I gotta know what you feel like riding me first, please?ˮ He reaches blindly around, cursing. “Fuckinʼ - just need my wallet, whereʼd my jeans go?ˮ

I laugh, pulling back to help his search. When he comes up with the item in question, I understand- protection, no shit.

“Yeah, okay, now Iʼm ready.ˮ He nods after heʼs prepared himself, sitting up against the seat. He helps position me over him, eyes locked. “Oh, my god, is this actually real? I feel like Iʼm in some kinda magical dream.ˮ

“Very real. I remember what I had for breakfast and everything.ˮ I quip, trying to ease the nerves. They wonʼt go, though, and the knot in my stomach is ever-tighter as he brushes against my opening. “Fuck, I want you inside me, now.ˮ

“Kinda up to you, there.ˮ He holds me tight around the waist, eyes pleading. “Iʼm ready when you are, though, rock my fuckinʼ world sweetheart.ˮ

“Fuuuuuck, youʼre tight.ˮ He groans. “So thatʼs how you feel. No imagination or anything my hands can do compares to that.ˮ

The need is too great to put it off any longer; I let myself push down to meet him, the entering gasps we let out mingling in the short bit of air between us. His head falls back, his hands only guides as I bring myself further down, slowly, slowly, slowly. I take a moment around the first few inches to breathe; as ridiculous as it sounds, Iʼve never had someone quite as…gifted as him.

“Iʼm only getting started,ˮ I reply. “Genuinely, in all honesty, not a joke or anything. Youʼre…a lot to take.ˮ

“Having fun strokinʼ my ego?ˮ He chuckles.

“Tilʼ you give me something else to stroke.ˮ

“Fuck, thatʼs a promise.ˮ He ruts up against me, bringing a cry from my lips. “Shit, sorry, reflex. You feel so good, I just want more of you. Did I hurt you?ˮ

“No, it felt too good.ˮ I admit. “Just taking it slow cause Iʼm not really used to anything this…ˮ

“Big?ˮ Heʼs got the widest smirk on his face now.

“Howʼs that for your precious ego?ˮ I flirt, pushing down another bit with a sharp breath. The stretching pain is worth it for the look on his face.

“My ego is just fine. Big, just like my- Oh, my god-ˮ He stutters out, his bravado going out the window when I start to rock my hips back and forth. And was that a whimper? “Oh, please donʼt stop, keep going. Oh, god-ˮ

“Long as you keep begging.ˮ

The more I move, the easier it gets to take him, until Iʼm fairly close to bottoming out. Heʼs holding me closer than ever, kissing me whenever he gets the chance to, and the noises and whimpers havenʼt stopped. It spurs me, the collision of our bodies growing ever-faster as he cries my name and begs me not to stop. I wonʼt, I canʼt, itʼs all too good and Iʼm chasing a high that I find myself soon riding out onto him. Now, Iʼll be the one saying his name, his real name.

“God, that sounds so good coming from you,ˮ He moans, “Iʼve never heard it sound so good.ˮ

“Hereʼs to many more.ˮ I stutter out between the motions weʼre making and the sounds accompanying. Heʼs less in control now, thrusting up to meet me and pushing me down to him. Heʼs made plenty of marks on me, from the hickeys littering my skin to the surefire bruising my hips will have from his grasp. I can only hope to either hide whatʼs visible or risk the teasing the pack will no doubt give us later.

“Please, take me all the way, Iʼll help you through it.ˮ He begs, kissing me again once Iʼve come down far enough. “Youʼve got this, baby, please?ˮ

No words, just a resolute nod, and his response is a repeated thanks. I push further, to the very end of him, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“Good, baby- fuck , youʼre doing good, pretty girl. So good, so good for me. There you go.ˮ He kisses my burning skin, the devouring fire weʼve made together consuming us both as I shift around under his grasp. He doesnʼt force, only guides, and makes a rhythm for me to follow with sputtered curses abounding. “God, you feel so good. Does it feel good for you? Hurt?ˮ

“Only enough to make me want it more,ˮ I moan, letting my head drop to his shoulder. “F-fuck me.ˮ

“Is that a statement or a request?ˮ He doesnʼt wait for an answer as I slow, taking the lead and snapping up into me. Once, twice, I lose count. He seems to get lost, too, senseless mumbles and moans filling the jeep as my hand streaks the fogged window. Heʼs entirely filled me up, and I want for nothing more than to go until I canʼt anymore.

He guards my head when I raise back up, making sure I wonʼt hit the roof again, and when it starts to rain in the secluded forest weʼve hidden ourselves in, itʼs not the only thing sending waves crashing down around us. Another thing I lose count of - heʼs far too good at this, and I tell him so.

“Been thinkinʼ about this for a while, so that counts as practice, yeah?ˮ The sweat sticks a bit of his hair to his forehead, and he looks about ready to tire out.

“You losing steam on me?ˮ I tease, brushing his hair back.

“Hell, no!ˮ He groans when I move my hips, sat bottomed out but doing nothing else. “Iʼm pretty close, thatʼs all. But when Iʼm done with you here Iʼm not done with you for the night, if youʼre willing.ˮ

“Well, if youʼre close…ˮ My lips curl deviously, and I bring myself back to the pace and movement that had had him howling earlier. Heʼs back to it in an instant, but his whines are more pronounced, drug out.

“Fuck, please, please donʼt stop-ˮ

“Gonna cum for me?ˮ

“Y-yes, yes-ˮ

“Good.ˮ Itʼs like a growl from me, and his cries only grow from it, until Iʼm sure at least anyone with supernatural hearing can catch onto us if theyʼre anywhere near.

“Oh- Oh, my god, Iʼm gonna-ˮ Stiles holds me tight, the most animalistic noise of it all loosing from his lips as he loads the condom full inside me. Weʼre hot, sweaty, and as close together as we possibly can be, but he still pulls me closer, taking a deep, heavy breath.

“So…how was I?ˮ

His laugh is quick, choked.

“Are you serious? Fuck, that was amazing. Iʼd just as soon do it again, but Iʼm…a little depleted at the moment.ˮ He eyes where we meet with an eyebrow wiggle. “Hey, we just had sex.ˮ

“That we did.ˮ I laugh.

“You and me, best friends. Just had sex. Well, we might wanna rethink that whole just best friends idea, huh?ˮ He kisses my cheek, letting out a content sigh. “No rush on that, Iʼm just talking. You know how I get. Just…excited that this happened. That it is happening. And…Iʼd be okay with calling you something more than my best friend. If youʼre into that.ˮ

“Very much into that.ˮ

“So…girlfriend?ˮ

“Shit, I was gonna say fiancee or wife. Or soulmate.ˮ

His eyes bug for a moment, then he starts to laugh.

“Youʼre fuckinʼ with me. Youʼre hilarious. Alright, girlfriend-future-fiancee-wife-soulmate-whatever-you-want, howʼs that sound?ˮ

“A little long, if Iʼm being honest.ˮ

“Long didnʼt seem to bother you just a moment ago.ˮ

“Mieczyslaw!ˮ

“Still sounds beautiful cominʼ from you. Like…ˮ He catches my glare, and smirks. “Nevermind. Letʼs get this cleaned up and head back, huh? Thereʼs a pizza about to be made with our names on it.ˮ

[carmenberzattosgf]

What kinks do you think carmy has?

I have so many answers this based on the different Carmy’s I have built in my mind- so imma just go broad with this

First of all. PRAISE. like this goes both ways. He is always. A l w a y s praising you. Loves to call you his good girl and all that. He also loves it when you throw him praise too. It makes him go fucking insane. I really don’t think Carmy would be into degradation! I think the poor guy is a little too traumatized from New York and all the times he was yelled at.

second. Overstimulation. He will give you orgasm after orgasm until you cannot speak or think. He spends hours between your thighs. You try to push him away but he does. Not. Budge. Carmy refuses to stop until your legs start shaking. THEN he fucks you until the entire world goes hazy and you cannot tell up from down.

This leads into… dom and sub dynamics. I think this dynamic just lets him feel like he’s totally in control. To have someone listen to his every word- he’s actually done for. I see Carmy as more of a soft dom. Like he’s all about praising you. Yes, he’ll give you orders, but he’s not going to be “mean” to you. I think you’ll have to bring up harder punishments before he would even consider them. Once you bring up spankings, it quickly becomes his favorite way to punish you.

So along with the dom/sub dynamics… he melts when you call him dominant names in bed. The first one that comes to mind is ‘daddy’… but even just ‘sir’, or dare I say, ‘chef’. And of course he calls you all kinds of things in return, ‘princess’, ‘little girl’, ‘baby girl’, ‘sweetheart’, and the list goes on and on and on

He’s into cum play. I cannot pretend he isn’t. He can just stare at your cunt and watch his cum drip out of it. He’ll take his fingers and press it back up into you. If he can’t cum inside of you… he’s happy to cum all over your stomach. Carmy will run a finger through the mess and then tell you to suck his cum off of his finger. When you give him a blow job? Once he cums in your mouth, he gives you firm instructions not to swallow. Why? Because he wants you to stick your tongue out first so he can see his cum coating your mouth before you swallow. ( I can go on and on about cum play-)

I’m going to list one more! Tw for size kink ( I know it can make a lot of people uncomfortable!)

Carmy is well aware he’s not a tall guy. But he’s also well aware of his huge dick ( he has bde he just does). Oh my god he hits so deep inside of you it drives him up the wall. When he sees the bulge in your stomach he cannot help but press down on it with his hand. “Yeah? You feel that baby? Feel how deep my cock is inside of you? Is daddy’s cock too big for your little cunt?” Like he gets such a surge of power from his cock rendering you brainless.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Sinning With Lust (Good Omens One-Shot)

Aziraphale x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: Aziraphale catches you reading a spicy novel.

CW: Aziraphale has bde here

Good Omens Tag List: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“What have we here, then?” 

Those five words startled you so badly that it sent your Kindle flying out of your hands and onto the floor. 

“Jesus Christ!” You shouted, hand flying to your chest in fright. Your heart beat hard and fast for a few moments before you returned to yourself, hammering dying down. 

You’d been reading a rather spicy scene in your novel, and you hadn’t expected to be interrupted quite like that. Particularly so startlingly. 

“Oh, come now, that’s not very nice- blaspheming in an Angel’s abode.” Aziraphale tutted at you teasingly, those eyes glinting with mischief. He was good at that. “My house is God’s house, you know.” 

“Listen,” you breathed, heartbeat finally returning to normal. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you sneaking up on me.” 

“Sneaking?! Well, I resent the accusation, my dear. I assure you I was approaching at my usual pace, gait and noisiness.” 

You grunted and made to stand to grab your Kindle, though Aziraphale shushed you and encouraged you back into your spot, insisting that he should get it for you as he was the reason it had been dropped so unceremoniously. 

“What were we reading today, dear?” Aziraphale asks, leaning to pick up the tablet and pass it to you. 

You’d always thought those scenes in movies where the protagonist had something to hide and the main antagonist, side character or whoever went for it in slow motion was stupid. Turns out it’s pretty accurate. 

Your heart beat faster in your chest and you reached for the Kindle to snatch it out of his hands before he could read the page sitting there incriminatingly. You watched as his eyes skimmed a couple of lines and widened comically before settling again after the initial shock. You noted the telltale subtle darkening of his irises and blushed profusely. 

“Oh, I see,” he said, voice taking on a slightly lower pitch. You shied away, looking out the window and covering half your face with your palm. This was truly mortifying. 

“Been a bit naughty, have we?” Aziraphale asked, putting the Kindle on the side table and standing before you. He brought one hand down to move your own and softly cupped your chin, leading it so that you were now looking up at his heated gaze. You swallowed thickly. “Lust is a sin, you know, my dear.” 

You nodded, unable to form words. Your mouth was suddenly dry and you would have given anything for a big glass of water. 

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale’s head cocked to the side. “You’re looking positively scared, little rabbit.” 

You breathed out a panicked laugh. Oh, this was- Aziraphale was ticking so many boxes for you right now. 

“Reading such filth in my home, dear- In God’s home. Do you think you need to be punished?” Aziraphale’s bottom lip poked out in a mild pout, mocking you. Your eyes flitted between his, and you shook your head no. 

“No? Hmm, I’m not sure I agree.” 

You lean your cheek into the palm of his hand and Aziraphale practically swoons. You know you’re putting on the charm. It usually has about a fifty per cent success rate, and you’re wondering which way Zira will go with it when he’s suddenly leaning down and pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. 

“Sweet thing,” he said softly, giving you one of the most loving smiles you’ve ever seen. “My office, ten minutes, hmm? Don’t be late.” 

Then he wandered off into the kitchen, leaving you breathless and blinking at the space that your Angel had just been occupying. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied to the wall.

[elvisgasm]

And Devour

Warnings: elvis x reader, BDE Elvis era, smoking, grinding, some kissing, elvis is very dominant in this, shy!reader, teasing, fingering, biting

He’s so much bigger than you and it makes you keen. Whimpering lightly as he slips this thumb past your swollen lips.

You’re sitting at his leather boots, small hands resting against one of his thick thighs.

He runs the pad of this thumb across your lips and past your lips again with a soft groan. His dark brows rise in heat when you whimper and swallow around the digit.

Your eyes flutter shut at the demureness of it all - heat floods your cheeks and you can feel Elvis pull his hand away from you, letting you chase after him some before falling back to rest on your haunches.

Manicured nails bunch into the satin of your skirt and you pant, shifting softly on your knees against the pillow Elvis had put down under you. You run your tongue over your lips to savor the taste of him with a girlish giggle.

Elvis smiles warmly, spreading his thighs before reaching down to help lift you to your feet.

“C’mere,” he pulls you into his lap, “There ya’ go.” He nuzzles your cheek, pressing kisses to your soft skin. His beard paints a burning tickle to your skin and you pull away bashfully, pressing a small hand to his chest.

A large hand wraps around the wrist of your smaller one.

“Y’so soft,” Elvis’ voice is deep and guttural against the smooth of his touch and the vanilla scent of the room. The fabric of his pants rubs against the soft of your thighs, and suddenly, the fur of the couch woven between your fingers is far more present than it was a moment ago.

He licks a stripe up the column of your neck before he's turning your head to meet him in a kiss.

Large hands dig into the plush of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

Elvis bites at your lip with a hum and you whimper brokenly against his lips.

He pulls back to kiss at the curve of your jaw, biting and nipping against your heated skin. And god, he wants to fucking devour you. To eat you whole and bite at you until there's nothing left. To kiss you until you bleed and pull thin until you snap.

He bites at your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth before letting go to kiss you gently.

“Mm,” you coo against the plush of his lips and he swallows your moans, savoring the scent and flavor of you all at once. He swallows you and bites at you. You shiver under the weight of his hands and he exhales through his nose.

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding into the kiss.

The room smells heavy of cigar smoke and the musk of his cologne. It all but makes your mind melt and your lids flutter shut as you fall into the heat of the man beneath you.

Elvis pulls away for a moment, chuckling at your heavily lidded eyes as he reaches for his cigar sitting in a glass ashtray on a side wooden table.

You watch him lazily, sitting on the tops of his thighs as he takes a drag. His eyes remain stuck on your own, lazily petting his hand over your thigh.

He swallows the cloud of smoke, shuffling down some to spread his legs wider under you and you giggle lightly.

“Somethin’ funny, little lady?” he relaxes into the cushions, holding the cigar away from you over the curve of the couch.

You only lean forward and press your lips against his own which he happily accepts, smiling into the kiss.

“Y’smell so good.”

You nod, rutting your hips against his own.

“Could eat you.”

You giggle again, pecking his lips before pulling back to examine his hand holding the cig.

Taking note of the thick jewelry that dresses each digit and the colorful diamonds accentuating each band of gold.

Elvis cocks his head, watching your eyes trace over his hand.

Your eyes follow the length of his wrist to where the cigar sits between two ringed digits. The smoke trails from the tip in whisps.

He can already sense what you're about to ask.

“Wanna try,” you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Ya’sure?”

You nod.

Elvis shakes his head lightly with an airy laugh, “Alright.”

Moving his hand to hold the cigar in front of your lips he nods to you as you look between his eyes and the bud of the cig.

Wrapping your lips around the end you inhale slowly, trying to mimic the way you'd seen him smoke earlier.

There's a burn that settles in the back of your throat and a heavy taste of ash that pillows past your lips as you cough.

Elvis rubs your thigh with a heavy laugh, moving the cig back to the ashtray as you try to settle your breathing.

Once you’ve relaxed you let out a quipped giggle, smiling bashfully behind your hand.

Theres a soft moment that both of your eyes meet and Elvis smiles warmly. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your thigh, growing teasingly close to the band of your panties.

“I saw that,” He gestures to the cigar on the table.

The pad of his thumb slips past the fabric of your panties to stroke softly over your folds and you jump at the touch, giggling at the forwardness of the older man.

“That feel good?” he smiles when you nod, giggling before breaking off into a choked moan as his finger presses into the heat of your cunt.

“Oh,” your hands drop behind you to rest on the tops of his thighs and your eyes flutter shut.

“So tiny, hmm.”

Your lips part in an ‘o’ and your thighs jolt when he circles the pad of his thumb over your clit gently.

Elvis chuckles, “Right there?”

You nod again. His movement slows some and you reach your hand around to hold his wrist still, thumb still pressing against your sensitive bud.

“Y’so sweet,” Elvis chides, leaning forward to kiss at your swollen lips as he stretches your cunt open.

"Gonna eat you alive."

[moni-logues]

BDE

Pairing: Chan x gn.reader

Genre: pwp/smut but it's a little fluffy, established relationship

Summary: Chan tries to insist he has BDE when all he really has is a BD.

Word count: 2.1k

Content: Chan has a Big Dick, oral sex (m. receiving inc deep throat and choking), sexual activity in public toilets (but no one is around)

A/N: this started with, who else?, @minttangerines. I honestly don't even remember how the conversation started but then we were talking about a fic about Chan's Big Dick struggles lmao and this idea was born. That was weeks ago now and she finally wrote it. Thank you to Lia @quarter-life-crisis2 for reading this so late at night to reassure me it didn't suck balls.

*

“I don’t know about these, y’know...” 

“Well, I told you, didn’t I? You should have sized up!” 

“But I always get this size!” 

“And they’ve changed their sizing! I told you! And you didn’t listen so now you have to suffer.” 

You turned away from Chan and back to the mirror while he fussed, trying to adjust himself comfortably in his new boxer briefs that were, quite clearly, a little snug.  

“I don’t know if I can wear these,” Chan groaned, sitting heavily on the bed with his trousers unzipped.  

“You don’t own that suit; you cannot go commando. And I’m not letting you wear any of mine.” 

Chan groaned again, loudly aggrieved, and lay back on the bed.  

“Can’t believe I’m being hoisted by my own petard! Too much big dick energy!” he cried and you turned to deliver a withering look. 

“My darling, I am not sure you know what any of those words mean. You do not have BDE.” 

He was back upright in a flash. 

“What?! How can you say that?! We are literally having a conversation about how I don’t fit in my fucking pants right now.” 

“Having a big dick is not the same as having big dick energy?” You did not, before this moment, realise that your boyfriend was quite this stupid. It gave you second thoughts about the entire relationship.  

“It’s in the name? BIG DICK energy.” 

You gestured wildly, looking around the room as if there were anyone else there who could back you up. 

“Big Dick Energy. You might have a big dick-” 

“-I do, thank you ver-” 

“YES, fine! You do have a big dick, but that is not all that’s required. And I will neither accept nor tolerate your saying that it is.” 

“Putting me down in my time of strife. What a loveless relationship we have.” 

You give him an exaggerated wink and turned back to the mirror once more to apply your lipstick. 

* 

With no solution to his problem, Chan had no choice but to zip himself up, make himself presentable, and pray to the gods that the circulation to his dick wouldn’t get cut off. There are some losses no mere mortal could survive. 

“Stop fidgeting!” you hissed to him as he squirmed on the red carpet next to you.  

It was bright and overwhelming and you were reminded why you so infrequently accompanied him to these events. This time, though, he had been nominated for an award so you wouldn’t have dreamt of missing it. The camera flashes made your eyes hurt and the cacophony of paparazzi calls blurred into a singular, uninterpretable noise; it was like entering a completely inhuman world, where you were devoid of your usual senses, disoriented, out of place, and, were it not for Chan, completely untethered.  

This time, you were also distracted by his wriggling. 

“I can’t help it!” he hissed back. “I’m losing circulation down there, I swear!” 

“You’ll lose more than that if you keep touching your fucking dick on a red carpet!” 

He huffed but duly held still for the rest of the photos, shooting off into the toilets as soon as you got into the building.  

* 

He was uncomfortable. He could barely keep his hands away from his crotch. You noticed. You were sure other people also noticed. You were not sure that this was in any way good. You slipped one hand into his and pulled it into your lap. That didn’t stop him. The night was going to be long – already had been long and had so far left to go. You felt as though you were going to have to take things into your own hands. 

Not literally. 

Maybe literally. 

You leant over, your mouth close to his ear. 

“If you can leave yourself alone until the ceremony is over, I’ll make it worth your while,” you whispered, letting your lips just barely touch the hinge of his jaw before sitting back in your seat.  

He didn’t turn to look at you but you saw his Adam’s apple bob and he squeezed your hand tight. His free hand moved to the arm of the seat and stayed there.  

* 

“This counts, right?” he was asking before you were even out of the door. “It’s over?”  

He was pushing you gently, steering you into the nearest dark corner, and then pressing against you, his hands at your waist, his nose in your hair.  

“Have your boxers cut off the circulation to your brain, Chan?” You pushed him, a little less gently, backwards. “We are still in public! You really want me to suck you off right here?” You were whispering, eyes flicking beyond Chan’s head as more and more people filed out of the auditorium on their way to bars, after parties, bathrooms. 

“Honestly?” he asked, eyebrows raised, saying ‘yes’ without actually saying it.  

“I am not breaking public indecency laws for you.” 

“I’d do it for you!” 

“Oh, you’d go down on me here, would you?” 

He was genuinely lowering to his knees before you had finished the sentence and you scrambled to haul him to his feet, your face burning hot with embarrassment. 

“You’re incorrigible!”  

“No, baby, I am fucking desperate. Desperate to get these piece of shit boxers off me and your mouth on me.” 

You had promised him. So you wandered, as inconspicuously as possible, around to the other side of the building, to find some toilets that weren’t so busy. Rather, you were hoping for some that were empty.  

And you were in luck.  

“Shit, it’s my lucky night!” Chan whispered as you pushed open the last stall door, confirming that they were all empty.  

“Honey, you didn’t win the award and your underwear is slowly strangling your dick. What about that is lucky?” 

“First of all, rude. Second of all, in about one minute, I won’t even be able to remember my own name, let alone all that other stuff. Stop using your mouth to be smart and let me choke you.” 

You rolled your eyes and sank to your knees as he eliminated the space between you. He hesitated as he unzipped, then rolled his own eyes, stooping to kick off his shoes, take off his trousers and stretch, roll, and pull the offending underwear off, muttering all the while about how stupid they were and how much he hated them and the strongly worded email he’d be writing. Then he stood, naked from the waist down.  

“Oh yeah, you’re all BDE now. Y’know, Winnie the Pooh, he really fucks.”  

When Chan looked at you, you expected him to laugh or smirk or hell, roll his eyes back at you, but he didn’t. He just looked down with that dark intensity in his face, the one that said he wasn’t going to take it easy on you. He gestured with two fingers for you to come closer and you shuffled awkwardly on your knees. Then he traced your face with a featherlight touch. You reached your own hand up and used the same lightness as you ran your finger down his length.  

As his fingertips reached your jaw, he held you, his fingers starting to press, harder and harder as you opened your mouth wider. He ran a thumb over your bottom lip as he sank his teeth into his own. You stuck your tongue out to lick at his thumb as it passed and he nodded at you.  

He held you like that, mouth open, tongue out, looking up at him, as he took himself in his free hand, stiffening quickly, pumping slowly. He made you wait until the pre-cum was dripping from his head, until he was quietly huffing little satisfied groans, until you were shifting uncomfortably on your knees, your legs going numb, your stomach tightening with anticipation, your mouth watering—saliva flooding, making a mess of your clothes when you hadn’t even had a taste of him yet. You knew better than to ask, better than to protest. He’d only make you wait longer. Even though it was him who wanted this, who was ‘desperate’ for it, you knew he wouldn’t hesitate to make this a punishment for you.  

When you thought you would fall over, pass out, fling your hands into the air and grab hold of him, he nudged his hips forward, only the very tip of his dick touching your tongue. You lunged forward, wrapping your lips around him, expecting him to move backwards, to tease some more, to make you show him how patient you could be. 

He didn’t. He really was desperate. He let you take him to the hilt, eyes springing with tears when he hit your throat, those tears making tracks down your cheeks as you swallowed him, as you pushed until your nose hit his skin. 

“That’s right,” he sighed, his head tipping back, his fingers winding in your hair. “You fucking know- shit, you know how to do that right.”  

You did. When you first got together, he had very shyly confessed to you that he’d never come from a blowjob before, because people were intimidated by his size, because he was self-conscious of it, all too aware that it was too much for most. He never felt like he could ask for what he wanted, how he liked it, didn’t want to demand or pressure or make his partners feel uncomfortable. So he’d just  sucked it up and, eventually, gone without. It was ok, he had said with a light shrug; he didn’t really mind; he knew it was a lot. He had said many things that he had convinced himself were true. That he didn’t matter. Not really. That his partners shouldn’t try to make him feel good, that they shouldn’t work together to make all parts of sex a mutually enjoyable experience.  

But you weren’t easily intimidated. You were quickly and easily infatuated and then in love with a man so sweet, he spiked your blood sugar; a man so smart, he raised your IQ; a man so hot, he was targeted by climate change activists. And you were determined to show him what he had been missing. Determined to show him what he was worth. Determined to show him that no big dick was going to get in the way of you getting him all the way off, using just your mouth.  

He whimpered, the pitch of his voice tremulously high now, his dick leaping in your mouth so you gagged, choked a little, made him really feel the tight squeeze of your throat. He was whispering under his breath, swearing quickly, calling to god (as if he could help, as if he could do anything you couldn’t), breathing your name in a way that made you physically ache for him to fill you.  

You had this down to an art. You knew his every twitch and every hitch in his breath, could time, down to the second, when he was about to finish. Still bobbing up and down, drooling along his rigid length, you took his balls in one hand and squeezed, slowly and evenly, pressing and rubbing on his taint with the other. You felt the full-body shudder go through him and the gasp which always accompanied his release. You took it all, every drop, every time. 

Chan stood, his hands fallen from your hair, limp at his sides, his eyes closed, mouth open, breathing gradually evening out. You sat back and watched him. 

“I can’t believe I have to put those fucking boxers back on,” he said when his feet touched back down to earth.  

You laughed.  

“Don’t make me say ‘I told you so’ again.” 

You stumbled as you rose to your feet, your legs fizzing back to life and making you unsteady. Chan held you securely. 

“You know I like you a lot more with my dick in your mouth?” 

But he was smiling, dreamy-eyed, putting his warm, solid hands on your waist and pulling you in for a kiss. It was more than you had expected: not a peck, his lips firm against yours, opening slightly, the pressure as he sucked at your bottom lip making your knees go weak again. You smiled at him when he pulled back, dazed, a haze of love and lust swirling around you. 

You hummed lightly. 

“Well, if you’re a really good boy for the rest of the night, I’ll put it back there when we get home.” 

He grinned, smirked actually, and gave you another quick kiss. 

“Can’t resist my big dick energy, right?” 

Your face fell as his lifted into a shit-eating grin. You walked away, out of the toilets, leaving him scrambling to re-dress himself and come after you.  

[danger-bird]

Touchstarved Astrology Headcanons🌠

Mostly based on my own irl observations over the years, as well as my bookworm era a few years ago . Also taking into account my own impressions & feelings for the LIs, so sufficiently biased and I'm not sorry. In the words of Danny DeVito: "I'm right, you're wrong, and there's nothing you can do about it!" /lovingly❤️

Ais

Venus in Virgo. Period. I'm dying on this hill. Fight me. No but fr, first he's a diehard animal lover and will jump into a dog fight to save a puppy. Second, he's giving "mother hen" behavior - says "watch your step", then grabs you when you trip and scolds you "told you to watch your step"(Virgo 101); sends you off with an ESCORT, jumps in fists first when the roughneck tries fighting you then hides you from the purple gang later and escorts you back himself - need I say more? Not to mention he VERY likely helped Kuras save us (his scent lingers in the clinic when MC wakes up), and helps in the clinic regularly (so a part-time nurse, most likely helped save Mhin too). Also, he was definitely watching over us even before the Seaspring (the scarred woman knew our name from somewhere, also the Unnamed can feel Ocudeus' presence outside the clinic). He craves taking care of someone - people, animals, soulless, poor unfortunate souls - you name it. And it's not for show - that's just how he is. That's how he shows love - by being attentive. All my favorite people have this placement, they're all like him in this regard - best Venus placement imo (yes, I'm a biased Venus in Taurus, BUT I'm also right, lol)

Scorpio Ascendant I mean... come on. Come on. He's LITERALLY a gang leader! Not that anybody needs convincing, but aside from the sharp, intense eyes and the fact he oozes sex appeal, this would place his Sun in 10th House- he is known publicly as a leader, his presence demands respect and attracts attention. BDE for sure. Also he's very smart, intuitive and observant. Very aware of his surroundings, can pick up on people's moods & intentions like it's nothing. I'm convinced he can literally read our mind. A smart, sexy and caring bastard, lord help me...

Kuras

Virgo Signature sign Kuras is very service-oriented, focused on helping the community and always looking for ways to assist others. Very mindful of people’s problems and what they’re in need of - and ready to provide it, no matter what it may cost him. He’s also very polite, but comes off rigid, like he’s read “Social Etiquette for Humans 101” and is following it to the letter lol. Also kinda nerdy – has his special interests, and if you let him he’ll talk about reductions and concoctions all day, every day. I don't think it's a specific placement that influences this behavior, it's the whole picture, thus - a signature sign!

Saturn Dominant This man is a Capricorn already, sure, but there’s a difference. Capricorn placements have an inner spark, a fire about them – they’re ambitious and driven while being practical and disciplined. Saturn, however, is a dry and dark, malefic - almost apocalyptic planet. It’s the last visible planet – the gatekeeper of the divine knowledge (depicted by the outer planets). It represents time, boundaries, a sense of duty and responsibility, guilt and the consequences of one's actions. A symbol of Kronos and the Devil, it represents the falling of God, the grotesque expression of divinity. Kuras has a curious mind, fascinated by science and humanity, and in light of the Kuras character lore (and his not-too-subtle mischievousness) he def has strong Uranus & Jupiter influence as well. But the Saturnian themes in particular parallel the themes and main conflict in his story most strongly.

Mercury Retrograde I had to. The way he's so precise and eloquent, but roundabout when he talks? How he's so tight-lipped and takes his sweet time before answering a question? Mercury retrograde, 100 percent. I don't make the rules.

Mhin

Moon in 1st House. How do I know? I have it. The color of printer paper (the sun hates us), emotions written all over their entire existence and impossible to hide, as well as rather intense emotional outbursts? Yes, yes and yes. Big-time tsundere? Yes. Big softy, too? Yes. We could be twins, honestly. I stg they have a crush on Ais, but unlike with Kuras they're not happy about it. I dunno, call it twin telepathy. The Christmas photo doesn't help either.

Water moon, most likely in Cancer. Not Scorpio, because their emotions fluctuate rapidly, and are overtly moody. The difference between big waves and a rip current, for example. But more so, this makes for a Sun-Moon square - the dissonance and lack of harmony between their outer persona and their inner needs and desires is clear. They have difficulty expressing their emotions, not difficulty as in showing them, but in a way where they come off wrong and get interpreted the wrong way. Very protective, like a smol soft crabbie shielding themselves with their shell. Pushes people away consciously, but hoping for someone to have enough of a "spine" to handle them and protect them, giving them a safe space to finally relax. Most of all they need love, reassurance and acceptance (my poor little meow meow💙)

Mars square Mercury That Mercury is in Aries, you can't tell me otherwise. The extra 'angry' coming from Mars in Capricorn is helping, too. But not only that, it also makes a square to their Sun AND an opposition to their Moon - a T-square, a highly difficult & stressful configuration. The Mars is in Capricorn because they like a partner with authority and attitude (Cap in 7th), and it makes for good synastry with Kuras (my cutie patooties). Also for how small they are, they're very agile and skilled with knifes (ruled by Mars).

Leander

Venus conjunct Pluto. Sexy. Magnetic. He pulls you in with the gravitational force of his tits. These people are the definition of an intense lover. Obsessive and hungry for love - and pain, equally, very big on extreme and overwhelming sensations. You have a terrible curse? Oooh, danger - gimme! You can never give them too much attention - they want it all, and they're not sharing. Possessive, wants to draw you into their little world and keep you for themselves.

Leo Ascendant, for a few reasons. I was initially thinking Libra, but after looking at everything, I decided on Leo. He has a noble presence - not surprising considering his upbringing. He's a very charismatic talker, well-spoken, lovely voice, can charm anyone into trusting him (Libra in 3rd coming through). To his credit, he takes his work seriously and comes off as a reliable boss (Cap in 6th, also Taurus in 10th). He wants to take care of people... or rather, wants to be seen as a savior. I really see him as a Gemini-Cancer cusp, but technically he's a Cancer so his sun will be in 12th house. It’s a house of self-undoing, the afterlife, illusions - ego and reality go to disintegrate here. All that connects into the life-and-death theme surrounding him and his design. The sun here becomes a fantasy, a goal rather than reality – a dream of being a leader, a hero, someone who people look up to for help and answers. He’s really giving Jesus-wannabe, with the resurrection and savior complex he has going on, as well as the over-the-top generosity. A big red crab, with a big red flag... and the tits to match (Cancer rules the booba).

Vere

Venus conjunct Midheaven, Midheaven being in Scorpio. With Sun in Scorpio. Lots of Scorpio. He’s so pretty! Pretty in an elegant, sensual, effortless yet manicured to perfection way. Apparently, the BBC (Big Bulky Collar) on him does not signal “DANGER!” to the rascals who take him for an easy target, because all they see is the approachable, delicate face and inviting voice. He knows the effect he has on people, and he’s using it to his advantage – to get a free drink, or to make people trust him juuust enough to get what he wants. He is attracted to power, powerful people, and wants power for himself – and he’s ruthless about achieving his goals, too (Scorpio in 10th); there’s a lot of gossip surrounding this man’s public image, his reputation. Venus conjunct Midheaven places a focus on art – he is an artist, appreciates art as well as creating it himself. He IS the art, or that’s the perception of him anyway.

Venus in Scorpio As Venusian as he appears, Venus is in detriment here – there’s conflicting emotions regarding his looks, and the perception of him – or rather, the expectations placed on him because of it. He'll break rules on purpose, act outrageous, play coy, use his beaty for all its worth – he’ll purposefully play the ‘bad guy’ as a form of rebellion, a defense mechanism. He can’t find comfort in a traditional relationship dynamic and has a hard time liking someone who likes them back - he’s afraid of commitment. I believe his confidence is a façade; there’s an underlying fear of betrayal and rejection, and a paranoia that any good thing that comes his way is a trick, a trap, or a lie. That he doesn’t deserve love or care, really. Buuut… if you’re like Ais and see him for all his ‘ugly’, and accept him anyway… then you’re really something💜.

1525 words. Yikes. I tried keeping the word count down.

Unsuccessful. Obviously.

If you’ve read this far, go have some water, a snack, a stretch – you deserve it! Doctor’s orders!!!

.

.

P.S. : Ais' side profile sprite is giving me "ex-punk mom wearing a cozy cardigan", is it just me? Anyone? Are you seeing it? Am I crazy? Do I need help?...

...I'll see myself out.

.

.

[whositmcwhatsit]

Glimmers of Dawn

AN: This is a belated birthday present for one of my favourite people @ellie-24. I have been promising her a BDE fic for months and this is the beginning of one at least? As our guy once said: "I hope you like it. It doesn't make much difference."

“This is crazy! Are you sure we’re allowed?” 

Steve rolled his eyes at her like he did this every day, like it was nothing. But if it was nothing, he would not have suggested it. 

_______________________________________________________

Aurora had been sliding on her denim jacket at the bar, ready to go home to Johnny Carson and the dried out meatloaf that her mother had been cooking when she had ducked home after work to change. She had already given in to Joanne’s plea to stay for another round and that had left her with nothing but a numb butt from sitting perched on the bar stool while she watched her friend flirt with the tall, shaggy-haired guy at the pool table. Now the guy was draped over Jo’s back as she giggled and lined up a shot, pretending to miscue so that he could ‘correct’ her. 

Aurora gave Jo a little wave to get her attention over the heavy rock playing over the tinny speakers and then thumbed towards the door, making the phone and time gestures to let her know she would call her later. 

“You’re not leaving so soon?” asked one of the other guys playing pool. He was tall too, and broad shouldered but athletic looking with it and had a mustache to go with this long brown hair. 

“Yeah, it’s getting late and I got things to do in the morning,” Aurora said apologetically. “It was nice meeting you though… Steve, wasn’t it?” 

“I can’t talk you into one last, teeny tiny drink?” She paused, considering. The thought of the meatloaf wasn’t exactly appetizing and it wouldn’t be the first time she showed up on a Sunday morning to take her grandmother to church on a whisper of sleep. She relented, but then the bartender reminded Steve that he had called last orders ten minutes ago and no amount of wheedling or good natured threats could change his mind. 

“Forget it, man!” called the guy who was currently taking a break from inspecting Jo’s tonsils. “Let’s just go up to the house.” 

“Naw, you sure? The Boss-”

“Won’t even know anything about it. He ain’t come down in three days, man, in more ways ‘n’ one.” 

Aurora frowned questioningly at Joanne, who shrugged back as the two men worked it out, and suddenly they were leaving the bar. 

“So, where exactly are we going?” Aurora asked, as she and Steve followed Jo and Dave, his name turned out to be, into the parking lot. She could feel Steve nervously eyeing her as they watched Dave sling his arm casually around Jo’s shoulders and stick his tongue in her ear. She had already prepared a sharp elbow in the ribs in case Steve got the same idea. 

“Uh, the place where I work has a pool room and a bar.” 

“You work in a bar?” She was trying to figure out why he was being so cagey. Wondering if maybe he was embarrassed, but that didn’t make sense if he was going to take her there. 

“No, it ain’t… It ain’t a bar.” 

Even as she was climbing past the folded seat into the back of Dave’s Datsun, Aurora was having second thoughts. The cool night air had cleared her buzzing head and chased off the last of the energy powering her limbs after a full day of work. She started preparing her speech for when they got to where they were going, so she could call a cab and head home, with or without Joanne. 

‘Look, it’s nothing personal’, she would say. ‘I just had a really long day.’

And then the Datsun turned right on the highway at the gates of Graceland.

“What are you-?!” Aurora gripped the headrest of the driver’s seat in front. “Are you kidding? God, I don't have time for this.” 

Fooling around and trying to break into Elvis Presley’s house was for kids and tourists. If these guys thought it was going to impress her, she would be glad to correct them. 

The gates opened. 

“Are you sure we’re allowed?” she asked again, staring at the  lights ahead and trying not to catch the eyes of the smattering of people standing outside the gates even at this hour.

Someone was sure to realise that they were not supposed to be there and they would be stopped. She wondered if the security guards really did have guns like the stories said. All sorts of crazies probably wanted to try and hurt a huge star like Elvis; there could be FBI snipers in the trees. 

“It’s okay,” Steve said finally, though his tight jaw didn’t exactly make him seem convincing.

The way that Dave shushed Joanne when she was laughing and squealing with excitement about seeing inside Elvis’ house also didn’t fill Aurora with a huge amount of confidence. 

It seemed deathly quiet and still as they went in the back. Aurora thought there should have been music, maybe ‘Hound Dog’ playing on a jukebox like they were stepping into one of his movies. Her aunt Phyllis would be green with envy that she was there. 

The guys crowded them in so it was hard to see exactly where ‘there’ was. Muted lighting, stairs, a lot of wood, and then a… a tent? 

“So, where's Elvis?!” Joanne asked, as they took in the busy pleated material sweeping out from the ceiling and draping down the walls surrounding the pool table. 

It made Aurora feel like she was trapped in her bed covers. She took in a strangled breath to reassure herself that she still could. Meanwhile, Joanne bent at the waist to check under the pool table- God, how much had she had to drink?!- as if Elvis could be lying in wait under there. 

“You think he'd sing ‘Don't be Cruel’ for me? That was my favorite when I was little.”

“He's probably sick of singing it,” Aurora told her, grabbing Jo's arm and shoving her sideways onto a sofa before she broke something and the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll had them in court for millions of dollars. 

Their secret out in the open, the guys seemed eager to tell them about their jobs and all the dangers and intrigue it entailed. It wasn’t all fetching and carrying, they assured the girls, there were some real bad guys out there who wanted to get a shot at Elvis and they were the reason that these bad motherfuckers had never got their shot. 

“You know a head honcho of the FBI said Elvis has better protection than the President,” Dave remarked, just before he potted the cue ball and swore under his breath. 

“Yeah? You ever meet the President?” Joanne asked, rolling her eyes at Aurora behind her hands. 

“No… No, the Boss did, though, more than one.” 

“Must’ve been when you weren’t on duty,” Joanne murmured. “Seriously, where is he, your boss? Isn’t he home? He’s gotta be home if you’re here, right?” 

“He likes to relax upstairs after he gets back from a tour,” Dave mumbled, racking up the pool table. “Things can get pretty intense.”

“I bet,” Joanne giggled. “All those mamas and grannies throwing their girdles at him.”

“Jo!” Aurora elbowed her and flashed an apologetic smile at the two guys.. “Sorry, a little beer on an empty stomach goes straight to her head. Can we maybe get some water?” 

The guys exchanged looks again, and Steve sighed and shrugged, glancing up at a camera with a little red light on it that Aurora hadn’t noticed before. 

“Sure, no problem. Follow me.” Aurora nodded and smiled, glancing back over her shoulder to watch Dave drop down into her space beside Joanne on the sofa. 

“I’m sorry about Jo. She just gets over excited, she doesn’t mean nothing by it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replied as they climbed the stairs. “You hungry? They can make pretty much anything you want in the kitchen.” 

Aurora followed him into a sleek, modern kitchen, all patterns and walnut. It was like walking around a maze. She had no idea where she had come from, nor where she was going, but she was vibrating with amazement that she had finally made it inside the house on the hill. 

The next time she drove past on the way to the mall she would be able to imagine what was going on inside. She could think of about fifteen customers at the salon whose toes would curl with jealousy when she told them. 

There were two ladies in the kitchen, their pale matching uniforms, the only plain, unpatterned material Aurora had seen in the house so far, were stark against their skin. Aurora could feel her cheeks burning, waiting for them to point out that she shouldn’t be there and call security, but they barely paid her any mind. 

Imagine having people whose job it was to just sit in your kitchen waiting for you to want a snack at one am! Aurora did catch one of the ladies glancing at her, her face unreadable, but her thoughts not impossible to imagine. She knew she was out of place, there but for the grace of Steve in her cut off jean shorts and her thrift store spaghetti strap blouse, staring starry-eyed at the glimmering glass or maybe crystal in the glass-fronted cupboards as sizzling sounds started coming from the stove. She could feel herself getting smaller, tucking in her edges and minding her manners, making less of herself so that she would be less of a blight. 

“Well, what do we have here?” 

The voice was soft and unmistakable, whether it was on the radio, in movie theaters, or in a strange kitchen in the middle of the night. 

Everyone immediately whipped around to look, but Aurora’s brain instead made her freeze on the kitchen stool. It told her that she couldn’t turn and face Elvis Presley with her mouth full. For some reason that seemed the ultimate violation.

So, she chewed and chewed the suddenly vulcanized bread as the seconds stretched into decades. Finally, when it had become too weird, she tried to force the ball of dough down her throat and ended up almost choking, swilling it down with a frantic gulp of water. 

“Steve, son, if you’re gonna sneak pretty girls into my house at least don’t try and kill ‘em in my kitchen. It’s, uh, bad for business.” 

A warm weight rested on her shoulder and squeezed as she looked up through watery eyes at Elvis Presley, up close in person. Her brain couldn’t take it all in at once, just fragments like the black hair, the sideburns, the gold aviator sunglasses, the smile… Even with her airway clear, Aurora was not exactly breathing. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” She watched the familiar pillowy lips move as the words filled her ears, not completely in sync. His hand on her shoulder, his cologne in her nose, it was a fully immersive experience and she had already been finding it hard enough to comprehend standing in his kitchen. 

“Yeah, it went down the wrong way,” she heard someone say, and it kind of sounded like her. 

“Well, honey, looking at that ugly mug over there was always gonna give you indigestion. Nothing personal, Steve, you just got that look-” He laughed a little to himself. “Liable to give this young lady heartburn or something, you know.” 

Steve stood awkwardly on his other side like he was trying to gauge the mood, trying to figure out whether it was time for an explanation or an apology, and Aurora was trying to feel bad for him, but all she could feel was Elvis’ hand still on her shoulder, and the sleeve of his jacket brushing against her skin. There was pressure there, like he was leaning on her a little, and she tried to stay still when her pounding heart was telling her to try and run.  

“What’s your name, darlin’?” He pulled off his sunglasses and stumbled back a little, pretending that the low lighting of the kitchen was blinding, rubbing his slightly puffy eyes, before they narrowed as they fixed on her. Then it was Aurora who felt like squinting, trying to take it all in. 

“I’m Aurora,” she said. Then, for some reason she thought it might make things better somehow if she added, “You have a lovely home.” As if she was an invited guest coming over for iced tea on the porch. She was such an idiot. 

“Well, thank you, Aurora. Aurora, is that right?” 

Her name was a little unwieldy in his mouth, like he couldn’t quite get his tongue around it. Her face burst into flames as soon as she thought about his tongue. 

Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice, seeing as he was turning to berate Steve a little more, pointing out that at least she had some manners, unlike some people. 

Elvis had gray in his sideburns, Aurora noticed, as her muscles stiffened in the tense atmosphere and she was unable to look away. It made sense, he had been about her age when he first got famous, and that had been… a while. But it was still weird to think about Elvis going gray. She couldn’t picture him as an old man. In fact, the idea made her a little sad. But then the alternative would be worse. 

“Child,” he intoned suddenly, interrupting whatever he had been saying to put Steve in his place, and turning back to her with a twinkle in his eye, “you have gotta lower the beams on those pretty eyes of yours, they are practically melting my face off!” 

And that, more than the gray roots and the stumbling over her name, helped Aurora’s perspective click back into focus. The fancy furniture and the maids and the cooks and the Elvis-ness of him had turned her head for a while, made her feel off kilter, but she knew this dance very well.. 

“Well, it’s not like I can help it when you’re standing so close to me!” she retorted playfully. “You’re not made of glass you know!” 

The crooked smile crept across his face like the tide coming in and she felt herself slipping beneath the waves, drowning.

“You got some nerve, honey, I’ll give you that,” he said, shaking his head. “How ‘bout you finish eating my food and I’ll give you a real tour of this old place?”

“Look, if it means so much to you, you can have the rest of the sandwich,” she said, her careful, watchful eyes belying her teasing, irreverent tone. She knew she was in dangerous territory, her mama would have hissed a warning and cuffed her across the back of the head for being so rude, but the light that glittered in his heavy lidded eyes when she gave him some sass was too enticing to ignore. She didn’t think that too many people dared to tease Elvis Presley and that made her feel a little bad for him.  

In response, he gently ‘snatched’ the glass of water she was clutching and turned it until his luscious lips were in the same place hers had been, taking a sip. She somehow froze while also melting at the same time at the glittering challenge in his gaze and the faint twitch of his eyebrow. In that moment, she realized that she had vastly miscalculated how evenly matched they were in this battle. 

Luckily, she was rescued by Joanne, who had found her way upstairs and came reeling slightly into the kitchen, clutching Aurora’s jacket, and mumbling that she wanted to go home. She got as far as knocking into Aurora’s back before- and Aurora was never going to let her forget it- she shrieked:

“Oh Elvis! Oh shit!” 

Without context, it would have been impossible to tell whether she had caught sight of Elvis or a mouse running across the floor. What made it funnier was the complete non-reaction of Elvis himself, and the way that he locked eyes with Aurora for a long second, as if to say, ‘See what I have to deal with?’

Then he was introducing himself to Joanne, shaking her limp hand and saying he was pleased to meet her like it was all prearranged and they hadn’t effectively broken into his house in the middle of the night. 

Oh Elvis, oh shit, Aurora’s brain said helpfully, Elvis Presley is a nice guy. 

Sitting in his kitchen, trying to hold a loud, flailing Joanne with one arm and not failing to notice how uncomfortable Dave and Steve looked, Aurora began to feel grimy. It was one thing to take a peek at how the other half live, to get a glimpse of a rarefied existence, but it was another thing to barge in, do questionable things on the couch and make yourself a sandwich. The goldilocks giddiness had soured into shame. 

“So, um,” she began as she stepped backwards over her stool like the world’s clumsiest cowgirl, “we’re really sorry for trespassing…” She still couldn’t bring herself to say his name out loud. “And we should probably get going.”

“Well now, wait a damn minute, honey, I promised you a tour, and by God, that’s what you’re gonna get!” This time, she didn’t giggle on cue.

Aurora wasn’t clever, but she was smart. She might not have read fancy long books, but she knew people and she knew men, best of all. Her mama made sure of that, because she didn’t want her to end up the same way, fooled by some good looking lying man who looked good in a fancy borrowed suit. 

It occurred to her, as she watched Dave and Steve share yet another long look, that this could all be some elaborate trick. It wasn’t like she and Joanne had asked the guys to bring them to Graceland, hadn’t twisted their arms, hadn’t even known they worked there before they brought it up. And the two guys had barely debated it before they were all suddenly getting into the cars. 

What if it was a set-up? What if Dave and Steve did this regularly, went out trolling for girls to bring back for their boss? What if she had walked into some weird situation straight out of the Hollywood gossip magazines?

“I have to get home,” she said, fumbling for excuses, “I gotta get up early to take my grandma to church and I have a couple of clients after that.” 

“Clients?” She didn’t understand his strange tone, but she simmered under his appraising eye, and instinctively held her jacket in front of her like it could transform into a pair of baggy pants. 

“She’s a hairdresser, she cuts hair,” Steve said sulkily, defensively. 

It felt like there were twelve different conversations going on in fifty different languages and it was too late and Aurora was too tired to deal with it all. It had been a fun adventure, but now it was time to go home. 

“Well, you know, I've been needing a haircut myself,” Elvis remarked with a strange, sly grin on his face, looking at Steve, who was irritably shuffling his feet against the carpet. “What do you say, honey?” 

“Your hair looks fine,” she replied, before turning to Steve and raising her eyebrows in a silent plea.

“No, really, if it gets any longer I’ll start looking like one of those weirdo freaks this one listens to,” Elvis joked, nodding towards Dave with his Led Zeppelin t-shirt stretched tight across his chest. “Nice guys, but complete weirdos, man.” 

Aurora was pretty sure that nobody was about to get Elvis Presley and the guys from Led Zeppelin mixed up, but saying so would have taken her over that line from light teasing to downright unkindness that she would never cross. 

“I’m sorry, I haven’t got my kit with me and I’m so tired, I don’t think I should be trusted with scissors.” 

“I’ll go start the car,” Steve said, turning towards the kitchen door. 

“No! Now, hold up, man, nobody’s going nowhere ‘til I say so. S’cuse me for a minute, ladies, I think I need to have a word here with these so-called employees of mine.” Elvis’ tone was aggravated, like he was working hard to keep it even, behaving for company.

Joanne and Aurora looked at one another, shrugged, and stepped past the door that led down to the basement and found themselves in the red carpeted foyer, looking towards the front door. They listened carefully, but could only hear murmuring from back in the kitchen. 

Joanne squeezed her arm and pulled a triumphant face, hissing, “Fucking Elvis, man!”

“Shh, they might hear you.” Aurora occupied herself with staring up at the chandelier, watching the way the light was reflected back on the glass walls. She couldn’t imagine living in a house that had a chandelier. She wondered if Elvis ever marveled on it since he had grown up just as poor as her, maybe even more so. 

“You think he thought we were call girls?” Joanne asked, moving to lean against the staircase and resting her head on the banisters. She yawned wide enough to show the fillings 

in her back teeth. “When you said ‘clients’ they all got this weird look. Maybe he wants you to cut his hair to test your story.”

“I ain’t cutting anyone’s hair, I’m dead on my feet,” Aurora grumbled. 

“Not even if he offers you a thousand dollars?”

“Well, maybe for a thousand dollars.” She sleepily contemplated what she would spend a thousand dollars on. She wondered how much a chandelier cost. 

“Hell, for a thousand dollars I’d pretend to be the call girl!” They both snorted and giggled, before sighing into the still peace of the foyer. 

“He looks a little different from the movies though,” Joanne observed. “He’s got… heavier.” 

“Yeah,” Aurora conceded with a shrug. “Still Elvis though.” She giggled. “‘Oh Elvis! Oh Shit!’”  

“Shut up!” Joanne groaned, donking her head against one of the banisters. “I bet you didn’t come out with anything deep or profound when you saw him.” 

Aurora’s throat was still a little sore from where she had forced a fistful of bread through it while choking, but she kept that to herself. 

Finally, Dave shuffled out to let them know they could return from exile and led them back into an empty kitchen. When he spoke, he sounded annoyed and Aurora wondered if he had got a ticking off from Elvis too. Maybe it hadn’t been a set up after all. 

“C’mon.” He nodded towards a set of the stairs that curled up round a wall in the corner of the room. 

“Where?” she countered. 

“Look, just cut his fucking hair a little, all right? Pretend if you have to, we’ll be heading out on tour soon and he’ll have his hairdresser do it properly then anyway.” 

Aurora looked at the staircase and thought about getting back into the Datsun and going home. She thought about telling the ladies at the salon about her weekend, the way they would say, ‘And what happened then?!’ And she would have to finish her surreal recount with, ‘Then I chickened out and went home.’ 

That would be a lame ending to the story. 

And so she found herself leaning in front of Elvis Presley, examining his wet bangs as she ran them through the comb, scissors clutched in hand, standing in the most outrageously opulent bathroom she had ever seen. 

“You shouldn’t wrinkle your forehead like that, you know, honey,” he observed, his breath tickling the column of her throat. “You’ll look old before your time.”

Her frown shifted from one of concentration to intense control, trying to stop herself from shivering because it felt like he was murmuring into her ear. 

“My face does what it wants,” she replied finally, snipping the tiniest fragment of an inch. “I don’t have too much of a say in it. Keeps me honest, otherwise who knows what I’d be doing instead of cutting hair day and, apparently night now too.” 

They had negotiated down to just trimming the bangs, and now that she was confronted with his mass of fine hair, she was grateful. Everyone knew that half the teen population back in the day had flipped their lids when they cut off Elvis’ hair in the army. Aurora didn’t want to become the target of those same women today, stronger, smarter, and old enough to own handguns.

“What would you be instead, if you could choose?” She made the mistake of looking at his face when he asked. It was a trap. Framed by dark, weary shadows, the murky blue of his eyes had all but swallowed up the pupil and it felt like they were looking at something within her, somewhere she didn’t even want to let people know existed.  

“I don’t know. If you ask my memaw, there are only a few careers a girl can have with a name like mine. I picked the most respectable. There we go, all done.”

“What kind of name is Aurora anyway?” Searching, his damn eyes were searching and she couldn’t seem to distract him.

“I don’t exactly think we should be making fun of people’s names, Elvis. Especially not when some of us are holding scissors.” He snorted and laughed to himself. It sounded so young and silly that she knew it was real. 

“Aurora means dawn or light. You know the Northern Lights? Those squiggly colorful lights up in the North Pole? Their real name is Aurora Borealis. And you know, Sleeping Beauty’s name was Aurora.” 

It was the well worn explanation she had been trotting out since she was knee high to a cricket, not that it ever made any difference to the bemused, baffled or disdainful faces of the gangs of kids or customers at her father’s store that demanded she explain herself. 

She caught sight of Elvis’ reflection studying her, but not in the way that he had been before, the way that men often studied her, appraising and pricing her up like her daddy did with cans of soup. No, this was a different kind of look. 

“Dawn,” he murmured, his gaze seeming to look past her. “Sleeping…Beauty… Might be something to this…” His eyes seemed to click back into focus and he smiled at her, that crooked smirk that everyone in the world imagined in their head when someone said the name Elvis Presley. “It’s pretty, sweetheart, I was just kiddin’.”

When she followed him out of the bathroom, he mumbled, “Think fast!” And before she could even decipher his words, she was catching the tiger statue he had tossed at her. It was heavy enough it could have probably cracked her skull if she hadn’t caught it. 

“Whoa, was the haircut that bad that you had to try and kill me?!”

“No, honey, it was fine, but it’s like you, you see.” She could tell something corny was coming from the silly little grin and the way he paused to laugh at himself. “It’s a roarer.” She groaned, but giggled as he laughed, his brows knitted together in a pained acknowledgement of how corny he had been. 

“Woo, well, it’s lucky you’re pretty,” Aurora replied, doing what she thought was a damn fine impression of her grandma, who always said it like it was. 

When Elvis snorted a little, but didn’t say anything else, she wondered if she had caught him off guard and made him a little bashful. She made a show of giving the ceramic tiger a scritch under the chin like it was a pussy cat and then went to hand it back. 

“No, no,” he replied, waving his hand. “It’s yours, honey, you caught it. Them’s the rules.”

“Well, thank you… You know, it puts a whole new perspective on those folks you gave cars to. They probably belong in a circus.” He didn’t reply, just sat down on his bed and shuffled back against the pillows, picking up one of the books that lay strewn across the comforter. 

Not knowing quite what she was supposed to do, she petted the tiger under her arm and started edging towards the door. If she couldn’t make a glamorous exit, she could at least minimize the awkwardness of it. 

“Hey, you know…” Her eyes fixed on him as she did her little side shuffle, she saw him glance up from his book and his expression go from open to frowning. “Where you goin’?”

I thought we were… I thought you were waiting for me to leave.” He shook his head, looking slightly irritated, and then patted the bed heavily by his legs. 

Aurora thought of Steve waiting downstairs and then shrugged, walking over to the bed. You didn’t ignore an Elvis for a Steve. She perched on the edge of his bed and watched as he rooted around on his nightstand, sliding on a pair of gold framed glasses and shooting her a sheepish look. 

“The lightning of the Word will illumine the abysses.

New, new, new ones, beautiful ones, sensitive ones, 

Exalted ones, will be assembled.

The Teacher has entrusted thee to manifest Him.” He read it like poetry or scripture and it sounded dramatic and lovely to Aurora’s ears, but then he stopped and he looked at her like she was supposed to do or say something. It was like standing at the front of the class on book report day with nothing in her hands. Her face burned all the way back to her ears. 

“You ever heard anything like that before, honey?” he asked finally, his eyes back to scanning the text, leaving her to writhe in her ignorance and humiliation. 

“No, I don’t think so.” She looked longingly at the black padded door standing open and then down at her tanned toes, half submerged in the thick red shag pile carpet as if her sandals weren’t even there. “I was never too good in school.”

“School,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You don’t learn nothing worth knowing in school. I mean no disrespect to the teachers, but-” He sighed loudly. “You know most people use but one percent of their brains, one percent! Just focussing on the Mickey Mouse shit, uh, workin’ and paying the bills and having a good time, coveting their fuckin’ neighbor’s whatever… Never knowing what’s really important.” 

Aurora stared at him as he continued his diatribe, a little impressed at how he weaved in foulmouthed quotes from the Bible. Nobody was going to believe this was how she spent her Saturday night.

“I’ve been studying all this a long time, it takes discipline and dedication. Honey, why don’t you come on up here and get comfortable?” He gestured to the space beside him on the pillows, the space usually occupied by glamorous models and beauty queens, one of whom was beaming with fierce intensity at her from a framed picture on the dark wood unit against the wall. 

“Um, can I bring Muffin?” He lifted an eyebrow and she tilted the tiger she still had tucked into her hip. “I named him Muffin.” 

“Well, I was talking to Muffin anyhow, but I guess he can bring you.” He shook his head, his cheekbones brimming as he smirked and watched her shuck her sandals and clamber up gracelessly from the bottom of the bed. “You’re kinda silly.” He leant forward and gave her a lightning fast kiss on the lips, just warm and wet and gone. “I like that.” 

And then he read to her, for over an hour. Sleepily leaning against the pillow, Aurora slid her finger underneath the stretchy strap of her watch as it was pressing into her skin. Her eyes caught sight of the time and she pushed herself up, feeling a little dazed and dizzy. 

Having sunk back into his pillows too, Elvis was still reading, his voice barely above a whisper and he didn’t seem to notice her sitting up. Tentatively, she reached out and touched his arm and then said his name. It took him a beat or two to register the interruption. 

“It’s getting really late,” she said apologetically. “I think I should go find Steve, he’s my ride home.” 

“Aw, honey, he went, he’s gone.” 

Aurora smiled anxiously, not sure if he was joking. “He better not be. It’s a long walk back to my house.” 

“I’ll have someone take you home, don’t worry about that,” he murmured, his words slipping and sliding together.

“Well, It’s getting pretty late,” she said again. 

He lowered his book and went to say something, but seemingly changed his mind. Instead, he reached over with a grunt and picked up the phone, gruffly asking who was on duty. Aurora busied herself with slipping back into her shoes and hefting Muffin back onto her hip. 

Elvis put down the receiver of the red phone and climbed off the bed. 

“I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay with you?” The way he said it was oddly formal and solemn, a complete contrast to the way he had teasingly beckoned her onto his bed earlier. It threw her enough that she forgot to be overwhelmed.

“Sure!” She cringed inwardly at how high pitched her voice sounded and tried to clear her throat discreetly. 

“Let me take down your number and I'll call you.” 

Elvis rifled through the contents of his nightstand and snatched up a pen and then, with a shrug, opened the front cover of his book.

It was about then that Aurora's brain caught up with the situation and her hand shook as she reached for the pen and scrawled ‘Aurora + Muffin’ alongside her number on the inside cover of his book. When she handed it back, he teased her by turning the book upside as he squinted at it. 

“What is this, hieroglyphics?!” 

And Aurora laughed goodnaturedly, even though she had been teased her whole time at school for her poor penmanship and inability to improve it. She laughed even though, as a rule, she never let anyone get away with making fun of the things she couldn’t change. Something about him defused all those defenses designed to detonate on a hair trigger. 

Aurora felt Elvis follow her to the bedroom door without seeing him. It was a weird feeling, like wearing a heavy cape made of ice. She was almost afraid to check in case it all evaporated like a dream and she woke up in her pilling pink blankets and worn rosebud sheets. 

The heavy, warm hand that came to rest on her shoulder was a surprise and a reassurance then, as she felt him turn her. She took a step back, since he was that much taller and they were standing so close together that she was face to face with the dip at the base of his throat, able with microscopic clarity to see the way his golden chest hair curled behind the thick gold chain he was wearing with the strange symbol that looked to her eyes like a musical note with extra parts. 

“Um, sorry,” she murmured, looking away, even though he had been the one to crowd her. He smiled softly, angling his head and pressing his soft full lips against hers. She jolted, almost choking again, and saved herself by grabbing hold of him, clutching at his waist, thick but firm, with her free hand and pressing in against him. His lips were soft and lush, like no other man’s she had kissed before. They tickled and teased, and sent shivers that spread down her spine and radiated through her body. 

When his tongue first brushed and then slid against hers, she let out a little whine that had him huffing a laugh and drawing back, his hand cradling her jaw.  

“You sure you gotta go, baby?” he asked softly in that low, intimate voice that made her legs quiver. “We could just sleep, you know. I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t try anything.”

“I trust you,” she replied, though she wasn’t sure she did. “It’s me I don’t trust.” Which was one hundred percent true.

He pulled her in again by her chin, but she still wasn’t ready as they both exhaled in playful frustration. She nibbled on his ripe bottom lip even as she was pulling away. 

Aurora made it to the outer door that led to the stairs before he called her back. 

“Hey Tiger!” She let her shoulders and face slump with indignation as she realized she had answered to the silly name. “We’re going to see each other again, sweetheart.” She smiled at the previously unimaginable picture she was walking away from- Elvis Presley framed by the light in a doorway, his hair rumpled and tousled (her fault) and his mouth wet and swollen (even more her fault). “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find.” 

“Sure.” Frowning a little through her smile, she nodded and turned back to the stairs. Was he talking about himself or was he talking about her? Maybe he was talking about Muffin. She hefted the tiger a little higher under her arm and clumped down the stairs, blearily opening the front door to greet the dawn. 

@thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @be-my-ally @lookingforrainbows, @from-memphis-with-love, @peskybedtime

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 19

Linda looks so good in this sort of not-quite-right preppy style. I think it fits who she was as a person in this time so well, and that’s one of the things I love about Linda is that she just dresses up as herself. You know? Like she wears things that are true to her and she doesn’t care if that means a mini-skirt in January or hairy pits on stage. And that confidence and introspection and happiness is so, so attractive.

And that is why they love him. (you know, besides the fact that he’s a piano prodigy or whatever) So secure. BDE off the charts.

Linda talking photography with whoever that other photographer guy is.

George: what could it be, Paul? John: jumps to answer for Paul like it's 1964 and they're at a press conference.

What do we think? John cut himself shaving? Or is it a hickey?

It ends up that John’s meeting must’ve fallen through at 1:30, so Paul is the only one gone. And it seems to me that John purposely plans this time when Paul’s gone to talk to George and Ringo about Klein. George: er, what did you want to talk about? John: er, well, just that I saw Klein, you know. . . . but I want to tell you all at once, you know, so it’s not . . . Sure, John. Cut to 1971 John talking about “doing a job” and “maneuvering” to get those two on the Klein boat. smh. sad. 

But, really, for a guy who admits to having been a manipulator since primary school, he’s so easily manipulated. John. A man who you just met cannot know you as well as a man you’ve known since you were seventeen. No matter how he flattered you, it’s just not possible. The way he said it with such conviction, too! He sincerely believes this bullshit.  

“Old Brown Shoe” is not my favorite lol but I’m so happy for George. To me, it sounds like it’s about leaving old roles, old patterns, old relationships, the beatles, behind in favor of something more exciting and fun. Good for him. 

I know this is a “yeah, duh” comment, but Billy is such a gifted musician. Instantly catching on to the stylophone, jumping on guitar the minute George is on piano. So impressive.

Ugh, the tone of voice John takes with George. They’re all messing around, as they constantly do, including George, when John decides it’s time to focus. He says, “George, come on,” in literally the most condescending voice. As if George has been the only one derailing everything out of his own immaturity and John’s finally losing his patience. I can’t. He’s not fourteen, anymore, John. 

One more quick Linda appreciation because she's so cool and so pretty and I love her so much.

I wonder if they actually did have a “tune up” as George Martin put it, after teasing him that they wouldn’t. It just cuts off from John being like “remember Bob Wooler” to them doing a take of “Don’t Let Me Down.”  

John singing “I need you” at Paul (who is very passionately shaking that maraca). Not I want you. I need you. And making These Faces as he plays the guitar. Like, to be clear, those are not singing faces. He's not singing while he's doing that. He's just doing that. He looks so horny and in so much pain. Bro. How do you do that with God and everyone watching? 

At which point, Paul decides he needs to get completely out-of-it stoned, and the most unwatchable one minute and seven seconds in all of Get Back occurs. “Grease Paint” my beloathed.

Oh, okay, George just constantly cleans his guitars. I think I remember reading an old beatlemania era article that said while John and Paul treat their guitars as tools, George loves and cares for his. 

And then we pan out as John says, “Allen Klein’s here,” and sings, “I want you so bad” in the same breath. What are our thoughts? Does John sincerely think he’s helping everyone by getting Klein? Or is it more selfish?  

[foli-vora]

sharpshooter

dave york x f!reader

gif by moi.

masterlist | pedro masterlist

a/n: this came out of fucking nowhere lmao. everyone blame/thank @whataperfectwasteoftime. this was inspired by her post here and the mess of a comment i made on it. thank you for letting me bounce ideas off of you, my love! we're an absolute sucker for this man and it's my god given right to drag everyone down into the depths of the pit with us. i hope you all enjoy! x

warnings: swearing, dave being a fucking MENACE, guns/air rifles, first date carnival shenanigans, it's a bit soft and fluffy, Dave 'BDE' York, SMUT 18+ ONLY: fingering, oral sex (f rec), unprotected p in v (no matter how pretty they are or how horny they make you - wrap that shit), public sex, outdoor sex, rough sex, dirty talk, dave doing what dave does best - completely fucking annihilating pussy.

word count: 4193

It’s unexpected, but not unwelcome. You feel young again, giddy from the constant flash of bright lights and electric colours dancing along the edges of your vision as the echoes of laughter and screaming and music ring in your ears. It’s hard to not smile, and your cheeks hold an ache from the constant stretch of your lips.

This was not at all what you expected upon receiving an earlier call from Dave with instructions to be ready by 6pm sharp. Dress casual, bring a jacket. He wasn’t like the others you had dated in the past, who didn’t seem to really be that interested in the organisational side of it and gave the usual ‘Well what do you want to do?’

No, that wasn’t Dave.

He took the initiative with that kind of thing, he liked to be in control – one of the many things you had come to learn about him in the time you had been in contact with him. Your relationship, if you could even call it that yet, was fresh and in its very early stages after a few weeks of regular phone calls due to his work keeping him a little busier than he expected, but you knew there was something there.

You hold a strong hope that he feels the same.

The attraction was already crazy high, with every little touch or simple brush of his fingers feeling like a sharp shock to the system. You had a rule of taking things slow when it came to dating, and you absolutely didn’t want to risk moving too fast and losing whatever was building with Dave, but god did he make it difficult.

And he knew it, too.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tangling his long fingers through yours and tugging your body to bump into his side as you step down from the ferris wheel. Your heart flies at the touch.

“God no,” you laugh softly, recalling your earlier attack on the group of food trucks and how much you had indulged, “I don’t think I’ll need to eat for the rest of the week after that!”

He leads you through the light crowds, his grip on your hand tight and comforting as he chuckles.

“Do you want to play a game or two?” you ask, looking towards the many stalls lined up and the people that come and go between them, “I know they’re rigged, but it could still be a bit of fun?”

It’s the little shooting range that catches your eye first, with a man yelling that no one had yet to win the major prize. Of course no one had won, you think to yourself in wry amusement. Barely anyone could win a barely average prize, let alone a major one.

Nevertheless, you pull Dave in its direction, stepping up onto the little platform and chuckling as the man practically bellows his greeting. Over the top, but it’s all part of the carnival experience you suppose. Dave remains indifferent to the man’s playful jabbing towards him, merely holding a folded note in his general direction before ignoring him completely in favour of focusing on you.

Playing coy, you spare him a glance over your shoulder and smile sweetly.

“Do you know how to use one? I don’t know how to hold it properly… I think I need a little bit of help.”

The corner of his lips twitch, almost as if he sees right through you, yet he nods and takes the small step up towards you. 

You hold your breath as his body presses into your back, his thick arms coming around you to fix your hold on the rifle. Your stomach erupts with butterflies, something warm and sweet and exciting coming to curl around your heart as it drums heavily against your chest with each gentle alteration of his rough hands over yours.

He overwhelms you in the best of ways, his cologne spicy and familiar, the buttery popcorn from earlier still hanging on his breath. You can’t help but press back into him, lips automatically turning up shyly at the curved nose that lightly traces the shell of your ear.

“Not too tight – hold it looser,” he murmurs, tone low and winding along your nerves in hot waves until it settles low in the pit of your stomach. “Spread your legs, just like that.”

Once satisfied with your hold on the gun, he steps back but keeps his large hands on your hips, his thumbs firm as they rub over the material covering your skin, digging softly into the flesh of your waist and it does absolutely nothing to calm the rage of heat flooding your core.

He absolutely knows the power he holds.

It’s hard to not laugh lightly with each missed shot, your chest warming at the deep chuckle that comes from just behind you. It’s not a surprise that you don’t even land a single target and you place the gun carefully back down with a grin.

“Damn. Oh well!” you shrug, turning and sharing a smile with Dave.

“It was a good try,” he comforts, and you can’t help your snort of amusement. His hands tighten on your waist and he gently drags you towards him until your front bumps with his. 

“Oh I’m sure,” you chuckle, sliding your hands along his arms and feeling the tense of muscle beneath his jacket, “I’m quite the sharpshooter if you couldn’t tell.”

“You definitely have a talent,” he teases, his smirk wide and devious as he nudges his nose against yours.

You hold your breath, your system wired and ready to feel the press of his lips.

The kisses had slowly deepened throughout the evening, and with each one you feel your restraint at moving slow weaken. His kisses are consuming, leaving you weak and shaky from the firm press of his lips and dominant push of his mouth, the feelings so intoxicating and ravaging your system, you’re left hopelessly keeping yourself up with his shirt clutched between your fingertips every time.

An overly cheerful voice, bordering on the edge of smug, breaks the gentle build of tension between you both and Dave’s sharp eyes flash over to the man with a vague sheen of wariness. It’s minimal, but with your close proximity you can see the way his jaw tenses slightly.

“You’re not gonna try and win her one? Some boyfriend you are,” the man chuckles, sending an overly deliberate wink to your direction.

Dave’s eyes roll back to you.

“I’ll win you one.” 

“It’s rigged, Dave,” you mutter, smiling at his offer. “It’s fine, we can go and do that fishing one –”

“If you can’t do it, just say so,” the man drawls, leaning on his multicoloured flashing stick. “Guess you’re walkin’ away empty handed, sweets.”

Dave rolls his tongue along the back of his teeth in deliberation before casting an eye over the various stuffed toys.

“How do I get the big guy?” he nods up towards where the ridiculously huge teddy with a large red bow tie hangs suspended over the playing area.

“No one’s been able to win that yet! Hit down all targets, plus the three bonus ones at the back.”

He holds out another note, his gaze unwavering and impassive. “Set it up.”

Dave watches him work before taking your place, eyeing the barrel of the rifle and studying the slight adjustments made to it as he feels the weight of it in his hands. He wants to laugh at how fucked up the aim is. He takes his stance, securing the gun back against his shoulder and exhaling softly.

“Blue,” he says suddenly, and you’re in the middle of questioning him when a sharp ping rings through the air, and you notice the small blue cartoon duck target down. Dave glances at the game leader, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips, “All of them, right?”

“Uh, yeah –”

“Red.”

Ping.

“Yellow.”

Ping.

You watch in complete and utter bewilderment, lost somewhere in between being thoroughly impressed by his skills and completely fucking turned on with how confidently he fires the rifle. He continues on, calling each colour before shooting the corresponding target down until only the three tiny targets stand at the back.

“Call ‘em out, baby.”

You have to physically fight the urge to melt at the pet name. Usually that kind of thing on the first date would have you walking away, but something about the way it falls from his tongue, confidently, teasingly, deep and husky and feeling like molten fucking honey in your ears…

Dave York is trouble.

You run your tongue along your lips, moving your gaze from his handsome side profile to the back of the game. The small metal disks are so purposefully small, there’s no possible way he would be able to knock them down. They’re barely two inches wide –

“Right, left, middle.”

Ping. Ping. Ping.

You exhale sharply in disbelief, watching Dave relax from his stance with an air of cool satisfaction. It becomes much, much harder to fight the urge to curl your hands around the collar of his jacket and all but haul his mouth to yours. You ache for it, for him.

The game leader openly fumbles, his eyes wide and confused as they trace all the fallen targets. 

“The aim on the barrel is a mess – no wonder no one wins,” Dave speaks plainly, returning the gun to the table, “and she’ll take the big one.”

A laugh bubbles up from your throat and you quickly press your lips together to stifle it, watching the man practically reboot right before your eyes. He doesn’t seem to move quick enough for Dave’s liking, and he raises a sharp brow.

“Is there a problem?”

The man immediately starts to make a move for the small step ladder, setting it up below the teddy and keeping his eyes away from Dave’s. “No, sir.”

“I didn’t think so.”

There’s a smirk evident in his tone. You’re unable to resist smiling widely when he turns to look at you, nodding for you to retrieve your prize from the now quiet man. The teddy is soft and plush, all long thick limbs and a chunky, round belly – it’s ridiculously big. Where the hell are you going to put it?

“There you go, sweets,” Dave coos, throwing one final look towards the game leader before stepping down from the platform and holding a hand out for you.

You feel like you’re on fire.

It becomes apparent just how fucking wet you are with every step you take, your underwear practically soaked through and clinging to your folds. The seam of your jeans brushes just over your clit as you walk, doing nothing to tame the borderline painful ache overtaking the swollen nerve and it’s enough to drive you mad.

“Thank you,” you murmur, tucking the toy into your side and meeting his ever attentive gaze, willing your heart to stop beating so fucking fast.

You pause under one of the rides, watching the people strapped into the seats get thrown upside down and spun around, their screams piercing the air and becoming nothing but a distant buzz the longer your mind whirls.

Could he see how flustered he makes you feel? Does he know where your mind currently strays to? Lost in the wonder of what his hands would feel like running over your bare skin, how his voice would sound melting into your ears as he tells you how good you feel…

“You’re welcome,” he returns smoothly, dark eyes never once straying from your face.

They briefly drop to where your tongue wets your lips and the muscles in his jaw flex ever so slightly. He knows. He must. The moment seems to hold, with neither one of you wanting to break whatever had fallen over you by looking away.

Something about his gaze changes.

It no longer feels playful, it feels predatory.

A thrill races down your spine, bringing a flush of heat under your skin. You need something, anything. You hunger for more of him, a desperation building throughout your body with no immediate end in sight.

“Can… can we leave?”

The words come out quiet, breathless, but thankfully he hears you. It’s a relief.

You’re being spun within a few seconds and led back through the crowds, the people parting for him as if they sense his unwavering determination to leave and hurrying to move from his path. You hurry to keep up with his strides, your heart thundering against your ribs.

“Dave,” you exhale when you’re only steps away from his car, the sleek silver shine of it glistening under the moonlight.

He barely turns before you’re forcing your way into his arms, lips slanting greedily over his as your fingers come to lock around his neck, your prize discarded and momentarily forgotten on the grassy floor.

It doesn’t take him long to catch up, his mouth suddenly gaining strength and pushing back against yours and the intensity of it seeps right into your bones. Your lips part for his tongue and he tastes you deeply, swallowing every whimper and moan that falls from your throat as his hot, calloused hand comes to cup your jaw.

You barely realise you’re being backed against the side of his car until you hit the solid mass of it, and it only makes you clutch him harder. He steps into your space, presses right into your body until you feel like you can’t fucking breathe, and it’s still not enough.

“Mine or yours?”

The words have you clenching.

“I don’t care,” you pant, fingers digging into the skin at the back of his neck in an effort to bring him closer.

He indulges you for a moment longer, lips hot and heavy and drowning you in a timeless haze with every second he stays practically devouring you, before slowly pulling away and licking away the saliva built on his lower lip.

You watch the slow roll of muscle through the flutter of your lashes and weaken further at his firm demand of ‘In’, your fingers shaky and fumbling with the door handle until you can all but throw yourself onto the sleek leather passenger seat.

He moves swiftly, briefly pausing to throw the teddy into the backseat as he rounds the car before sliding into the driver's seat and pulling smoothly out onto the road.

The ache you feel for this man is something otherworldly. Your skin prickles beneath your clothes, sweat stings at your palms, your heart feels like it could burst from your chest at any moment… you don’t think you’ve ever felt attraction on this level before. The tension in the car is palpable, thick with lust and need and you wonder how long you’ll be able to endure.

It only fucking worsens when his hand comes to rest lightly on your thigh, his thumb smoothing over your jeans and fingers tensing with an almost silent promise of what’s to come, and you think immediately that he’s trying to kill you. You try to keep your gaze level, watching the flash of the trees by your window in an effort to distract you from the feelings overwhelming your body.

Anticipation rumbles through you, curling along your nerves and working you into a constant state of restlessness until you’re unable to keep from shifting every few moments in the seat. Every slide of your thighs brings a brush of friction over your throbbing clit, building on the ache stirring deep in your cunt and it’s blissful torture.

The car suddenly jerks off of the road and your hand flies to steady yourself on the door, the harsh grate of gravel sliding under you as the car pulls to an immediate stop. You jolt back into your seat and turn to look at him in question, the silence in the car much more deafening without the purr of the engine filling the background. 

The muscles are tight over his jaw, his eyes narrowed on you in a way that makes your stomach twist in excitement.

“Get out,” he orders lowly, hand already moving to unclip his seatbelt as the other shoves his door open.

You hurry to follow, stepping out onto shaky legs and feeling the nip of cold air bite at your warm cheeks. He studies the road and the surrounding dense thickness of trees before turning his sharp gaze back to you and striding around the car to meet you at the front of it.

Your mouths clash in a mess of tongue and teeth, hands desperately running and clutching at whatever they land on and it’s not enough. You need him closer, you need to feel more. Your fingers dive for the hem of his shirt and dip beneath it until your hands meet his heated skin, fingertips digging into the softness of his waist in an effort to keep him against you.

“Look at you,” he grits out, breaking away from your mouth and smoothing a thumb over your parted lips. “You’d let me fuck you right here, wouldn’t you?”

You whimper against the pad of his thumb.

“So impatient,” he murmurs, kissing along the line of your jaw and you shudder at the press of his soft lips. “You were working yourself up in the car – did you think I wouldn’t notice? I bet you’re fucking soaked, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“God, please –”

He exhales sharply against your throat, dragging the press of his solid erection against you. His fingers drop to dance along your waistline, hooking a finger around the denim and popping the button open with a slight tug.

“You want it here?” he asks, pulling at your zipper until it gives way. “Where anyone could see you?”

You can’t nod quickly enough.

“Y-yes.” 

“Dirty girl.”

You’re being spun before you even realise it, too busy mourning the loss of his mouth. You stumble, not expecting the sudden movement, but his hands come to steady your sides before he pushes at the space between your shoulders, forcing you down until your front meets the warm metal of the bonnet.

You don’t care.

You don’t care that on the side of the road — practically on display, you don’t care that anyone could drive past at any moment, you don’t care about your stupid ‘go slow’ rules. All you care about is getting his hands on you, finally addressing the deep ache in your core and getting some sort of relief. You yearn to feel him and the way his cock would feel filling you to the fucking brim.

“I don’t have anything, are you okay with that? I’ve been checked recently.”

You nod again, squirming on the bonnet, “I get checked monthly, and I’ve got an implant –”

“Good.”

His hands tear your jeans down your legs, taking your underwear along with them, baring your pussy to the cool night air and his heavily observant gaze. He drags a finger along your slit, the digit slipping easily along your pussy from the build up of your arousal and you shudder at the touch.

“You’re a messy thing,” he murmurs, working his finger patiently up and down your folds and your eyes slam closed at the obscenely wet noise of it. “So fucking wet, and it’s all for me.”

You whine softly, moving your hips up and down with the rhythmic move of his finger. Up and down. Up and down. It slides easily into your cunt, the thick width of it curling and probing deep along your velvety walls and back out again.

A second finger joins it, slowly thrusting and stretching and pushing so deep the muscles of your cunt flutter and tighten around him in response. His free hand comes to rest firmly on your lower back, stopping the slight roll of your hips against the fingers buried in you.

“Give me a minute, sweet girl, let me feel you.”

He drags it out, keeping his movements slow and steady, feeling along your walls and the way your cunt weeps around his fingers, occasionally pulling completely out of you to smooth along your slit and down to your swollen clit before slipping back up again.

It’s agony.

It’s wonderful. 

His fingers pull out and you brace against the bonnet, ready for him to finally fill and fuck you, but it’s not his cock that you feel next…

“Fu-uck—” you whine, breathless and shaking as the pressure of his tongue slides through your folds and swirls around your entrance before pushing the muscle into your cunt.

Though you’d received oral before in the past, you’d never received it bent over, ass in the air and practically on display. Something about the way he tongue fucked you from behind felt filthy, depraved – carnal. His hands palm at your ass, squeezing the soft cheeks and spreading them further so he could taste you deeper, groaning when you flood his tongue. 

He’s messy about it, uncaring if he pushes too close and gets your arousal over his chin, repeating whatever makes your breath hitch and body jolt. He ducks down, finds your clit and rolls his tongue over it mercilessly, relentless in his pursuit of your climax and pushing you further and further until you’re crying out into the night.

His name becomes your mantra as you spiral closer to your end, the hot build of pressure in your core tightening with every slick roll of his tongue until you feel yourself balancing on the edge, holding right there and at his complete fucking mercy…

You shatter, your cry sticking in your throat as you buck into the car, your body jumping and trembling with every wave of bliss that rolls through your body.

He milks it for all it’s worth, fingers digging into the soft swell of your ass and running over and over your sensitive clit before moving his attention back to your cunt, forcing his tongue into your fluttering entrance and practically drinking you down until you’re weakly begging him to stop.

He does so, pulling away and spreading your asscheeks to watch the quiver of your walls. You barely hear him stand and undo his pants, only just returning from your high when you feel the head of his cock glide through your folds. He moves back and forth, pushing forward just enough for him to nudge at your swollen clit before sliding back up again, coating his length with your cum.

“Tell me, baby. I need to hear it.”

“Please fuck me, please — god, Dave –”

He fills you with one solid thrust, barely giving you any time to adjust to the thickness of him before he’s pulling back and slamming forward. He’s savage about it, hips brutal and unforgiving as they slam into your ass and you’re simply left to take it, hands scrambling along the sleek surface of the car in an attempt to find stability as he fucks into you.

“Fuck,” he grinds out, jaw tensing as he watches his cock disappear into you again and again. “Prettiest fucking cunt, made for me… taking it so fucking well…”

Words are lost to you. You can only focus on his cock and the way it fills you, stretches you, pounding that sweet spot so deep within you and almost pushing at that point of too fucking far. You take it all gladly, sweat slicking your brow and building along the back of your neck.

He reaches his own end with a final slam into you, his cock twitching with his release as it floods your cunt and seeps out from around him. Your chest heaves with every inhale and exhale and you swear you’ve never been this fucked out in your entire life.

You throb around him as his cock slowly softens, and he’s gentle when he pulls out of you and glances at the mess. He swipes a thumb through his cum, pushing it back into your cunt before sliding up a little further and teasing the ring of clenched muscle.

You jump in surprise and he chuckles deeply, pulling away from you completely and deftly fixing his pants. He drags your jeans back up your thighs and helps you stand, grinning at how your legs tremble beneath you. You turn and sit carefully on the edge of the bumper, smiling shyly when he sinks down to rest next to you. 

It’s peaceful sitting in with him, the air surrounding you cool and comfortable as you both catch your breath. You ache in the best of ways, your muscles protesting any movement you make, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Dave York was more than trouble, he was a fucking force to be reckoned with and you loved it.

“So if this is first date stuff,” you murmur, leaning into his side and resting your head on his shoulder, “what the hell happens on the third date?”

He openly grins, his chest bouncing with his quiet laugh as an arm comes to wrap around your shoulders. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

-

everything pp tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80,@danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst​, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes​, @ezrasbirdie​, @mstgsmy​, @lovesbiggerthanpride​, @coaaster​, @sherala007​, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44​, @wyn-n-tonic​, @you-got-me-starry-eyed​, @shirks-all-responsibilities​, @withasideofmeg​, @harriedandharassed​, @andruxx​, @buckybarneshairpullingkink​, @spideysimpossiblegirl​, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future​, @tanzthompson​, @mad-girl-without-a-box​, @hope-for-the-best-98​, @fangirl-316​, @christina-loves​, @jediknight122​, @hallway5​, @xoxabs88xox​, @nicolethered​, @churchill356​, @massivecolorspygiant​, @just-here-for-the-moment​, @gracie7209​, @pinkie289​, @lavenderluna10​, @goodgriefitsawildworld​, @juletheghoul​, @punkerthanpascal​, @itswanktime​, @karolydulin​, @pedrostories​, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch, @omlwhatamidoinghere​, @cannedsoupsucks​, @chaoticemz, @hows-my-hair​, @alexxavicry​, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist​, @outercrasis​, @thisshipwillsail316​, @toxicfrankenstein​, @hotchlover​, @ew-erin​, @mishasminion360​, @jitterbugs927​, @penelopeimp​, @woodland-mist​, @pedro-pastel​, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell​, @1andthesame​, @elegantduckturtle​, @captain-jebi​, @magpie-to-the-morning​, @sharkbait77​, @sleep-tight1​, @musings-of-a-rose​, @karlawithacapitalk​, @woomen23​, @frasmotic​, @songsformonkeys​, @loonymagizoologist​, @aynsleywalker​, @ruhro7​, @bluestuesday​, @what-iwish-you-knew​, @princess-djarinn​, @totallynotastanacc​, @girlofchaos​, @pjkimrn​, @bangaveragewhitewine​, @trickstersp8​, @rominaszh, @gooddaykate​, @ms-loverman-066​, @bunniwarrior​, @detectivecarisi-1​, @tintinn16​, @iceclaw101​, @bport76​, @thatpinkshirt​, @tusk89​, @withakindheartx​, @curiouskeyboard​, @pedropascalsx​, @sirpascal, @racetrackheart, @patisseriel, @timpletance​, @titabel, @xdaddysprincessxx​, @dnxgma​, @astronomeoww​, @dindjarinswhore​, @alwaysdjarin​, @mando-amando​, @mx-ferelden

dave york tags: @sanfransolomitatm​, @pedrohoe04​, @evyiione​, @for-my-satisfaction​, @androah​, @naughtynecromancer​, @flamesocks​, @lawfulgranola​, @dins-cyare, @clydesducktape​, @f*cklife_imdreaminghere, @iceclaw101​, @jxvipike​, @littleone65, @flamesocks​, @curiouser-an-curiouser​, @h-hxgirl, 

tags are a mess, a fair few didn’t want to work so yeah. highly debating whether or not to kill the tags coz god damn it’s a full time job lmao

[be-my-ally]

"...Elvis has left for Graceland."

This is, uh, what I did with some *generally helpful information* about mirrors in Graceland (although tbh there's not even that many references to them here) and bde withdrawals. I lied - I thought my empty promises wip would be out first, but when inspiration hits and a shorter fic just pops out of your fingers - and the alternative is the dreaded editing, you end up with this instead! Enjoy my lovelies - this is also a little (ok a lot) for @thatbanditqueen - enjoy the references to red Graceland, the correct suit for the exact date, and even his exact upper of choice in spring summer ’74! Oh! and the dress pictured below is YSL from 1973 xx (and also @ellie-24, and @whositmcwhatsit for encouraging me! Surprise! We were discussing films and I was writing this!)

summary: you’re elvis’ girlfriend circa ’74, and have a lot of fun congratulating him after his recorded show in Memphis. 

pairing: afab!reader x elvis (of the big daddy flavour)

warnings: 18+, thigh-riding, the ripping of an expensive rental dress, big daddy elvis in all his big daddy-ness, yet again - reader sucks his tits idk man I didn’t think was gonna be a kink for me but clearly it is, v. minor references to his drug abuse, p in v sex, uhhhh…. Oh mirrors! I know Graceland wasn’t as, uh, dirty as Hillcrest but I think he still had enough fun there, Elvis keeps his jumpsuit on. this is essentially unedited so pls ignore any typos - I'll give it a look over in the morning!

wc: 4.1k - We did it baby! Concise smut!!

March 20th 1974 - Mid-South Coliseum Memphis

“…Elvis has left for Graceland.” 

You’re delayed in leaving - a problem with the valet, or the sound, or something that someone has to sort out - so despite the fact that Elvis himself has left you are stood, waiting, with a couple of the mafia boys for the other car to be brought around. Undoubtedly to be stuck in the hordes of fans and traffic on the way out. You hated being stood exposed like this, it made you feel like people’s wandering glances weren’t just sizing up the King’s new girlfriend, but laughing at you - at how you’re no more special than the rest of them. Stood in much the same way they all were. Left behind while he was whisked away to his palace. 

The temperature had dropped since you’d arrived here earlier, and you wished you’d thought to bring a jacket but the weather was just starting to warm up and you’d been thrilled to be able to wear a little strappy number - a little part of you, or maybe a large part, wanting to show off a little for the home crowd. Silver and diamanté straps that held up the draping gently twisted fabric that flowed in a column, brushing your curves - it was, expensive and flashy in a subtle way - it was almost too much for the concert. But, as always, you’d been outshined by Elvis’ own crystals - the stark white of his sparkling jumpsuit brighter than any of the stage lights. You’d worn it mostly for him though, despite the fact that he’d barely glanced at you in it.

By the time you’re all loaded into the car, heading the barely ten miles towards Graceland, the novelty of passing down Elvis Presley Boulevard from an Elvis Presley concert to go and see Elvis Presley still hadn’t waned. You smile a little at yourself and you can feel Charlie laughing from the other side of the backseat of the car, “God makes me laugh every time I see that damn sign - as if he needed a bigger head!” You laugh with him, but you can hear the affection in his voice - as if you were being let in to a joke of the inner circle; the joke about his large head being simultaneously true but also at odds with his nerves mere hours ago. Despite your traffic fears you make quick progress and it’s mere minutes before you’re pulling up to the drive, parting the crowd and through the gates. You’re quick out of the car but you’re surprised not to see or hear him when you walk through the front door, until Billy, coming around the corner, sees you and points upstairs. You nod and thank him but, not seeing the point in rushing if he’d gone to bed, you head to the kitchen - fetching a drink and take your time finishing it. You start to slowly make your way up the main staircase, stopping to check yourself out in the large mirror on the wall, reapplying a little lipstick just in case he was awake. 

When you walk in, he’s pacing at the bottom of his bed, still in the sweaty white jumpsuit, walking back and forth, he gestures past his padded doors, towards the landing and the huge mirrors he’d recently had installed on the ceiling to match those on the walls. “Saw you take your time, something more important than me baby?” You frown, shaking your head - you forget, when at Graceland, that his eyes are everywhere; even as much as in Hillcrest. 

“Course not babe, of course not!” He tuts, but you’d not been expected him to look so awake so you hadn’t thought you’d had to rush up to him; despite your desire to see him, and congratulate him on the show. So you have no words to your defence - you can’t exactly tell him you expected he’d be half out of it by now. You glance over at the gold foiled nightstand on his side - the orange bottle for his dexedrine open and on display. He follows your gaze, his own eyes hardening a little, tiny little lines forming on the edge of his still-linered lids. Neither of you mention his sudden burst of energy and where it came from. He turns back to you, hands on his hips. It draws your attention to his outfit. He’d not even changed from his stage jumpsuit - a rarity since he was almost always in his robe by the time he’d passed through his bedroom doors. It strangely matches well in the dark, red, interior of the room - red crystals of the fire suit almost the exact colour of the carpet. But it also, oddly, made him stand out even more - the crystals seeming like they were everywhere, like he was made to be stood in this room; reflecting across the mirrors, and emphasising the white of the jumpsuit - his skin jumping out. The zipper was low, as it had been all night and you rake your eyes over his exposed skin. He’d been exceptionally physical tonight, the showmanship spectacular and it was displayed in his chest and stomach shimmering with his still drying sweat. You feel yourself growing wet. 

“Shut the door honey,” You do as you’re told, he’s gruff, almost as if he feels he should be apologetic but would never admit it, “Not had time lately have we, huh, baby?” You shake your head in response, uncertain what to say -  you hadn’t, he’d been so busy worrying about these concerts, and then afterwards about the live recording - about the intricacies of the sound, of how the crowd noise will be isolated. It meant that as excited as you were to see him perform in Memphis, in his home - you were more excited to get past it to the month long break he was going to have. But you also knew how privileged you were to get any time with him at all, and you knew how quickly his moods changed lately. Unwilling to say anything that might make him reconsider his plans and head back downstairs, leave you alone, waiting and wanting while he entertained. 

“Well. We’re here now.” He moves over to you, determinedly catching you in a kiss. You squirm a little, eyes closed, trying to will away the thought that you weren’t the only woman he’d kissed this evening, force away the images of him with the girls in the front row. There was fewer than normal, chaste pecks on the cheek - he didn’t want to mess up the recording after all. But still, you’d felt the envy growing in you, jealousy burning through your veins. He makes you forget this though, as he rubs his hands down your arms, warming where they’d already grown cold in the frigid air of his bedroom and his tongue slips deeper into you. You can taste the gatorade of the night, mixed with the sparkling water he’d probably downed along with his uppers - the faint tingle of the carbon dioxide still present. He kisses down your cheek to your throat, leaving traces of your freshly applied lipstick from your own lips before he turns you around, facing the headboard, and walks you towards the bed - your legs bump against the end. He tugs at the straps that cross on your back, impatient. You wince, trying to stop him; 

“Elvis, baby, it’s a - a rental, gotta be careful, it’s one of a kind -“ 

“Fuckin’ fancy shit - get it off then, fuckin’ hate when you don’t just let me buy you -”  Despite his harsh words he kisses across your shoulder in between his words. You cut him off, 

“It’s not for sale El, so you couldn’t have even -“ 

“You tellin’ me what I can or can’t do now mama?” He toys with the strap, you think fast trying to stop what you’re sure is coming - 

“El, seriously - I didn’t mean it like that I just - ah!” He pulls the chain clean off - square crystals spilling over the bed. 

“Fuck - E!” He yanks the other one, this time accompanied by a little tearing noise as the seam rips from the back. Before you have time to protest any longer he’s pushing down the twisted top, your breasts popping out. He grabs your chin, pointing it towards the back of the bed - where the large mirror hangs - you can see yourself reflecting from the mirrors on the other walls too - the glances of different angles almost overwhelming. 

“Look at yourself.” He maintains his grip on your chin while palming one of his simultaneously thick but still sleek hands across your boob. He twists a nipple as you gasp, pulling it out a little. He pushes you up with his other hand, forcing you to balance on your knees on the end the bed, his own thigh coming in between to force them further apart and support some of your weight as you sink down a little. He hikes the long length of the dress up, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to hold it up yourself although the maxi-skirt still drapes and covers your modesty. He lets go of your face, pulling you back against him harder with both hands, and his stomach, more pronounced than before, bumps against your back. You stare, mouth open, as you watch his large hands span across your waist. His head is bent over into the crook of your neck, sucking a bruise onto the dip of your collarbone, his sweaty, fluffy, hair tickling your chin. He moves his leg a little, bending his knee onto the bed too, forcing it further into your crotch, allowing you to grind down on him. 

He pushes you down himself, hands on your hip bones and the soft flesh there, moving you in little circles feeling you rub against him. He suddenly, frantically, pushes the dress up further - exposing you entirely. You gasp, as he unveils your little secret of the night - not only had you not bothered with a bra - the dress being far too revealing for it, but the soft slippy fabric had clung to whatever underwear you had tried, ultimately leaving you to go commando for the night as well. He grunts against your skin, looking at you in the mirror over your shoulder, 

“You been like that all night, honey?” He traces a finger over the undercurve of the swell of your tummy, tickling a little, as he rotates it in little circles - teasing you in its pattern that’s reminiscent of how he often touches you. 

“Ye-es, they - they showed through,” He tucks your ass into him, his belt digging into you, and preoccupies himself with stroking a finger the length of your vulva, his thigh slightly getting in the way until you push yourself up a little more. 

“Surprised you ain’t already ruined that dress, how wet you are - bet you were drippin’ all over the place. Watching me.” He presses a finger into you, just the very tip, gently, his other hand coming back up to your nipple - you clutch at his arms; “Weren’t you?” 

“Probably, probably E - can’t help it around you, not when you’re performin’ looking so good -” He laughs, pulling his finger away, crooking it as he pulls it up - knocking one of his huge rings against your clit. He draws you back - his body moving with his laugh causing you to bounce you on his thigh. You let out a gasp that quickly turns to a moan, 

“You think I look good darling?” You meet his eyes in the mirror, they’re bright and impish; a smug little smile on his face. Any other time you might have teased him - but not today. Not with your angle changing slightly when he pushes you forwards a little, his broad, large thigh pressing firmly into you again, you can feel your labia spreading against his jumpsuit, tight weave of the dancer’s gabardine rubbing against you. You bob your head quickly; 

 “Of course, of course E - you look, looked amazing; don’t want you to take it off.” He laughs, as if you’ve given him an idea - or perhaps confirmed something he thought before, 

“Well, don’t be shy - prove it to me baby.” You gape at him, trying to twist around to do something - although you’re not sure what, to prove it to him, but he stills you with both hands holding you in place. Before he lifts you, manhandling you where he wants you as he pulls you off of him - moving to sit down on the fluffy circular chair in the corner, he keeps a hold of you as he goes, but allows you to turn, before yanking you back onto his lap. Resting your legs on either side of one of his thighs. You can feel the crystals on your inner thighs, rubbing against you and you’re sure you’re gonna have a weird form of beard-burn by the time you get up, but you don’t let it stop you and you rock back and forth on him. He takes a second to strip your dress completely off, leaving you completely nude where before your belly button had been afforded a little modesty but nowhere else and you brace yourself with hands on his shoulders to arch your back, pushing your tits out and grind down on him.

“That’s it baby, show me how much you love this ‘suit, want you to get me all wet darling, not letting you up till there’s a spot on me,” You can feel your heat rising just from his words, and the rough material under you provides just enough friction for you to feel yourself getting close. 

He pulls you closer to him, so that you’re rocking your body practically into his crotch, and the movement is pulling the jumpsuit off of his chest a little, the tiniest hint of a nipple peeking out. You lean forward, rocking against him and shifting your balance with your arms around his neck for stability. You can feel every part of the chest section of the jumpsuit rubbing against your skin, pinkening it with the feel of the stones but, as your own nipple catches between a group of them with a little prickle of pain, you can’t help but moan, it only adding to to your building pleasure. He lets out his own little grunt as you move your head to his neck - causing him to fall back against the chair further. You’re practically horizontal now, although his feet remain on the floor and it puts your cheek in contact with his chest. You nuzzle into him, unable to resist licking when he’s so close - so shiny, so tempting. He bucks his hips as you do as if you’ve unlocked a hidden sensitivity of his. It only spurs you on more, moving to suckle on his little pink nipple, one of your hands coming away from his neck to stroke his chest hair. You only realise you’d zoned everything but his chest out when you feel a hand in your hair, pulling your head back and you suddenly realise he’s been talking, babbling at you, the whole time but you’d had such a single-minded focus you’d not even noticed. 

“Lord baby, you gots a hot little mouth, hot fucking little lips. God baby, your tongue, where’d you learn to do that, huh? Liable to make a man cream his pants like that, honey, and wouldn’t that be a waste?” He strokes your face and you smile, looking up at him, as he lets go of your hair and rubs his hands down your sides again. It’s only a moment later when he’s hauling you off of him, struggling to his feet. You stand there, flushed but growing colder in the frigid air with every moment that passes without being pressed against his burning body heat, your nipples pebbling. You watch as he surveys the room for a moment, his own arousal more than a little apparent in the stretchy fabric of the jumpsuit - before sighing, 

“Simple’s the best. Right honey?” 

“Sure, I’m - I’m sure that’s right El,” You agree, but not really knowing what you’re answering and he catches you by the arm pushing you backwards onto the bed, you gasp and scrabble backwards at his insistent pushing. A moment later you understand as he’s pulling the belt off, unzipping himself finally and, - oh, he’s not taking it off, he’s just unzipping the suit all the way, pulling his cock out. You groan, head falling back against the mountain of pillows. You’d never, never have mentioned how much you wanted this, to have his thick powerful body still encased in his jumpsuit as he fucks you. His magnetism, the sexual energy from the concert and his presence on the stage being impressed upon you with every brush of your naked body against the fabric - against the rhinestones. 

He pulls himself back a little before slipping a finger into you, ring bumping against your folds, it sinks in easily - you’re already so ready, just from bouncing on his thigh, and to be honest you’d been wet enough from the moment Also Sprach Zarathustra had turned into See See Rider. He hums, pleased that you’re soaking for him, and he doesn’t wipe off his finger before pushing it into your mouth, 

“That’s it baby, suck it off, taste yourself on me,” You obediently do as he says, sucking down - hollowing your cheeks, eyes wide. He pulls it out to balance himself on one hand, grasping his cock in the other, pumping it a couple times before lining himself up with your entrance. 

“Better be ready for me honey - ‘cause I’m sure as hell ready to sink into your tight little cunt.” You gasp as he doesn’t even wait for a reply, pushing himself into you. He’s pressing into you from all angles as you slowly adjust to his length within you, his soft tummy - crystals pressing into you from above, his musky chest just below your eye-line and his arm bracketing you into him from the other side of your neck. He stills for a second, before leaping into motion, struggling slightly to move himself more upright, keeping himself in you and pulling you close against him with a hold on your hips. You’re on your back while he kneels up now, allowing him to lift your butt a little, and thrust a little deeper. You squirm on him, little moans and gasps being released - you’ve not yet been able to get past having had the bedroom next to your parents growing up. He grabs your hips now, rings pressing in tight, to move your body onto him as he pumps into you. He’s talking the whole time - the man’s unable to stay quiet any moment he’s awake - 

“Oh god darling, never gonna be able to wear this suit ‘gain, Lord how’re you, so -” He thrusts in, hard, to punctuate his next sentence - “so - fucking - tight.” His breathing is already growing heavier, “How’re you so goddamn tight - like Lil’ Elvis is caught in a - ah - fucking vice. God, look at you.” 

You look up at him, fresh sweat starting to form at his chest and brow, he’s not even looking at you though, and you wonder who that last comment had been aimed at as he’s staring at his own reflection in the mirror. You’re glad though, when he smiles - eyes bright when he does glance back at you; whatever he’d seen had clearly cheered him up and out of his self-conscious mood, enough to encourage a sudden burst of energy again. He drags you back, lifting his own hips enough to spear into you at just the right angle. As he hits that perfect spot inside of you repeatedly he moves his hand from where it was still clutching your hip to stroke down across your mound, it’s a slightly awkward angle but he manages to swipe his thumb perfectly across your clit - your leg jerking, and your back arching in response. 

“Oh - Elvis, oh god, I’m so fucking close - babe you gotta, just keep -” He grunts above you, his thumb keeping pace, and his cock thrusting in at the same speed. It’s mere seconds, 

“Fuck - baby, you’re squeezin’ ‘round me so fuckin’ ti-ght, that’s a good fucking girl, my good girl.” Before it’s enough to send you over the edge, clenching down on him and shuddering, your mouth agape and your eyes shuttering closed as the waves of your orgasm crash over you. 

“Oh, oh - god, Elvis -” His pace changes, and it drags you back from floating, as he just goes for it at a rapid pace, fingernails clawing at your skin, before his hips are stuttering and he’s quickly pulling out as the first streaks of his ejaculate shoot across your pussy, he pulls himself up, pumping it across your tummy, and you moan at the sight - him looking goddamn regal - sparkling in the dim light as he shoots across you. He moves one of his hands to rub it over you, between your folds and over your stomach -  into your belly button. Before he collapses on top of you,  practically smothering you, in an effort to reach your mouth to kiss you - your legs are so tired and tense but you can just about lift them up to come around to grasp at him, barely noticing the now-familiar scratch of the rhinestones, locking your ankles over his back. You’re probably smearing cum all over the jumpsuit but you don’t care - too desperate to feel him close to you. You lock lips for a long moment, letting him take whatever he wants, underneath him like this it’s difficult to feel anything but utterly submissive and at his mercy. Your lips are bitten and raw by the time he pulls away and rolls off of you, and you can’t do anything but lie there, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You look over at him, and he’s in practically the exact same position, soft matted chest hair wet with sweat and his little rounded tummy poking out of the unzipped suit with his now soft cock resting outside too, but smiling up at the ceiling - 

“Wish I still had my scarf - wouldn’t even have to get up to find something to wipe us down with,” You laugh with him, just barely getting the effort yourself to stand, on shaky legs, you’re sweaty and damp yourself and you can’t imagine how he feels - going straight into this after a two hour long concert, so you chivvy him up, 

“C’mon then El, I’ll run us a bath - we can get all clean together,” He hums, sounding as if he’s close to his come down already, 

“ ’S-ok little one, I can - just need a, a, wipe down.” You frown, you like his musk but no way in hell are you getting back into bed with him like this, but you’re not quite sure how to say it without starting an argument, when strangely, for once - Elvis seems to sense your reluctance, “Alright, alright, fine. But only if I get you all wet and warm in my lap,” he laughs to himself again, “well - warm and wet again - huh, darlin’,” You giggle with him, walking gingerly to put the bath on, and as you stand up he’s already stood behind you - crowding you against the dark bathroom wall, stroking your sides with his thick fingers, he tips your chin up to look you right in the eyes - “Thank you for that though little one, needed - needed to see how much you like me, see me again, been - I’ve been so distracted I ain’t had chance to even look at myself in weeks.” You smile, 

“Of course Elvis, I’m all yours - anytime.” You pause, wondering if you should mention it, “Seriously though - we’re gonna have to get Bill or Ciro -  someone’s gotta fix that dress,” He just laughs at you, shaking his head - 

“Honey, I told you - I’ll just buy it.”

[jamneuromain]

Obviously 🤤 + 😳 with Ari Levinson dear Jam.

HOE-KAY! So I'm picturing you and your friend thirsting over this hunk of a man...

Hearty-eyes

Ari Levinson x Reader (You)

Warning: Diving Coach!Ari, Tourist!Reader, getting caught... sort of?), sentences in Italic is spoken in another language.

Summary: You are sure you can't be heard, or at least, understood when you thirst over a man in your native language.

"I can't believe you decided to spend our vacation on another beach." Your friend Asteria sighs, lying back under the warm sunlight, "Still, this resort is not half bad, where did you find it?"

You push the sunglasses over your head, turning lazily in her direction, smirking, "Not many results left after I type in Egypt+beach," reaching a hand to the small table between the two chairs, you grab your drink and sip the cool coconut water, "Plus, you had your share of camels and pyramids and sand in the first three days."

Asteria is a huge fan of ancient history. She selected Latin and Culture and History of Ancient Egypt in her undergraduate years, even if her major was East Asia Studies. While you got bored of this elective focusing on pharaohs and zig-zaw drawings on ancient stones quickly, Asteria followed the whole course and took another elective on Mayan civilization.

This is why when you ought to settle on a destination for your vacation, Asteria booked the first three days of a trip in and out of the desert, when you booked the next three days of one Red Sea Diving Resort.

Which accidentally comes with the hottest diving instructor you have ever met in your entire life.

"Psst, incoming alert." Asteria clutches your arm and shakes so violently, that your drink almost spills from the glass, her eyes rounding like a light bulb, "Hot coach at ten o'clock."

Coming from one of the smallest countries on the planet, you know that your native language is spoken by a small number of people. And at special circumstances, for instance, this hot coach named Ari, you naturally speak your mother tongue so that you could thirst over him with the benefit of no one could ever find out - except for Asteria, who spent four years studying it.

Sharing the same awe-struck expression as Asteria, you lower your sunglasses to have a better look at this brunette Adonis out of the water. He pushes his hair back, with the water beads falling from his chiseled chin and his large hand, dripping wet, not to mention the chest peeking from his diving suit -

"Oh my fucking God, he's looking this way." You squeal so high that you are close to out of air. Even using your native language, you can feel the shyness and nervousness bubbling from your heart and surfacing on your skin. Your face aflame by a simple look he delivers in your direction.

"Oh my - holy fuck, he's coming this way!" Asteria raises her glass to her lips, just to cover the huge grin on her face, "He's so fucking hot. Coach BDE."

"Fuck me." You exclaim, blocking your sight with the local newspaper you took on the way to the beach, because you damn well know that your heart is practically jumping out of your throat if you spare one more glance at the sex god.

"You really should." Asteria tempts you like a rightful friend would, "And tell me if his dick is actually as big as we imagined."

You hiss at her, seeing Coach Ari approaching your direction, "You are a horrible influence - not that he looks unfuckable. Hell, he looks so fuckable with the broad shoulders and the long hair." You whine in the most pathetic voice as he walks past you, "Fuck, I think I'm more soaked than he is."

"Then go talk to him!"

"I can't!"

"Of course you can!" Asteria nudges you in a particularly ticklish spot on your waist, "Go before Coach BDE disappears!"

"What if he says no!"

"You don't know that!" Asteria turns to look at the hot coach, "Great. Now he's gone." As if he has just disappeared on plain sight.

The lingering feeling of your face heating reminds you of the fact that merely with Ari's presence, you are flushed from head to toe. You can't imagine talking to him without embarrassing yourself.

Asteria rolls her eyes and pokes the ticklish spot on your waist again, "I swear, if you don't fuck him, I will annoy you about this for the rest of our lives."

"It's not like I don't want to fuck him!" You huff out in annoyance. Although with Ari gone, for now, you are deep in your thoughts so that you are still talking in your native language, "You know I'm too scared to ask him. I can't exactly go and ask, ' Hi Ari, my friend Asteria said you could be great in bed. May I fuck you?' "

A shadow looms over you. By the looks and widening eyes of Asteria looking at someone behind you, her eyes nearly popping, and the faintest wiggle of her eyebrows, you turn your neck to see the hot coach TM standing behind you, getting a whiplash as a result.

"Yes, of course." Ari simply says. A small smile tugging the corner of his lips, making the fact that he has understood your thirsting conversation painfully obvious. Ari has changed into a blue shirt and shorts, leaving his veiny arm and thick thighs in plain sight. Even though he isn't dripping anymore, you sure as hell still do.

You stutter for a moment, before hastily apologizing, "I'm so sorry, my friends and I were just talking, we didn't mean-"

"Of course, she means that." Asteria doesn't even pretend that she wants to leave the place for you and Ari, "Oops, I've got something going on. Laters babe!" Blowing you a kiss, she snatches her purse and dashes out of sight.

There is nothing smug about Ari's posture as he sits down on Asteria's chair, watching you with his clear blue eyes as you nervously drape the thin bath towel over your bikini. "Sorry about barging in on your conversation. My apologies for eavesdropping." His sharp canines bite into his plump lower lip, those mesmerizing eyes search for any sign that you could've felt offended by his movements.

"No... I should be the one to say sorry." The blood rushes to your cheeks again, you could literally ignite a match with your burning face, "... about ... um, what I've said."

"Please. I'm flattered, if anything," Ari takes a deep breath. If you were looking closely enough, you would realize the tip of his ears is painted with a faint color of pink, "Have you had dinner yet? I know a great place that cooks squabs."

The refusal is almost on instinct, but you think of the encouragement (and the threat) Asteria made before her departure, and the words roll off your tongue, "I'd love to."

Find Jammy's 500 Follower's Celebration here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Could I request a little ‘A got roped into a blind date by their friends. They don't want a new relationship and plan to make themselves as unlikeable as possible to dissuade any further possible setups. All of that goes through the window when they see how gorgeous B is.’ with Santi as person A

(if you get this twice I’m sorry I can’t remember if I sent this irl or not because I saw the post when I was hazy and delusional at 2 AM)

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader

Word Count: 912

A/N: Just opened up my askbox for some requests! First time writing for Santi, very very excited about this one! (And don't worry ab requesting twice, hun! It was a very inspiring prompt)

Warnings: fluff, santi thinks he's unlovable, a bit angsty ig?, frankie morales is a good bro, poorly edited (author has BDE)

Santiago really didn’t do the whole dating thing. 

The flowers and the small-talk and the footsies over cheese-stuffed appetisers. 

He had a long-term relationship with running away, that strange, filtered aeroplane air making him feel closer to home than any of his mother’s cooking could ever hope to do. 

Better put, he wasn’t relationship material. 

It wasn’t a deliberate choice from his end. 

It sort of just…happened. 

Life had morphed Santiago into the jagged, crooked, ugly thing that he was now. 

In all of his attempts (three) at the real thing, all his tries at the dart board called love, it usually always ended in the same fashion. He’d take her to meet his friends, she’d realise sooner than later that she’d drawn the losing hand out of the four of them, and it was downhill from there. 

One of them had been kind enough even to enlighten him to exactly what he lacked. 

You just need to be more…Frankie, Santi. 

Though it hurt, it was good to get out in the open like that. The plain, mumpy truth, in all its glory: 

Santiago wasn’t relationship material because of the amount of ‘Frankie-ness’ that was lacking in his blood and DNA, because he was the losing hand, the cracked skipping stone in the middle of a torrential river on the way to the safety of land and love, true love. 

And so, in what would be considered a sociologist’s dream case study, Santiago did what he did best, self-fulfilled then self-destructed. 

He was the intermediary for girls before they managed to find their Frankie, Benny, Will. 

It was a tough truth to chew, left a bitter taste in his mouth, that he’d only been created for people to recognize their self-worth and move on. There was a disagreeable insinuation behind it, if he thought about it too long. 

Which was precisely why he didn’t. 

And he ran away instead when things got too hard, too painful. Like a thumbtack in the heel of his foot. 

But Frankie on the other hand, Frankie thought about it long and hard. Too hard and too long, no matter how often Santiago told him to quit it. 

From his seat behind the driver’s wheel, Frankie was able to watch everything with a keen, honed eye, his two ears moving back and forth like a great-horned owl’s. 

And nothing was able to go past Frankie’s eyes without him picking it up and giving it a thorough inspection.

Which is why Frankie's been adamant about it. A real pain in the ass. 

Santiago was the bachelor of the group now. The only single one left. 

And Frankie was set on changing that. 

No matter how much Santiago protested. 

Will and Benny gave in to Santiago’s reality with a simple nod, the former’s eyes sad and sombre, the latter’s teasing a little light-hearted and half-hearted. 

But Frankie and him had the strongest bond he’s ever experienced. Saving a guy’s life a couple times does that to you. 

Santiago knows, if anything, that whatever happens in this god-forsaken world, that Frankie will always be his rock, the one constant in a world of possibilities and probabilities.

But it also meant that Frankie had some sort of gall that the others didn’t. 

And tonight, he meant to put an end to it, swiftly and surely. 

The sibling of a friend of a cousin. 

That still doesn’t mean Santiago wants to be here. 

Detached enough from them that if it all went to shit, the ripples would be minimal. Attached enough to them to make the small talk a little less small-talkey.

“You’re frowning.” 

“That’s because I’m mad, pendejo,” he grumbles back at the baseball cap. 

Frankie huffs and though he can’t see it, he hears the eye-roll. 

He feels like a petulant child, like he’s being babysat to make sure he won’t act out. 

Which is what he is precisely planning to do. 

He’ll take care of it quickly. Despite his cynical, eighty-year-old with three cats schmick he’s settling into nicely, he still has a bit of heart. And whoever the poor person was that had been roped into this will be roped out just as quickly. No harm done and Santiago’s Frankie problem fixed once and for all. 

With another huff, Frankie leans back in his seat and fixes him with beady eyes, “At least, try to be a little agreeable.” 

He only grumbles in response. 

It’s a white-and-red chequered tablecloth kind of place. Corny, romantic, candle-lit. 

Santiago was hoping he’d never have to set foot in such a place again. 

The door jingles open. 

Show-time. 

Frankie sends him another one of his glares, and Santiago sends it straight back, letting it settle on his face, deep into the grooves of it. 

There’s rolls and rolls of nervousness fading off of you. 

But you look nice-

Beautiful. 

Gorgeous. 

The air’s been swamped out of his lungs. 

This wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan. This weird, fluttering thing that’s been going on his body since he laid eyes on you. 

Santiago’s vaguely aware that you’re talking with Frankie, thanking him for arranging it all. 

And there’s a lull in the murmurs. 

He hastily gathers himself up, the angry little press of lines on his forehead all but gone. 

He scrambles for the flowers Frankie made him buy you and holds them out, swallowing thickly, “Hi, I’m Santi.” 

He hopes that this’ll make for a hell of a first-date story.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here, requests here.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Read TRICK OR TREAT 🧡🎃🎃 for FREE now on Patreon--Click HERE!!

My dearest Sugar Mama Rachel requested a fluff fic with the idea that Elvis and his girl get to spend a relaxing and fun day together in the mid-70s. But how do you get Elvis to relax for the day while getting him out of his funk AND out in the world with no one the wiser? 

HALLOWEEN TRICKERY! 👻

It's been a while since I've written some sweet, smutty fluff, and since it's pretty much Spooky Season, I thought why not combine the two? 😊

This is meant to be a stand-alone one-shot, but you could certainly imagine it as part of the Pink Scarf Universe if you wish (sans Nicky). Please note I am still very new to writing Big Daddy Elvis! 🥹

I hope y'all enjoy and can't wait to hear what you think! 

xoxox, Madi 💗

TW: SEXX, BDE, cussing, era-appropriate body image issues for E, tooth-rotting fluff, a hippie wig, Halloween silliness...👻

Trick or Treat

Halloween 1974

“Ab-so-lutely fucking not, honey,” Elvis says, giving you the side eye. “There is no way in God’s green earth I’m puttin’ that—that Commie getup on.”

You anticipated this and are determined not to take no for an answer. “Please baby? I promise it’ll be worth your while,” you say demurely. “I have a surprise planned.”

His brow furrows a little at that. “Hmmm, I see you battin’ those pretty lashes at me, darlin’, and it ain’t gonna work,” he adds stubbornly, shaking his head.

Elvis needs to get out of this damn house, and not in his usual way. Being one of the most famous men on the planet makes it hard for him to go out and enjoy even the slightest bit of normalcy, and going from his grueling show schedule to hibernating at Graceland over and over has depression settling in. In his isolation, he’s starting to resemble a caged bear, so you know you need to do something to help bolster him out of his mood, even if just for a day.

After a bit of maneuvering and preparation, you think you came up with a pretty great solution. You know Elvis doesn’t like celebrating Halloween, but you also know it could give him some much-desired anonymity. Hence the hippie outfits you managed to procure without him knowing currently lying on the bed.

But you knew trying to get him into costume wasn’t going to cut it—which is where the second part of your plan comes in. Undeterred, you feign sadness with a breath and a pout. Of course, you had anticipated all his moves, and your plan accounted for it...

✨READ THE REST HERE FOR FREE! 🎃

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

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

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

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[bunnydexterloveselvis]

Hiiii and welcome ✨🔆 If you are accepting prompts can i request one please, would you write cuddly fluff and / or agere with a baby BDE? especially a sick fic with a cg reader! Thank you ✨✨✨

Oh my god!!!!!!!!!!!! You're the first one to request a prompt!!! Thank you sooo much!!! Of course I'll write it!! How could I pass up such an amazing request? So cute!!! I've never wrote sick fics before so I'll try my best!!

Sick little baby.. (Agere!Big Daddy Elvis x reader)

summary: //elvis wakes up with a cold, is age regressed, and has you as his caregiver

type of fic: //age regression, tooth-rotting fluff, sickfic

warnings: //being sick?? the symptoms mentioned are sneezing, coughing, headache, mild fever, etc. no vomiting or anything like that. also it's pretty mild. he just sleeps it off, cuddling????? idk some people don't like being cuddled i guess, baby talk?? i don't think there's any serious warnings here besides being sick and age regression

word count: //675 (six-hundred and seventy-five) words

It was a fresh day, and you wake up in the morning, it’s around 8am. You look over at your sweet boy who is still sleeping. “What a cutie,” you thought to yourself. You chuckled and got out of bed to make breakfast. About 15 minutes later you come back, with Elvis still asleep in the bed. You smile warmly.

“Wake up, baby,” you whisper in his ear. He shuffles around a bit and lets out a whine. His eyes flutter open and he pouts. “Mamaaa- ’m sweepy!!!” He rolls onto his back. Oh. He woke up little! You almost giggle from how cute he is. He then sneezes three times and sniffles. “got da sneezies,” He mutters, with a short, reassuring giggle. Then he coughs a bunch. “Um, little one, are you okay??” You ask, caressing his shoulder. He looks up at you with sparkling eyes but very wet eyes. “M-mama I don’ feew so.. Good..” He wipes his forehead trickling with sweat, along with that, his soft chubby cheeks are red and his eyes are half-lidded.

He’s sick. But he has a concert today! “Awww.. What are we going to do?,” you thought. You’ll have to cancel it today. Can’t do a concert if you’re sick! So you make a call to explain that E is sick, and has to cancel the concert today. After that trouble, you run back to him. “Mamaaa…” he cries and makes grabby hands at you, implying he wants something. “What is it, E, baby??” you chuckle a bit from his overexpressed tone of voice. “Mmm.. t-tummy hurts..” he forces out while clenching his hands on his soft belly. “Awwww.. It’ll be okay. Mommy’s gonna help make your tummy feel better in no time!,” you tell him, sitting down next to him, massaging circles on his sore stomach. He looks up at you with the prettiest, sparkliest eyes ever. “Weawwy?” he asks softly. A small smile appears on his face. “Wiww mama make tummy free bettew?” “Of course honey, but you need to rest, I’ll be back with some stuff to keep you busy while I make you stuff to help you feel better! Sounds okay?” You murmur, making sure you don’t scare him. He gets scared when he hears loud noises, and you took note of that as soon as you found out. “Mhm!” he nods. You find his toybox and his paci and take it to him, pop the paci in his mouth while ruffling his hair very gently, remember he has a headache too.

So you give him all his gear, and as you walk away to go make him soup for his tummy, he cries out, “Mamaaa!! Don’ leave!!” You sigh. “E, baby, I have to make you soup so you’ll feel better. Do you wanna take the yucky red-coloured spoon medicine?” you threaten “No!! No yucky stuff!! Just wan’ mama..” he frowns and looks down. You slowly approach him and run your fingers through his hair, which usually calms him down. It did. He buries his face in your chest while hugging you tight. “I-I wuv you mama” he says into you. Making you smile sympathetically, you say, “Okay.. I’ll lie down and nap with you, but the first hurt noise I hear from you, I am getting the medicine,” half jokingly. He pouts as a joke, making you giggle. 

You pet his hair while trying not to get sick yourself. His eyes get half-lidded and sleepy. You pet his forehead in an attempt to calm his headache. It worked, weirdly, more like distracted him from his headache to your soothing touch. Elvis practically did something similar, he held you, his mama, close. Never letting go. Planting a kiss on his cheek, you whisper sweet nothings into his ear to lull him into a nap. Afterwards you make him some chicken noodle soup for when he wakes up in case he gets hungry.

You really hope he naps for a while, because you can’t seem to get this can of chicken soup open.

(i don't feel like this is good enough, i feel like it's too vague. let me know if you like it!! It was a teensy bit rushed and i wrote half of it when sleepy)

[shina913]

Art Murmur | KNJ

❃ Festivaled Away: Summer Nights

Hosted by @bangtanbathhouse

⤞ Ticket: Namjooning ⤞ Main event: First Date ⤞ Games: Overstimulation; fingering; size kink

Pairing: Camp Coordinator!Namjoon x fem!reader; the hyung line also makes a brief appearance

Genre: Friends to lovers; fluff; smut

Rating: 18+

Summary: You and Namjoon have worked together for years. You've harbored secret crushes on each other for a long time but neither of you have had the courage to take the plunge. One summer, you decided that you've circled each other long enough.

Word count: 4,393K

Warnings: cussing; awkward flirting; some pining/light angst; clit play; breast play; BDE!Namjoon; fingering; oral (M-receiving briefly); dirty talk; protected sex; some manhandling; brief cuddling...(I think that's it?)

A/N: I apologize in advance...I was struggling a bit while writing Coquet 9 and took a break from it. And then Hobi's listening party at Hybe happened...aaaaand I just could not get over images of Namjoon so...this happened.😬 I stg, I love all OT7 but as my lovely betas @deepseavibez and @internetjunkdrawer pointed out--I'm always extra when it comes to my faves (Excuse me, ma'am...your bias is showing)😋

Also, Art Murmur is an actual event close to where I work. I just embellished on some of the details. Their date is also loosely inspired by an episode of Insecure from Season 4 where Lawrence and Issa walk through a local street art festival. I swear...the visuals and general cinematography on that episode are un-fucking-believable!

Anyway, I'll shut up now. Thanks to Madame Sophie @kookskingdom for the prompts! Enjoy!

“Thank you! You guys take care!” You wave at the last kid who gets picked up from afternoon care at day-camp.

“Damn, I’m hella tired already,” Yoongi says.

“You’re always tired,” You chuckle at him while you put away the tablets from the reception area to charge them at the office. 

“Another summer for the books,” he says, rubbing his eyes. He nods and says goodbye to the younger counselors who clock out. You do the same, smiling as you bid them goodbye, telling them that you’ll see them next year.

“Hey!” Jin, your program director greets you. Yoongi automatically sits up. “Hey, boss,” he says, suddenly being all formal.

Jin laughs out loud. “I told you to stop calling me that. We all used to work together at some point,” he says.

“Yeah, but you’re the head honcho now,” you remarked, referring to Jin’s promotion after your previous program director retired.

“It still feels weird to me,” Jin comments. “Anyway, I’m just doing my rounds. I got back from Namjoon’s site and thought I’d check on you guys to make sure that there were no incidents today?”

“Nothing huge,” you said. “There were a couple of kids from the middle school age group who got into it a bit, but nothing that I couldn’t handle. Parents were called; reports were typed up and signed. Nothing like a bit of excitement on the last day of the program.” You shrugged. All in a day’s work.

“Okay, good. Are you guys headed to the field for the year-end party?”

“Not yet,” you say.

“Yes,” Yoongi answers. You turn your head sideways and look at him incredulously. “What? He asked! I’ve been waiting for this day to end,” He says, giving you an equally incredulous expression. Also, he was excited to be able to have a legally-sanctioned drink at the premises.

You turned back to Jin, who was laughing, taking it all in stride. “Did you need anything before we closed up?” You asked.

“No, but Namjoon and Hoseok are on their way down here soon. They wrapped up their ‘afternoon care’ early since all of their kids got picked up on time.”

Just then, Namjoon and Hoseok walk through the doors of your facility. You and Namjoon smile at each other. 

God, will you ever tire of those dimples? The answer is a quick but very firm ‘no.’

Namjoon is your counterpart at a different summer day camp location within the city. He was a site coordinator just like you, supervising camp counselors who help organize and facilitate youth group activities not just in the summer but all throughout the year.

You all exchange polite pleasantries. Hoseok goes to ask Yoongi about tonight’s festivities while Namjoon talks to Jin about completing the end-of-season report for his site.

When Hoseok turns to you, you offer to walk him to your storage closet to show him where you kept the supplies for tonight’s party.

“It’s cool, YN!” He waved you off. “I’m sure Yoongi and I can manage it,” Hoseok says with a wink. You made the mistake of drunkenly confessing to both of them years ago that you had a massive crush on Namjoon during a random happy hour. They haven’t stopped teasing you about it since.

Jin followed closely behind to make sure that there was enough food and utensils for his staff.

“So–are you uh…coming tonight?” Namjoon asks you.

“Yeah. A-are you?”

He nodded. This was the first time that either of you were coming to an end-of-year party where you were both single–or so you heard, based on Hoseok’s texts. It brought in a whole other layer of excitement to tonight’s celebration.

You stared at each other in silence until you heard Jin, Yoongi, with Hoseok huffing as he rolled a cart filled with equipment.

“Yah! I told you I’m not very physically able,” Yoongi argues. “Why didn’t you just take the big, beefy man to grab the stuff from the top shelf?”

Namjoon chuckled to himself. “Guess that’s my queue to leave,” he says. “I uh…hope we can hook up tonight–I mean–” he caught himself immediately, your eyes widened in shock.

“I meant ‘hang out’! I hope we can hang out tonight,” he grinned awkwardly as he rushed to help Hoseok with the cart.

Once he was out of earshot, Yoongi sidled up to you. “Mm-hmm–I think he actually meant the first thing. You know…when you think about it enough times, it just spills out!”

You give him a playful shove, reminding him that you still had to close out the system so you could file away your paperwork and finish out the year.

******

The party was in full swing. You made small talk with the rest of the staff, making sure that you made your social rounds before approaching Namjoon and Hoseok, who were hanging out by one of the firepits and having an animated conversation.

Namjoon sees you advancing towards them and he says something to Hoseok under his breath. Hoseok gives him a confused look until he sees you stop right where they were standing.

“Hey guys,” you greet them both with a smile.

“Hi and bye, YN. I have to go,” Hoseok says.

“Oh,” you said with a frown. “W-where are you going?”

“Uhh…I’m still trying to figure that part out but–I’ll catch you guys later.” He says before walking away. It wasn’t long before he found a friend from another site and started to chat them up.

“So–how was your summer?” Namjoon asks.

“Uhm–it went well, I think. Not many issues as in the past. How ‘bout you?”

“It was good. I have some staff leaving after this year,” he says sadly.

“Oh, no–I’m sorry to hear that. I know how difficult it is to find good people who are trustworthy.”

He nods in earnest.

Afterwards, an awkward silence falls between you two. You’re both usually chatty with each other at work or at off-site get-togethers. It was all very casual…but you were also typically around other friends or coworkers.

He finally decides to break the tension. “Uhm, so…I read somewhere that Jupiter and Saturn are supposed to be perfectly visible tonight.” He tilts his head back to stare up at the sky, searching.

You mimic his action for a bit trying to look where he is but you’re distracted by his neck. It’s so subtle but you catch a freckle right at the base of the left side of his neck–somewhere above his collarbone. That was a new discovery for you. He typically wore hoodies and jackets–and if he wore t-shirts during the summer, you rarely saw him anyway since the summers were always busy for both of you.

And here you thought you’d already familiarized yourself with all of his beauty marks. From the trio that sat atop of his left cheekbone, going down to the one right above his jaw…and your favorite one—right below the curve of his lower lip.

If you looked long enough, you’d find that you’d have your own little Namjoon-constellation. You thought about tracing the pattern…with your tongue.

“Do you want some more?”

“Uh, what?” You shook your dirty thoughts away.

“I asked if you wanted a s’more?” He pointed to the table that contained a few metal skewers, bags of marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers.

Flustered, you answered, “Oh—uhm, no, thank you. I’m fine,” you blubbered.

He grinned. “You know, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to say to you for a while.”

Your curiosity was piqued. “Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s something I’ve been wanting to say since that first day we did summer camp orientation.”

Now you were really interested. “And?”

“Just…how much I admire you. I thought it was really cool how you have this way with kids–like, you just have endless enthusiasm and patience even though you’d seen whatever it was that they were showing you hundreds of times already and still be really sincere about it. I don’t know how you do it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and started to rock back on his heels. You thought about how ironic it was that he was being all bashful after singing your praises.

“You also motivate your staff really well–I mean…except for, maybe, Yoongi-hyung. But he doesn’t count since he’s an old-timer,” he chuckled. “There’s just that mutual respect there.”

You smiled at that. “Well…game recognize game,” you said, staring straight at him. “You have to tell me how you can command a room with just one look. I still have trouble with that sometimes because…let’s face it, some kids are just little shits.” He laughed, nodding in agreement with you.

“You’re also really creative with your programming. I don’t know how you come up with these enrichment activities and field trips. It’s hard to keep kids engaged these days.”

“Well, it also helps that I get to plan activities around things that I personally like to do…but, you know…on the city’s dime,” he smiles mischievously, before following it up with, “Don’t tell Jin-hyung!”

You laughed. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He chuckled softly. “Anyway, I didn’t think I ever had a shot with you.” 

Your brows lifted in shock at his sudden confession. “W-what?”

He snorted. “What? I’ve always had a crush on you.” He says nonchalantly.

That stopped you dead in your tracks. You look at him wide-eyed.

You both got your start as junior camp counselors several summers ago. You trained together and worked at the same site for a bit until you both ended up becoming full-time employees for the city’s parks and recreation services. 

You’ve always had a massive crush on him, too. How could you not? He was tall and good-looking. And when you got to know him better as you worked together, you found him to be even more attractive.

But…it seemed like you never really got the chance to get together. He went away for college in a different city while you stayed local. When he got back, he had a girlfriend. And when they broke up, you started seeing someone–until things didn’t work out. But then he started seeing someone else, and vice versa. The angsty cycle continued.

Your timing always seemed off. Until now.

“Uhm, say that again?”

He gave you a shy smile. “Ah, c’mon, YN. Don’t embarrass me like that.”

“I’m not, I swear! I’m just…in shock here. Give me a minute.” You turned away, mentally fanning yourself at his confession.

He groaned softly, worrying that he had ruined a good thing. “Sorry, is that weird? Are you getting all weird on me now? Shit, that wasn’t my intention. I shouldn’t have said anything,” he says all of it in a panic.

You started to laugh, turning your attention back to him. “Oh man…”

“What? I’m right, aren’t I? I knew it,” he says, shaking his head. “Such a dumbass,” he says under his breath.

When you calmed down, you sighed. “Oh, Namjoon–you couldn’t be more wrong if you tried,” you tell him. His head did a subtle bob–like whiplash, almost. He stared at you, as if trying to crack a code. When it came to him, his face lit up and a wide smile curved his mouth.

That smile did many things to you. You looked away again, unable to handle the butterflies in the pit of your stomach that have been slowly building up to a swarm since you sidled up to him tonight.

“Wait, so this whole time, I could have just asked you out?”

You smiled at him. “I mean…I had hoped you would at some point? But our timing was just terrible, I guess.”

He scoffed and looked down at his shoes. “Damn…I am such a moron,” he chuckled.

You gave him a small smile and shrugged your shoulders. “No time like the present, right?”

He straightened out and smiled warmly at you, regaining his composure once more. “You’re absolutely right. So, YN—would you like—“

“Yes,” you say immediately. You couldn’t contain your excitement.

“I…was going to ask if you would like a s’more.” His smile was teasing. You instantly smack him playfully on his chest, making him double over in laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he says as you both calmed down from your giggles. “Okay, seriously. Would you like to go out with me?”

You rolled your eyes and gave him the same answer. “Yes,” you say softly.

******

He met you at your place around 6PM on a Saturday, and you both took a rideshare to grab dinner at the food truck pod in the city–since neither of you could make up your mind about what you craved for. Although…you had other ideas about what you were craving for, the variety of cuisines sated both your appetites for now.

Your date was fairly chill. It felt awkward at first because you typically went out with your coworkers or common friends. But it didn’t take long before you both settled in. Conversation and jokes flowed naturally. You were friends after all.

After dinner, you headed over to a local street festival event called the Art Murmur, held on the first weekend of every month. A few blocks would be closed off by the city to make room for independent, local artists and merchants to not only showcase their work but to connect with the community as well. Namjoon has always waxed poetic about his love for local art and tried to support when he could.

You turned a corner and the place was buzzing with excitement. The narrow streets were adorned with string lights and colorful streamers above. Each booth had music playing and friendly faces ready and willing to talk about their work to anybody who would approach.

“I remember when this was all super sparse,” he remarked. “They used to have this event in a small banquet hall but word-of-mouth eventually got the city’s attention and full support.”

“That’s really great to hear. I love how there’s so much hidden talent right in our backyard.”

“I couldn’t agree more!”

You slowed to an artist’s booth that used mixed media on their work. One piece in particular caught your eye–a beautiful rendering of all the bridges from your locality.

“You like that one?” He asks you quietly.

“I do. I’ve never seen our bridges portrayed like this. I guess–living here for so long, you think of bridges as one more path of inconvenience to take since our area is so broken up and places are so far.” Also, rising bridge toll fees were just ridiculous. “But, bridges are a necessity, right? The purpose is connection–not just for locations but between people as well. Don’t you think so?”

You glanced sideways at him to find him staring at you intently…in awe.

It happened too quickly but even if he slowed down, you knew you wouldn’t dare stop it.

His lips felt plush, soft. Urging though not in a hurry. You don’t know how long you had imagined or hoped for this moment. Just as you had pictured before–it took your breath away.

“Uh–hey guys, were you interested in this piece?”

You both pull away, slightly embarrassed when the artist interrupts your brief makeout session in front of his art. You cleared your throats and tried to compose yourselves in front of this complete stranger.

“How much for this one?” Namjoon asked.

The artist names his price and while you see Namjoon pull his wallet out, you immediately stop him. He waves you off.

“Shush and let me get my girl a gift,” he says to you.

Your eyes widen at his sudden confidence. “Ooh–already?” You ask playfully while he hands the cash over to the artist, who excuses himself to wrap up the piece for you.

“I thought that was already a foregone conclusion?”

All you give him is a smile in response. It wasn’t like you were going to protest.

******

You invite him back to your place to hang out more since your roommate had conveniently also made plans to be out tonight. It was all very relaxed and chill at first but the energy in the air was still palpable. Pretty soon, you took things back into your bedroom since you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

His fingers cupped your nape, tilting your head back at an angle that he wanted to deepen the kiss. You moaned when you felt his tongue swirl around your mouth.

He pulls away briefly. “Holy shit–I can’t believe I’m actually kissing you on your bed,” he said in a rush before he sealed his mouth over yours again.

“How do you think I feel?” you breathed out.

You caught a flash of that dimple before you pulled his face closer to yours to kiss him again. 

One of his hands slid around to cup your nape, while the other moved downward to your hip, giving it a squeeze. His touch made you hot in an instant, sending goosebumps racing across your skin. 

Inhaling deeply, you breathed him in. He smelled so good–a hint of cologne? Or was it soap? Anytime you were in close proximity with him, whether it was facilitating a group activity, gathering supplies for your sites, or plainly having a conversation with him, his scent was one of the many things about him that made you just a little unsteady on your feet.

Your body stirred, recognizing Namjoon as the one thing it desperately wanted. You reached up and pushed your fingers through the silky dark strands and tugged.

He pulls away briefly and brushes loose strands of hair off your face, then his gaze drifted down to where his other hand was gliding up your thigh and past the hem of your skirt. You gasp softly when he makes contact with your panties. Pushing them to the side, he slipped a finger carefully into you.

Your eyes shut at the sensation, building up your hunger even further.

“I want to feel you,” you say to him..

His mouth, that wickedly sexy mouth that could drive you insane, curved into a smug smile. “Do you, now?”

You wrenched away from his skilled finger and stretched onto your mattress, knowing it would entice him. When he growled low in his throat, you returned a smug smile of your own.

Catching you behind the knee, he pushed your leg up and to the side, riding your skirt up, sliding your panties down your legs.

He licked his lips. “You don’t know how long I dreamed of this…how many times I envisioned this in my head.”

You realized then that you would be sharing more moments like this moving forward, and you wanted them. “You still have too many clothes on.”

With a smirk, Namjoon straightened up to pull his shirt off and tossed it on the floor. When he went to work on the buttons of his jeans, you pushed up onto your elbows to watch.

A low hum of pleasure escaped you.

Namjoon paused, his brow lifting. He had that gleam in his eye that made your legs shift restlessly. He had such an understated sexiness that you silently vowed to acknowledge and show more appreciation for.

“Don’t stop,” you almost whined.

“I love when you look at me like that.” 

You caught your lower lip between your teeth. He always talked about how he recently got into working out in the last year–and clearly, his hard work was paying off. His golden skin stretched over peaks and valleys of muscle. You fought the urge to run your fingertips over every inch of him...to lick him like your favorite dessert...make him feel how much you wanted him.

“Oh my god, you’re so hot,” you wondered aloud.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” He sealed his mouth over yours, his tongue licking and gliding.

Greedily, your hands ran all over his chest, shoulders, and abs, tracing every plane and groove. He couldn’t help but chuckle softly into your mouth as you apparently grazed over a spot where he was ticklish. “Sorry–if you can’t tell, I have also fantasized about this way too many times,” you breathed. “I just–” You were at a loss as you ogled at his body.

“I’m on that sexual-frustration workout. Since I couldn’t have you then, I just spent a lot of time at the gym…plus, the wet dreams were killing me.” He caught your wrist, guiding your hand past his waistband to cup his straining hardon.

Well, that certainly took care of your lingering questions about what he’s been hiding underneath those shorts that he frequently wore to work.

"Well, I'm here now," you smiled at him. He tugged at your hair, his fingers sifting through it. Your eyelids grow heavy, senses hyper-focused on the desire radiating off him. Desire for you. 

You fumbled with the zipper on his jeans, pushing the halves aside to discover black boxer briefs. He was hard and ready, the tip peeking above the waistband. Precum pooling, your mouth watered–beckoning you to push the elastic past his hips.

You wanted him inside you...now.

You wrapped your hands around his length and stroked, it made you hot and wet as he was. Your pussy was slick, clenching at nothing, aching to be filled by him. Leaning forward and dipping your head, you stuck your tongue out and tasted him.

He hissed through his teeth, cursing under his breath. He reaches down at his back pocket to retrieve a condom, reluctantly moving himself away from your greedy mouth.

“Next time. For now, I need to be inside you,” he muttered, grabbing you by the waist and flipping you around, folding you face down over the edge of the bed.

Shoving your skirt past your hips, he cupped the back of your knee in his hand and pushed your legs apart to open you up. “I’m not sure if I can hold back so…I’ll apologize in advance,” he said huskily. His knuckle brushed against your folds, and a shiver ran down your spine. 

You felt his warm skin covering your back, his hands pushing underneath and past your bra to cup your breasts. He gave your ass a firm squeeze before he pushed himself right in between.

You moaned and squeezed your eyes shut, relishing the feeling.

“Fuck, YN,” he ground out between clenched teeth, withdrawing and pushing deeper. Slow, easy thrusts that worked himself into you with every lunge. He groaned and gripped your circling hips, holding you down as he fucked his way deeper. “You feel so good.”

Your fingers clawed at the comforter. Your eyes opened blindly, your lips parted to fill your lungs with air since he kept knocking the wind out of you at every thrust. You fought against his steady hold, wanting him harder, faster. Then, you caught movement in the corner of your eye and saw yourself reflected in the full-length mirror that you had next to your closet.

Your walls contracted around him in response, trying to pull him into where you needed him. Namjoon’s head turned to follow your gaze and he stilled, taking in the sight of him hunched over you.

The image looked straight out of a porno. You, pinned and looking fully clothed, bare ass up in the air; and Namjoon’s abdomen tightening with the force of a thrust, his biceps flexing from the kneading of your breasts, his chest glistening with a fine layer of sweat.

His mouth curved mischievously. “You like watching me fuck you?”

To prove it, he withdrew and thrust again, his entire body tightening as he sank further into you. You whimpered. Your walls sucked greedily at him, your nipples tightened painfully against his palms.

“Oh, yeah, you do,” he purred in that low, devilish tone.

Your eyes stung with tears when your orgasm hit, sucking the air out of your lungs, causing spots in your eyes–blurring your vision. A long, drawn out moan escaped from your mouth–a mix of pleasure, relief…maybe even some gratitude?

Namjoon growled and lost control–just as he had warned you earlier. Fucking you hard and fast, surging deep, cursing under his breath. He came, bridging your orgasm with ragged groans as his body shook.

You couldn’t see, couldn’t think. Nails raked across the sheets, instinctively trying to pull you away from the flood of sensation, but he kept his firm grip on you while his hips continued to slowly pump, emptying himself into you.

He slowly pulled out while you collapsed bonelessly onto your bed. After he discards the condom you feel the mattress dip as he draws you close to him.

“Holy shit,” he finally managed as you both came down from your high.

Holy shit was right.

After a few deep breaths, your heartbeat finally steadies. “So, what you’re telling me…is that—we could have been doing that this whole time?” You ask jokingly.

His laugh was husky from his orgasm. He held you for a while, his fingers sifting through your hair and gliding gently down your arm.

“Like you said, right? No time like the present.” He pressed his forehead against yours and you both grinned. He kissed you again.

You tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Licking into his mouth, teasing him. It wasn’t long before he started to grind his hips into you, making you all achy and wet once more.

He groaned as he pulled away. “How much time do we have left before your roommate gets back?”

“Not long but she knows that I’ve wanted this for a while. She told me that she can always put headphones on if we get too loud.” You answer him quickly before kissing him again. You’ve annoyed your roommate to no end, talking about Namjoon and how you wished the stars would align already and that you’d get together at some point.

When you told her that you had a date with him tonight and planned on bringing him back to your place, her only response was, ‘Is two hours enough?’

His laugh reverberated against your mouth and chest. “Alright well—next time we’ll go to my place. We can keep making up for lost time and you can be as loud as you want.”

“Oh my god, Joooon,” you all but moaned and bit your lower lip in anticipation.

He hummed. “Keep saying my name…exactly like that.”

You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

Tagging my Namjoon hoes: @internetjunkdrawer @deepseavibez @itdoesntmatterwhy