#daddy elvis can protect me any day

[peaceloveelvis]

God he looks so good here! Some days I can't handle how sexy he is 🥵🥵🥵

[justjams2003]

Over-ripe

I fear...people are going to be a bit upset with me for starting a new story and not updating any of my other ones... But I have to go where the old man obsession takes me! And I fear this time it's bad...those who follow my second blog know...

So, here is my vision. You've heard of Big Daddy Elvis (BDE). And you've heard of vampire!Elvis. So please all imagine for me, Alpha!Big Daddy Elvis.... I fear the brainrot has me...

Summary: After an exhausting night, overwhelmed by the crowd and meds, Elvis stumbles onto the wrong floor. Where he finds an omega, innocent, sweet like over-ripe fruit, ready to be plucked.

Pairing: Alpha!Big Daddy Elvis x Omega!Innocent!reader

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Omegaverse, grooming (kind of), reader just barely 18, talk of: heats, ruts, scent glands, rutting, scenting, fated mates. Over-protective, obsessive. Innocent reader. Toxic/abusive father, gambling addiction. Alcohol, drugs. Talk of divorce, mentioning Priscilla. Tell me if I missed any.

Word count: 4,4k+ unedited

Dividers by:@mmadeinheavenn and @crylynnluv

Everything is spinning like one of those damn globes on a stand. The music, it all just sort of becomes one big blur of a ringing sort of noise. The pheromones of a million horny teenage omega is just the thing to send an alpha like him into overdrive. The sweat drips in his eyes and as the people cheer his name but, he can only curse the name of one. 

That damned so-called Doctor Nick got the dose wrong again or something. Because this feels like a migraine had a love child with a hungover and birthed the damned throbbing sensation in his head.

Doctor Nick was supposed to suppress his senses and now it only feels heightened by a million. What only makes it worse is the people begging for his attention after the show. Clinging to him more than the sweat clings to his hairy stomach. 

"Sonny, God damn it, would yah leave me alone. All of yah!" His temper flares as a thick Southern rumble comes from him. His entourage all jump back, realising that the charming smile he gave on stage was as fake as it could come today.

He has no control over his alpha voice and everyone around him preens, baring their neck in submission. Not that he didn't love when people begged for his attention, except only when it didn't feel like someone was dead set on killing him. 

His feet drag across the carpet floor and in his messy haze he chooses 3 instead of 30. The white LED lights match the colour of the rows and rows of doors. And right now, he couldn't give a damn if he was on some random floor he didn't entirely recognise. Instead, he just sort of slumps down against the wall. His stage outfit feels entirely too tight, and he claws around his bulge hoping for some sort of relief. 

His head hangs in between his knees as chest heaves. Like his heart is going to explode. How long he sits there, he has no clue. But only when his hearing comes back it's sharply interrupted with a loud frustrated yell. And then the harsh slamming of the door. He doesn't bother to raise is head as his voice rumbles out. 

"Would you stop it with that damn hollering!" But it's more a command than anything, and his words are met with a sharp inhale. His head very slowly and carefully raises, he expected some sort of fight back for his command. Or at least some sort of faffing about his name.

But his heart is quickly grabbed and twisted right out of his socket when his eyes meet with ones so big and watery. 

A scent of an omega, so sickly sweet he hasn't smelled anything like it before. Like an over-ripe mango in the middle of summer. Nice and cold from the fridge, cooling your insides from the summer eat. The type you have to eat like the sloppy animal you are. Your teeth ripping into the soft flesh. The juices cover your mouth and drip-drip-drip down to your sweaty chest. Your hands a vibrant orange colour from the sweet nectar. And even days later when you lick your lips you can taste mango and nothing else. 

And suddenly the ringing fades away as he feels guilt stab through him for yelling at something so fragile looking. A girl, but a little thing compared to him, sort of slumps down against the door, same as he had. She pulls her knees up against her chest and then fiddles with the hem of her much too short dress.

"I-I'm sorry sir, I didn't know- I didn't think of- um-" She sort of stutters out an apology. Along with the honey covered fruit smell, she reeks of a beta. All around her like someone pissed on her feet to mark their scent.  

But he just can't seem to find himself to care all too much about the weak response. "What's got you all fussy?" The alpha in him instantly wanting to coddle the little omega.

He leans his back against the wall as he rests his hands on his wide spread legs. Almost as if he's making himself bigger for the little girl to either be scared of him, or trust him, he doesn't entirely know yet. His chest puffs out and he licks his sharp teeth. She might reek of another man but he's quick to notice no mating mark.  

"My papa, he's being a big... meanie." He almost had to stifle a laugh, that was most definitely not the response he was expecting. This 'papa' must be the one protecting or, or at least trying to, with his gasoline scent. "And why's that, little one?" Elvis asks, fighting off his iconic side smirk as he truly takes her in. As cute as a button, but with the body of a woman and yet dressed in something clearly not age appropriate. 

"That's just the thing. I ain't so little no more. I just turned 18, I'm a big girl. He brings me to Vegas. I thought that meant I could do yah know, what grown ups do." Her voice rambles, still playing with the hem of her too short dress. He can see her cute little pink panties showing but she doesn't seem to realise it. Or at least if she does, she doesn't seem to know it's a bad thing. He spreads his legs wider, hoping for some relief. 

"And what would that be?" Elvis can see when he just opens his mouth, a light dusting of pink falls on her cheeks before falling away again. "Yah know..." She mumbles, but it's clear that she isn't entirely all too sure. "No I don't, you'll have to tell me." His voice is coated with a condescending tone however it doesn't register with her. Instead she just sort of leans her neck to the side, already submitting to him. Such a weak little thing. No fight either.  

Her front two teeth capture her bottom lip before letting it go with a pop. He can see her small little canines and his subconscious mind immediately thinks of how tiny her mark would look on his shoulder.

 "Yah know... Talking about grown up stuff and dancing, all in pretty, fancy clothes." Elvis supposed that it could definitely be seen like that to someone like her. He however doesn't really want to break this bubble that she lives in and just nods, showing her to continue. 

"But he won't let me. Just tells me that he's got himself into trouble with dangerous men and that I can't go out. What's that gotta do wit' me?" Things seem to slowly fall in place for the famous rock star. A gambling addict, in debt to one of the many mafia that seem to run this place. Trying to keep such a frigid omega safe. But clearly, this little one needs an alpha like him. To mark her, let the whole world know she’s his. "He's right. Vegas ain't all that they make it out to be." 

She huffs, clearly not liking this answer and her tongue moves again. "How would you know? You ain't Elvis Presley." Now... now he really can't stop himself from smiling. "How would yah know, little girl?" Again, like before, she gets all wide-eyed when he uses a pet name like that. "My papa tells me Elvis is...is...a delinquent. Whatever that is... And a, uh, sexual deviant. And well, I don't really know what either o' those mean but I know yah ain't either of them." 

An earthy deep rumble laugh escapes him. "Aren't yah just something?" He mumbles, shaking his head. Usually he'd be pissed off that someone would go around saying stuff like that about him. But the way she stumbles over the big words that don't register in her mind can only make him laugh. She so needs someone to take care of her. "And why would somethin' like yah want to go out in Vegas? Doin' all these adult thangs?" 

She looks down, slightly embarrassed by his laugh. But also entirely unsure about this hot feeling that tickles her stomach when he laughs like that, or talks like that, or looks at her like that. Or this sticky substance that she feels coating her thighs.

"I like dancin'. But Papa don't like the way I dance, he don't like me dancin'. Says I'll end up becoming just like that Elvis fellow if I dance. But, a big girl like me should be able to do what she wants." 

She sounds so sure of herself and now Elvis really has to see this dancing she's talking about. "Well, I suppose so. But if a sweet thing like you goes around doin' what she wants in a big girl place likes this, she'd get taken advantage of." Just like he's about to do now. But he just can't resist bringing this little thing out and seeing the look on her face as he corrupts her. Safe her for himself, make her see the way he wants. She’s so easily could be moulded into his. 

She tilts her head to the side, like a confused puppy. Damn this damn costume really is too tight now. He stands, trying to adjust himself without her noticing.

"How about this, little girl. If your Papa leaves you all on your own again, you find the nearest elevator, m'kay?" Elvis speaks, a commanding, dominant, alpha tone in his voice as he points to her where to go. He knows the best gambling times are right before and during his shows, there are less people in there then. The Colonel is always gone at these times too... 

Like an obedient dog she nods her head, looking up at him. Wide eyes swimming with the sweetness her scent carries. "Then you gon' press the button for the very highest floor. Once you're there, don't get scared when a big lookin' guy asks what yah lookin for. Just tell 'em that Aron is lookin' for his little lamb. Alright? He should show you 'round then. Alright?" She quickly scrambles to her feet. 

She nods her head frantically, wiping her sweaty palms on her little dress, since everything suddenly just feels so hot. Elvis is quick to see the way her thighs rub together, a smirk falls on his lips and it takes everything in him not to groan. To not fuck her right here on the hotel floor and mark her as his.

What’s going on? He didn’t even mark Priscilla. He never felt this impossibly crazy, like a real fucking animalistic need to make her his...this just has to be something more. 

"Okay Sir. And that's your name then? Aron?" Elvis winces slightly. He doesn't like people calling him that. Sounds like his mama is scolding him all over again. But he also, really, for now, doesn't want her to know who he really is. She’d sigh away, hearing what her father said about him. "It's uh my second name, I don't want you quite knowing my name yet, dollface. I gotta go now though. But you'll be a big girl and do as I ask?" 

Her teeth find her bottom lip again as she fights off the whimper that threatens to escape her when he says something like that. Her pink lips become even pinker when her wet tongue grazes it. She leans against the door handle, needing some sort of support to keep herself up, as she nods, showing she'll listen. He gives his iconic smile. "Alright, good girl. See yah then."  

The girl gently slides open the door. The smell of alcohol is strong in this little rented hotel room. But she doesn't care. She leans against the door, a big smile forms on her face and she lets out a dreamy sigh.

Her thighs clench together when she thinks about that southern drawl of his again. And she just can't help but wonder if it was fated for her to meet this beautiful big man. 

He'll be damned. He didn't think that there was anyone left who didn't know what he looked like. Much less what he sounded like. His voice is just about everywhere these days and if she didn't recognise him at all it means he has discovered a gem he's been searching for. Someone who didn't treat him like the great Elvis Presley, but instead like some man. 

And even if he is just some man to her, she looks up at him like he's got some way to grab the sun an the moon down for her. Even if they've only just met. And then, right on time exactly as he had thought he smells her before he hears a faint knock in the door. Shy and gentle, almost afraid the wood of the door might hurt her. He calls for her, his voice is like raw honey. Deep baritone alpha that he is. 

He sees her head just barely peak out into the very dimly lit room. He can't help but let a lob sided smirk fall on his face. Just seeing her wide eyes, worried that everything about this might just be wrong. He holds out his arm, resting it on the backrest of the sofa.

"C'mere darlin'." She slowly closes the door and like a little mouse crawling towards a piece of cheese she steps towards him. He's quick to grab onto her tiny little dress, pulling her closer to him until her thigh is pressed against the outside of his leg. 

She's already hot, he can feel it. He can't help but wonder when her next heat would be. Or if she's ever even had one, surrounded by her beta father all the time. And even if she had, he knows the sudden exposure to his smell is sure to bring it on soon enough. He gives it give or take a week, if he has to guess. 

He's leaning back, his legs wide spread like the man he is. He's already in his stage outfit, just like she saw him last time. Her hair is tangled and he's sure if he were to check, the label of her dress would read "14-15 years." His hands trail up and rest on her hip, just wanting to keep her here. Keep her close. He could do so much for her. Make her so happy. 

"I wanna show yah somthin', but yah gotta promise not to be mad, darlin'." Her face contorts and her head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. "Why would I get mad?" He lets out a slight sigh and then readjusts his pants. She's just too damn adorable for her own good. He wants to grab her into his arms and kiss her until she's squealing his name.  

But he doesn't. Instead he licks his lips and speaks again. "You'll see, baby, you'll see." She hides her bottom lip in her front two teeth making her look like a little bunny. "Now, you wanna go like this or you want me to find yah somethin' else?" Then she let's go of her bottom lip and pushes it out in a pout.

She looks down, fiddling with the hem. "What's wrong with this?" Again he just sort of sighs, looking at how the dress is full of holes and sits just barely below her round bottom. 

"Well, don't get me wrong, sweet thing, I really don't mind this look on yah. And I'll give the dress back to yah. But I gotta take care of yah, since your papa is away. An' I don't want men looking at this body of yers. Your Papa would be very upset." She bites her lip again, tearing away at the plump skin. He just can't help himself but take her chin and pull the lip out from he violent teeth. 

Then slowly she nods her head, her head tilts to the side. "You talked to my Papa?" She asks, at least she has some sense of defence. "Oh yeah," Elvis lies, taking her delicate little hands in his. So mini, just like everything else of her. Softly squishing the small pads right below each finger on her palm. Slowly tracing higher on her wrist. His fingertips letting out as much of his scent as he can. That intoxicating sugary smell fills his nostrils.  

"He said he wanted me to take care of yah, while he's busy." Her doe eyes follow his fingers, fully entranced. He can’t help but bring her wrist to his lips. Soft, so soft.  She doesn't even question when he talked to his father, or what he’s doing, just sort of nods.

"A-alright. Gotta listen to yah." A smile prickles his cheeks when she says that. "Yes, exactly, sweet pea, now you understand." And his grin grows even wider when she preens for him. 

Elvis smiles and nods, slowly standing up and walking to his closet. He gives her a once over, hell, he'll have to find some of 'Cilla's old clothes, give it a better scent that Priscilla’s overwhelming Iris smell that still lingers all these years. In any case, that might be all he can find that would fit her. He rummages through and suddenly takes a sharp breath when he finds it. A wide smile across his face as he holds it up for her to see.  

Frilly pink dress from when 'Cilla was your age. And the moment this little girl sees it, she gets sparkles in her eyes. She bounces on her feet and he can see her hands are eager to grab at it. "Yah like it, little one?" Too excited to say anything, she just rapidly nods. She’s holding herself back as much as she can. 

Elvis hands the dress to her, she's so so careful with it. And he knows his scent is all over it, he's likely rutted into that dress a few times. After he tries to comfort himself after the divorce. Savour all of the flowery smell he’s now all too glad to get rid of. So he just smiles when she raises the dress to her nose, taking soft breaths.

He sees the sweat bead on her forehead and she stutters, not understanding what's happening to her. He frowns, that shouldn’t be happening yet. 

He then points to the bathroom, "Go on, put it on." It's almost as if she jumps into the bathroom. A low wolf whistle escapes him when she steps out in the pink frilly dress. She blushes like a sweet little strawberry made just for him to feast on. Rip into with his sharp canines.  

"My, my, little thing...I'm gonna have to fight off the other men." He chuckles, his hands slowly finding her arms, his thumbs rubbing up and down. Somehow she becomes even pinker and it takes everything in Elvis not to lock her away right now.

"Now c'mere, let me brush yer hair." This time she doesn't ask questions, just nods and follows as he puts her down on the soft matted floor in front of a bed. He takes his brush and begins slowly brushing.  

"I never did catch your name, little one." He mumbels, his hands slowly parting your hair in different sections. Making sure to 'accidently' graze your scent gland. Making sure his leather scent will stay. He loves the way your whole body shivers. And the name you give him too, sweet as the a honeysuckle. But he'll likely still prefer a cute nickname, how else will he get you all fussy? "An' you're an omega, right?" 

Elvis is caught completely off guard when she tilts her head to the side. "What's that?" Bless the moon goddess above, Elvis shifts his hips forward. Almost resting his knee on your shoulder, loving the way you take deeper breaths.

He bites down on his lip and looks up at the mirrored ceiling. Trying to keep himself from taking her right now. And the damn suit is too tight again. "Yah don't know...?" She blushes and fiddles with the ruffles of her new dress.  

"Papa homeschooled me. I don't know much of much." She says, quite ashamed of this but Elvis can only smirk. "An' where did yah grow up?" Elvis sees the way she tries to remember the name. "Something Mem...mem..." He chuckles, continueing to brush the knots out of her hair. "Memphis?" She nods, but just barely as to not bother his progress. 

"Why, baby I'm from Memphis. How come I ain't never seen you b'fore?" Again she blushes, "Papa didn't let me out too often." That's an understatement, seeing how she's wearing children's clothes and doesn't even know what a second gender is. "You're killin' me here, baby." She seems terrified of the thought, "O-oh no, I don't want that-" 

He chuckles, placing his large hand on her shoulder. He lets her now brushed out hair fall down. So long, never been cut before. "Don't worry, little omega, I'll teach you." She leans her head back, looking up at him upside down. "Yah will?" She asks, clearly so very hopeful. He nods, caressing her soft round cheeks. "Of course, your Papa asked me too." He lies. 

"Now... everyone... I have a very special guest with me today," Elvis has the mic in hand standing in front of his various band members that keep this show going. They all wait in anticipation for his next word. He moves the mic to the side and turns to you. His arm reaches out as he gently guides you in front of him. "C'mere, little one." 

You squeek, suddenly being at the attention of quite a few people. They all ooh and aah, looking over eachother at the tiny omega with the intoxicating smell. They can tell, Elvis has already scented as much of you as he could without you noticing. The little girl blushes even more when they all peak at her like some pet.

"Now, this little one tells me she likes dancin'." He says, the mic back up to his lips again. "Let's make some music she can dance to." He suggest to them and they holler and cheer at the thought. 

Again he whispers to you. "Don't get all shy in me now. Show me that dancin' you were talkin' 'bout." Elvis speaks, his hand still in your arm. Needing to be touching you somehow at all times. You just nod, taking a gulp already feeling shy. But something in his voice almost forces your body to comply. An overwhelming, demanding need to do whatever he says. 

"Alright, Glen, you gon' start us off." Elvis begins scatting into the microphone, letting the piano player follow his notes. "Get the bass up." They follow his command like he controls them.

"That's alright. That's alright. Any way you do~." The moment he begins singing it's like something comes over him. His legs and hips shaking as he feels the music. And as sure as hell, the same seems to happen to you. 

"Ah, ah, ah, ah," he repeats into the microphone, feeling the groove. "That's alright Mama, that's alright wit' you, that's alright Mama, any way you do~" He directs his words to the sweet little omega he found. Who is moving her hips like she was born to do so. And he's certain if his Mama were here to see it, she'd be crazy about you. 

He can't help but take your hand, spinning you so that your back is against his chest. He grabs your hips and presses it against his. "That's alright, that's alright now mama, any way you do," the way he grabs his southern drawl from the very depth of his stomach makes your gut clench and that stickiness forms around your thighs again. You bite down, really not wanting to ruin your new dress. 

"Now mama she done told me, papa told me too, son that gal' you foolin' with ain't no good for you." His hips jerk in movement with yours and he feels just about 20 years younger in that moment.

Your two bodies move like you've planned this whole thing beforehand. His large hand on your waist, gripping you as your hips move together. As if all his years of fighting for his right to dance on stage has paid off in the form of this cute little omega who moves like she'd been made for him. 

You feel his pudge rest just above the curve of your ass. Something hard pressing against your back and you chase this sort of giddy feeling forming in the bottom part of your body. Like adrenaline is forming in your stomach. And these butterflies that cause your thighs to press together. His smell, you've never smelt anything like it before. Leather, lemon and sandalwood.  

It all comes from this hot and heavy sweat that makes him look so shiny. It bewitches you and makes your vision hazy. Makes you want to press your face in his dripping hairy chest where before you'd cringe at the thought. The urge to lick it up like a dehydrated animal burns under in your belly. You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself. What’s happening? What are these strange thoughts you’re having? 

It’s as if he's burning down all your defences, making you feel things you've never felt before. See things you've never seen them before. Chase after things you never thought to chase before. What is this you're feeling? So hot, so so hot. Burning. His scent is burning you up and the only place that feels cool is where he touches you. 

Elvis notices it immediately. The way your eyes glaze over when you look at him, your breast perk up as if your body is trying to sell itself. And your sickly sweet fruit scent develops into that of intoxicating alcohol.

A sweet gin that you could so easily drink straight from the bottle. No need for tonic. He doesn’t even like alcohol but he needs to taste more. It makes his head swirl and he grips your waist tighter and bends down. 

He presses his nose down into your scent gland. His canines grow, he licks the crook of your neck. No omega or beta or even a weak alpha could notice the change so slightly. But he does, it's like he's gotten the manual to your body and has dedicated his life to studying it. "Come on, baby, give me just a few more hours. Can’t you wait just a bit longer?” 

Elvis begs and pleads and you’re entirely sure what for. Or if you can give him what he wants this time... 

I don't know if I'm going to write a second part, but if I do, comment to be added to that taglist!

[elvisabutler]

be kind rewind

summary: your new husband should know sex tapes are probably a bad idea but you both have packed schedules for the next almost year. who are you to fault him for wanting to remember how you are in bed. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: austin butler x priscilla actress reader ( little dove verse, you read your lines verse w/e ) word count: 2083 warnings: normal priscilla actress reader warnings apply for this. daddy kink. collars. the usual. if you're reading this knowing my jam with them, i don't need to over warn. p in v sex ( protected, dove has a birth control patch ). sex tape. blink and you very very much miss it puppy kink. stupid love birds being in love. talk of their former break up. no use of y/n, just nicknames. author's note: here's the double dip fic for day 17 of kinktober, sex tape with austin butler x priscilla actress reader. so i set this once again in the future for them when they're happy but pre-oscars so austin is about to go from the press junket to dune to bikeriders and dove is going to be going to her projects. so they will be apart for a while. the vegas wedding on the press junket happened so they're married as well. enjoy. i had this in my drafts for a while but i finally finished it.

"Aus, do you know if the camera is set up right?" You ask from your perch on the bed. You're dressed in your laciest set of lingerie despite Austin making jokes about how you could be naked for the start of this and he wouldn't care.

For his part, he is actually naked when he comes into the camera view after checking for what seems like the fifteenth time that everything is fine. He nods slowly, stalking over to you like you're prey. "Positive, and it's not connected to any laptop or computer. We're safe. Dove, I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't take every precaution for it getting leaked. You know how I am about that."

He's seen what leaked sexual things can do to a person he loves and while you make him selfish and make him want to throw every rule he might have about relationships and his limits out the window, he would die rather than to cause you harm- intentional or otherwise. After all, hadn't you both done enough of that to each other already?

His body is like a big cat or a crocodile slinking over to your with intent in his eyes and his cock surprisingly already ready for the occasion. You eye him under lidded eyes, your hands moving down to play with your lace covered breasts. Austin's lips curl into a smile.

"Already getting started without me?" He chuckles, climbing on top of you, his hand moving to cover your own.

"Figured you wanted a show before watching us fuck." You bite your lip, attempting the best doe-eyed look you can manage before you kiss him softly, your lips gently caressing his as your tongue presses against his lips.

"You're acting like I'm not going to have you on the phone when I'm watching this every day." He smirks into the kiss, knowing you'd find the image he's trying to paint of him being so needy for you that he has to get off to this every single day more than a bit intriguing.

You buck your hips up just a little, only to be stopped by his hand grasping your hip. "Every day, Aus? And you call me needy and insatiable." Your teeth dig ever so slightly into his lower lip, pulling it into your mouth as you continue to kiss. "I'll be on set, I can't have phone sex with you every second."

"You sure about that?" He grunts, his hand on your hip moving to slide your underwear down. "They can make an exception. Tell them you need to talk to your Daddy."

The light slap across his chest has him snickering into yet another kiss as he pulls your panties down finally- exposing your warm cunt to the air. You shiver slightly as you speak. "Everyone knows my dad is dead, and no one needs to know I have the most perfect Daddy waiting for me on his own set. Waiting for me while filming with some very famous actors." Your hand slides down his torso to his aching cock, it's a little red, furiously leaking precum like it's going out of style. It would have been a shame if you didn't wrap your hand around it, stroking it ever so gently.

Austin groans at the feel of your hand sliding against his cock, rutting just a second before gaining some control over himself. "Maybe I want them to know. Maybe I want all those people you're going to be filming with that you wear my collar when things get to be too much. That you don't take off that necklace I gave you when you asked me to be your daddy. That there isn't a hope for them to replace me as your husband."

A breath and a retort both get lost in hearing his words, in hearing him call himself your husband. You'd have thought since you got married that it would lose its charm. That the way your marriage came out would somehow dampen the joy you feel hearing him call himself your husband, but it doesn't. Just in the same way getting to call him Daddy in public if you want hasn't, just like being able to touch him and have him ghost his hand over your neck when you're in public and can't be wearing your collar or when nothing you could wear jewelry wise achieves the same effect hasn't. Everything about getting to be with him even the parts where you're promising to do Zoom therapy with your couples therapist and with your own separate therapists just makes you feel at peace in a way you never thought was possible. You feel Austin's lips curl into a smile against the part of your neck not covered by your collar as he moves down to kiss it, nipping slightly the closer he gets to your chest.

"Cat got your tongue?" He asks running his tongue over your skin after a particularly rough nip that has you keening ever so softly.

You glare at him before you frown, letting go of his cock and tilting your hips up in an effort to get him to enter you. In an effort to feel his cock inside you so that he can see how it looks on the camera. You want to manage words, want to say something to him about how it's normally the cat that has his tongue occupied but he's right there above you and you know that you've only got about a week left of time with him before you both have to be on opposite ends of the world. The idea of teasing is nice. The idea of reminding him this is the brat you fell in love with is nice. The idea of reminding him that he picked you to be his- Cilla, sub, wife- his everything is nice but you just want to feel him inside of you. You just want to have him fuck you.

His eyes widen just a hair before he looks at you and you can see his pupils are blown, see that he's so aroused at just the sight of you existing next to him and normally that means he'd just slide right in. As you look closer though, you see this hint of something else, almost like he's awestruck that you're here with him, that after everything, you're here with him. Yeah, you'll be seperated for a while- but you'll still be his, it won't be like the last time where you two wanted each other so bad but neither one of you actually fixed the issue. This time around you're together, you're happy, you're going to be able to fly to each other and give each other nose kisses and- it fills him with love. So instead he takes his time, hissing at the first moment of gripping his cock with your cunt.

"Satnin-" You whisper, the old nickname slipping out purely on accident. "Don't take your time. Fuck me, please."

It's as if hearing that nickname, that nickname that you've avoided saying since you got back together breaks a dam within him, allowing him to start thrusting into you, slowly at first, still but increasing in pace with every thrust. Your hands move to his back, scratching at it inadvertently earning a snarl from him that has you pulling away. This isn't meant to be an animalistic fuck but if Austin's going to be that way you can't help the way you growl back, your tone low enough to sound like a dog. Your eyes widen just a hair at it, wondering where that came from before looking into Austin's eyes, waiting for him to pull back and safeword or something before you see his eyes narrow just a hair and see a smirk cross his lips. He leans forward just a bit before grabbing at your collar, his words whisper over your lips.

"Calm down, puppy. Daddy's got his little bitch. Maybe if you're good we can go for a walk later, hm?"

The way your cunt clenches just a bit from those words is something you faintly need to file away for later possible exploration. Still, you shake your head and pull Austin down into another kiss, groaning as you feel one of his hands- how had it even gotten there- drift toward your clit, thumb moving to press against it. You want this to last, want to make sure he's got enough footage to actually enjoy himself while you're both not near each other but you can feel your orgasm starting to build, starting to inch toward the precipice when Austin pulls out of you completely and you scream in frustration. You're about to start cursing him to the heavens, asking him what the hell that was for before you hear him whispering words into your ear and making sure your face is seen by the camera. His words are half slurred, but he's forcing them out, like he had planned it.

"I love you. Before you cum on camera, I need you to know I love you. I need to see what you look like when I tell you this. I need to see what you look like when I tell you that I'm going to miss touching you and feeling you underneath me. I know we can fly to see each other, I can call you every day but I'm not going to have my wife by my side. After spending all these months with you and rebuilding our relationship from the ground up. After spending almost a year without you being my Little Dove. I love you so much, baby. This is what's going to help me get off, yeah, the rest of this is gonna be hot, but this- your face when I'm telling you this is what's going to remind me of you and make me remember who I have waiting for me at home."

Maybe it's the fact that you were so close to cumming beforehand or maybe it's the fact that Austin's still rubbing tiny circles on your clit when he says this but you can't help the way that even though you're tearing up a little from his sweet words your mouth opens as you let out a silent cry, cumming, your cunt clenching around nothing, but still feeling as if you've been satisfied in every way that's possible. You register him entering you again and you let out a small huff of air at it before you look back at his face, your eyes mildly glassy. "Daddy, that was mean."

He laughs softly, his thrusts becoming a little messy as you try and use old kegel tricks to try to get him to cum. "A little, but I gotta let my Dove, my wife know how much I love her. Can't have her falling for someone else. Getting a new Daddy or Mama."

A kiss is the only answer Austin gets in response to that, your hands moving down to his ass to just squeeze at it. You could tell him that you're not going to replace him as long as he won't replace you but you figure he knows. It doesn't take long for him to cum having already been relatively close himself and when he does he sort of flops on you, breathing heavily like he's run a marathon which you could argue he had. There's a few minutes where you just let him lay on top of you, your hand tracing shapes on his back before either one of you speak.

"Are you getting hard again?" You try and bite back the giggle at the knowledge but it's hard to especially after Austin's fingers start to slide into your cunt.

"Maybe. Ready to go again?" He asks, nuzzling at your neck and placing soft kisses along your jaw.

You hum softly. "Of course, old man, I'd hate for you to have such a short tape. It'd be such a bad mark on my filmography."

If it takes you two another five minutes of the camera still rolling before you actually start having sex again? Well this just for you and him, it's not the worst thing to have it be natural. Of course, it might have led to it being a two hour long video but you two were professionals, of course you had to make movie long video for your own personal sex tape.

[mooodyblue]

Here's another request idea; Elvis's little accidentally hits the remote and it turns the TV to a scary movie, which causes them to start crying and Elvis has to reassure them what they saw in the movie was not real and that he'd protect them? Thanks!

oh lord this has been in my asks for a month now 😥 hope you enjoy!

wc: 476

elvis had a lot to get done today….but you had slipped into your headspace. as much as he hated putting you in front of the tv and called it a day, he needed to keep you distracted for a bit while he tended to a few phone calls.

after some arguing, he brought you to the living room, setting you down on the couch as he set your favorite plushie in your lap and a bottle on the coffee table. “honey, i know ya wanna play with daddy. it’s just for a lil’ while. promise, baby.”

you looked at him with a pout.

“aw, don’t look at me like that….y’know i hate when you look at me like that..” he sighed.

elvis put on a channel with cartoons, setting the remote beside you without any thought. “give me just an hour, honey. please, baby? can ya give your daddy an hour to get some work done?”

“....’mkay….” you responded sadly.

“that’s my good baby.” he kissed the top of your head and headed upstairs to his office to hurry and get it over with, wanting to head back to his baby downstairs patiently waiting for their daddy to return.

he could barely make it through one phone call until he heard a loud cry come from downstairs. “oh lord…” he muttered, hanging up the phone and rushing down the steps. “what’s goin’ on, hon? what hap-oh.”

he forgot to put the remote away…..

on the tv was a movie he had never seen before in his life. it was black and white, what looked to be like someone getting murdered….whatever it was—it was not for your eyes to see.

“oh, honey!” he covered your eyes quickly, forcing your face into his shoulder as he turned the tv off quickly. “now, how did that happen? are you okay, darlin’?”

you were in hysterics, clinging onto elvis as you cried softly. “h-hit it on accident, daddy. i-i didn’ mean to. 's that real? ‘s that gonna happen to me?”

“hell no.” he said sternly. “absolutely not, darlin'. ain’t nobody gonna put a hand on you or hurt you. daddy won’t let 'em. my job is to live and protect ya and that's exactly what i’m gonna do.” he hugged you tightly, rubbing your back gently.

“was so scary, daddy….” you sniffled.

“i know, satnin. it was real awful, wasn’t it?” he sighed and had you look at him, cupping your face. “i love you, hon. nothin’s gonna happen to ya, promise ya. alright?”

you looked at him, nodding.

“look, you can come upstairs to daddy’s office and draw him somethin’ real pretty while he makes his last phone call. that sound fun?” you let out an excited squeal, hugging him again. he laughed softly, pressing his lips against your temple.

“i guess that's a yes?”

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

DADDY ISSUES - Part Four: Vegas

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Your new life is amazing, without Elvis. Well, at least until you get a mysterious package in the mail that's about to change your life. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: a friend fight with some harsh words that were painful to write but i don't think anything else!

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 5058

A/N: ahhh it's been AGES i know but i've been working hard so expect lots of updates!! i have several parts already queued. i'll be posting a chapter every tuesday + thursday until the fic is completed!

also just a reminder that there's a playlist if you're interested and i've put the link to the taglist below!

Song Rec: vegas - doja cat

This is Part 4 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

A year later, you find yourself living in a brand new apartment with Trixie, the girl whom you stood next to during the chaotic filming of the 68 Comeback Special. Apparently, her family is extremely well-off and has absolutely no issue sending her money without question. Although you’ve tried to assure Trixie about a thousand times that you don’t want nor need the money she continues to shovel into your pocket, she insists on supporting you. At first, it was easier to give in because you actually really did need the money, since you were unemployed with no prospects and a scant resume. But now, you’re just starting to feel selfish.

Fortunately, with Steve’s help you’ve managed to secure a job working at KNBC, California’s NBC television station. You might still just be a secretarial worker, but a job is a job. Surprisingly, you find yourself with an unprecedented amount of free time compared to what you had when you were constantly picking up night and weekend shifts every other week at the diner. Not to mention that you make a lot more, too. It’s nothing to brag about by any means, but far more than enough to get you back on your feet. Slowly but surely, your debts dwindle little by little every day.

So far, living with Trixie has been pure bliss. She’s incredibly sweet and very neat and tidy. She doesn’t leave her laundry on the floor, always takes the trash out, and is usually cheerful in the morning. Some days, she even meets you in the kitchen with a carafe of steaming hot coffee already brewed. She never brings home creepy guys who hang around past their welcome and she’s nothing but respectful of your space. She works similar hours to you as a designer at a fashion magazine conveniently located only a couple of blocks down the road from KNBC.

You honestly couldn’t have asked for a better situation and, for the first time in a very long time, you feel safe, happy, and healthy. Little do you know what’s to come when a surprise package shows up on your doorstep.

You’re in the bathroom, elbows deep in water and soap as you wash your face first thing in the morning. Trixie, the early morning bird she is, has been awake for several hours already and is in the kitchen making breakfast. With the bathroom door closed, you can hardly hear anything going on down the hall so it takes you a moment to process Trixie’s shout that you’ve received a delivery. Squinting your eyes to protect them from the soap sliding down your face, you turn toward the door and yell back.

“Who’s it from?”

A few seconds of silence pass before Trixie replies.

“Uh…Y/N, why are you getting a package from E…ley?”

You shake your head. You can barely hear her over the sound of the water and the closed door. Your fingers quickly scramble to turn off the faucet and you grasp for a towel to hurriedly dry your face before rushing out of the bathroom. Sticking your head around the corner, you glance at Trixie with furrowed eyebrows.

“What did you say?” you ask.

“The package,” she responds, holding it up, “it’s from Elvis Presley.”

“I…from who?”

“Can you hear me, honey? Elvis. Elvis Presley? Famous musician and actor? We're both huge fans? We were in the audience while he filmed his comeback special on NBC? Ringing any bells here?” Trixie gestures wildly, her eyes big and wide.

You shake your head and approach her, holding out your hands so she can pass the package along to you. As soon as it touches your fingers, you snatch it up and sit down on the couch in the living room. Sure enough, as you look at the address label on the package, there it is. Elvis Presley.

To be perfectly honest, you’ve all but forgotten about him. With everything going on in your life, you’ve been too busy to pay attention to celebrity gossip or keep track of the music charts. You also have to admit that you might have been more inclined to forget him after suffering the embarrassment of turning down his…offer.

Glancing up at Trixie, you see her biting the nail of her thumb anxiously, a big grin breaking through her face. You shake your head again and sigh a deep breath before your fingers start digging into the wrapping of the package. Once you’ve torn through the wrapping paper and flipped open the cardboard box, your fingers catch onto something soft and silky. Shooting a confused expression at Trixie, you pull out the object and stand to let it unfold. Your breath catches in your throat as it drops down into its full form. Trixie shares the expression, her gasp accompanying yours.

“Oh my god…” she says in awe.

You hold it up to your body and wander over to the floor-length mirror hanging in the entryway. As you press the fabric against your figure, your eyebrows raise. It’s almost the same blue color as your horrible dress from Chadney’s Restaurant, the one you’d been wearing when you officially met Elvis for the first time. Although the color is comparable, the quality is nowhere near the same. This dress is made of silk, softer than any fabric you’ve ever felt before, and definitely a major upgrade from the scratchy cotton of your old work uniform. The dress has a sweetheart neckline with a cut out of the side and a leg slit that rides higher than you’d normally be comfortable with. As you run your fingers over the seams, you feel a few hand-cut jewels. They look like diamonds, although your brain is incapable of believing that.

“Hey, there’s a note with it,” Trixie’s voice knocks you out of your disbelief and you turn toward her.

She hands it over to you and, as you unfold it, two long green strips of paper fall out. Trixie bends to pick them up and examines them as you read the handwritten script of the letter out loud, although the handwriting is atrociously difficult to decipher.

“Cinderella,” you pause and gulp as your brain flashes back to the moment when Elvis had first called you that. When he’d invited you into his dressing room after the special. When he’d pulled your panties from his robe pocket…

“Cinderella,” you clear your throat and continue, “I figured I oughta replace that blue dress you ruined on account of me. I hope you like this one better and that you find the rest of the contents of this package to your taste.”

You pause, your eyes wandering over toward the package which, apparently, has more to give. You reach for it, digging underneath the wrapping paper until your fingers curl onto something lacy. You pull it out and heat immediately floods your face and neck. Trixie’s hand flies onto her mouth as you both stare in silence at an expensive-looking lingerie set hanging from your fingertip. You immediately drop it back into the package and shiver.

“What does the rest of the letter say?” Trixie asks, leaning forward to glance at the note over your shoulder.

“Uh…replace that blue dress, blah, blah, blah…contents of this package…Don’t make me wait until midnight. And don’t forget who-”

You stop abruptly as your brain circles around the last few words of the letter.

“What?” Trixie asks, peering more intensely over your shoulder. “What does it say, Foxie? I can barely read his chicken scratch.”

Foxie is the nickname Trixie had started calling you. Until this point, you’ve never understood why. But as your eyes roam over the contents of the package Elvis sent you, you start to understand that maybe you’re more of a fox than you realized.

“Don’t forget who owns you, princess.”

Trixie’s mouth pops open and she stares at you with wide eyes. You collapse further onto the couch and cover your eyes with your palms. Your heart pounds in your chest as you run through everything you just discovered.

“Wait, I’m sorry…did I miss something?” Trixie asks. “What the hell is all of this, Y/N?”

“It’s nothing,” you reply a little too quickly. “It must be some kind of a joke or something. I don’t know.”

“Some joke! Some expensive joke. These fell out of the letter,” she says, handing over the two green strips of paper.

Your eyes widen as you scan the printed text on the paper. Two tickets to one of Elvis’ concerts at the International Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada. You run a hand over your face and toss the tickets back into the cardboard box they came in. With a building rage, you grab onto the other contents of the package and shove them back in, tucking the wrapping paper back over them like a blanket.

“No, no this is insane. I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is. But no,” you mutter to yourself.

“Y/N, honey…I really don’t think this is a joke. I mean, two front row tickets to an Elvis Presley concert in Las Vegas? Do you know how expensive these are? Who would blow that much money just to get a laugh? I can’t even think of anyone else you know and I certainly didn’t pull this stunt.”

“Look, I don’t know, but I can’t believe that…well, he wouldn’t have any reason to send this to me. I mean, I told him no the last time he offered, so he should-”

“What? What do you mean you ‘told him no?’ Y/N what is going on here that I don’t know about? I’m completely lost.”

Shit. You slipped.

“Oh, no. It’s nothing,” you stutter, waving your hands frantically. “It was…nothing.”

“Well, it was obviously something?” Trixie gestures to the package. You sigh and she places a hand on your shoulder. “Foxie, I’m your best friend in the world. You can tell me anything.”

Your gaze drops down to her brightly painted purple nails and you heave a deep breath before lifting your gaze to hers. Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern and you know that she genuinely does care about your well-being.

“You’re technically my only friend in the world, Trix. But yes, I guess something did happen that I never told you about.”

“Well, what is honey? Now, I really have to know,” she gestures to the package again and you chuckle.

“Well, to start off, the 68 special wasn’t the first time I saw Elvis. I saw him in 1956 at Russwood Park, too.”

“Right. I remember. We’ve talked about it plenty of times. What does that concert have to do with this?”

“Well, I maybe…kind of, sort of…did an embarrassing thing.”

“Like…what?” she quirks an eyebrow and you squeeze your eyes shut to counter the embarrassment you feel rising in your chest.

“I slid my underwear across the stage at that concert,” you blurt, wincing at the memory of your own actions. “And apparently I made an impression because he, Elvis I mean, sent his producer to bring me to the dressing room after we filmed the special. It was several hours after, so you were probably long gone by then. I was staying with my cousin, Steve, you remember him. Anyway, so I wound up in Elvis’ dressing room and it was just the two of us and he just…he just pulled my panties out of his pocket! The ones I’d given him, you know, years and years ago. I mean, I never in my wildest dreams would have expected…do you think he washed them? I mean, ew!”

“Calm, Foxie! Calm and focus. Slow words.”

“Right, sorry,” you laugh painfully and gulp before continuing. “Uh, after he pulled my panties out he sort of asked me if I…like, if I wanted to be his…sugar baby?”

Trixie’s eyes close and reopen wider and she leans forward as if she hasn’t heard you correctly. She blinks in shock.

“Well, what did you say? Did you tell him no?”

“Yeah, I said it was wrong. That I’m not the kind of person who sleeps with married men. Apparently, he didn’t take the hint because…” you gesture again to the infamous package.

“Yeah, I’d say not. What did he offer you? That’s how it works, right? You take care of him and he does something for you?”

“He offered to pay my debts and buy me gifts and stuff. The usual things, I imagine?”

“And he hasn’t contacted you since then until now?”

“Not one time.”

A few moments of silence pass. Trixie settles back into the couch, tapping her finger on her leg, obviously deep in thought. Your eyes just lazily drag around the scattered contents of the package as you contemplate what to do.

“Maybe…” Trixie starts, “you should go see what he wants?”

Your head snaps toward her.

“What?”

“I don’t know, maybe…maybe he has a different offer for you. Or maybe you can finagle your way into an even better arrangement.”

You throw your hands up, motioning for her to stop.

“Trixie, what are you talking about? I can’t do this. It’s wrong.”

“Yeah, I know, but you could use the extra cash and, after all, it is Elvis Presley.”

You just stare at her for a moment, your eyes flicking around her face to see whether she’s joking. Based on what you gather from her expression, she’s being completely serious. You scoff and stand up, grabbing harshly onto the box to take it right to the trash can.

“I can’t believe you would even say that, Trix. I expected better from you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Trixie asks, standing and propping her hands on her hips.

“For God’s sake, Trixie! The man is married with a baby. What would I do to all of that if I said yes? I’m not a homewrecker. All he wants to do is use me anyway. He’ll probably drop me in three days for another woman. No thanks, not gonna happen. I’m not doing this.”

“Well, give it all to me, then,” Trixie shouts back, stalking over toward you and grabbing ahold of the package. You pull back firmly, preventing her from snatching it out of your fingers.

“Excuse me? What are you gonna do? You’re gonna go see him?”

“Maybe I will.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but he doesn’t want you. He wants me!” you shout, ripping the package away from her.

“Oh, that’s very nice of you. If you’re not gonna take him up on it, someone should!” she yells back, reaching for the package again.

“If you didn’t want to support me financially any more you could have just said it!”

“Don’t even!” she holds up her pointer finger. “You know very well that’s not what this is about. I have no problem helping you. You’re the one who’s always complaining about how pathetic it is that you have to mooch off me.”

“And not everyone has the luxury to just leave their lives, you know!” you yell. “I have to work, Trixie. To pay my bills, to keep my car, to avoid going to prison. Not everyone’s mommy and daddy are around to bail them out when they make stupid decisions!”

Right after the words escape your lips, your eyebrows unfurl and grief settles quickly in the depths of your stomach. When you notice a few glinting tears gathering in Trixie’s eyes, the reality of what you’ve said and its consequences are all too clear. Trixie huffs and stares at you for a moment before spinning on her heel and stalking down the hallway to her room. You drop the box on the counter and thrust your face into your hands, jumping at the rigid sound of her bedroom door slamming shut.

“Why don’t you just leave me alone?” you whisper to Elvis’ nonexistent frame as you toy with a piece of the wrapping paper.

You’d lied to Trixie, which you now feel increasingly bad about. You had heard from Elvis. Just a few letters here and there for the first couple of months after you rejected him the first time. You threw them all away without opening a single one. After a while, they just stopped coming and you thought you were in the clear. You were obviously wrong.

You glance around the apartment, thinking about how lucky you are to even be living here in the first place. Guilt racks through your body painfully and you sniff back a couple of tears before reaching across the table to grab the two tickets. As your eyes circle around the words, you sigh and then shuffle down the hall toward Trixie’s room. With a deep breath, you knock quietly on the door and lean against it.

“Trixie? I’m so sorry, Trix. I’m just overwhelmed and frustrated. I didn’t mean to call you stupid or…shame you for your upbringing. And I really shouldn’t dare considering how much you’ve done for me,” you say quietly, resting your forehead against the door. “It just feels so…unreal. This whole Elvis situation. Don’t get me wrong, of course I’m interested but it just…feels so wrong. He’s married with a kid and I…I’m scared.”

You wait a few seconds but hear nothing on the other side of the door. You turn with a dejected sigh and retreat to hide in your room. But as soon as you turn your back, the door clicks open. You whirl back around to see Trixie peeking her head out.

“I’m sorry,” you say but she holds up a hand.

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be doing that. I have no right telling you what to do with your life. I certainly shouldn’t be mad at you for not accepting. This situation is very…unusual. I guess I just got jealous at the idea that the Elvis Presley wants you so badly that he went to all this trouble. And I hate to see you struggling. I know the money would reduce a lot of stress so I just think you should…I don’t know, consider it.”

“I know, Trix. I could use the money, of course. But I’m scared and embarrassed. What’ll happen if I eventually get old or uninteresting? If he gets bored of me and drops me for someone else? I barely know the man but he feels dangerous to me. Steve said something about him being unfaithful to his wife and…it’s just all so much.”

Trixie nods, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms over her chest. You sigh loudly.

“At the same time, though…” you offer a small smile and pull the two tickets from your back pocket. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take him up on this? It’d be a shame to waste two front row tickets, especially with how expensive they are nowadays. And it would give me the opportunity to tell him off once and for all. What do you think? Another roomie adventure?”

You wiggle the tickets in the air with a suggestive shrug. Trixie laughs and nudges the door open with her hip. She throws her arms around your shoulders and you lean into her touch, closing your eyes and squeezing tightly. When she releases you, you’re greeted by a massive smile on her beautiful face.

“I guess we should get packing, then,” you say, gesturing at the tickets which have tomorrow’s date printed all over them.

“I’ll call the hotel and make reservations!” Trixie shouts, clapping her hands together.

With that, she disappears into her room to start packing. You trudge back into the kitchen to retrieve the package and then disappear into your own room. A few minutes later, you hear Trixie’s favorite Elvis record playing from her room.

You spend most of the day packing and preparing to leave since you’ll need to depart first thing in the morning to make the concert on time. At least one full hour is spent on the phone with your boss at KNBC as you try to explain why you can’t come in tomorrow. Another hour is wasted when you spend it calling everyone you know at the office to see if they’ll fill in for you. Luckily, the last person on your contact list agrees to take your shift. You thank them endlessly and accidentally promise an autograph from Elvis, although you aren’t sure if you plan on being that close to him.

You pass out as soon as your head hits the pillow that night and, even though you’ve both slept in, you and Trixie are groggy as ever in the morning.

As you lift your suitcase from the bed, your eyes land on the package from Elvis, half-unopened and not packed in your case. You pause in the doorway for a moment, staring at it. Last night, it was all too clear why you shouldn’t bring it. The answer to his proposal was and always would be a firm no. But this morning, as your gaze falls frozen on the beautiful things he’d sent you and the haunting words he’d written, your heart thumps with anticipation. Sighing frustratedly, you click open the suitcase and shove both the dress and the lingerie inside.

You and Trixie leave LA around 11 a.m., piled into her blue Jeep Wagoneer. Two hours into the four hour trip, you switch off and take the wheel so Trixie can get some extra rest. She was awake until two in the morning pairing up the perfect outfits. To your surprise, the drive is over in a flash and, the next thing you know, you’re inching through the Vegas Strip, stuck in horrific traffic.

You check your wristwatch as you get caught by yet another red light. You have roughly four hours to get ready for the show. After parking and checking in at the front desk, you take your bags upstairs to get unpacked. Even with exploring the hotel, grabbing dinner, and getting changed for the concert (which includes the forty minutes you spent debating whether or not you should wear the blue dress Elvis sent you), you find yourselves with time to spare. You decide to head down early and see if you can get seated before the rush.

When you arrive outside of the showroom, you’re shocked to see the area relatively deserted. You check the ticket twice to make sure before approaching the security guard standing in front of the doors.

“Hi,” you say cheerily. “We’re here for the Elvis show and were just wondering if it’d be possible for us to be seated a little early? If not, that’s alright, but we figured we’d check.”

“Well,” the guard starts, his eyes tracking not-so-sneakily up and down yours and Trixie’s figures. “We normally don’t allow people in before the scheduled time, but I might be able to make an exception for two ladies as lovely as yourselves.”

He winks and you press your lips together to keep from laughing. You glance at Trixie out of the corner of your eye and see her holding a finger to her mouth to mask her amusement.

“Oh, that’d be awfully sweet of you…Henry,” Trixie says, flashing him her most charming smile.

Your eyes drop down to see his nametag which reads Henry. You bite your tongue as you watch Henry flash Trixie a smile. He glances around the surrounding casino floor to see if anyone else is watching before pushing open the big black door behind him. He gestures with his hand.

“Please come on in, ladies. Will you need help finding your seats today?”

“Oh, you’re too generous, Henry,” you say as you both glide past him into the showroom. “But I think we’ll be alright. If we get lost, we’ll be sure to find you.”

You throw in a wink for good measure and spin on your heel, dragging Trixie into the room. Only a few steps inside and you’re both laughing so hard that you can barely breathe. Your laughs dry up in a couple of seconds, however, when you start to take in the space. You mutter in awe and point around the room, admiring details like the golden curtains pulled over the stage and the ornate statues adorning each column. You pull out the tickets and use them to direct you both toward your seats in the front row.

“Damn, we’re literally right here,” you muse, glancing straight ahead of you onto the front of the stage.

You’re seated at a round table that’s clad with a very fanciful tablecloth, dishes, and wine glasses. A candle, unlit, rests in the middle of the table and there’s a note propped up against the glass. You tilt your head as you reach out to grab it.

“Oh my god,” you mutter as you read the writing on the outside. Princess.

“Ooh, what’s that?” Trixie asks, plopping into one of the chairs next to you. You open the note as you join her.

“Princess, I’m so glad you made it. When you get here, come see me backstage. I have a present for you,” you read, your eyebrows furrowing.

You glance at Trixie but she just raises her eyebrows and shrugs. With a deep breath, you grab onto your purse, still clutching the note in your fingers.

“Alright, well I guess now’s as good a time as any to break the hard news. I’ll be back, I hope. If anything happens to me back there, you get everything in the apartment,” you say with a goofy smile.

Trixie laughs and shoos you away just in time for the showroom doors to open and release a line of audience members into the area. You hurry toward a door on the left side of the stage which you assume leads to the backstage area, considering the security guard who stands in front of it. You clear your throat before announcing yourself.

“Uh, hi! I’m here to see Elvis. Well, everyone is here to do that, I guess, but I have this note and uh…well, here,” you say nervously and hand over the letter. He examines it as you wait and anxiously wring out your fingers.

“Y/N?”

Your head spins as a vaguely familiar voice sounds from behind you. A smile immediately spreads across your face as you recognize Elvis’ producer, Jerry. You give him a wave and a shrug as heat creeps into your face.

“Hi…” you greet him quietly.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, approaching you. He waves off the guard dismissively. “She’s good to go. He’s been expecting her for a long time. Here, I’ll show you back.”

The guard shimmies out of the way so Jerry can open the door. He gestures for you to enter with a smile and you thank him as you step through.

“Changed your mind, huh?” Jerry asks as you follow him through the backstage area.

“Uh, no actually. Not really. I’m just here to tell him to save his postage,” you say, feeling the need to justify yourself although you can’t explain why.

“Can’t blame you. These kinds of situations don’t work for everyone, although this will be a first for him.”

“Do you think he’ll be disappointed?” you ask jokingly.

“Oh I’d bet on it.” Apparently Jerry didn’t take your question as a joke. “Like I said before he’s been waiting for you, specifically, for a long time. I’m sure he’ll be very disappointed, but don’t let that stop you. It is your decision, after all. Good luck.”

Jerry points toward a dressing room door with big black letters which read ELVIS. You clear your throat and thank Jerry. He nods curtly and then spins on his heel to return to the work he probably needs to get done before the show starts. You straighten the hem of the blue dress he’d sent you and clutch firmly onto the strap of your purse, into which you’d also stuffed the lingerie at the last minute. It suddenly occurs to you that perhaps you were supposed to wear the lingerie under the dress…

Oh well, you think to yourself. Too late now.

You take a few deep breaths and smile awkwardly at the cast and crew who pass through the area on their way to get ready for the show. You know it’s ridiculous to think that everyone knows why you’re here but, despite the sheer unlikeliness of it all, you still feel embarrassed and shameful that you actually came. A few times, you debate backing away and returning to your table with Trixie to just enjoy the show. But something stops you every time. Eventually, your desire and curiosity move you forward and your knuckles knock on the door three times.

Ignoring the fight or flight mechanism that triggers in your chest, you wait for the door to open. In a matter of seconds, your wish is granted and he stands before you. He’s wearing an incredibly detailed white jumpsuit with flared pants and a popped collar. It’s unbuttoned all the way down to his waist and you gulp as your eyes immediately fly to the bare skin of his chest. As your gaze flicks back up to his face, you find him smirking down at you, his eyes already hungrily digesting your figure which stands in front of him. His body is elongated and pulled taut as he leans against the doorframe. He still looks good, as healthy and as sexy as ever, although his sideburns and hair are much longer than they had been almost a year ago.

“Princess,” he says in a voice even deeper than you remember. You begin to notice the painful thudding of your heart against your chest as his eyes take you in. “I figured you weren’t comin.”

This is it, the perfect opportunity for you to reject him and explain why you can’t take him up on his offer. But your brain stalls. It’s completely blank as you stare up at him with helpless doe eyes. He examines your figure once more before pushing the door open to create a space underneath his armpit for you to enter. You glance up at him, waiting for further instructions as if you need a translation. He flips his head toward the room.

“Inside.”

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[chiwhorei]

green scrunchies

pairing: dom!k. ukai x sub!fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, spanking, smoking, daddy kink, dom/ sub dynamics, brat taming, subspace, dirty talk, degradation, age gap(reader is 22ish and ukai is 26ish) spitting, fingering, oral (fem receiving), edging, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, a little dumification, public nudity (kinda), unprotected sex, tattoos (there’s a tattoo in a really unholy place), this is just filth okay

a/n: i have been sitting on the bulk of this piece for a fucking month and am honestly so surprised i finished it. this was inspired by a picture i saw of a really naughty tattoo and my mind want crazy and vomited on to a google doc.

hymn: nothing’s gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex

“but today isn’t a day of honey-sweet ministrations.”

Ukai Keishin is a gentle man. The team of highschoolers he coaches, his friends, hell, even his mother would beg to differ. But they were not privy to the Keishin you know. The man that serenades you with Elvis Presley while cleaning up after closing the store, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a clumsy slow dance as his gravelly voice croons into your ear. 

He’s entrancing. Hypnotizing you, almost two years ago now, in the most tender pursuit possible, so softly you were unaware of falling deeply in love with him until you had already tipped completely over. Turning to an ink pen and scraps of receipt paper to flesh out the feelings he worried would not sound perfect when they hit your ears. To this day, you’re not entirely sure if he meant to leave the pages to his extemporaneous romance novel for you to find on purpose, but you have your suspicions.

You were in your second year of college when you met Keishin, only 20 years old at the time and clueless to any world outside of studying frantically from one exam to the next. Chasing after a degree you could pursue your dreams with and getting tattoos that would piss your parents off, you crashed into him, literally. 

While walking to class with practiced steps and flipping through a small stack of notecards, you frantically try to accomplish last minute cramming and making it to class promptly at the same time. With one final attempt to understand the scribbles in front of you, you take a sharp turn into a brick wall. A flurry of white papers thrown into the air and falling back down like snow.

It happened in a minute, a minute that held sixty of the longest seconds to ever pass; from the moment you smack your nose into his cemented chest to the moment he saves your head from kissing the ground below. “You need to watch where you’re going, kid.” He says with a cigarette pressed between his teeth. It all happened in that single minute, your soul escaping and crawling into his jacket pocket without even realizing. It’s been there ever since, for safekeeping, of course.

He’s perfect in every way. But just as he is soft and loving, Ukai is not one to take shit. Especially when his sweet, shy baby girl is being a raging brat. It’s like any normal fall afternoon, slightly chilly and crisp on your walk from class. The air is biting at your skin, but the temperature is not what sends a piercing shiver down your spine. You know that as soon as you get home, Ukai Keishin is going to ruin you. 

“What are you doing here, princess?” Your presence is made known with a soft ding from the bell above the door, but Ukai doesn't look up from his magazine when acknowledging you. 

“I live upstairs?” Your tone is light and playful. You decide to test the waters, wondering how much Keishin will let slide today.

“Don’t be dense, little one.” He graces you with his eye contact for the first time, “I know you have a Biology lecture on Friday afternoons. So, why is that cute little ass here instead of on campus?” His lips are pulled tightly in a thin line and he rakes his eyes down your body. You’re wearing a short pleated skirt and a baggie pull-over. Exactly what he picked out for you this morning. Well, almost exactly. He was already opening up the store by the time you woke up, so the clothes were placed neatly on his side of the bed. What he didn’t pick out though, were the stockings currently brandishing your mid thigh, cutting off the supple skin with the soft, black cotton. 

“Oh! My professor cancelled lecture today so I came home early to have lunch with my loving boyfriend.” You smile sweetly, dropping your backpack and rounding the corner of the counter he is sat at. Ukai hums softly- dismissively- and lights a cigarette, his eyes don’t give away any emotion, so you are left hanging off the end of the burning cherry. Has he caught on yet? Maybe the thigh-highs would be enough to distract from your real surprise. 

Before you can ruminate on the thought, a wide, kind smile spreads across his face. If you didn’t know any better, this smile would be comforting. Your boyfriend pats his lap, motioning for you to take a seat. You adjust yourself to fit snugly and lean into Keishin’s chest. He presses a chaste kiss to your temple and takes a drag from his cigarette. Customers trickle in slowly, and you stand a few times to ring up their purchases, always the dutiful girlfriend. Keishin watches you with adoration in between paging through a magazine, everything you did was so perfect, even if it’s just scanning a few groceries. Such a good girl you are. 

It’s not until you sit back down, and he adjusts your hips to settle back into him that he is made aware of the game you’re trying to play. And he is pissed.

“Princess, did you not like the clothes I picked out for you this morning?” He has fully caught on to you at this point, and you both know it, but he isn’t going to show you his hand quite yet. 

“Of course I did, Daddy.” You bury your burning cheek into his neck, letting the familiar smell of cologne and campfires calm your clambering heartbeat. 

“I see, then why are you wearing these…” Keishin’s voice trails off and pulls at the material of the thigh-highs, snapping it against your skin.  

“Actually,” he interrupts, “I have a more important question. But I need you to be a good girl and answer honestly.” Keishin whispers into the shell of your ear and nods a goodbye to the elderly man leaving the store. You two were alone now, the promise of other customers wandering in diminishing quickly with the time of day. 

“I’ll be a good girl Daddy.” You try to coat your words in velvet as best as you can, but Keishin scoffs, clearly unamused. 

“That’s rich, princess. Now tell me, did you go to campus this morning without panties on?” You knew the question he was going to pose, you could have even saved him the breath. You knew you were going to get caught, I mean, that is why you did it. But now, faced with having to atone for your sins, the confidence in your original actions was melting away. 

“I forgot to put panties on this morning, Daddy. I’m sorry.” You try to pout in the sweetest way possible, but Keishin knows. You’re lying through your teeth.

“Tsk, you forgot. How could you forget if I laid them right on top of your skirt this morning?” He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a damning article. As he moves the exhibit into evidence, light pink thong hanging off of fingers, you resolve that your little game was over long before you even tried to start. All you can do now is wait with baited breath and flushed cheeks for his next move. 

“Stand up princess.” Ukai grabs onto your hip bones and lifts you upward. He spins you around to face him and perches his elbows on his knees. “Show me what’s mine baby girl.” His request, his demand, rolls off the tongue like icicles. You know what he means, but still stare back dumbly, mouth wide at what he was insinuating.

“You know I don’t like repeating myself, little girl.” His words stir inside you. If he sees how wet you’re getting, you’re done for. There’s no escaping this moment though. You take a deep breath in a feeble fight against the suffocating feeling in your chest, and lift up the end of your short, black skirt so he can see you. All of you.

Your precious, sumptuous thighs now in his view. He studies the lines of the tattoos not covered with your stockings. Beautiful floral designs in delicate black ink. Keishin thinks the work you get done is always so beautiful. Every addition befitting you perfectly. He loves tracing the pads of his fingers over the art in softer moments. This moment though, was not soft, and the tattoos on your thighs were not the subject of Ukai’s attention. 

He flicks his eyes up to meet yours briefly, and trails down from your quivering bottom lip, to your delicate, freckled collarbones peering sweetly from your large sweater. He drags his darkening gaze down further, cherishing every inch until he reaches your hips. Nestled in between the apex of your thighs, in small, dainty writing lays his prize.

“My Daddy Will Kill You.”

No matter what you did, he would always be there, snugly under the second layer of skin. When his fingers weren’t intertwined in yours, when he couldn’t have a protective hand in your back pocket. Whenever he was away with his team for tournaments or just when you were in class. He was always on you.

“Such a gorgeous little cunt you have.” He leans back in his seat, watching you fidget under his stare, “Whose cunt is this, baby? Is it your classmates? Is it your professors?” You bow your head in shame at Ukai’s insinuation, you know that going to class with a bare ass and a short skirt was going to get you in trouble. How could you resist though, when the punishment always feels so good.

“You’ve been acting like a petulant brat recently. I’ve been letting things slide because I know how stressful your senior year of college has been.” His tone is exasperated, but his eyes are calm, level, dark, “I can’t ignore this, you know that right?”

“I know, Daddy.”

“Your class was cancelled. So that means we get to start the weekend early.” He pulls your hands from your skirt, letting it fall back into place and holds both of your hands in one of his much larger ones. “Go upstairs and sit on the bed. I want you in just your skirt and those cute little tights you were so keen on wearing. I’ll be up in a few minutes.” 

“But Daddy…” you really did like to test your luck sometimes, but the look he gives you, slightly shocked and more than lightly infuriated, was enough to make you hurry to the back and up the stairs to your shared apartment. You kick your sneakers off at the door and head straight to the bedroom. You pull the sweater over your head and unclasp your bra. Usually Keishin likes to do that step for you, savoring the way you shiver as he brushes the straps off of your shoulders, but today isn’t a day of honey-sweet ministrations. 

You tremble like a puppy as you wait for Ukai and almost jump out of your own skin when you hear the front door creek open. Usually you are met with a bellowing voice upon his entry, walking through the door with a hearty, “Honey, I’m home!” even if you had only walked in a few steps ahead. Now, all you can do is wait as he mulls about the apartment with lackadaisical intent and a deafening silence. After a few agonizing minutes and feeling like he made his point, Ukai finally appears in the doorway, arms folded and pressed tightly to his hard chest with a categorically sadistic smile on his face.

“So, you do know how to follow directions?” You gulp loudly and nod your head, but quickly correct yourself. If you don’t use your words you’ll make things worse for yourself. “Yes, Daddy. I know how to follow directions.” It’s not a lie, obviously you are aware of his rules, you just prefer breaking them. Your response is small compared to the loud, sarcastic laugh falling from his throat. Ukai steps towards you slowly. 

“You are such a little tease, I came up to kiss you goodbye this morning and found these still sitting on the bed.” He pulls the thong out of his pocket again and drops the lace into your lap. “You left them there because you wanted me to find them. You wanted me to know you were sitting in class with a bare cunt.” There’s no use trying to find an excuse to push past your locked jaw, because he’s not really asking a question. 

“I left them on purpose, Daddy. I’m sorry.” Your mea culpa is underwhelming to say the least, and you both know it. You may be pleading guilty to all charges, but you don’t seem eager for absolution. 

“You are such a little attention whore. My timid, darling girl has been acting like an insolent slut recently. What am I going to do with you?” His voice sounds questioning, but unmistakingly rhetorical. He’s known what he was going to do to you from the moment he spotted your panties weighing the bed down this morning.

“Turn around baby.” Ukai unbuckles his belt, and you turn away from him, tucking your legs to sit upright. He gathers your long h/c hair from where it was settled around your face and meticulously braids it to lay flat on your back, attaching the green scrunchy from his wrist to the bottom. 

Just like a calling card, Keishin always had a scrunchy of yours around his wrist. Whenever you are hunched over the kitchen table in the middle of writing a paper, he pulls your hair behind you and fastens it into a bun, careful to keep it loose so as to not invite a headache, and kisses the crown of your head. Regardless of where you are: shopping, date night, visiting him at practice, if he notices your hair becoming annoying he will slip it from your neck and twist it into the green scrunchy.

And when you are about to be punished, Ukai pulls your hair into a neat, low braid.

You feel him run his hands from your shoulders to your wrists, pulling them gently behind your back. He presses your palms together and gives them a squeeze so you know to keep them together. Ukai pulls off his shirt, and  frees his undone belt from his jeans, folding it in half and running the cool leather up your thigh. He swats softly at your skin, just enough to make you flinch. 

Ukai tosses the belt to the ground, deciding he would rather you feel the sting of his palm, and sits down next to you on the bed. You face him with your hands still laced together behind you and let him position you to lay across his lap. The side of your face and your shoulders lay flush against the bed and your ass is raised up above his jean-clad thighs. 

“You know the rules, right my love?”

“Yes, Daddy. If I lose count you have to start over.”

“There’s my smart girl. You look so beautiful like this.” He lands a smack on your right cheek, actions greatly contrasting his soft, almost taunting tone. “It’s such a shame you’ve been acting like such a whore.” 

He delivers slap after slap on your bruising ass and you count every one out to him, briefly considering what would happen if you stopped counting, but you know that your punishment is already going to be harsh enough. You’re a masochist, yes, but not an idiot. 

“Why do you always seem to be on your best behavior when I have you over my knee, darling?” Ukai connects his palm with your tender flesh again. “How many was that baby?” 

“Fifteen, Daddy.” You speak in an even tone, if your boyfriend catches on to how much more you like this than he already knows, you’re, quite literally, fucked. 

“You really know how to play me, baby. I’m always wrapped around your little finger.” He starts to knead your ass cheek with his large hand, skimming the tips of his digits against your wanton cunt. He’s testing you, wanting to see if you’ll start squirming or unclasp your hands from their position behind your back, but you hold steady.

“You leave me naughty little surprises. I had you on my mind all day, thinking about this naked little pussy walking around campus. One tiny slip and you would have shown everyone what’s mine.” Another sharp swat to your butt reverberates through the room and you can barely mumble out your counted response. 

“But that’s what you wanted isn’t it? You wanted everyone to see this slutty pussy of yours didn’t you?” Whether that was the truth or not doesn't actually matter, you know not to make an excuse. You are just meant to count and thank. 

“You need to stop squirming, princess, or you’re going to royally piss me off.” Ukai continues his relentless pace, two thick fingers pistoning deep in your dripping pussy. This was one of Ukai’s favorite games, finger-fucking you to the point of the bed under you slamming into the wall. Your job was to keep completely still. One arch of your back or escaped moan and he would land a sharp slap to your puffy, untended clit. 

He’s actually being quite generous despite the circumstances. Usually, you would be propped on your hands and knees, but Ukai has laid you flat on your back with one leg tossed over his broad shoulder. The position, while easier to keep your body still, does mean that Ukai’s piercing, hungry gaze has you pinned like prey under him. The completely pornografic sounds of his fingers are making your head spin. The fact that he’s been hammering his fingers relentlessly into your g-spot for an hour, is starting to make your mind foggy, all thoughts are starting to slip from your brain and your boyfriend can tell.

“God, baby, I love making you absolutely stupid for me. I bet all you can think about is my cock filling this little cunt up, huh?” His words are sneering, taunting. Your response is a babbled agreement and plea for his cock, and the sight of you so completely fucked out makes the bulge in his jeans strain even further. The feeling of his fingers in your squelching pussy is dulling all other senses, so when he pulls the digits away, you can’t help the cry that rips from the back of your throat. 

“Don’t worry, precious girl, I’m going to give you what you want. What you’re fucking desperate for.” Ukai pushes himself from the bed and removes his jeans and boxers, and you watch as his thick cock springs free to slap against his abdomen. The sound makes you mewl, your cunt clenching in anticipation. 

As Ukai crawls back onto your shared bed, his head dips down in between your legs. He licks, flat and languid across your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue with a feral groan.

“Please, Daddy. Please fuck me. I- I need you. Wa- want to be your good girl.” You find your words as best as you can to beg for him, the sweet cadence of your voice and the way your weak arms reach out for his messy bleached hair signals to him that you’ve fallen completely into a foggy, submissive haze. You tug lightly at the tresses and the impressive self-control he has kept up thus far snaps like plywood under a heavy boot. 

Ukai takes one more deep, hungry lick at your soaking pussy and sits up, pushing your legs further apart, digging his nails into the soft skin under your knees. 

“Open your mouth, Princess.” You are quick to comply with his request, sticking your tongue out and looking up at him through your lashes. You hear the sound of him spitting, his saliva and your arousal coats the thickest plane of your tongue, but connecting one thought to the next becomes impossible as Ukai pushes his thick cock into you at the same time.

“Jesus Christ, no matter how much time I take to get you ready you’re still so tight. God, you make it really hard to stay mad at you.” His hands keep your legs pressed up to your chest, pushing his thick cock into you at an agonizingly lazy pace. Ukai was right, it didn’t matter that he had finger-fucked you into the mattress for an hour, taking him was a tight fit every time. As he buries himself in you, the intoxicating burn of being so full takes all of the air out of your chest. His thick cock stretches you so far, you swear he can feel your own heartbeat within the walls of your tiny cunt. He’s barely halfway into you and you can’t help but constrict, the tinny flavor of your orgasm crawling up from your spine to your mouth. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you cum already.” Ukai snickered sadistically, thumb brushing across your tattoo, the dirty secret you shared, right over where you need his fingers most. He wasn’t going to touch your deprived clit yet, and hoping for him to do so was a waste of energy. 

“I’m sorry Daddy. I promise, I’ll be good.” Your tears are rolling down the side of your face, wetting the sheet next to you. 

“You’re a pathetic mess and I’m not even all the way in you yet. I would save the tears if I were you, babydoll.” You try to compose yourself, but Ukai’s words of dismissive degradation give your whimpers more body, sobbing and babbling as his cock bottoms out. 

You can feel every inch of him, hard and thick and so so full inside of you. Ukai pulls out of you completely, his soaking tip rubbing on your labia before slamming back in to the hilt. His pace becomes brutal with every thrust, original slow pace completely unknown to you now. There’s no way you're going to be able to stand properly after this. 

“Daddy, please. Please let me cum. Need to cum, Daddy. Need to be your good girl.” A series of calls for your daddy and prayerful begs are the only things you know at this point, drool and tears covering your face.

“You know what, Princess? I bet I could make you cum with just one touch to that little clit.” Ukai takes one hand off of your thigh and hovers over where you have needed him since you woke up this morning. “If I’m right, I’ll make you cum again. If I’m wrong, you’re not gonna cum at all.”

You can feel the warmth of his finger looming over the neglected bud, the anticipation is overwhelming and cruel, but all worth it as soon as he pushes the rough pad of his thumb down. Ukai presses a single, taught circle into your clit and the coil wound tightly in your stomach snaps with incredible force. You know there is a scream that rips from your dry mouth, but you can’t hear it with the blood rushing through your ears. Ukai works you through your first orgasm, stilling his thrusts as until you come floating back down.

“I know this slutty little cunt better than the back of my hand. Now, my precious little thing,” You watch as Ukai hooks your limp legs over his shoulders, lining his throbbing cock back to your slopping entrance. “Let’s do that a couple more times.”

“Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help, falling in love with you.”

You feel your senses coming back to you slowly, with every delicate touch Keishin glides over your skin. He pulls you back to reality with sweet touches and the deep, gravely sound of his voice. After several meticulous moments and even more words of praise, Kei delivers a delicate kiss to your forehead and carries you to the shower. You take a deep, relaxed sigh as he massages your aching muscles under the hot water. After drying your exhausted body with a fluffy towel, Keishin helps you into a comfy pair of leggings and one of his sweatshirts. 

“Take my hand. Take my whole heart too.” Your boyfriend’s broad arms wrap around your waist, hands finding purchase under the orange sweatshirt currently drowning your form, and you melt into his chest. “Because I can’t help, falling in love with you.” You turn around in his arms to steal a kiss, but as your lips attach to his a small laugh bubbles up from your stomach. 

“What are you giggling at?” Keishin eyes you curiously, and you start laughing even harder.

“Oh nothing, I was just thinking about the bloody nose you gave me when we first met.” You cackle at the memory and feel Keishin take an exasperated but amused sigh, joining your laughter with his own.

“First of all, Princess, you ran into me.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[loudsuitlover]

Would you write a blurb about their honeymoon or just about a day with their kids ?🥰

A/N: I chose the second one, hoped you like it! xx

Toddlers make everything look huge because they are so tiny so their little hands would hold apples and have them look like melons. Dylan wasn’t as tiny anymore, he was five years old, three months from turning six but in Blue’s eyes, he was still a tiny piece of cotton to hold and protect. 

He was colouring on the table while his daddy set the new stereo he had gotten for their movie nights and he was very focused on not colouring out of the lines because at school he had noticed, his colourings got better marking when he didn’t colour out of the lines, and even though this time the lines he had drew them himself, he still wanted to respect every single one of them. 

Mummy was doing laundry minding baby Annie and Hughie was down for a nap. It was a Sunday, so Nana was having dinner with them, but mummy and daddy were in homeware and Dylan didn’t knew, but he loved this moments because these were the moments were mummy and daddy were just mummy and daddy, and they weren’t anybody’s doctor and he didn’t have to share. 

“Daddy” 

His dad didn’t look at him because he knew his son wasn’t looking at him either. He would do that quite a lot, when he was colouring or when he was building with Lego; he would just start a conversation while being in his own head and Harry felt lucky that his son would let him have a glance at his little, magic mind. He shared a lot with Blue- he shared everything with Blue- but then again, Harry had been a mummy’s boy himself, so he couldn’t get any hard feelings with his own son for that. If he were a boy, he would choose Blue over him too. 

“Yes, honey?” 

“I was very scared.” 

In that moment he turned around and his green eyes searched for his kid’s but he wasn’t yet looking at him. It surprised him then, how calmed he looked- how much he looked like Blue- and how he was focused on his drawing and his little nut nose wasn’t wrinkled and his frown wasn’t troubled. 

He knew he meant three nights ago, when Hughie had had a seizure because of the fever because their two older babies had gotten a cold. They always got sick together. He sighed. 

Blue had heard their interaction, not because she meant to eavesdropped, but because she had put Anie down and she had found a lego Dylan had lost under her cot and she wanted to bring it back to him for she knew it would make him happy but she hadn’t want to interrupt the father-son moment. 

She also knew, Harry was a lot better with words than she was- he was also a lot better at cuddles, she figured- but she loved to hear him talk to their kids for she loved the way he was trying to raise them. It was mostly on love, they had both agreed that- that they would always wrapped their children in love and that was the only thing that could never ever be missing for food could miss if they struggled, even a roof could miss but love? Love will always be there for their children to feel. And she admired the way Harry thought, she had always admired that, but the way he tried to guide his kids... She was at awe with that and that’s why she felt so at ease, because if anything were to happen to her; she would leave her babies with the best person in the world. 

“You were?” 

Dylan hummed and a smirk found its way on Blue’s hidden face for she found it a very adult-like hum and she felt her heart beating hard with pride. Harry always said Dylan was a male mini-Blue, that he thought like her and talked like her and even walked like her so she always felt a weird pride with every little thing he did. 

It’s not that he was her favourite child. There was not such thing. She could never choose, because Dylan was so much like her, but Hughie was so much like Harry and she loved Harry... Hughie was dorky and funny, a people’s person, a real showman. He was a little distracted, sometimes even a little rough- just as his father was too straightforward sometimes- but he had the kindest little soul, and he would care and protect those he loved like a lion. And baby Anie... What was there not to love? They didn’t really know her yet because she was just a baby but they knew she liked Elvis and daddy and spending time with the boys. 

“And how did you know you were scared?” Harry asked him. 

That had him thinking. He stopped colouring then and his little hand held the colour crayon as he frowned and thought back of that night. How had he known he was scared? What was it that give the feeling away? He swallowed. 

“My heart was beating faster” He decided “but I didn’t like it.” 

“Was that the first time you had been scared?” 

“No.” He shook his head. “But I had never been scared for Hugh.” 

Harry nodded then. Hughie was tougher than Dylan. Harry had seen them playing on the park with other kids and he had seen Hughie protecting his older brother sometimes so he understood what he meant. 

“Well, honey, there’s nothing wrong with being scared. Fear really is just self-protection, you know? We get scared because we think something is going to happen that’s going to hurt us or the ones we love and that’s good because sometimes it’s true and we can prevent it from happening, you know? Most times, however, fear is just in our heads so” 

Harry got down from the stool he had been stading to reach the stereo better and took a seat next to his son on the table. The boy looked at his dad once before he got back to his colouring. Green eyes set on the piece of paper and they travel across the figure of a woman in white that kneels on the bed of a boy dressed in a superhero costume. He notices the sharks under her legs too and the blue birds surrounding her but how neither of them, nor the bad sharks nor the inocent birds, seem to mind her. 

“Is that mummy?”  

Dylan nodded and Harry smirked. 

“She wasn’t scared.” Dylan noted. “She saved him and then she made chocolate milk for the two of us and cuddled me.” 

Blue felt her heart swoon and her eyes getting teary. She probably should have explained better, even though she did explain to Dylan what had happened and what she had done, but the little boy still thought she had saved his brother, and she didn’t really feel worth it of that word. 

“Mummy’s really brave, isn’t she?” Harry asked. 

And Dylan nodded. 

“She’s braver than me.” 

“She’s braver than me too.” Harry chuckled and his son looked up at him with a frown. 

Was he being serious or was he messing with him? Daddy knew everything too and Mummy was very brave but Daddy was the most brave and Mummy always waited for him to go to bed because she slept better when Daddy was home. She always said that... And Mummy curled up to Daddy when there was thunder outside like they did to her and Daddy held Mummy when she cried so Daddy must be the most brave of them five. 

“But you know, Mummy’s scared sometimes too.” 

“Do you think so?” His son challenged. 

“I know so.” Harry shrugged. “She was really scared once when you were younger because you had hit your head at uncle’s Rio’s house and she didn’t know how it had exactly happened so she was very scared that you had hurt yourself really bad.” 

“But I didn’t?” 

Harry chuckled.

“No, you didn’t.” 

“So she was scared for me, like I was scared for Hugh.” 

“That’s right.” His dad nodded. “I reckon that’s the only thing that can really scare Mummy, something happening to us four or Uncle Rio or Aunty Coco or Aunty Gemma or Nana or Abuela, you know.” 

“You too, daddy?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Mummy is scared for you too?” 

His son’s question took him off guard. What was he doubting here? 

“Well, yeah.” He chuckled. “Mummy loves me quite a bit too, you know? It’s not just you, little chipmunks.” 

Dylan giggled at his daddy’s tickles but he already knew that. What had surprised him was that his mummy would be protective of Daddy too because Daddy was who protected them all and he had never been afraid of anything happening to Daddy so it surprised him that Mummy would be. Mummy seemed rather smart... 

“But the important thing, Dy, is that you know when you’re scared and that’s great, you know why?” 

“Because if I know what’s wrong, I can change it.” The little boy repeated his daddy’s teaching and the man smiled, as proud as amazed at his intelligence. 

“Exactly, and because you helped Hughie too, you know? You got scared so you called for Mummy and then Mummy could help him. If you hadn’t called Mummy, then maybe Mummy wouldn’t know.” Harry shrugged. “So see? Fear was a good thing then, wasn’t it?” 

Dylan seemed to consider it. He hadn’t felt good that night. He cried and he felt a heavy weight on his chest and his belly turning upside down and his pulse on his wrists and he didn’t like that. But he supposed... Maybe Daddy was right. Mummy did came to help Hughie. 

“And you know why Mummy wasn’t scared and you were?” Dylan shook his head. “Not because Mummy was bravest but because Mummy knew what was happening, because Mummy is a doctor, and you didn’t. That’s why.” 

Dylan nodded. That made sense. Daddy always made sense, except when he watched the Packers. 

“So next time you’re scared, you need to ask yourself- wait, why am I scared? And then you do what you have to do, okay?” 

Dylan nodded. 

“Okay.” 

In a second he got on his knees on his chair and wrapped his small arms around his daddy’s neck. 

“Thank you, daddy.” 

“No problem, baby.” 

“And daddy, is that going to happen to Hugh again?” 

“I don’t know, it might. But that’s okay, we know what to do.” 

“But... Hughie is okay... right?” 

“Sure, love, he’ll be fine. He just got the cold worse than you did. But he’ll be alright. Don’t worry.” 

“Okay.” 

“Now, shall we see if Daddy figure to connect the right wires for the stereo?” 

With that he got up from the table and turned back around so he could turn the stereo on and a few seconds later, after Blue had picked her heart up from the floor and had set it back on her ribcage, she thought it was a good time to give Dylan his lego construction. 

She set it on the table in front of him before either of them noticed her presence and the little boy jumped in his seat in excitement. 

“Yeah, baby!” He celebrated, making both his parents laugh. “You found it! Mummy, you’re the best!” 

“Thank you, lovely.” 

“Mummy, look! It’s for Hugh but this is you. See? I painted her lips pink like you like.” 

“Oh, thank you, love! This is such a great drawning! Look at these birds! They’re so gorgeous, and these sharks, baby, they’re very scary! You’re such a good drawer, Dy! And you didn’t colour out of the lines at all! Hughie is going to love it.” 

“Is he up?” 

His hazel eyes looked up at her with hope and will but she shook her head and kissed his hairline when softly The Crystals started playing from the stereo. 

“Oh, well, you did it!” She celebrated. 

Her husband gave her a cheeky grin over his shoulder and having their child on her hands, she still felt her heart skipping a beat at that spark of his, like from the fifties and she wanted to laugh at herself. 

“What? Did you come here to dance? Just when the stereo is playing, she appears out the door...” He teased her, making her giggle stupidly. 

“Well, I didn’t originally. But I’d never say no to dancing with my favourite man on Earth so... Can I have this dance, Dy?” 

Harry smirked but brought a hand to his heart and pretended to have been shot and Dylan giggled at his mummy’s antics as she picked him up from the chair and danced with him before they all heard baby Anie calling. 

“Oh, that’s my call, like Cinderella.” She giggled and set the boy back in the table, pressing another kiss to his head before she rushed outside. 

“Don’t forget your slipper, princess.” Her husband called after her making her giggle again. 

He still chuckled after she had disappeared and his boy, still at the table, was gathering his crayons and keeping them on his pencil case.

“Daddy,” He spoke again “do you like Mummy?” 

He had to laugh. He turned his body to the side so he was facing his kid and the little boy challenged him with the sterness of his mother’s hazel eyes. 

“What do you mean if I like Mummy? I love Mummy. I’m married to her.” 

He shrugged. 

“I just thought you liked Mummy because Mrs Mars said when people like someone, they might make jokes but they always treat that person especially good.” 

“That is true.” Harry nodded. 

“So I thought you liked Mummy because you called her princess and that was a joke but you always make her breakfast and you hug her and you always let her have the new blanket and you say nice things to her too like how good she smells or how pretty she is.” 

Harry smirked at his son’s appreciations. He didn’t know he had been watching him but he found it endearing. And he did always let Blue have the new blanket, because she was always colder than he was, and he liked hugging her, that was true. 

“Well, you caught me. I do like Mummy. A lot.” He played. 

Dylan nodded with an eyebrow cocked as if saying, you’re telling me... And Harry tried his best not to laugh as he watched his little smarty pants keeping his pencils in his red pencil-case. 

“Don’t worry, Daddy. Mummy likes you too.” 

“You reckon she does?” He grinned. 

“I think yes. She always serves your plate before she serves hers and the other day she bought you a sweater because she heard you say you were cold at work so she doesn’t want you to be cold and she always laugh at your jokes and he says you’re very handsome all the time.”

“She laughs at my jokes because my jokes are good.” He defended. 

“Aunty Gemma says they aren’t.” He confessed. His hazel eyes found his daddy’s. “Daddy, I told her I think they are but I lied.” 

And he was apologizing for it, Harry wasn’t sure whether he was sorry for having lied or if he was sorry that he didn’t really find them funny but he couldn’t help himself when he squeezed his son against his chest in endless love and admiration. 

“I love you so much, Dy.” Harry chuckled. 

“I love you too, Daddy.” Then his little hands cup Harry’s cheeks and he held his dad’s face close to his. “Daddy, your jokes are good.” 

And he laughed again until someone ringed the bell. 

“Nana!” Dylan’s eyes opened as he jumped off his dad’s embrace and ran to the door. 

And as he made his way to the door himself, he stopped you on the corridor with a firm grip on your hips with both hands and you smiled at him with baby Anie on your waist. 

“Hey, Blue, our son thinks we like each other.” 

She frowned amused but she thought she knew where that came from because she had picked him from school on friday and he had told her about what Mrs Mars had said about liking someone when a girl from class had told another that Bryce pulled from her piggy tails because he liked her. 

“Maybe I should take you on a date or something...” He joked. 

“Maybe you should.” She smiled. “Because, yeah, I do like you.” 

He captured her lips with his on an amused kiss. 

“Yeah, I kinda like you too.” 

[dappercritter]

Godzilla vs Kong: Brutally Honest Thoughts

(Took me long enough, eh? Depending on home video releases be like that.)

So first things first, I have a confession to make: I spoiled the movie before I watched it. I was impatient and they had only announced an HBO Max premiere in the states and a theatrical run in Canada at the time. Afterward, I got heads-up from a friend and immersed myself in the opinions of those lucky enough to see it early. I’m just saying that I have some preconceived opinions that I’m sticking to.

That said, Godzilla vs Kong turned out to be more fun than I expected! But you already knew that. Everyone did. The two kings of movie monsters had their rematch and this time it was with glorious Hollywood SFX powering it this time.

The human story was fun but it’s clear they stopped trying at this point. Team Kong stole my heart, especially Jia. Team Godzilla (although the Conspiracy Crew would be a more fitting term since they spend more time chasing down mysteries than trying to back or understand Godzilla) was more fun than I expected and their dynamic was surprisingly enjoyable. Bernie is actually kind of funny, it's nice to see Madison acting more assertive, and Josh was fine--he was the only sane man of the bunch but he was also the butt of the jokes. Still, all the hardcore conspiracy jokes got old fast and it feels off seeing the daughter of two scientists turn into an edgy conspiracy crackpot. Why not an edgy science major?

Team Apex are fun villains, especially Walter Simmons who's a great megalomaniacal CEO type, but Ren Serizawa is a joke. I like his actor's performance but he's just another footnote. Nobody bats an eye at his last name, although the only heroes he interacts with are Nathan Lind and he just misses Team Godzilla. He really could have just been any other villain, but instead, they had to sully Serizawa’s legacy further while robbing a good actor of some interesting material. (As is, it turns out he was just an egotistical jerk with daddy issues--an easy puzzle to solve on day one--after all...)

However, I still cannot and will not approve of the fact that somebody thought it would be a good idea to make the heroes of a sci-fi story into hardcore conspiracy theorists in this day and age. Likewise, I’m not a huge fan of how they essentially made the Hollow Earth into its own universe complete with a crazy portal and an environment with its own laws of physics, nor am I totally crazy about the huge leap in technology that was made between this and KOTM, or G’14 for that matter.

The monsters as awesome as they are, are the biggest mixed bag in the show.

Kong is at his best in ages, and while I am all for the new heroic warrior character that Legendary have crafted and I acknowledge that making him a worthy opponent for their god-tier Godzilla was going to be a hurdle, I think they did a splendid job. Seeing Kong using agility and acrobatics was a glorious sight to behold, and something about Kong becoming a tool-user and weapon wielder just feels right. It’s a far better demonstration of Kong as a “thinking animal” (*wink, wink*).

I’m much less thrilled about their treatment of his greatest opponent ever. After everything they’ve done to build up Godzilla as the incredible force of neutral good fighting to maintain balance and all the build up to ancient rivalry debating back to a great Titan war--even going as far as putting his name in front Kong’s this time!-- they’ve reduced Godzilla back to glorified bully for Kong. He only gets the minimum amount of sympathy from the cast of his movie before they go off to deal with the conspiracy plot or focus on Kong and the Hollow Earth. Worse still, he is somehow more powerful and more aggressive than ever for a good chunk of the movie which leads to an outcome I’m sorry to say we all saw coming. Somehow, I suspect that the reason behind this was how Wingard cited Godzilla vs. Mothra, vs. Destoryah, and Shin-Godzilla as influences for the monsters scale and story, which while cool and all, are all movies where he was played up as a mostly stoic antagonist rather than a three-dimensional character like Kong. (Though ironically vs. Destoroyah and Shin did a better job of making Godzilla feel more sympathetic and in both of them he was a walking nuclear reactor meltdown.)

Due to the unfortunate time constraints of the three-way deal between Toho, WB, and Universal at the time this was in production, Kong was unable to secure a proper sequel that could develop his skillset like Godzilla’s did. Nevermind the fact the filmmakers completely surrendered to the “nothing matters but the monsters” mentality that a chunk of the fanbase has been spouting since this universe unofficially kicked off almost 10 years ago. (Sidenote: Oh god, I’m turning in an old fart already.) As a result, the movie trips over itself trying to set up Godzilla and Kong’s rivalry as well as building up Kong as a worthy opponent to Godzilla while expanding on their shared lore, and as a result countless plot points set up in in the previous movie and tie-in movie are thrown out the window. I’m sorry to say but in spite of all hopes and illusions of grandeur, it’s safe to this damn thing is a Kong movie with Godzilla as the bad guy.

...at least until HE shows up. Yup, Mechagodzilla. The biggest spoiled twist of the centuries steals the show so the movie can pull a Dawn of Justice. But! It does it much better than the fractured DCEU’s most controversial entry ever could. Mechagodzilla’s inclusion gets a decent amount of build up thanks to Team Godzilla/the Conspiracy Crew, and when he shows up, does he make an impression! At first, I wasn’t sure how to feel about his inclusion or his design, but I’ve come to like this one. He’s basically a kaiju terminator built in Godzilla’s image made purely out of heavy machinery piloted by the best Ghidorah head. It’s a jarring change of pace compared to previous MechaG’s but it grows on you after a while. With the abundance of weaponry stuffed into him, he feels like a fitting update of the original killing machine, and even if his inclusion feels like an easy way out of the big showdown, it’s fun to see him played as a literal colossal heel for the kings to team up against. Not to mention he looks shockingly good with those red highlights. However, one still can’t help but wonder how and why he was made in this universe, or how he feels like pure heavy machinery one minute and then an extra-large Ultron unit the next.

As for the the big throwdowns we’ve all been waiting for... well, we’re still in the mixed bag deparment. While the fights are all exciting and excellently choreographed, and benefit from some more eclectic lighting and cinematograph, I’m sorry to say that as far as the rematch of the century goes they dropped the ball on this one.

Don’t get me wrong, the fights are all great in their own ways, but there’s a drastic change in the feeling of weight and power with the monsters. Godzilla, Kong, and even Mechagodzilla all feel strangely floaty in most of their fights. One moments they feel like true behemoths shaking the very earth with every movement and then it’s like they’re in Godzilla Unleashed, running, jumping, and throwing each other around with speed that feels that almost makes you wonder if the Hollow Earth’s gravity inversion stuff is leaking out into the world. While it’s all perfectly cool, you can’t help but wonder how Kong is able to leap between aircraft carriers and buildings, when Godzilla got the ability to blow a hole through the Earth itself, or how a colossal machine is able to move so nimbly or why it has to be flashing blue all the time.

It’s fascinating and fun but you just can’t help but wonder how we got from almost posthuman disaster and war movies exploring how we’re at the mercy of the ancient almost mythical forces beyond our comprehension, we’ve found ourselves smack dab in the middle of Bayformers meets Jurassic World levels of Hollywood absurdity where anything and everything can and will happen in the name of getting to the monster fights. Although I can’t say I’m surprised given the director’s take on Death Note made some questionable choices with it’s take on the infamous cast while still coming up with some genuinely inspired choices. Still, all things considered we could have gotten worse compared to ther cinematic universes made by WB and Universal.

As for some misc. thoughts to close up this rambling mess:

-The soundtrack is fantastic. A great continuation of the feel of Skull Island’s mixtape with some truly wonderful picks. Special mention goes to the opening and ending songs, and they GOT AN ELVIS PRESLEY SONG IN HERE! YES!!! The three kings of pop culture together at last!

-While this movie didn’t need to be any more overstuffed, it would have been nice if the rest of the Titans didn’t disappear entirely from this movie. I get that Godzilla: Dominion already explained what happened to them all more or less, but it really is a missed oppurtunity that we never got to see another Titan war. Or Rodan attacking Kong to avenge his pterosaur bretheren from days long past. Speaking of which...

-“Save Mothra” jokes be damned, Mothra would have been a welcome gues star, not just to help break up the big fight, but to show off Godzilla’s softer, more protective side. And yes, I want more Mothzilla. Shut up, we deserve it.

-Boy, Monarch sure does a whole lot of nothing up-top, huh?

-The cinematography is a great update but there’s a little too much neon lighting, especially in the Apex HQ and the Hollow Earth throne room. It feels like they’re trying just a little too hard to sell the more futuristic, Hollywood sci-fi feel.

-The score is... great but not that great. Of course, I’ve always had mixed feelings about Tom Holkenburg (AKA Junkie XL)’s music. I liked Kong’s themes, but they REALLY dropped the ball with Godzilla’s theme. Mechagodzilla’s works really well as long you ignore that it’s just Godzilla’s theme in this movie with an ominious choir added in.

-The new Hollow Earth creatures are all perfectly fine. Actually, I thought they were another highlight! Especially the Warbats, Hellhawks, and Doug the Titanus Foetodon Man.

-I want to do a release the extended cut campaign but I don’t think any of us have the energy for that s**t anymore.

[beatles-slash-fiction]

How about McHarrison Dhani with Paul being a protective father? Like he takes teenage Dhani to go to clothes shopping, but Dhani makes him walk way behind him as he embarrassed to be seen with his dad in public. Paul giving him some distance as they walked to the store and a few teenage boys start catcalling Dhani and Paul has a few choice words with them.

If there’s anything that being a father has taught Paul, it’s that no matter how old your child gets, you never ever stop worrying.

You just worry about different things.

As soon as Dhani had hit puberty, Paul had known he didn’t have to worry about his son not looking both ways before crossing the road or getting lost on the way home from school or scraping his knees in the playground.

Paul had watched the posters of young pop stars and film stars start to appear on Dhani’s bedroom wall- men with rippling muscles and tight shirts, and he’d known he’d have a very different set of problems on his hands for the next few years.

“I had a poster of Elvis on my wall when I was his age,” George says when Paul voices his concerns to his husband. “It’s just some innocent fun.”

“Yes I remember,” Paul huffs. “I also remember you sitting on Elvis’s lap when we met him.”

That’s not the point though.

Paul isn’t really so bothered by Dhani’s growing interest in boys- he’s far more bothered by boys’ growing interest in Dhani.

Dhani is growing to look more and more like George every day- which Paul certainly hasn’t got a problem with; he’s glad his son is taking more after George than him- but it reminds Paul of how boys started to act very differently around George as he blossomed into a young man.

Paul remembers because he was one of those boys.

And Paul knows that he can’t be around to protect Dhani all the time; in fact, Dhani seems to want him around less as he gets older.

So when Dhani asks Paul to take him clothes shopping one day, Paul is thrilled that he gets to spend some time with his son and keep a bit of an eye on him in an environment that he knows is bound to be crawling with teenage boys.

Well...Dhani doesn’t exactly ask Paul. He asks George, who swiftly delegates to Paul.

“Why can’t you take me, mum?” Dhani pleads. “Dad doesn’t know anything about clothes. He hates clothes shopping.”

Paul feels a little offended, but the kid isn’t wrong.

“I’ve got a meeting this afternoon,” George says apologetically. “But you’ll have fun with dad. He knows what he’s talking about sometimes when it comes to fashion.”

So Paul takes a grumbling Dhani shopping as his second choice parent, just trying to focus on the fact that they get to spend time together.

“Don’t walk right next to me,” Dhani says as soon as they get out of the car. “I mean it. Six feet behind at least.”

Paul agrees to it but feels a bit deflated; he’d hoped that maybe they could have some bonding time together, but clearly that isn’t going to happen. He’s content though to just follow Dhani and keep an eye on him, as well as the swarms of teenage boys who seem to be hanging around.

It takes barely half an hour for Paul’s fears to start to come true.

They’re walking towards the next shop Dhani wants to go to, with Paul dutifully hanging back the agreed distance, when Dhani pauses, noticing his shoelace is untied.

Paul stops to give his son a minute to tie his shoe, and as Dhani bends down he notices a group of three teenage boys standing by the water fountain, who nudge each other and stare at Dhani with grins on their faces.

Paul can feel the nervousness building inside him, and he desperately just wants to throw himself in front of Dhani to protect his son from the boys’ leering gazes.

But then Dhani starts to rise, and there’s suddenly a sharp whistle to get his attention, and one of the boys calls over to him-

“Really liked it better when you were bent over, baby!”

Awkward embarrassment floods Dhani’s face, and Paul sees red.

“Oi!” Paul marches over to the boys, not bothered if he’s embarrassing his son further. “That was a bit rude, eh?”

The boys pale with fear slightly, clearly not expecting to be confronted.

“That was a bit disrespectful, don’t you think?” Paul continues, trying to keep himself calm.

“Dad,” Dhani pleads, coming over to grab Paul’s arm. “Please. Let’s go.”

“Not without an apology.”

“Nah,” one of the boys says, eyeing Dhani. “Not worth it. Looks like he’s a daddy’s boy.”

The others laugh, and they start to head off, and Paul is about to really lose it when Dhani grabs him again.

“Please,” Dhani begs. “I want to go home.”

Not wanting to humiliate Dhani any further, Paul lets Dhani lead him back to the car. He knows his son probably hates him for intervening, but Paul can’t help but wonder what might have happened if he hadn’t been there.

“Are you alright?” Paul asks softly when they’re alone in the car.

Dhani pulls his jacket tighter around himself. “Yeah. I’m fine. They were just idiots.”

Paul sighs. “Sorry if I embarrassed you. It just made me really angry. Your mum used to get that a lot when he was a bit older than you. When the band took off, y’know. And it got worse and worse and I was afraid something bad might happen-“

“Dad.”

“-and you’re growing up so fast and you’re so beautiful like him, and I just can’t stand the thought of anyone treating you like that-“

“Dad.”

Paul looks up to see the soft expression on Dhani’s face, and then his son is leaning over the gear stick to give him a hug.

Paul smiles and grips his son tightly, kissing his hair.

“Thank you,” Dhani says softly. “I’m glad you were there. Don’t tell mum though; he won’t let me go shopping again if he finds out.”

“I promise,” Paul says.

“Oh, and just to confirm,” Dhani adds with a smile, “I’m definitely a daddy’s boy.”

Paul is beaming the whole drive home, wondering if he might be able to persuade Dhani to let him come shopping again sometime in the future.

[enchantedamusedslightlyconfused]

73 questions.

I was tagged by @wescoasts @machine-gun-casie (BABES)

Almost all my friends have been tagged and I don't wanna be that asshole so ill try not to be. I tag @awkwardrocker @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @trixiehoe @she-who-is-timey-wimey

On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?

Well it’s finals week so about -864. After that I have two weeks of legitimate nothing where I will bake my heart out so we’ll see

Describe yourself in a hashtag?

#yikes #ughshesinherfeelsagain 

If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?

Milo Ventimiglia, Kells, Rook.....being a music video love interest is only my life’s pipe dream 

If your life was a musical, what would the marquee say?

And that’s on daddy issues and no supervision...

What’s one thing people don’t know about you?

I used to model like went to modeling school and got paid for it type shit

What’s your wakeup ritual?

get woken up by my dog tired of hearing my alarm, walk said opinionated quadruped, feed quadruped, get dressed, COFFEE, then take life as it comes

What’s your go to bed ritual?

melatonin gummies (gotta make anxiety fun), skincare when executive dysfunction will allow, brush teeth, fight dog for my spot in bed (moving a 90lb animal is no joke), turn on my sleep playlist or use my ambient noise app, stare at ceiling

What’s your favorite time of day?

witching hour followed by golden hour

Your go to for having a good laugh?

lately tiktok and Kellyvisions, previously vine compilations or Netflix specials

Dream country to visit?

Ireland. I NEED to go to the motherland. My families castle is still standing and I get in for free. its on my bucket list FOR SURE. 

What’s the biggest surprise you’ve had?

getting into nursing school and chiropractic school. I’m a loser and I’ve never had a surprise party. I’d melt in puddle of love tbh

Heels or flats/sneakers?

Flats 98% of the time. Heels are reserved for business casual necessity, Halloween, or if I’m feeling myself 

Vintage or new?

both, depends on the item

Who do you want to write your obituary?

Amy-Sherman Palladino 

Style icon?

lmao a what? on the real though catch me fucking with those eco-friendly kitchen witch vibes. All the dainty jewelry, linens and converse/docks fam

What are three things you can’t live without?

my dog, my family (found and blood), healing people however I can (medicine ruined me for any other career and its sucks you guys)

What’s one ingredient you put in everything?

tbh salt, I question a recipes validity if salt isn't involved 

What 3 people living or dead would you like to make dinner for?

Kells and the band (I'd be too nervous for a one on one), a dinner party with my MGK fam, Elvis

What’s your biggest fear in life?

Failure, not accomplishing anything 

Window or aisle seat?

window all day everyday, on the wing preferably cause I like to feel the landing gear #pilotsgranddaughter 

What’s your current TV obsession?

Roadies forever, pry that series from my cold dead hands (also Gilmore Girls and Criminal Minds)

Favorite app?

tie between Tumblr and Pinterest (im an aesthetic slut)

Secret talent?

I am bomb at disney princess songs, the girls I babysit for treat me like a jukebox at bedtime, cutest thing ever

Most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life?

delivered a baby has hands down been the coolest thing I’ve ever done

How would you define yourself in three words?

I fucking hate this question. always have. empathetic, resilient, intuitive 

Favourite piece of clothing you own?

overall: my senior prom dress. its emerald green, backless, with a slit to upper thigh chefs kiss 

everyday wear: Colorado sweatshirt

Must have clothing item everyone should have?

I second Jude: over sized hoodies

Superpower you would want?

nonspecific healing powers so they aren't limited to physical ailments

What’s inspiring you in life right now?

Colson

Best piece of advice you’ve received?

HA. probably that the body remembers more about trauma than the mind and your seemingly irrational physical reactions to things are your brain’s attempt to protect you

Best advice you’d give your teenage self?

his mistake does not define your worth. I went for a variant of these boys aint shit don't judge me cause she needs to hear it

A book that everyone should read?

Harry Potter series (yes the whole thing), Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson, The Giver by Lois Lowry 

What would you like to be remembered for?

empathy, the way I made people feel

How do you define beauty?

FOR THE LAST TIME ITS SUBJECTIVE, things that give you peace, it could be a song, a person, a sunset, a scone, a leaf. If it makes you stop a second and exhale then its beautiful to you

What do you love most about your body?

holy trigger question Batman...my eyes, my hair color, texture, and its ability to grow

Best way to take a rest/decompress?

drive with the windows down and blast music while singing at the top of my lungs

Favorite place to view art?

unexpected places, like street corners, carnivals, just somewhere it takes you off guard and makes you stop and pay attention

If your life were a song, what would the title be?

it’d be one of those crazy long 2000s fall out boy titles for sure, subject matter yet to be determined 

If you could master one instrument, what would it be?

violin hands down, it hits me different

If you had a tattoo, where would it be?

I have a bunch planned, plane on my right shoulder, Kells related between 3rd and 4th ribs (maybe lower in case I ever need a chest tube), watercolor portrait of my dog at some point location TBD

Dolphins or koalas?

dolphins are stoners and they're super smart, but koalas cause they’re grumpy af and honestly same

What’s your spirit animal?

again Jude and I are vibin: I've been identifying with a phoenix as of late. according to pottermore im a greyhound though (yes a patrons is a wizarding spirit animal. fight me)

Best gift you’ve ever received?

seven year old me was stoked to get a functional microscope and metal detector, I was in my egyptology/archeology phase, I still have them lmao

Best gift you’ve ever given?

oh hell idk...I made my cousin cry once cause I made cupcakes for her birthday party, they were cherry limeade flavored and had little straws and everything. that was pretty cool, granted she was seven. I also made my teacher cry cause I made sea salt caramel chocolate cupcakes for her going away party. I guess my baking brings people to tears

What’s your favourite board game?

candy land, battleship, cards against humanity even though there isn't a board

What’s your favourite colour?

forest green atm

Least favourite colour?

bright yellow/orange, its offensive to my general The Dirt Mick Mars disposition

Diamonds or pearls?

pearls (actually opals though)

Drugstore makeup or designer?

not picky provided they are evironmentally friendly. I really like Besame Cosmetics though

Blow-dry or air-dry?

air-dry, I don't have the patience for blow drying

Pilates or yoga?

yoga

Coffee or tea?

COFFEE, im still learning to like tea

What’s the weirdest word in the English language?

holy shit how much time do we have, my favorite weird word to say is fistula or omphalocele (they're medical conditions, don't goole it unless you have a strong stomach) 

Dark chocolate or milk chocolate?

dark chocolate

Stairs or elevator?

stairs 

Summer or winter?

neither FALL BITCHES   winter if I had to pick cause I love Christmas 

You are stuck on an island, you can pick one food to eat forever without getting tired of it, what would you eat?

burgers

A desert you don’t like?

red velvet cake....just why is it a thing that exists 

A skill you’re working on mastering?

baking scones or shit that’s flaky in general 

Best thing to happen to you today?

being tagged to do this twice, I felt special for a hot second (thanks babes)

Best compliment you’ve ever received?

that I would make a good doctor (I handled a scary pt situation like a champ, they didn't know I threw up after I made sure my pt didn't die. puking in a foreign country on the download is a skill in and of itself)

Favorite smell?

bergamot, baking bread, baking spice cakes at Christmas

Hugs or kisses?

HUGS CAN SAVE THE WORLD

If you made a documentary, what would it be about?

gifted kid fall off

Last piece of content you consumed that made you cry?

In These Walls - Machine Gun Kelly

Casual Sabotage - Yungblud

genius assholes...

Lipstick or lip gloss?

lipstick for special occasions but actually tinted chapstick or lip stains 

Sweet or savoury?

savory to eat sweet to make for someone else

Girl crush?

Brittney Furlan Lee, Alexis Bledel, Lauren Graham 

How you know you’re in love?

you look at them and just say yep. them. usually while they're doing something stupid 

Song you can listen to on repeat?

imma out myself but Swing Life Away - Machine Gun Kelly

If you could switch lives with someone for a day who would it be?

the grass is not greener ya’ll. id rather go back and relive days 

What are you most excited about at this time in your life?

hopefully passing my first trimester of chiropractic school. fingers crossed pls

[avengersmusings]

FULL NAME: Steven Grant Rogers MEANING: Crown, Wreath NICKNAME: Steve, Stevie, Cap, Daddy MEANING: Steve’s a shortened version of his name; Stevie was a nickname started by his mom and picked up by Bucky; Cap is usually what the team calls him; Daddy is Elise’s name for him :) AGE APPEARANCE: Appears 30, is actually 102 BIRTHDAY: July 4th, 1917 ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Cancer SPECIES: Enhanced Human GENDER: Cis Male ALLERGIES: None SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Bisexual THEME SONG(S): America’s Suitehearts by Fall Out Boy; Dancing with Our Hands Tied by Taylor Swift, Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley; Radioactive by Imagine Dragons

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOR:  Dark Blonde/Light Brown HAIR STYLE AND LENGTH: Close cut in the back with a little bit extra on top. Think Infinity War style hair.  EYES COLOR: Blue EYESIGHT: 20/20, now. Holy shit it was terrible before the serum. HEIGHT: 6″2′ WEIGHT: 230 lbs OUTFIT/CLOTHING STYLE: The uniform is a must on mission but when he’s being Steve and not Captain America it’s kahkis and plaid shirts and button ups and old man clothes. ABNORMALITIES: None. DISTINGUISHING MARKS(SCARS,MOLES): Stretch marks along hips and stomach area from serum, small injection scars from the serum, and that’s about it. Maybe some moles here and there. SELF CARE(MAKE UP): Steve always looks put together okay, the 40s shoved that into him and won’t let go. FIRST IMPRESSION ON PEOPLE: People either underestimate him because they think he’s a “dumb blonde” or immediately respect him because he’s Captain America. SKIN COLOR: White mixed BODY TYPE/BUILD: Lean, Muscular, built like fucking truck with a tiny ass waist.  DEFAULT EXPRESSION: It’s either “I have no idea what I’m doing” or “you WILL follow orders” there’s no in between. POSTURE: Honestly it depends? Steve makes himself smaller and tries not take up too much space but Cap? Takes up space and commands the room when walking in. PIERCINGS: None. DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: Steve’s voice has a subtle Brooklyn accent and takes on a softer tone than you’d expect out of him. His voice hardens and deepens when he goes in Captain mode.

RELATIONS:

MOM: Sarah Rogers HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Steve’s mom was his whole world before she died. Sarah took care of him when he was sick and her death almost ruined him. DAD: Joseph Rogers HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Joseph died when Steve was young, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember how terrible his father was. The man was abusive and the day he got shipped off to WW1 was the best day for Steve and Sarah. SIBLINGS: N/A HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A CHILDREN: N/A HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS: N/A PAST LOVER(S): Peggy Carter (Ex-Crush) CURRENT LOVER: Elise Burke and Bucky Barnes REACTION TO MEETING SOMEONE NEW: Steve can talk to anyone okay, he makes friends with everyone he meets. ABILITY TO WORK WITH OTHERS: Steve is a team player you cannot tell me he isn’t.  HOW SOCIABLE(LONER,ETC): Steve is basically a puppy he’s sociable and outgoing. FRIENDS: The Avengers team, Wanda Maximoff, Elise, Bucky. PETS: Scout, a golden retriever. LEAST FAVORITE TYPE OF PERSON: Bullies, men who take advantage of other people. PARENTAL TYPE(PROTECTIVE,ETC): Protective, Will do anything and everything for his kid. FAVORITE PEOPLE: Elise, Bucky, Clint, Thor, the rest of the Avengers LEAST FAVORITE PEOPLE: Red Skull, Bullies, ignorant people.

PERSONALITY:

..WHEN YOU FIRST MEET THEM: ? Distant, Confident, and Inspiring ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY LIKE YOU): Affectionate, Warm, Funny. ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY DISLIKE YOU): Intimidating, Closed Off, Guarded. FAVORITE COLOR: Blue FAVORITE FOOD: New York Style pizza, hot dogs, anything covered in cheese thanks. FAVORITE ANIMAL: Doggos FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Saxophone FAVORITE ELEMENT: Air LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: Yellow LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Anything from the 40s. LEAST FAVORITE ANIMAL: Emus, the bullies of the animal kingdom. LEAST FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Honestly none of them? LEAST FAVORITE ELEMENT: Water HOBBIES: Art, slow dancing, warm baths or lounging in sunlight. USUAL MOOD: Friendly and approachable but also keeping a slight aura of leadership.

DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: Nope, not really. None of them have much affect on him and he was too sick to get into the 40s habit of smoking. DARK VERSION OF SELF: Most likely brainwashed into believing Hyrda is right, follows any order without hesitate or regard for civilian life, the “perfect Soldier”. LIGHT VERSION OF SELF: Intelligent, quick to make a call that will save as many people as possible, rushing headlong into trouble to help out a civilian. HOW SERIOUS ARE THEY: In Cap mode? Full on serious nothing can make him crack, but as Steve? He’s somewhere in the middle. BELIEVE IN GHOSTS: No. If so his dad would probably be hanging around and he doesn’t want that. (IN)DEPENDANT: Both honestly? Like Steve likes to pretend to be this independent person who doesn’t need help, but he also secretly craves it. So I’d say somewhere in the middle. SOFT SPOT/VULNERABILITY: BUCKY AND ELISE, failing the team or not saving something, doing something without regard to personal safety or well being. OPINION ON SWEARING: Steve won’t curse in public okay, that’s the 40s “good Catholic boy” upbringing in him but in private? He was in the army and BUCKY IS HIS BEST FRIEND :) DAREDEVIL VS CAUTIOUS: Steve “I don’t know what a parachute is” Rogers is the opposite of cautious. MUSIC TYPE: Older, softer music. MOVIE TYPE: Romantic Comedies, Comedies in general, Musicals. BOOK TYPE: History books, and then he gets mad about facts that are wrong. GAME TYPE: Cards, maybe? Those have been around for a while so they haven’t changed that much. COMFORTABLE TEMPERATURE: Steve would rather die than be cold. He enjoys warmer weather and sunshine and just not being cold. SLEEPING PATTERN: Steve’s an old man that’s in bed before 10 and up at like 8. He also takes up A TON of space in the bed and basically smothers whoever he’s sleeping with.  CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: Steve prefers things to be neat and orderly but isn’t bothered by a little mess. As long as it doesn’t get too bad or become a habit. DESIRED PET: So many dogs. HOW DO THEY PASS TIME: Doodling on scrap papers, boxing, lounging around in sunshine or warm spaces. BIGGEST SECRET: I feel like Steve really doesn’t have secrets? Maybe his dad being abusive because he doesn’t really want to talk about it. HERO/WHO THEY LOOK UP TO: Bucky and Elise. WHAT ANIMAL WOULD THEY BE: A golden retriever. FEARS: Being trapped in a cold, tight space, losing Elise or Bucky, failing the team and causing someone’s death, being lost in time again. COMFORTS: Elise’s perfume and Bucky’s aftershave, running laps with Scout, his mom’s old records, and reruns of old cartoons.

HOW DO THEY ACT WHEN THEY ARE:

SAD: Steve distants himself when he’s sad. A leader isn’t allowed to show weakness and sadness is one. He also likes talking through things that make him sad. HAPPY: Playful, energetic, probably smothering you with his biceps on accident because he gets touchy feely and wants a hug. ANGRY: Depending on how angry; it’s either the “you’ve messed up” face of disappointment or cold fury with biting, harsh words. Fists will also be thrown if he gets angry enough. AFRAID: Again, this is a weakness a leader isn’t supposed to show so Steve tries to hide it as much as possible. He withdraws and hides away until he works it out on his own or someone finds him. LOVE SOMEONE: SAY HELLO TO YOUR NEW BODYGUARD/BEST FRIEND. Steve will literally do anything for someone he loves. Anything. He’s loyal beyond believe and up for anything they ask him. HATE SOMEONE: Steve doesn’t hate that many people but those he does quickly realize that an angry Captain America is not something you want coming at you. WANT SOMETHING: Steve? Allowing himself to get what he wants? Don’t know her. He’s the definition of “waiting over 70 years to tell my best friend i love him” type of guy. CONFUSED: You know that cute look dogs get when they’re confused and trying to work things out? That’s Steve thanks.

HOW DO THEY REACT TO:

DANGER: Danger is Steve’s middle name because he cannot stop himself from running headfirst into it.  SOMEONE THEY HATE WHO HAS A CRUSH ON THEM: Steve gets confused because he still sees himself as the tiny 90 pound scrawny kid and nobody really wanted that. PROPOSAL TO MARRY: Steve’s not against the idea of marriage, but it’s also not something he knows they can really do? So I don’t really know how he’d react to that. DEATH OF LOVED ONE: Each loss feels like a personal defeat for Steve so it’s twice as bad. But after losing pretty much everyone he’s ever cared about (even if Bucky came back) it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. DIFFICULT GAME/MATH/ETC: That’s something that gets tossed aside until he has time to work it out, or send it to someone that can solve it quicker. INJURY: Steve gets injured and doesn’t realize it until after the mission is over like every time they go out. However, if one of his team gets injured, he’s taking down whoever hurt them. SOMETHING IRRESISTABLY CUTE: Steve immediately wants to go over and hold whatever it is. Babies, dogs, you name it. LOSS OF HOURS OF WORK: ........no this doesn’t happen.

KNOWLEDGE:

LANGUAGES: English, ASL, French, a little German. SCHOOLING LEVEL: High School & Some Art School FAVORITE SUBJECT (S): Art, History, & Writing INTERESTED CAREERS: An artist, maybe?   EXPERTISE: Combat, Shield Mastery, Master Tactician, Enhanced capabilities PUZZLES: Puzzles take him a minute but the serum helps him figure them out rather quickly. CHEMISTRY: Chemistry is probably NOT Steve’s forte but he can follow along with basic things. MATH: Again, not his forte but he understand basic things. Plus throwing the shield takes some math skills. ENGLISH: Steve was surprisingly good at English in school, from interpreting things to reading above grade level. It was one of the few interests he had that didn’t make him sicker. GEOGRAPHY: Steve can read and understand maps. POLITICS/LAW: Politics and the Law are Steve’s thing. He frequently fights against people on the internet about their political views and will fight against laws he doesn’t agree with. ECONOMY/ACCOUNTING: The economy doesn’t really interest Steve, but he’s fully aware of the class divide and how bad some people have it. Current situations remind him a lot of pre-Depression times so he tries to help out as much as possible. COOKING: Steve cannot cook, he tries but cannot. SEWING: Sarah taught Steve at a young age how to sew because “if you’re going to keep ruining your clothes it’s time you learned to fix ‘em yourself STEVEN”. MECHANICS: Steve knows OF cars yes. BOTANY (FLOWERS): Besides the fact that flowers are a thing? Not so much. MYTHOLOGY: This is probably another subject Steve doesn’t know much about, it conflicts with his Catholic views he had growing up. DRAMATICS(ACTING,SINGING): God Steve hates even thinking about this because of the Cap tour. Ouch. READING LEVEL: Above average. Steve read for fun while sick so he’s well above where he should be. HOW GOOD ARE THEY AT PLANNING AHEAD: Steve lives off planning ahead okay. It’s his JOB as team leader to be 4 steps ahead of everyone and the bad guys. Rip Steveo.

ROMANCE:

DO THEY TAKE INITIATIVE: No, not really. He’s more content to be pulled around and go with the flow. HOW DO THEY ACT(SHY,ETC): In public? Shy, 40s boy out to play. In private? Probably the same what a loser. GENTLEMAN/LADYLIKE VS KLUTZY: Gentleman-like, please.  GO SLOW VS JUMP INTO: S L O W as fuck. PROTECTIVE: Hi hello have you met Steve? ACT LIKE FRIENDS OR LOVERS:  B O T H. WHAT KIND OF PRESENTS DO THEY BUY: Steve’s always bringing home flowers or gifts just because. Things for Elise to wear or a plant for the house? Also a random homeless puppy? Yeah Steve’s probably brought it all home at some point. TYPE OF KISSER: Honestly, Steve’s probably soft because he’s a soft boy but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times when he can be rough :) DO THEY WANT KIDS: He can’t have them but he wouldn’t mind having one. DO THEY WANT TO MARRY: Yes, even though he really cant. MAKE GOOD OR BAD DECISIONS: Bad decisions are unintentionally made because Steve is a reckless idiot.  ARE THEY ROMANTIC: Y E S. HOW ARE THEY IN BED: Steve likes making sure both Elise and Bucky are well taken care of even at the expense of his own pleasure okay.  GET JEALOUS EASY: Not really? After everything they’ve all been through none of them really have to worry about anything. WIFE/HUBBY BEATER: You mean beating up people that do this? Hell yeah. MARRY FOR MONEY: Nope. FAVORITE POSITION: Steve enjoys being plowed by Bucky while Elise is on top of him thanks. WHAT WOULD HAPPEN ON THEIR DREAM DATE: Naked art time. Just using Bucky and Elise as a canvas and making a mess while doing it? Yes please. OPINION ON SEX: Sex was always something Steve wasn’t really interested in? Mostly because nobody wanted him (or so he thought) but now that he has two people that always want him? It’s a good workout and way to spend time with his two favorite people.

[elvisabutler]

dove career anon (god i miss dove so much). i was just wondering if dove has any friends in the industry or just close girlfriends in general, maybe people she went to school with? who does she hang out with when austin is away filming or doing press?

no idea what we’re talking about? see the little dove series masterlist for slightly more info, note it’s not safe for minors at all.

am i answering this over a cup of coffee? maybe. is anyone gonna judge me? no. which is to say hi dove career anon, i've missed you and lord knows i always miss dove. ( i say like she doesn't permanently exist in my drafts with the idea of sometimes writing her actual story proper. )

so yes she does have a few in the industry but those err more toward older people, not necessarily men ( with the notable exception of her best dude costar who she never even dreamed of sleeping with but everyone was like BET SHE CALLS HIM DADDY, the two of them run with the joke ) mostly because she figures as soon as she ever truly makes close friends with someone her age, it's gonna be a whole PR mess of getting pitted against each other and blah blah. but she is at least acquaintances with her same age female costars. just not- help me hide a body/we'll bully our agents into getting a movie together friends.

when it comes to people outside of the industry? or like- on the theater side of the industry? those are her ride or dies. most of her school friends disappeared once she got kind of famous- or like really started focusing on acting. but those who stayed are the kind of people who tell you that "you look like shit" when you've stayed up for 24 hours on set, took two planes to see them and dealt with an uber driver from hell. which is to say, they're honest to a fault but they'll protect her with their lives. back in the day she didn't tell them about the Austin and the Elvis thing but they figured out something was up anyway and sort of sat her down and let her have a cry when she was ready. they're the friends that her therapist tells her to talk to when she's having a particularly rough time with things.

now when austin is doing things dove really does try and be busy herself with her own projects but barring that if she can get them to come to new york? she forces some of the good friends to come because "listen i want to be cuddled with no questions and no drama and watch bad movies.".

basically, her industry (like hollywood industry) friends mostly err to the older side but are close because they either see her as a little sister/daughter/trolling soulmate. her outside of industry/theater industry friends are the ones she calls in times of lonely boredom without austin. and to hide a dead body but that's neither here nor there.

[winchestergirl-13]

Chuck Shurley x Daughter!Reader “Honey Bee”

Pairing: no pairing

Warning: fluff and more fluff

Word count: 1969

Song used: “Honey Bee” by Louden Swain

Summary: Chuck reflects back on the moments with his daughter he’d probably wouldn’t forget or as long as he lives.

A/N: @mrswhozeewhatsis i hope you like this. I tried my best at this story that was floating around my head for at least a month with no idea how to form it. Hope you like it!

“You woke up, even with the nightlight on, you’re seeing shadows in the break of dawn.”

(Y/N) woke up in her little bed, scared of the dark even though her moon shaped nightlight was on. It was just a little after three in the morning and half-asleep and full of terror, she could see the shadows playing on the wall of her window.

“You called out, Deep inside a dream of my own, It was a nightmare I was all alone.”

“Daddy!” her cries woke Chuck from his fitful sleep where he had no one anymore. Tossing the sheets back, he jumped from the bed, running to his five year old’s room. His heart broke at the sight of the tears on her little round face.

“Oh honey. It’s okay. Did you have a nightmare, sweetie?” he asked softly as he gently picked her up.

“Uh huh,” she whimpered, face buried in his neck. They left the room, down the stairs to the kitchen.

“It’s alright. So did daddy. I dreamt my little ballerina was all alone, with no one to dance with. What did you dream about?” he questioned as he sat her on the counter.

“Monsters were comin’ to get me…” she whispered like they would jump out and snatch her up.

“You buzz around me like a honey bee, the world brand new awaits you, wait for me,” Chuck hummed as he set about getting the two of them some water.

“Fill the cup, water always does the trick. Seal the lid and let you cry with it.”

He handed (Y/N) her blue sippy cup with some cold water, tears still falling, but slowing down. Chuck couldn’t help the pain he felt as he observed his daughter. She was growing up and that was something he still has trouble believing. But moments like right now show him she’s still his little girl, his honey bee, and she’ll always need him.

As the two of them made their way back upstairs and into his room for the night, he pondered on his life before (Y/N), but those thoughts are hard to recall. Especially with her cuddled up against him, expecting him to protect her throughout the night. And he found himself not caring about the past, not when there was right now. With his wife working at the hospital, nights tended to get a little lonely, but he had (Y/N).  His dream later that night was happier; his little bee bounding around him, all fancy and free. But while the world awaits for her, (Y/N) will remember to slow down and wait for him.

* * *

Fast forward ten years and Chuck has watched (Y/N) grow up and turn into this beautiful young woman with a bright smile and caring heart. But that made her a target for someone to break her heart.

“Ask me why, there’s pain and there’s lies.”

“You better go comfort her, Chuck. She’s going to need her dad at the moment. I’ll be in the kitchen making her her favorite dinner,” Diana commented when he walked out of his office, his wife waiting for him.

“What happened?” he questioned, brows furrowed in distress.

“That boy broke her heart,” was all he got as Diana left for the kitchen.

Chuck found his daughter curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest as tears streamed down her face. He sat beside her, gently lifting her up and into his arms and they just sat there. He’d sit there all day if he had to, if it let him be a comfort for her.

“Dad?” he voice called out meekly.

“Yeah honey?” he replied, leaning down to try and catch her eyes.

“Why do people have to lie? Why do they hurt others?” Her hazel eyes, rimmed red, slowly looked up at him as if he knew all the answers. He really should have the answer, considering who he is, but he really didn’t know.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Sadly, I don’t always have the answer for everything, but I’m happy to try,” he answered honestly. They sat up and he handed her the tissues from the table. She gave a sad smile and told him what happened when asked. The boy she thought she loved actually didn’t love her and just used her.

“Ask me how, there’s you and there’s now.”

“How can someone be so mean?” she sighed, leaning against her father’s shoulder. Chuck took a hold of her hand, rubbing circles onto the back of her hand.

“I don’t know, (Y/N). When I figure that out myself, you’ll be the first to know,” he grinned when she gave a scoff and then a breathy chuckle at his attempt to make her smile.

“Hang on my love, times running out.”

“What I can tell you is to just hold on, alright? Time is short, but cherish today. Cherish the day that makes you the happiest. That’s what life is about,” he offered as they relaxed on the couch together, like they used to. Everything was calm and peaceful for right now.

“Hey dad?” (Y/N’s) soft voiced broke through the silence.

“Hm?”

“C-could you sing to me again?” she shyly asked, her head tucking into his chest a little more.

He chuckled a little, the vibrations shaking her head a bit from her position on his chest. “What would you like to hear?”

“I’ll hum it just to hear you ask anything.”

“That song you used to sing to me when I had a nightmare? Honey Bee?” she asked hopefully.

Placing a kiss to her forehead, he cleared his throat and began to sing the song he hadn’t been asked for in a long time now. “You buzz around me like a honey bee. The world brand new awaits for you, wait for me…”

* * *

Today was the day. The day he was dreading ever since she came home from college with a boy that cherished her in the way she deserved. At twenty-three years old, Benjamin had asked for his permission to marry (Y/N) and he gladly gave him his permission, even if his heart was saying otherwise.

“There you are, smiling in the same old way. ‘Cause maybe it’s your wedding day.”

Chuck smiled in fondness at the same childish grin his daughter wore as she twirled around in her wedding dress. Any minute now, he’d be walking her down the aisle and handing her off to another. It wasn’t that he didn’t like or trust Benjamin, it was the fact that this was his little girl, his little honey bee. He knew this day would come, he prepared for it when she left for college. But he knew that no matter what he felt, he was happy that she was happy.

“You look beautiful, (Y/N). You’re mother and I are so happy for you,” he commented as he stepped into the room, his wife coming out of the connecting bathroom with a small box in her hands.

“I remember the day you brought him home. I could see it, clear on your face, he stole your heart and this time you were okay with it,” her mother commented as she set about fixing the veil on her daughters head.

“Benny’s the one. I know it this time,” (Y/N) stated as she turned to face her parents, a huge grin on her face.

“I know, honey. Now, we got some time, but we have a gift for you. Something old and something blue,” Chuck said as he took the box from Diana’s hands. Opening it, there was a beautiful blue butterfly comb.

“Oh my goodness! It’s lovely!” (Y/N) exclaimed as she gently removed it from the box.

“It was my mothers. She gave it to me on our wedding day, so now it goes to you. An heirloom in a way. And what else to use with my old veil than this?” Diana stated as she placed the comb into her daughters hair.

“Mom…” (Y/N) teared up a bit as she turned to hug her mother, “it’s amazing. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling. Now don’t cry, you’ll ruin your makeup and Charlie will be upset if your messed up her work,” she joked, getting teary laugh from her daughter. Before they knew it, the chimes sounded, signalling that it was time.

Gabriel was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for their mother to walk outside with her as Chuck lead (Y/N) down.

“Proud of you, sis,” Gabriel commented, planting a kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you, Gabe.”

It was time. The wedding march started to play as the bridesmaids and groomsmen walked out and then the flower girls and the ring bearer. As she waited, butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Chuck squeezed her hand reassuringly as they started to walk out themselves.

“Dad? I’m scared.”

“Don’t be scared, honey. This is just the next chapter in your story,” he consoled.

“No, I know that. I’m scared that I won’t be your little girl anymore,” she replied.

“(Y/N), you’ll always be my little girl. My little ballerina. Remember that. I’ll always be there for you whenever you may need me.”

With that relaxing her, she smiled as they continued down the aisle. Benjamin’s smile growing as he stared in awe of how beautiful (Y/N) looked. That was something Chuck was glad to see; someone who looks at (Y/N) the way she deserved to be looked at. At the alter, he gave her a hug and a kiss on her forehead before giving Benjamin her hand. Taking his seat next to Diana, they watched as their little girl became someone else’s girl today.

“But you will always be my ballerina. Dancing like we only have ourselves.”

At the reception, the first dance between the newlyweds was to the song “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley. It was the first song they danced to at a friends party as a couple and now it was their wedding song. Chuck watched as they danced together, remembering the times where she would ask him to dance with her in the kitchen or the living room, whether there was music or not. They danced like there was only the two of them (even if Diana and the boys caught them a few times). Before he knew it, it was time for the Father/ Daughter dance.

“And now if we can have the father of the bride come on up. It’s time for their dance together,” Dean, their MC for tonight called out, grinning at the flustered look on Chuck’s face as he was pulled out of his memories. He took a hold of (Y/N)’s hand as they walked to the dance floor together, smiling as their song came through the speakers. “Honey Bee” by Louden Swain played as they danced together for the last time for a while.

“Are you sure that isn’t you singing, daddy? I swear he sounds just like you,” she laughed as he spun her around.

“He does, doesn’t he?” he replied, the old joke between them rolling off their tongues like normal.

“And you fly around me, swaying next to me. The world brand new awaits you, wait for me.”

As the song neared the end, the two of them swaying slowly, remembering the dances in the kitchen and the long talks about life they’d share on the couch. (Y/N) grew up, but she grew up to be everything Chuck wanted her to be. He couldn’t have been more proud of his girl.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too (Y/N).”

“Forever?”

“Forever and always, my little honey bee.”

“You buzz around me like a honey bee. The world brand new awaits for you. Wait for me…”

[oselatra]

Vote, people

People under 30 are not voting in large numbers. I've heard some different reasons for this: They don't feel it will make a difference.

Vote, people

People under 30 are not voting in large numbers. I've heard some different reasons for this: They don't feel it will make a difference. Both sides are the same. It won't affect them all that much, being as low on the totem pole as they are. They feel insulated from politics and political ramifications.

When it comes to issues like polluted air, global warming and rising sea level, you can run but you can't hide. These issues will affect you no matter what. However, there is a bigger reason why you should vote. Trump is funneling billions of dollars into the military while purging their ranks of tens of thousands of troops he deems undesirable. He has a War Cabinet in place and is trying to pick a fight with both North Korea and Iran. If he succeeds, the military will have no recourse but to reinstate the draft — both men and women this time.

Bottom line, you can lather yourself with essential oils, eat Paleo until it comes out of your ears and stick a healing crystal in every pocket. If Trump calls your number, your butt will be in the sling. Get motivated. Register and vote like your life depended on it.

David Rose

Hot Springs

From the web

In response to the Times' Aug. 16 cover story by David Ramsey on Rusty Cranford, the lobbyist seen as the linchpin in the corruption recently uncovered at the state legislature that ended the state contract with Preferred Family Healthcare:

Great job, Mr. Ramsey! It still irritates me [that while] all that money was flowing at the top and at the bottom, those actually doing the work [at PFH] were not getting paid a fair wage for our position based on our education and credentials. We did not get paid for half the hours they required us to work, and we had to beg for supplies to be able to do our jobs — things like ink pens and notebook paper, locking files to keep private patient information protected, etc.

I cannot believe that Missouri, Illinois, Oklahoma and Kansas have not started to investigate PFH billing practices in their states! justcantbelieve

I saw Cranford in action at the legislature during the 2009 and 2011 sessions in his nascent stage, getting legislation passed that allowed him to get paid about $25,000 about a year later. Too complicated to explain here, but he was oleaginous then in how he talked to legislators. It was enough to forever disgust me on the legislative process. And, as Mr. Ramsey so well shows, Cranford was just getting started. The year 2011 was laying the groundwork for years of corruption.

Tucker Max

In response to an Arkansas Blog post suggesting people ask Congressman French Hill if President Trump and "junketing partner" Congressman Dana Rohrbacher (R-Calif.) will come to Arkansas to campaign for him:

French Hill and his friends like to invoke Nancy Pelosi in their battle with [Democratic congressional opponent] Clarke Tucker, but the question that I have is, "Will French Hill support Kevin McCarthy for Speaker if Hill wins and the GOP keeps control of the House?" McCarthy was caught on tape saying, "There's two people that I think Putin pays: Rohrbacher and Trump" and then agreed to cover up the issue for partisan reasons (Washington Post 5/17/17). I am not the biggest fan of Pelosi but what has she done that even comes close to such unpatriotic and corrupt behavior?

Pierce

In response to an Arkansas Blog post noting that the Family Council is campaigning against Issue 1, the ballot proposal to limit damage awards in lawsuits that is being challenged in Circuit Judge Mackie Pierce's courtroom:

I've been a little distracted lately so I might have missed it, but it seems like there's been a long enjoyable period of time without a mention of Jerry Cox and the Family Council. I thought maybe Cox had choked on a lemon and the Family Council had gone out of business. Sorry to hear this isn't the case.

My daddy has been dead for the last 35 years and I've decided I don't need any other daddies at this point in life. Our city daddies are about to drive us out of Arkansas. I don't need a spiritual daddy, sure don't need a Family Council, except the one in my own house, which has always been a 50-50 deal. In many cases a group of like-minded people can be dangerous. The Family Council needs to go back to the 1950s and pray over Elvis's swinging hips, silently. We're done with you.

We'll never be rid of the Trump Mafia unless our six turds in D.C. quit supporting him. Things will never get better in Arkansas unless our population wises up. Voting to take your own rights away is beyond stupid and Issue 1 is a toxic soup of poison for the 99 percent. If you hate yourself enough to vote for Issue 1, please find another outlet for your self-loathing ... young girls cutting in a quiet room is popular on our pay channels. Self-flagellation is a big deal in the Philippines around Easter.

If you want to hurt yourself, get after it, but please don't hurt the rest of us by voting for Issue 1! Save us, Judge Mackie Pierce!

Deathbyinches

We need to just face the fact Issue 1 is beyond any doubt the biggest POS that has EVER been foisted upon us Arkansans by the Arkansas legislature! We need to show those 135 self-centered idiots exactly what we think about their POS by voting against it. And I know I am painting with too broad of a brush here, because there are a few of those 135 legislators who actually voted against placing Issue 1 on the ballot and are actively working against it, thank goodness!

RYD

On the obituary by Ernie Dumas posted on the Arkansas Blog for former Arkansas Gazette editorial page editor Jerry Dhonau, citing Dhonau's reporting on the 1957 crisis at Central High School:

I was a brand-new copy editor on the Gazette news desk when Dhonau and [reporter Ray] Moseley were covering the story. Dumas' obit brings back those days in the newsroom, which was flooded by out-of-state reporters, many of whom were famous. They often cribbed the Arkansas Gazette articles when they filed their reports. Dhonau and Moseley were both consummate newsmen, interested only in getting the story right. It was kinda scary when they would come in after being at the school all day and relate what had transpired — a black reporter being beaten by the mob; the jeering white students; the dignity of the black students, and later, after the 101st Airborne had been sent in, a story about a redneck member of the white mob who made the mistake of trying to take a rifle away from a member of the 101st. You can imagine what happened. There are very few of us left who were on the Gazette staff at that time. It is a time in my life about which I have always been proud. Even though I had little to do with the coverage, I witnessed history being made.

plainjim

Scrubbing history

In a democracy, it is the archivist who stands on the first line of defense of a free people. Without archivists there would be no one to protect the documentation that affirms the truths about who we are as a people — warts and all.

Take the documentation of the country's struggle to pass the Equal Rights Amendment. In 1923, the Equal Rights Amendment was introduced. By 1982, 35 states had ratified it, needing only three more before the ratification could be recognized. Last year Nevada ratified it, followed by Illinois on May 31, 2018. Now, after 95 years of well-documented struggles, we are one state away from ratification. What then?

It's comforting to know that the archivist of the United States, as head of the National Archives and Records Administration, takes care of the administrative responsibilities of the amendment ratification process.

Before 1934, the role of national archivist was carried out by the secretaries of state (1789-1934). With the help of the American Historical Association in 1884, our political leaders were given a push toward creating a National Archives. It took until 1926 before funds were allocated for a National Archives Building. In 1933 President Hoover laid the corner stone and in 1934 FDR signed the national Archives Act. So, it took us 145 years to complete that little bit of governmental activity. But no matter how long it would have taken, those in the history field of the United States would never have stopped pushing.

We have had 10 national archivists since 1935 — all men, although we've had two women as acting archivist (1993 and 2008) for brief periods. Only one archivist, Mr. Don Wilson, seventh archivist, has ever certified an amendment; it was in 1992. And don't you know it had something to do with salary increases for members of Congress?

David Ferriero is our present archivist. And I believe like his predecessors he will protect the ERA documents. And will continue to have the authority to do so, which is something I took for granted until recently.

I would like to take for granted that every scrap of paper related to the 95-year-old odyssey of the ERA, as well as all of our other historical documents relating to past and present struggles, would be preserved, now and in the future. But, this is 2018, when all of our norms and standards are under attack. I stand with my fellow historians to keep a watchful eye, to stand guard, and sound the alarm if anyone dares to scrub any part of our history.

Janis K. Percefull

Hot Springs

Vote, people

[fanficksntwinkies-blog]

Kennedy and Negan

 Note: This isn’t a ship between Negan and my character. Just sayin’. 

“Kennedy. Wake up.” Dad gently shook me awake with one hand. I knew that his other was holding Lucille. 

“The fuck do you want?” I grumpily said, rolling over. 

“I’m here to fucking tell you that I’m going on a trip. Had your lazy ass been up earlier, you could’ve gone with me. You’re in charge for the day. Radio me or some shit if you feel moody and need me to fuck someone’s shit up.” I heard his heavy footsteps leave the room and close the door quietly. Damn, a Saturday with the entire Sanctuary under my thumb. I could deal with that. I felt a bit angsty anyways, and yelling at Simon or even getting into a screaming match with him would’ve been perfect. 

 “Kennedy, you up?” Carl radioed. I grabbed the radio from my nightstand. 

“Yeah. My dad just fucking woke me up. I’m in charge for the day.”

“Shit. That probably means that he’s on his way over here,” he said in an irritated tone. “I’m coming over.”

I ran my fingers through my hair and replied with a “fuck, are you crazy? My dad will flip the fuck out if he finds out that you’re here. He loves me, but unfortunately for everyone else, he loves only me. I’m telling you, Carl. He will fuck your shit up if you come here.” There was a long pause on the radio.

“Fine.” I signed off and decided to get up. I brushed my teeth and hair before putting on a little bit of makeup and pulling my hair back. 

For clothes, I decided to put on a really torn up Fall Out Boy t-shirt and some tight jeans. I threw on a leather jacket just so I could feel bad-ass like my dad, and worn out Converses squeezed my feet. I grabbed the baseball bat that he’d gifted to me earlier and decided that it needed a little bit of a fucking glow up. 

The bat was plain, with a really ugly honey stain and literally no character. How fucking lame. I decided to walk it down to the market, where Johnny was. He owned a small stand where he would re-finish shit and sell it. He also sold any instruments that were found, along with the needed accessories. 

“Johnny, I need a favor. This is your chance to earn an extra ration, so listen the fuck up. I--” 

“You should watch your mouth, young lady,” some old woman shouted. I looked over at her and raised my eyebrows, irritated. I threw her the bird and then continued. 

“Sand this bad boy down and refinish it. I want it to look kinda burnt, so choose, like, a black wash or something. Then, I want you to spike it up for me. Drive some nails through it, wrap it in a little barbed wire, just make it usable.” With that, I walked over to the old woman, pulling up a chair next to her. 

“I just wanted to say-- fuck you. You’re welcome to take this to Negan if you’d like, but I think he’ll side with me. You wanna know why?” She stayed silent. I leaned in and almost whispered in her ear. 

“Because he’s my dad,” I snickered as I stood up. “You should mind your damn business next time.” 

-

Everyone around me screamed and cried as he smacked Danny in the head with his bat. I didn’t feel bad, though. Every single person in this group hated me. When you’re trying to help someone survive, you don’t deny them food and smack them around. Seriously, fuck these people. 

I decided that I was fed up with this bullshit and wanted to rub it in more. At this point, death would be better than being with these assholes. I stood and motioned for the gruff looking man behind me to stop as I giggled.

“What an asshole!” I said, laughing. The man who was beating Danny a new facial structure stopped and looked at me, confused but sort of amused. I decided to continue as I stepped toward him. “What the fuck is your name?” I heard a gun cock behind me. 

“You’d better sit the fuck down, sweetheart. I’m trying to prove a point, here.” 

“Nah, I’m good. Y’know, the utter smell of stupidity emitting from behind me is really pissing me off. You should call that asshole off.” He just smirked as the guy behind me tried to grab me. Instead of gaining control of me, I grabbed his arm and used my entire body weight to pull him down, taking his gun and standing back up. I looked at the man as I pulled the trigger. 

“You,” he said, pointing his bat at me, “Are a total bad-ass! Why don’t you... Join me, inside here. We need to chit-chat.” He pulled me into the RV and sat me down before taking a seat across from me himself. 

“You mind fucking explaining that shit to me?” I interlocked my fingers.

“I wanted your fucking attention. What did it look like, asshole?” I snapped. He raised his eyebrows, amused. 

“Calm the fuck down. Why are you so fucking bitter? I mean, like, holy shit.” I hesitated to tell him what’d happened to me. It was a group of all men, and they thought that I was just their therapy target. Theirs to smack around and demean. I only stayed because they protected me, but then again they only protected me so that they’d have someone small and vulnerable to beat down. 

I repeated my story to him, which made him scratch the thick scruff on his face. 

“That’s uh... That’s fucked up. You know what? Fuck those fuckity-fuckers. You know what I’m gonna do for you, kid? I’m gonna go out there and fuck all of them up, and then you can come home with me. You’re my new daughter,-- wait. The fuck is your name?”

“Kennedy,” I quietly replied. Who the fuck was this guy? Why did he care? Why would he want to help some random, moody thirteen year old? 

For the next hour, painful screams filled the air. Each and every one made the sickening smile on my face grow wider. 

I was his princess, and only his princess. 

-

I was snapped out of my random ass trance by screams filling the hallway. I sat, my feet propped upon Dad’s desk, a sketchbook in hand. I was drawing Elvis, a little present for him when he returned. He really valued those things. 

“Kennedy!” Davey screamed. I rolled my eyes, storming over to the door and waiting for his heavy footsteps to walk by the door to Dad’s room. 

“What the fuck do you want, asshole? I’m fucking busy,” I screamed in his ear as he walked right by me. Startled, he turned to me. 

“Jesus! I’ve been looking all over for you!” I rolled my eyes, pulling him into the room and walking over to the desk. I knew he was going to have some long sob story and I was going to need to sit down.

“Well, maybe you would look harder if you weren’t so fucking stupid,” I shouted, grabbing my radio and secretly holding down the speak button.

“Don’t you fucking get mouthy with me, girl,” He snapped, leaning over the table and grabbing my neck roughly. “Your daddy isn’t here to protect you from me. That means that I can do whatever the fuck I want to you.” He pulled me up and caressed my cheek with his other hand.

“And oh man are you gorgeous. You’re about to learn what happens when you mouth off to me,” he threatened. I let go of the speak button and quietly set the radio down. 

“Let me the fuck go, David, or I swear to god, when I get my bat finished, you’re the first one who’s blood is going to be on it.” He set me down and patted my head, leaning onto the desk.

“You’re not getting out of this. And if you tell your dad, I’ll let him know about that boy that you’ve been seeing.” Shit. Carl. A loud crackle from the radio interrupted the conversation. 

“Davey, my man,” my dad said through the radio. I could hear it in his voice-- he was furious. “You got your hands on my princess?” I smirked and raised an eyebrow as he lifted up the radio. He mouthed the words “you little shit” as he pressed the button.

“N-no, sir. What makes you think that?”

“I just fucking heard you screaming at her. Do I need to cut the day short?” he rose his voice a little bit. 

“No, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Give the fucking radio to Kennedy and get the fuck out,” he ordered. Once Davey was gone, I spoke.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“I’m coming back. We’ll talk when I fucking get there.”

“Dad, it’s fine.” 

“No, it’s fucking not, fucking Kennedy. I’m fucking pissed now. Shit. I haven’t even fucking seen Carl the whole fucking time I’ve been here. I wonder where the fuck that little motherfucker is.” My heart dropped. 

“Um, I don’t fucking know, Dad. I’ll see you when you get home, I’m gonna go fucking keep an eye on Davey.” I turned the radio off and ran down the hallway. By this time, Johhny’d finished my bat and left it next to the door. I picked it up roughly as I jogged, finding Davey in the lounge with the wives. 

“I swear to fuck. Get the hell out of here!” I said, raising the bat. He made a run for it. Good. Dad was going to fuck him up when he got back. 

I met Carl out back of the building. Upon seeing him, I immediately set my bat down and ran into his arms. After the hug ended, I looked up at him. 

“What the hell are you doing here? My dad’s on his way back. He’ll kill you.” He smiled and kissed my forehead.

“I could care less,” he laughed. Seeing how upset I was, he stepped back, examining me.

“What happened to you? You look shaken up.” I looked around.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” 

“Yes, it is.” He knew that I was lying, but he figured that it was best not to push it. He hugged me again. Looking up a bit, I spoke softly.

“How did you get here?”

“Don’t worry about it. As long as we’re together, right?” My radio went off.

“Kennedy. The fuck are you?” It was Dad. I looked back up at Carl.

“I have to go. Get the fuck out of here in one piece, will you?” He nodded and hugged me one last time before we both ran off in different directions. 

Dad was in one of those creepy rooms, holding Lucille. Davey was sat in a chair. As I walked up, Dad put his hand around my shoulder and pulled me into a hug. 

“I understand that this motherfucker right here was giving you some fucking trouble. Is that right, princess?” I looked up at Davey. He had a worried look that pleaded for me to forgive him. I smirked a bit, threw the finger at him and walked out of Dad’s grip. 

“That’s fucking right. He was all rude and shit to me.” I dragged my bat behind me and leaned in close to his face. 

“Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you.” I whispered into his ear with a condescending voice.

“I wish you would,” he rudely remarked. That set me off.

“Really? Well that fucking sucks.” I brought my bat up and hit him square in the balls with it. He screamed as tears filled his eyes. Dad said nothing, but I could tell he was watching. I swung the bat again, this time right into his face. There was a large nail in it that managed to find a lovely home in his right eye, and in several other places as I hit him repeatedly, letting my anger out on him. When I was done, I threw my bat at the ground, looking over at Dad, my chest heaving. He looked very amused.

“You had some crazy shit going on in your mind to wanna do that to him, kid.” I picked up the bat and carried it with me as I walked over to him. He once more put his arm around me as we walked down the hallway.

“Dearest daughter,” he proudly said.

“What?”

“I’m very proud of you. Keep that shit up.” 

“Thanks,” I said as we walked slowly. I decided to finish my sentence by saying a simple “Dad”.

(That was, I guess, a part one? I dunno, lemme know if you want more.)

[vdbstore-blog]

New Post has been published on Vintage Designer Handbags Online | Vintage Preowned Chanel Luxury Designer Brands Bags & Accessories

New Post has been published on http://vintagedesignerhandbagsonline.com/from-beyonce-to-kendall-the-stylist-who-turned-internet-culture-into-fashion-fashion/

From Beyoncé to Kendall: the stylist who turned internet culture into fashion | Fashion

Breakfast with Marni Senofonte, LA-based super-stylist to Beyoncé and Kendall Jenner, was never going to be a slice of toast. She emerges from the lift lobby in her smart Mayfair hotel, hugs me, finds us a corner table, takes off her sunglasses, hails a waitress and orders as follows: an almond milk cappuccino, a double-shot espresso, a cup of ice, some turkey bacon (“Very, very burnt, please”), a baguette with butter, mashed avocado on rye toast and fresh pineapple juice.

When the drinks arrive, Senofonte stirs two sugar cubes into the cappuccino, takes a sip and puts the cup down in its saucer, never to be touched again. A few moments later, she inquires after the double-shot espresso, which turns out to have gone into the cappuccino when she wanted it on the side. The double shot appears, and Senofonte pours it over the ice. Now she needs a straw. This arrives, along with the turkey bacon and the avocado toast, but the bacon isn’t crisp enough, so it goes back. Senofonte cuts the avocado toast into tiny pieces, pushes them around the plate, but doesn’t eat any. The turkey bacon reappears, crispier, but still not crisp enough. “That’s OK,” she says cheerfully. “I don’t really need to eat this stuff, I just need to smell it in the morning.” She picks up a shard of the bacon in her pointed fingernails and waves it around like a cigarette for the rest of our conversation. By now, our table is almost collapsing under the piled-up plates, but the only thing Senofonte consumes is the double-shot espresso, which she inhales through the straw in one gulp. “That’s the only part I really need,” she explains. “The cappuccino, that’s only there to make me look like an adult.”

Senofonte does breakfast the way she does everything: attention-grabbing, high-energy, ultra-perfectionist while flirting with crazy. That’s her vibe, even at 7.45am. After the visual spectacular of Beyoncé’s Lemonade album, the arresting Black Panther imagery of last year’s Super Bowl performance, a pregnancy-reveal Instagram post that became global breaking news, Beyoncé is now not only significant as a music artist, but also one of the most powerful visual influencers in contemporary culture. That makes Senofonte, who has been central to Beyoncé’s styling team since Lemonade, near as dammit the Anna Wintour of the social media age, in terms of the dominion she wields over what we want to wear. Those puff sleeves that are everywhere now, for example, may have begun on the catwalk, but took off when Senofonte made them a visual refrain in Lemonade. “I go into Topshop or Zara now and it’s all pouffy sleeves, and I’m like, we were doing that two years ago!” she says, delighted. “Tim White, who is Beyoncé’s tailor, and the whole wardrobe department literally wanted to kill me with all the pouffy sleeves I kept asking for. And now look! I’m so validated.”

Beyoncé’s Lemonade look.

The addition to her client roster of Kardashian-dynasty supermodel Kendall Jenner represents Senofonte’s expansion beyond music and into fashion, introducing Jenner’s 83m Instagram followers to her style. Today, however, she is in London as an emissary from the court of Beyoncé. In seven months’ time, Beyoncé will perform at Coachella music festival, and the scale of the Beyoncé machine is such that the advance organisation necessary more closely resembles that for a state visit than for a mere stage performance. For the designers who dream of dressing Beyoncé, Senofonte is her woman on Earth; her schedule while in London for meetings about Coachella, and Beyoncé’s athleisure brand Ivy Park, is packed. An initial plan for us to go shopping together had to be abandoned in favour of an early breakfast. The night before we meet, I get another text that seems to want to cancel me altogether, but turns out to be for her personal trainer, sent to me by accident. “We’re good! Come early as you like!!” she clarifies by text as I am going to bed. (She is the same on WhatsApp as she is IRL: big on exclaimers, short on full stops.) In the morning, the phone buzzes again with texts sent overnight (“can’t wait to see you!”).

The timing was insane. Lemonade came at a time when life was like, pelting lemons at me, you know?

As a stylist to Beyoncé – and before her, Lauryn Hill and P Diddy, among others – Senofonte has had a long career already, but “in music, not fashion. That’s where I wanted to be, because I always felt like music influences fashion more than the other way around.” After decades when music was “sort of looked down upon” by the fashion elite, the emergence of sophisticated, multilayered aesthetics such as the one Senofonte has helped Beyoncé build has turned the tables. The world’s voracious appetite for fashion content can no longer be satisfied by the politesse of the catwalk. Rihanna in an omelette-yellow dress at the Met Gala, Taylor Swift in a bath of jewels, Beyoncé standing her ground in a burning house in a high-necked Victorian lace gown: these are fashion moments with the stadium-sized power to hold our attention.

Senofonte doesn’t just pick out Beyoncé’s outfits, she helps craft her iconography. For the singer’s most recent birthday, a roll call of her famous friends, including Michelle Obama and Serena Williams, were photographed wearing the wide-brim hat, braids and necklace that made up one of Lemonade’s key looks. Like a Warhol screenprint of Monroe or Elvis, the group portrait has a style that transcends the glamour of even the most famous sitter.

Inside Marni Senofonte’s wardrobe. Photograph: Amanda Friedman for the Guardian

Senofonte is a new type of stylist for a new era of fashion. Case in point: she hasn’t worn black for 20 years, since she was a styling assistant in New York. “Twenty years ago, when I was working for Norma Kamali, she did a ban on black one season. I haven’t worn a piece of black clothing since. I don’t have a black pair of socks or pants.” Not allowing herself the safety net of black “shaped my clothing identity”, Senofonte says. She has carved out a bold aesthetic that is perfect for 2017, when “there are so many visuals out there that you have to be really extreme – almost comical – to separate yourself. And it’s relentless. If I style a great outfit for a client these days, we don’t save it for a big event. We put it on Instagram right away and then I go figure out another one.”

“Tomboy, sexy, athletic” is how Senofonte describes her own look. “I don’t exude the sexiness so much. It’s sort of in me,” she says, which sounds like an annoying statement written down but isn’t, somehow. Senofonte is wearing Vetements graffiti trainers and grey Champion sweatpants; she says these were “like, $40, so I bought five pairs and cut some of them off to turn them into skirts”, a statement that I don’t even understand, but it’s too late, because she’s moved on to tell me about her jacket, which seems to feature abstract globe artichokes, but it’s hard to tell when both the jacket and a navy plaid shirt are tied around her waist, giving her silhouette a sort of streetwear-vibe bustle. On top, she wears a navy and white striped T-shirt with a strip of fake fur along each sleeve: I would have said Fendi, but it turns out to be Zara. She is in her 40s, I would guess, with glowy LA skin and the kind of body that doesn’t often skip training sessions. There is much to look at, but mostly I am staring at her eyelashes. They are extensions (I think), but instead of the Love Island furry-spider kind, Senofonte has on each eye maybe seven or eight fine, extremely long lashes that accentuate her bone structure. I didn’t even know this look was a thing until five minutes ago, and now I want it. That’s styling for you.

Beyoncé’s 2017 pregnant-with-twins post. Photograph: Beyoncé/Instagram/PA

Senofonte worked in various roles for Kamali – sales assistant, public relations, personal assistant – until a chance encounter brought the realisation that she wanted to be a stylist. “So one day Puff Daddy’s babymama, Misa [Hylton Brim], walks in. She’s a stylist, and she looks like she’s just stepped out of a music video: black girl, blond girl, stacks of cash. And straight away I’m like: I love you. She introduced me to the urban hip-hop world.”

Not long after, Senofonte selected Kamali looks for a Salt-N-Pepa appearance; they loved them so much that Senofonte left her job and went on the road, styling their tour. Lauryn Hill came next, followed by the occasional Beyoncé job. It was a strong, solid, below-the-radar styling career until two years ago, when a broken-off engagement coincided with her promotion to the inner circle of Beyoncé’s team. “The timing was insane. Lemonade came at a time when life was like, pelting lemons at me, you know? The last two years have been incredible. The Super Bowl, Lemonade, Formation, award shows. Just the sheer amount of content. And in that time Beyoncé has had two babies, which is insane.”

The thing I love about these new models is, they are like the 90s supermodels. They are like little rock stars

Being Beyoncé’s stylist is tricky, because the iconography of Beyoncé is that her beauty comes from within, that her glow is innate. Beyoncé is not a fashion plate, she is a goddess. Logically, we know the image-making behind a visual album such as Lemonade must be the work of a team of creatives, but its power derives from the belief that it comes from a single soul. Senofonte starts to stumble over her words, on this subject. “I don’t like to talk too much about Beyoncé personally, because… I guess I am protective. I would never want to say anything about her that could be misconstrued. It’s her story.”

The pregnancy photo Senofonte styled is off limits – “It’s too personal” – a surprising take on a photo with 11m likes. “I don’t want to talk about the big moments in her life. I don’t want to take away from her narrative.”

While she “wouldn’t presume to speak” for Beyoncé, Lemonade was “a continuation of what Beyoncé has always stood for, which is empowering women. That’s where I come from.” Senofonte’s grandmother was head pattern cutter at a Diane von Furstenberg factory in the Pennsylvania town where she grew up, “plus she made everyone’s wedding gowns, she made dinner every night, she had five sons, she fixed the roof. Whatever needed to be done, she figured it out. I am my grandmother. That’s where I come from and that’s why I’m drawn to amazing, strong women.”

Style setter Kendall Jenner. Photograph: Rex/Shutterstock

Some of Senofonte’s most powerful looks in Lemonade came in the visual landscaping of its racial politics. “I would hate to put my meaning on it, because that’s not my place. You listen to the words of a song and what it means to you is what it means to you. That’s art. But we were on a plantation with Beyoncé and all these beautiful African American women, and I said, what if these women owned the plantation? What if they were in, like, Givenchy haute couture? Wouldn’t that be amazing? For me, those women were like Beyoncé in another era. Because if Beyoncé was on this plantation, you just know she’d be walking round in fricking couture. Right?”

Kim Kardashian, an old friend, passed on Senofonte’s phone number to her model sister Kendall Jenner earlier this year. “The thing I love about Kendall and these new models is, they are like the 90s supermodels. They finish a shoot and walk out on to the street where the paparazzi are in a full look and with all their makeup on, and just own it. They are like little rock stars.”

Along with Gigi Hadid and Emily Ratajkowski, Jenner is one of a new crop of young models whose personal style is pored over by teenage fans. “All those girls have a strong game so, in a nice way, it’s like style wars, on the street.” Jenner, Senofonte says, has a real fashion eye: “She loves to shop vintage. And not just the pretty, curated, expensive vintage stores. I mean the ones where you have to dig, you know? And I love that even though she has this insane body, so basically she can wear anything, she understands and appreciates tailoring. But mainly I like that she’s grounded and so chill, and always organised and on time. She’s a good kid.”

Speaking of which, I have to ask, obviously. What’s Beyoncé, you know, really like? “She’s this… amazing talent. And all I can say about her personally is that she’s the hardest working human being I have ever met. Like, hands down, in my whole life. She’s unbelievable. She really is what everyone thinks she is. Isn’t that, like, crazy?”

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